#writing this from atop a mountain looking at the horizons
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
donutsalami · 8 months ago
Text
The sky is so fucking pretty, how is it allowed to go from beautiful to beautiful to beautiful to beautiful to beautiful to
10 notes · View notes
f1-stuff · 4 months ago
Note
Hi 🩵 Can we know more about the Regency AU? 👀 (I love your work 🩷)
Hiii! ❤️ Big fan of you, as well! 😆
S0 my idea for that AU is that the Leclerc family comes to stay with the Sainz's for the social season, hoping that one or more of the boys will find a match with Carlos' sisters. But insteeaaddd...😅 I have a distinct image of Charles, with his eclectic regency fashion sense that sets him apart from his brothers, boldly wooing Carlos, despite period-typical attitudes. And the two of them spending the society balls flirting and joking with each other instead of mingling with the eligible ladies...
Anyway, this snippet is from the very beginning of the fic, and it's actually a carlando (friendship) scene, which I never thought I'd write asfhgfjs. But I felt like it was a cute idea, Lando being a recurring guest of the Sainz's every year. In this scene, Carlos is complaining about the Leclercs' impending arrival...
If Carlos has to listen to one more recounting of the handsome, dignified, witty, admired, magnificent Leclercs, he might be forced to hurl himself into the sea.
“Particular favorites of the Prince of Monaco, and distinct in both societal standing and countenance, the whole lot of them. You’d be hard pressed to determine which of the three is most agreeable to the eye or to the ear,” Carlos performs a rather poor imitation of his aunt’s voice, who had prattled on for hours and hours to his mother these past days.
Lando snickers, idly snapping a twig in his hand into small bits and pieces that he tosses to the side as they walk along the banks of the creek. “They sound insufferable.”
“Doubtless,” Carlos mutters, kicking rocks out of their path. “I’d wager they won’t even know Spanish.”
Not that Lando does either. The comment has the added benefit of being both a criticism of the Leclercs and a method to tease his friend. Carlos knocks their shoulders together.
It’s a perfect spring day, the sun shining and the breeze swirling bits of pollen through the air, carrying the scent of new growth. The perfect day for a walk, which he’d muscled Lando into agreeing to, despite the younger man’s confusing attachment to the indoors. 
They stop for a moment to appreciate the view of the far off mountains, the sea just visible on the horizon, glittering against the sun. Carlos can feel his sour mood lifting already, such is the magic of his family’s estate.
“One wonders why these Leclerc men are still unwed, and why they need someone to sing their praises so exhaustingly prior to their arriving. Unless their real company leaves much to be desired,” he continues, although his heart isn’t in the complaining anymore. He’d much rather find a spot to lay in the grass and feel the sun soak into his skin. So he does just that.
Lando follows suit, curling his legs underneath him as Carlos reclines onto the grass, rolling up his sleeves and shutting his eyes against the sun.
“But why are the Leclercs coming here for the social season? Why not France or Monaco, if they are indeed favorites of the prince? Or England?”
“Not everyone wishes to go to England,” Carlos teases, just to hear Lando’s scoff. Truthfully, he has half a desire to go to London himself. But he mostly says it as Lando always acts affronted when insults are piled atop his country’s name. “Isn’t it obvious?” Lando arches a brow. “Marriage, mi amigo. It’s the reason for everything. Well, most everything.”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that,” Carlos chuckles, pinching Lando’s arm.
“Ow.”
“Oh, shut up. Anyway. Just because you are still a slight, wide-eyed fawn-”
“I am nineteen!” Lando exclaims, but joins Carlos in his laughter soon enough. Nineteen or not, his boyish curls, along with the spots still dusting his skin, make him look every bit as young as he is. “If I am a fawn, then you are a buck. Surely, you ought to be wedded soon, before you are old and bitter. Well, older and more bitter.”
“Ha ha,” Carlos says, deadpan. “We should have been forewarned of your wit.”
But Lando isn’t entirely wrong. Carlos had just celebrated his twenty-fourth birthday this past September, and he’s getting to the age where his parents might not be so patient anymore in entertaining his hypercritical standards, eager as they are for him to sire an heir.
It isn’t that he hasn’t become acquainted with plenty of eligible women at various balls and dinner parties during the social season over the years - he has. But no matter how lovely they seem, he always finds himself stalling when it comes to the actual proposal, something stopping him from making that final commitment. Until, eventually, another suitor steps up and whisks her out from under Carlos’ nose. And, every time, it doesn’t escape him that the prevailing emotion is relief.
When it comes to the woman he will marry, the woman he will spend his life with, he wants someone pretty, kind, and smart. Someone charming and witty and clever and interesting. And he isn’t keen to settle for less. At least, that’s what he tells himself. 
Sometimes, he even blames himself. I’m too loud for her. I’m not artistic enough for her. I’m too independent for her. Et cetera, et cetera... But, mostly, boiling down to: I’m just too picky.
Still, no matter that he will eventually need to wed, he is set to inherit his father’s lands and estate, so there isn’t much of a rush to send him to the altar. His sisters, however - particularly his eldest sister, Blanca, who is almost as picky as himself. She doesn’t seem overly concerned with the wealth and status of a partner, despite the high ranking men their parents are always parading her in front of. But she does expect an honorable sort of man, and, above all, kind, which Carlos cannot fault her for. She deserves the very best this world can offer her, and he fears no man will be enough in his eyes to deserve her.
With the youngest of the Sainz siblings, Ana, her lack of husband as of yet is more a case of her preferring her independence than ‘pickiness’. She often elects to read a good book or ride her horse or go for a swim, rather than practice dancing or attend a ball. It hadn’t been much cause for concern until she had debuted into society a few seasons ago and had refused any offers she’d received since. 
During their childhood, he would always include Ana (and Blanca, until she had started her schooling) in his games and competitions with his friends, pulling her away from time with their sister and mother. He doesn’t regret the fun adventures it had led to growing up, or their particular bond. But it occurs to him from time-to-time that he could be, in some way, to blame for Ana’s convictions.
If it were up to him, he’d have both his sisters stay with him at the estate forever. But it isn’t how things are done. And he doubts they’d be completely happy here either, longing for something more beyond this country life that Carlos so adores.
“Anyway,” he continues. “I hardly need concern myself with such frivolous matters as marriage.”
“What - you have less frivolous matters that require your attention?” Lando asks.
“No - more. Like bathing in the sun and exchanging gossip with my dear friend.” He winks, and Lando just shakes his head with a smile. “If I had a wife, we’d have no time for our walks, or our little competitions, during your visits each year. And that would be a real shame.”
“Says the man who always wins those games.”
Carlos snickers. “Well, if either of my sisters really do marry one of these Leclerc chaps, I might have to let him win. Once, at least, as a gesture of goodwill.”
“You really think they would? Marry, I mean.”
“If they seem a good match...” He shrugs. It is, after all, the whole intention behind the arranged visit.
His aunt and uncle had met the Leclercs on a recent trip to Monaco, where they had expressed interest in visiting Spain and exploring the social scene there. His aunt and uncle had invited them to their home in Madrid, but when Carlos’ parents had heard about it, they’d insisted the Leclercs come to stay with them for at least a few weeks this summer. Carlos doubts the Leclercs had a country estate in mind for their visit to Spain, but perhaps the humble parties they host out here will charm them.
“Well, I don’t know why you sound so reluctant,” Lando continues. “You make friends with practically every person you meet. And for all you know, maybe these Leclercs will live up to the talk.”
“Maybe...” 
But Carlos has his doubts. How interesting could they really be?
He drops the topic for now, preferring instead to tug at the soft blades of grass beneath his fingertips and muse over what will be served for lunch.
----
WIP ask game
39 notes · View notes
xxcxelum · 7 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
MOURN NOT FOR ICARUS~
ABOUT: very long, 8562 words
STORY: retelling of the greek myth with an addition to the end
WARNINGS: i mean i guess he dies lol
A/N: i wrote this almost a year ago but i've mentioned it a few times and people said i should post it so im posting it on my writing blog instead of my main.
Tumblr media
There was a bird out the window. Icarus could not identify it, for he had never received formal education. However it was small. Each feather on its wings varied in different shades of brown, and it had a black face. Icarus watched as it flapped its beautiful wings, so gracefully flying across the view outside, and delicately landed atop a tall mountainside tree. The small bird did not have a nest in the tree. It only landed on a shaky branch and looked out at the scene below.
Icarus understood why the gentle creature simply perched itself there. He himself was perched at the windowsill, staring out at the ocean below. He found the rhythm of the waves mesmerizing. But more interesting than the movements of the water was what laid below. The tower in which Icarus and his father were trapped in was, though an unfortunate circumstance, built at the edge of a mountain. He could see the sea lapping onto the bottom of the cliff. It was hard not to appreciate the natural beauty of the sight. 
Ahead, at the horizon, were more rocks and mountains, more islands. King Minos has imprisoned both Icarus and Daedalus on the island of Crete. After what his father had done, Icarus didn’t see the punishment fit, especially as he had nothing to do with it. Yet there he was, sitting in the tower, admiring the cities from behind a window that would mean certain death if he leaned only a little closer.
“Icarus,” his father’s voice spoke from behind him. The young boy turned around quickly at the call of his name. He was met with the sight of Daedalus working with a collection of feathers and wax, an already agreed upon method to get themselves out of there. “Help me with these wings.”
He was quick to do as he was told, glancing back at the view and the bird only once more before retreating from the windowsill. “Yes, father.” Icarus took those few steps closer to the center of the room, though it wasn’t far since the room was small. 
The surrounding walls were old and adorned with nothing but dust and the slight growing of moss between the stones. Even the floor was empty, for there was no reason for King Minos to provide the prisoners with anything other than what was needed to fulfill basic needs, which he classified as food and water. Even those were given sparingly. 
Daedalus sat on the ground leaning over the incomplete wings. The frame was already completed, made of materials that Icarus couldn’t quite recognize. He had never been much of an inventor like his father, but although he never took interest in it, he always found it fascinating to watch. His eyes followed his Daedalus’ weathered hands as they bent the wire frame, preparing the wax and feathers. There were leather straps on either side, presumably for their arms when they wore the wings. 
Icarus stepped closer and kneeled next to his father. Daedalus said nothing at first, holding the frame out in front of him and assessing his work. Then, with a nod of self-confirmation, he turned to Icarus. “No,” he told the boy when he tried to touch the wire. “Stand up, son. And put your arms out. I must add the feathers, but I cannot do so with the wings on the floor.” 
That statement made Icarus’ eyes brighten. He was already excited to fly; he’d been looking forward to it since his father first introduced the idea of it to him months ago. He knew that was the day that it was finally going to happen, the day they were finally going to free themselves from their prison, but now it was becoming more real. Once he had his wings on, all Daedalus had to do was put on his own and they would be able to jump from the window without falling to their deaths. 
So, doing as he was told, Icarus stood up and opened his arms. He watched in awe as Daedalus carefully slid the straps of the wings over his arms, the leather cool and smooth against his skin. Icarus hadn’t noticed another strap that was placed upon his torso, attaching the frame to his back. 
He could not tell Daedalus’ emotions as he did this, for his face was expressionless, focused solely on not breaking the wings. However once he finished, Daedalus stepped a few steps back as if to admire his creation. 
Icarus turned his neck to look at either arm, which were weighed down only slightly by the metal frame attached to them. Though the feathers weren’t done being added, he still smiled. He was only getting closer to the moment of inevitable freedom. 
The boy smiled at the thought, and at the wings themselves. Even if they were not finished, and even if he was not one to build such things, he did admire them almost as much as his father did. They were carefully constructed, delicate but strong so that it would be able to support his weight. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, one of genuine joy and excitement. 
“I look like a bird, father,” Icarus laughed. It was a small observation, a comparison that made him smile wider. Daedalus’ face had been more critical as he had been examining the wings and how they looked on his son, trying to figure out the best way to attach the feathers, but his gaze softened at the childlike curiosity that came from Icarus. Daedalus’ eyes moved from the frame on the boy’s small body and met Icarus’ eyes, a small smile of his own growing on his face. 
“Yes, I suppose you do.” With a nod of approval, Daedalus then decided to begin with the feathers. Icarus continued to admire the wings on his back, waving his arms up and down until his father told him to stop before they broke. Then, Daedalus started working. 
He had planned this for a while, but had to be careful as he worked to make sure that everything was done exactly and precisely as it should. He developed a technique of dipping the feathers into wax and carefully placing them on the wired frame of the wings. It took much patience and standing still, which was not easy for a young Icarus. Icarus had been standing there with his arms out for too long, and he was getting restless. Daedalus noticed this and decided to talk to his son in order to distract him from moving too much. 
“Do you remember what I’ve told you about flying?” Daedalus asked softly as he worked. He was standing behind him, so Icarus stared out the window as he answered. Icarus noticed the bird was still there. 
“Yes, you said that we must be careful,” Icarus replied. “You said that the wings are strong, but not perfect.” Daedalus nodded as he placed another feather on the wings. He was getting closer to finishing. 
“And what must we do to be careful?” He pushed, wanting to ensure that Icarus knew what was needed to be safe while flying. Icarus sighed, as he had been warned many times of what to do, even before that day. Daedalus had the idea for so long that he had been explaining the dangers to Icarus far before the wings were close to being constructed. 
“Do not fly too high or too low,” the boy spoke, echoing what he’d heard time and time before.
“That’s right. Because too high and the sun will melt the wax, and too low and the water from the sea will dampen the feathers. We do not wish for the wings to break.” 
Icarus knew this. He’d been told this plenty of times. Daedalus also understood that the repetition of these rules were most likely an annoyance to Icarus, but he still felt the need to reiterate them. Icarus had always had a sense of curiosity, a look of awe at everything his eyes perceived. He was inquisitive. Sure, Daedalus admired that; he was glad that his son had at least inherited something from him, if not his interest in inventing. But he knew how Icarus could be, and knew that no matter how many times he reminded him, a small part of Icarus would still want to explore the sky. Daedalus had to do his best to emphasize the danger to his son. 
However the boy only found it irritating. Icarus knew what to do and knew that if he went too high or too low then the wings would break. It was obvious to him that he wouldn’t be so reckless as to put himself in danger like that, so he didn’t appreciate Daedalus saying the same thing over and over. Yet deep down, Icarus knew that his father only cared for him and wanted him to be safe. So he tried not to let it bother him too much, and to appreciate the love from his father. 
Daedalus continued for what was a little under half an hour until he finally finished the wings. When he told him that he was completed, Icarus practically jumped up, though he was already standing. Icarus’ smile only grew wider as he spread his arms out and looked at the wings. 
He didn’t know where Daedalus had gotten the feathers, he only knew that he had been collecting them for a while. So Icarus didn’t know which bird they belonged to, however they were a light tan color, almost an off white. Though they weren’t the right shade of brown, he couldn’t help but compare the wings to those of the bird out the window. It was a bird that he had been seeing a lot, though he wasn’t sure if it was the same one each time or simply the same species. Either way, his mind kept returning to the bird as he thought himself to be similar. 
Icarus’ excitement was palpable. He laughed as he lifted his arms up and down, mimicking a flapping motion. They were a bit heavier now, though not by much. The feathers were beautiful when they were all pressed together by wax, and he couldn’t even see the frame anymore. 
Daedalus looked pleased, not only to see the wings completed, but also to see his son so eager to fly. But of course before they could fly, he had to get his wings on and make them. Daedalus had started a bit on his own before, just to see if it was possible to do while someone wasn’t wearing them, but decided it might be best if someone else were to do it. However he couldn’t let Icarus put them on as he attached the feathers because Icarus was already wearing his pair. So Daedalus had to ever so carefully use the wax, like before, to put the feathers on his own wings. 
But that wouldn’t work forever. Eventually, he got to a point where the wings wouldn’t balance somewhere on their own, so he had to put them on and asked Icarus to help him with the last few feathers. 
Of course Icarus was more than willing to help. He wanted to be able to feel important, to feel like he was actually doing something useful and aiding their escape rather than just standing there and waiting impatiently for his father to have his wings ready to fly. 
Icarus quickly went to stand behind his father, who had already put the almost-done wings on his back, and did as he was directed to finish them. He tried to imitate the movements of Daedalus in the way that he had been using wax to attach the feathers to the wings’ frame. As he spoke he worked, rambling mostly out of anticipation. 
“You know, father, when we escape, the first thing I want to do is eat a proper meal. It’s been far too long since we’ve had that opportunity. Actually, maybe I will drink cleaner water first. That is a smarter decision.” Daedalus only listened with an amused smile on his face as his son spoke. “Perhaps the first thing I will eat is an olive.” 
That made his father chuckle. “An olive? Is that so?” 
Icarus nodded, placing another wax-dipped feather on the wings. “Yes, an olive. I like olives. I haven’t had one since we’ve been imprisoned.”
“Yes, well, the olive tree is the sacred plant of goddess Athena,” he explained, wording things carefully so as to not upset the deity. “And I will tell you, humbly of course, that my genius for inventing and such was a blessing from the goddess of wisdom herself.” That made Icarus’ eyes widen. He hadn’t known that. “So, as my son, perhaps she will favor you and give you the best olive.” 
The young boy grinned. It was new information to him that his father was blessed by a goddess, let alone one as powerful as Athena. And the idea that she would favor him as well was exhilarating, even if it only resulted in a single, well-tasting olive. 
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime to the impatient Icarus, but couldn’t have been more than an hour, they were finished. Icarus placed the last feather on his father’s wings, and Daedalus checked his own and his son’s to make sure they were intact and in the right condition to fly. Icarus, though not saying anything about it, was proud of himself for managing to finish Daedalus’ wings for him, even if the job had been relatively small. Just as he wanted, he felt important, he felt useful.
And now the time had finally come for the wings themselves to be useful.
The moment he decided they were finished, Daedalus got straight to the point. “We must be quick, Icarus,” he told his son. “I do not know how much time we have.” They both knew that he didn’t mean time left in the day; the sun, shining in all its glory, was still directly above them in the sky. However it was King Minos, their captor, who they feared. He did not enter their prison often, almost no one did, but those who were meant to feed them or check on them would come at arbitrary intervals. At any second could someone enter and discover their plan for escape. If that happened, there would certainly be punishments- punishments that Daedalus did not want Icarus to have to live through.
Icarus only nodded, understanding what his father was thinking. He waited for further instruction, but already knew that their next move was going to be: fly.
Daedalus stepped closer to the window starting by simply looking out and assessing the view, noting the height at which they were at and how if the wings were to break or malfunction, they would not be able to survive the fall. Especially not if they landed in the water. He took a deep breath and turned back to Icarus, who had also been looking out the window eagerly. 
“I know I have told you countless times before,” Daedalus began once more, wanting to stress as much as possible the dangers to his son. “But you will stay by me. When we jump out this window, give yourself a couple of seconds for the wings to begin gliding; do not panic if you feel you are to fall because you will not fall.” Icarus let out a sigh of irritation, but Daedalus continued. “And you will stay behind me as we fly. As I’ve said, do not go too high, as the sun will melt the wax, and do not go too low, as the water will dampen the feathers. Do you understand?” 
Daedalus knew that Icarus understood. He knew how much the boy cared about himself. He knew that he would never do something so reckless as to risk his life, he knew that. Icarus had so much to look forward to in his life; he was young and had much potential. Even if he wasn’t aware of it himself, Daedalus knew that the young boy had so much of his life ahead of him. He would never do something to lose that. 
“Yes, father.” 
For a few moments, their eyes were met. They both were aware of the risk they were about to take, of how much danger they were putting themselves in. Even if Icarus did as he was told, and even if Daedalus was so sure of his wings, there was always a chance that things would go wrong. Not just the possibility of a flaw in the making of the wings, but also the looming possibility that the gods themselves would interfere. 
Zeus was the god of the sky. If he wasn’t happy with them in his domain, he could easily strike them down before they even made it to the next island. Daedalus knew this. That was a risk he was willing to take. 
He nodded, and then broke eye contact with his son. 
One last time, Icarus looked around the small room that had been their unwelcome home for too long. The cold stone walls and floor. The furnishings, or lack thereof. The damp scent. He was relieved to be leaving, to have the smell of moss overgrowth replaced by that of the ocean. Not only relieved but, of course, excited. He took a deep breath and turned back to the window. The bird was still there, sitting out on the tree. But when it suddenly got up and flew away, Icarus no longer watched it in jealousy, for he knew that at last he would get to do the same. 
 Daedalus took the final moment before their escape to say a prayer. He prayed to Zeus, wishing for the king of the gods to grant them safe passing over his skies. They were not out of Zeus’ favor, the father and son, but not necessarily within it, either. And since the gods didn’t simply reply to favors like that so quickly, there was nothing more they could do in that moment than pray and hope he was in a good mood that day. 
Then, that was it. There was nothing else. No more wings to finish, no more rules to reiterate, no more prayers to be said. They had done everything part of their plan but one. There was only one thing for them to do, and it was jump out that window and finally, finally, be free. 
No words were exchanged between the two of them, only another small nod of acknowledgment, as Daedalus took the initiative to step up to the windowsill first. If the wings wouldn’t work, he told himself, he wanted to be the one to find out. Not Icarus. 
Icarus watched, his impatience only growing, as his father carefully climbed into the small window. He had to be careful in how he fit himself in it, so that the wings would fit as well and not be squished in the cramped space. Icarus let himself take a few steps closer, too. Because the moment Daedalus took off, it was only a matter of seconds until he would have to follow. 
The man did not look back to see Icarus’ reaction. He didn’t want the boy to realize the fear in his eyes. He didn’t want him to notice the shaking in his hands as he got so close to the edge, closer than he ever would, because normally that close would mean death. But this was not normal. They had wings, and they would fly.
“Go.”
That was the only warning Icarus had that his father had jumped. It took him longer than it should have for him to actually process what he’d just watched: his father jumping out of a window. Yes, there were wings, but for a few seconds, it simply appeared that he had fallen. He was now alone in the tower. There really was no turning back.
When he snapped back to the present, Icarus rushed over to the window and tried not to focus on how high up he was, how he couldn’t find Daedalus in the sky at first glance, how small everything was below. He forced himself to take a deep breath, climbed into the windowsill, and closed his eyes, holding his breath as he jumped.
Icarus was falling. 
That was the first and only thing he could register. He didn’t open his eyes, didn’t grant himself the horror of seeing how fast he was falling towards the ground. He knew the wings would work, Daedalus had warned him that it would take a few seconds before they actually began to glide. But those few seconds were terrifying. 
Icarus could hear his heartbeat in his ears, almost drowned out by the wind rushing past him. He could also feel that wind, through his hair, through his entire body. He felt the disorientation of tumbling, his stomach turning, heart pounding, breath taken from the shock of the moment. Panic settled in- why wasn’t he flying? He was supposed to fly. The wings clung to him, feeling more like dead weight than anything else. They weren’t working, he thought. They weren’t working, they weren’t working, they weren’t-
As he fell, Icarus suddenly felt a change. A subtle resistance to the pull of gravity. The wind slowly stopped rushing past him, and as it slowed down he reminded himself to spread his arms out even more. His eyes were still squeezed shut, but he forced himself to open them once the falling had slowed.
Icarus was flying.
He was flying like the bird he’d been watching enviously for far too long. He could no longer feel the wind rushing past him, but as the breeze picked up, he felt he was part of the wind. With his eyes open now, Icarus allowed himself to look down with no fear. He was not scared anymore. He was thrilled.
The view below was even better from the sky itself than from the window. He could actually see the rest of the town to his right, which he hadn’t been able to see from the tower. There were homes, buildings, the little ants below he realized were people, and trees- olive trees. He smiled at that. Not only at that but the fact that he was flying. He was doing it, he was finally doing it! This was the most amazing moment of his life. 
Directly below him was the sea. It was a beautiful combination of green and blue and even white with the foam from the waves. Above him was the sky, the clear sky. There were no clouds, only the bright, brilliant sun against the blue above. 
But, of course, he could never get too close to either of them.
Icarus shifted his focus. He had to find his father and follow him, as he’d been instructed. He lifted his head from admiring the sights to looking about the sky around him, letting out a breathless sigh of relief when he saw Daedalus several feet ahead of him. The man was facing him, too, as if they’d been searching for each other.
It was a strange sight, seeing Daedalus flying. The wings on his back looked so gentle, and he knew how delicate they were. They were strong, however, clearly enough to carry the large man. They looked like they didn’t quite belong on Daedalus. In a way, they almost made him look like an angel.
Icarus chuckled to himself at that thought, though it was probably a bit more animated than usual since he was already experiencing so much joy. He wondered if he, too, looked like an angel.
The father and son were far apart, but the moment their eyes met there was an unspoken understanding. Even if they couldn’t quite make out the other’s expression, even if there was no way they’d be able to hear the other if they actually spoke, they could tell how the other felt. Daedalus let himself smile at the complete, genuine joy his son was exuding. Then, making sure that Icarus was still going the right direction with him, he turned away and focused himself on flying towards the nearest island that was not the one they’d just escaped from. He could see it in the distance, not much further. They’d just have to keep going on the straight path, and they’d be there soon enough.
Icarus knew that this was the goal, to get to another island and be free. Drink fresh water, eat an olive, whatever they wanted to do. And seeing the island, so close yet so far, was only making it more exciting. 
For a long while, they simply flew. It only took Icarus a couple minutes to get the reins of the wings and figure them out. He quickly taught himself how to turn either direction, how to angle himself upwards or downwards. But he didn’t use that, of course, other than where he had to in order to direct himself in the right direction after Daedalus. He stayed close behind his father as they flew together, feeling the wind beneath his arms and breathing in the air, salty from the ocean below. 
It was then, in experimenting with the mechanics and controls of the wings, that Icarus made his mistake.
He began carefully, still heeding the warnings that Daedalus had given him. Icarus let himself glide lower, closer and closer to the water’s surface. It was gradual and considerate, not to put himself in danger. He knew the risks of getting too close, he knew that he should just stay directly behind his father. But he could still see Daedalus from where he was, a little below him now, and Daedalus was not looking back anymore. So as long as he continued to be careful, he could test the limits of the wings without them breaking. Or so he thought. 
Icarus slowly descended lower. It was almost that same feeling of free falling before, but this time much more controlled. There was not a single ounce of panic in him as he got closer to the water. The wind was rushing past him again, making it all the more exhilarating. Icarus was careful to spread the wings out as much as he could and use them the right way as to not lose control. 
When he got close enough, he could feel the water on himself. He was just low enough so that he wasn’t touching the ocean, but he could see it right there, right in front of him. The greens, the blues, the whites, the shining reflection of the sun. He could feel the cool droplets of water against his bare arms, too caught up in the pure delight of the moment to realize that the wings were being wet by the water, too.
Icarus was laughing. He was smiling. He was happier in that moment than he had ever been in his whole life. After so long being imprisoned, he felt free. This moment, being by the water, was more freedom than he could have ever imagined. He didn’t want it to end; he wanted that moment to last forever. He wished he could be suspended in time, always feeling such liberation and elation. 
Since that wish was impossible, he decided to take it a step further. 
He was already taking a major risk by allowing himself to get so close to the sea. He’d been told exactly not to do that. Icarus respected his father, loved his father, and would never intentionally go against him. But the lure of it all was too big. The feeling he got from it all was indescribable. He felt invincible. So far, Zeus had accepted their prayer for mercy in his realm and was allowing them safe passage. Maybe, Icarus dared to hope, Zeus was allowing him this moment. Maybe he was letting him risk the dangers because he understood. 
The king of Olympus was not an understanding god. But Icarus didn’t know that.
Icarus allowed himself another deep breath, breathing in the salt from the ocean, taking in the reality of the moment, before swooping back up to meet the same level as his father in the sky. Daedalus seemed not to have noticed that Icarus had done such an unsafe thing, and was continuing to fly. 
Once he was back where he was supposed to have been all along, Icarus only flew straight ahead for a minute or so until he just couldn’t resist the temptation of something different this time- not the sea, but the sun. 
Icarus looked up. If he had already gone too low without the wings being ruined, he could go a bit higher, right? Perhaps Daedalus had just been underestimating the strength of his wings. If he really had been blessed by Athena, surely they would be able to withstand a little heat from the sun. They’d survived the water, so he was certain that they’d survive the sun, too. 
So he took that risk and flew up. By this point, he had so much control over the wings, had figured out the small details with such perfection in such little time, that he knew how to raise himself higher and higher, steadily moving himself up into the sky. 
Daedalus still did not notice. He had made the mistake of trusting that his son would never be so reckless, would never be so ignorant to his own warnings. He did not look back and see that Icarus was no longer behind him. He did not know that Icarus was in fact getting so distracted and off-path that he could not even see Daedalus in the sky anymore. He did not realize that Icarus had been blinded in the most literal sense by his desires. If he had noticed, maybe he would have been able to do something to save him from himself.
Icarus, on the other hand, was relieved that his father did not realize. He knew that it would only anger him. So he could not say why he was doing it, why he was getting higher, why he was allowing himself the pleasure of attempting to reach the sun itself. It was not that he wanted to disobey his father. He did not want to go against his orders. He only wanted to have fun, and fun did he have. 
He was carried away by the moment, not realizing what he was really doing. Icarus just kept getting higher and higher, closer and closer to the sun, farther and farther from Daedalus, who remained oblivious. Icarus’ laughing had restarted again, the smiling on his face growing impossibly wider. He thought he had felt good close to the water; this was even better. The bigger the clouds and sun looked above him, the smaller everything else looked below him. He was soon able to actually feel the heat of the sun on his skin, more than one did on the ground. He could feel it on his face, like that of the flame of a candle. Warm and inviting, friendly, egging him on to get closer, convincing him that no harm could be done. He was having too much fun, being too foolish that he actually believed it. 
It stayed that way, all fun and entertaining. The pull of the sun was so incicing. The thrill of the flying itself was too great. The feeling of it all was the best thing he had ever experienced, the best high--to the most exact meaning--that he knew could ever be achieved. Icarus was, in that moment, the closest any mortal had ever been to the sun, the highest anyone had ever been in the sky. 
Icarus was the closest any mortal had been to the gods.
And he felt like a god. He felt invincible, infallible, strong, powerful, he felt unstoppable. He felt like he had become that bird that he had admired. He felt like he could fly anywhere, do anything, touch the sky. That was exactly what his mind was set on doing. 
Things didn’t change when Icarus began to smell something off. It wasn’t the smell of the ocean- no, that was long gone. He’d gone far too high for that. It was a smell that was accompanied by the sensation of something hot against his skin. Something other than the heat of the sun itself. He was so intoxicated by the pure feeling of euphoria that it took him longer than it should have for him to realize that the feeling of heat and the scent that he couldn’t put his finger on was actually coming from the wings. 
The sun was melting the wax, just as Daedalus had warned. 
Icarus didn’t stop when he felt this. He was still consumed by that sense of power and god-likeness. He didn’t want to stop, regardless of the wings melting.
Perhaps he realized that it was too late for him by then. Perhaps he realized that he was too far from the island to make it, he was flying over the middle of the ocean, not close enough to any to manage to glide himself to safety. Perhaps he realized that once the wings had begun to melt, there was nothing he could do about it. Perhaps he realized that he was going to die. 
So there Icarus was, flying like a bird for the first and last time. He didn’t let himself come to terms with the fact that he was not going to get that one olive, the fact that he was not going to have any of the hopeful future that had been promised to him. He did not want to be overwhelmed by the reality that he was not going to get to apologize to Daedalus for disobeying. He only wanted to continue feeling the hot sun, not the hot wax. To feel that freedom one last time. 
In what he realized to be his final moments, he let himself close his eyes. He once again did not want to see how quick he may have been falling to the ground once the wax completely melted from the wings. 
Icarus imagined himself to be the stick of a candle, the wings to be the wick, and the sun to be the flame. For a small time, the wick would burn. The candle would be alight, shining brilliantly, lighting up the space for as long as the wick could last. Until inevitably, the wick reached its end, the candle burning out. Until the wick finally died, reaching the stick of the candle and engulfing that, too, in flames. 
His laughter was the only sound echoing through the skies as he fell, the only thing alerting Daedalus that his son had flown too close to the sun and paid the price. 
***
His mind was still swimming. He could barely remember what happened, and didn't know where he was. He sat up but kept his eyes closed. But wait, he thought, that was wrong. He shouldn’t have been able to sit up. He was supposed to be dead. He shouldn’t even have a body anymore, he shouldn’t be anywhere other than the Underworld. But light was seeping through his closed eyelids, and he knew with absolute certainty that he was not in the dark depths of the Underworld. 
But then again, he’d also been certain that the wings would not melt under the sun.
Icarus reached a hand up to his forehead to try to stop it from pounding, almost losing his balance in the process. He took a deep breath, surprised that he had the capability to breathe. This was all wrong;  he had died. He remembered the wings breaking entirely and sending him crashing into the ocean below. He remembered death; he remembered the moments before it, too, when he’d accepted his fate. Where was he now, and why did he feel alive again? “Icarus.” The voice that spoke his name was one of power. It was deep, serious, demanding respect. It made his name no longer just a name, but a command. He forced himself to look up and open his eyes, squinting them at the figure before him.
It was a man, a man who somehow carried youthful features yet an expression weighed down by years upon years. A man who was completely ageless, both extremely old and extremely young. The man had blonde hair and wore a perfectly white toga that managed to still look bright white against his pale skin. He was muscular and had a strong jawline. Everything about the man was… perfect. It took Icarus a few moments to realize that the man was watching him emotionlessly with glowing golden eyes. Then he realized that all of him was glowing, he was shining like the sun.
Icarus realized that the man before him was no man at all. He was a god.
When the realization set in, Icarus forced himself to stand up, ignoring the dizziness. Maybe it was a bad decision of him to try to stand up in front of someone so powerful, he should probably have kneeled, but being sprawled across the ground half sat up was probably not very respectful, either. When Icarus stood, he let himself look around and noticed that their surroundings were essentially all white. They must have been in the sky somewhere, in the clouds. 
Icarus was so overwhelmed by the situation, not comprehending it all. He didn’t really think when he pointed his finger at the god--something he immediately regretted--and blurted the obvious:
“You’re Apollo.”
Then he quickly realized his error and tried to correct it with a sloppy bow. No one had ever taught the young Icarus how to act in front of a god. Thankfully, Apollo was not upset or insulted by the boy’s actions, though his expression remained blank. Icarus could not tell what he was thinking, and for some reason it made him anxious.
Apollo only nodded. “Indeed I am.” He watched as Icarus straightened up from his bow. Icarus felt like he was being scrutinized under the god’s divine eyes, and didn’t know whether to meet them or to look away. He was completely unprepared for this moment. “Take off those wings.”
Icarus hadn’t realized that the wings were still attached to him. They’d somehow stayed to his form into the afterlife- or at least he assumed this was the afterlife. He had no idea what was happening. Though now, the wings were mutilated. The wax had melted not entirely, but enough so they could not fly any longer. An entire part of the back was waxless, and everywhere else was either half-melted or had feathers missing. The sad remnants were clinging desperately to the now weakened frame. He obeyed Apollo’s order immediately and began fumbling to slide the leather straps off of him.
The wings fell soundlessly to the floor, which Icarus still didn’t know what that floor was. He then looked back up at Apollo, who still only stared at him. Icarus stood there uncomfortably for a few seconds, and then took the silent stare as his cue to step away. Once he did, Apollo stepped forward, leaned down, and picked up the wings, examining them with a certain detached interest. 
“Fine craftsmanship,” the god noted, looking at the slightly-terrified Icarus again. “I assume your father made them?” The boy nodded quickly. 
“Yes, he did. And I helped. Well, not with this pair but with his.” He then decided he should have left the answer at yes and not given unnecessary explanation. 
He really was a mess. 
Apollo nodded. He seemed to still not have been offended by Icarus’ unrehearsed nature. He simply spoke to him as if he were any other man, rather than a child who was both in awe and fear of the powerful being before him. Apollo turned his attention back to the wings, plucking a single feather off of them before dropping them back to the ground. Icarus cringed as he dropped them so carelessly but was afraid to say anything about it. 
“Do you know why you are here, Icarus?” The speaking of his name once again made him nervous, as Icarus felt so minor and insignificant in the presence of a god. His name didn’t deserve to be said by Apollo’s mouth; he didn’t deserve to be speaking with him. 
Icarus hesitated before answering. “Because… I died. But, forgive me if I am wrong, but this is not the Underworld.” Apollo waved his hand dismissively. 
“No, no, of course not. I would never go down there. It’s quite the opposite of my realm.”
His realm. It took Icarus a few moments to think about that. Apollo was the god of many things, he knew that. Medicine, prophecy, music, archery, the sun-
Oh. 
Icarus suddenly knew why he was there. His heart dropped to his stomach. He had been trying to do the impossible, to touch the sun. Daedalus had only been considering the god of the sky when deciding to pray for safe passage while flying. They hadn’t thought about the other gods who ruled the above, too. Had he upset Apollo with his recklessness?
“No, Icarus, you are not in the Underworld,” Apollo continued. “I stopped you on your path to Hades; I wanted to speak with you. Mortals die every minute, you see, but it’s not everyday I find one like you.” 
Icarus swallowed hard. The way Apollo spoke, he still couldn’t tell what he was thinking about this whole situation. He couldn’t tell if he really had offended him or not, and it was nerve-wracking. 
“I- I apologize if I insulted you, Lord Apollo,” he began carefully, the title sounding too formal for his young mouth. “I had no intention to.” Apollo shook his head. 
“Do not apologize. To me, at least. I am not insulted. If anything I am flattered, really. Most mortals fear the sun; they fear me. You, however, seem to have no such opinion. It was quite entertaining to watch, I will admit. Such courage you have for such a young boy. I must ask, Icarus, why do you not fear me?”
Icarus was taken aback by that statement. He had flattered the god? By being an idiot. It didn’t make any sense. Apollo should have been offended, he should have wanted to torture or hurt Icarus in his afterlife after he attempted to go beyond the mortal realm. But… he didn’t. Icarus didn’t know how to react. 
And the mention of his father, the reminder that he had gone directly against what Daedalus had instructed, hit Icarus like a punch to the gut. A reminder that he had disobeyed and gotten himself killed for it. He didn’t want to think about Daedalus just then; he wanted to figure out why and how he’d managed to flatter the god of the sun. Icarus took a deep breath. 
“I do fear you,” he admitted plainly. He didn’t know what more to say. 
Apollo was responding so casually that it made Icarus uncomfortable. He chuckled at his response, which didn’t make him feel any better- though Icarus had to admit that the sound of godly laughter was beautiful. “As you should, I suppose. But if you fear me, and I assume you must also fear death, why would you make such a rash decision and attempt to reach my sun?”
Icarus still was struggling to find the right words. He didn’t know how to explain his curiosity, it really had been an indescribable experience. The joy he’d felt in that moment was too much to ignore, he’d simply wanted to continue to go higher and higher. The skies had felt so limitless, the sun had felt so close. The consequences were unimportant as he flew, but now he was faced directly with them. 
“Because I wished to feel free.” That was the only explanation that Icarus could manage. Apollo raised an eyebrow.
“Free? You would have had more freedom if you hadn’t died, would you not? You gave up the rest of your life for a small taste of freedom?” 
Icarus only nodded. He was still at a loss for words, still trying to comprehend the entire interaction with someone so powerful. Apollo sighed, looking down at the small feather in his hand that he had taken from the wings. 
“Mortals are interesting creatures,” he explained. “They are born, live for so little, then die. But they find so much more to their lives. They’re born nobody, yet believe that they can become something great. It’s almost saddening to watch this endless cycle of life and death. To see the excitement in their eyes as they embark on a journey that will inevitably lead to their end. I don’t understand how you do it, how you keep yourselves so optimistic when you know that in half a century, more or less, you will be nothing more than a memory to the rest of the world.
“Mortals value their lives, no matter how insignificant. So that is why you interest me. You want to live long, you want to be important, yet you let yourself come to an early end for the sake of something as small and temporary as a fleeting feeling.” 
The god took a deep breath, running a finger down the soft feather, and looked back up at Icarus. The boy was only watching him, listening to an immortal’s perspective of mortality. If Icarus hadn’t been able to find the right words before, he was completely lost then. 
Icarus met Apollo’s gaze. The immortal was looking at him with something in his golden eyes that was noticeable now: a look of sympathy. Compassion. Perhaps even pity. 
He didn’t think a god to be capable of such human emotions. 
“I mean… I just…” Icarus tried to provide the god some explanation to his unexplainable actions. Apollo was watching him with interest as he spoke, the emotion in his expression barely there yet still noticeable. Icarus spoke slowly, his mind still turning as he explained. “I didn’t want to die. I wasn’t thinking. I had been trapped for so long… I got carried away by it all. I- I felt free, like I wanted, and I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to make that feeling last forever.” 
Apollo studied the boy before him. He took note of his imperfections, his mortality. Even in death, Icarus’ hair had been ruffled from flight. His arms were red, presumably as a result of the wax melting off the wings and onto his skin. His clothes were tattered. The look on his face was one of fear and vulnerability. Apollo was used to mortals looking at him with that sense of terror, but this was somehow different. Something about Icarus’ youth and innocence. Apollo still didn’t understand how humans worked, how they managed to make such careless decisions, how they grappled with their inescapable death. But watching this young man try to explain himself, he thought that maybe once he could at least understand. 
“You are a fascinating mortal, Icarus. That is a compliment coming from me.”
Icarus swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
This entire conversation was unnerving, but he sensed a slight change in the god’s demeanor, perhaps a tinge of compassion. And he’d just been complimented by Apollo himself. He never thought that flying too close to the sun and doing exactly the opposite of what his father told him to do would lead to a compliment from one of the most powerful beings in the universe. But of the many things he was still unsure of in that moment, there was one question that came to mind:
“What will happen to me now?” He was almost afraid to ask. 
“Well,” Apollo began. “You will go to the Underworld and be judged, as all mortals are. That will determine where you spend the rest of eternity. You are not receiving any special treatment in your afterlife; I simply wanted to speak with you. And spoken with you I have.” Icarus was silent for a few moments, but then nodded slowly. But before he could give a verbal response, Apollo spoke. “Your father will mourn you greatly.”
Icarus was once again taken aback by that. He couldn’t quite tell if that was simply the god stating the obvious, or if it was some sort of order or curse, and he was too afraid to ask. “Yes, I am aware.” But Apollo’s next words surprised him yet again.
“Do you wish for him to?” 
Icarus froze. He didn’t want Daedalus to be saddened by his death, but of course he would be. His son had died, after all. It only made sense for him to mourn the loss of his own blood, the boy he had so carefully raised and loved. The child who’d become his closest partner in life. He didn’t want his father to be in grief. 
“I wish for my father to be happy.” 
Apollo nodded thoughtfully. “Happiness. That is what you felt when you fell, correct? Daedalus will know that. He will know that you were happy.”
 Icarus’ eyes lit up. “You can do that?” He didn’t know if he would end up happy in the afterlife, or if he would receive punishment for being reckless. But at least in that moment, that small moment with Apollo, he was happy again. And Icarus knew that if Daedalus knew that, it would make him happy, too. Happiness was something neither of them had felt in so long. It was another feeling that had made the flight so intoxicating for Icarus.
“Yes,” Apollo said. “I can do many things.”
Then, before Icarus could express his gratitude, before he could say or do anything more, the entire moment shattered. Apollo disappeared, everything around them was gone. 
His conversation with the god was done. He was no longer in the in-between of life and death. Icarus was dead and would have to face the consequences of his actions. He would have to be judged, his eternal fate decided once and for all. 
But he would do all this with the knowledge that his father would know how he felt in those final moments. He would go to the Underworld knowing that he was happy then and now. He would enter the beginning of his afterlife knowing that eventually, Daedalus would get over the loss of his son. 
Icarus didn’t know what Apollo gained from that conversation. He didn’t understand why the god had taken such interest in him. But he did know one thing for certain:
He had died, yes, but he had felt freedom. He had found that feeling of happiness that had been missing for so long. Perhaps he had a small sense of remorse for his actions. If he hadn’t died, he would have been free with Daedalus, and they could have lived long lives together out of the tower that had confined them for so long. But in the end, he accepted his fate. He really was happy.
Because even if it killed him, he had touched the sun.
Tumblr media
the writing above belongs to me. please do not copy, modify, repost on other sites or claim as your own. © 2024 xxcxelum
19 notes · View notes
cambion-companion · 2 years ago
Note
Have you ever seen the movie How to Train Your Dragon? If you haven’t there is a scene where the main character takes the girl he likes to fly on his dragon. At first it was scary, but then she got to see the amazing sights of mountains, the sea, the clouds and even touching them. Anyway, I think it would be so romantic if Aemond did that to the person he’s been crushing on. He wants to share the beautiful scenery he sees when he rides Vhagar, and see the look of amazement on their face. 🐉 🏔️
Tumblr media
You know what, I need to write a little drabble for this because we need some positivity ;) And I want an excuse to listen to "Romantic Flight" on loop (I'd recommend).
I changed it up a wee bit as in reader just got married to him and he wants to hold her as the world grows small underneath them.
Tumblr media
Cold air whipped about you, stinging your face, your heart beat wildly as though trying to escape the casement of your ribs.
Aemond's sturdy arms around your waist held you firmly against his torso, your fingers dug painfully into his thighs. You had your eyes screwed tight shut, the lurching of Vhagar climbing higher into the sky leaving your stomach somewhere far below.
"Open your eyes, Y/N!" Aemond called into your ear, his chin coming to rest atop your shoulder as his hands gave your waist a reassuring squeeze. "I'm not going to let you fall." You could hear the suppressed laughter in his voice and would've given him a swat on the shoulder in any other circumstance.
You squinted open an eye, then the other. It took a moment to adjust to the chill air, your throat tightening with fear as you saw Vhagar's massive wings beating through the dusky sky.
Gaining courage ounce by ounce, you tightened your grip on Aemond. "Don't let me go." You craned your neck, shifting slightly to view the earth far below and growing distant with each vast movement of the dragon's wings.
"Never." Aemond's voice was carried away on the wind. You barely registered his meaningful promise as your eyes scanned the horizon, widening in wonder despite yourself.
The sun setting in front of you, casting golden light upon your face, reflecting on the sparkling waves of a shimmering cobalt ocean. The sandy beaches looked like silver ribbons winding their way toward where the sun was descending in its brilliant majesty. You gasped and looked to your left, a flock of birds riding the eddies of wind, eyeing the great dragon with alarm and making haste to fly the opposite direction.
Mountains rose beyond the beaches, verdant and proud, reaching toward the darkening sky where stars had begun showing their twinkling pinpricks of light.
"It's beautiful." A giggle erupted from your gasping lungs, your hands loosening to lie flat on Aemond's legs.
He took your wrists and gently rose your arms with his own until they were spread wide, like those of a soaring eagle. The wind had lost its deathly chill, the sun bathing you and Aemond in a warm embrace, the salty air flowing over and under your outstretched arms held securely in your husband's hands.
You laughed in earnest now, your smile stunning as the vista of the earth's beauty surrounding you. You could not see but Aemond grinned just as widely, his heart full to bursting at your unadulterated joy. Through you he was able to relive the magic of riding a dragon for the first time, the feeling of power and wonder heady and intoxicating.
The sun sank below the horizon, a green flash over the waves accompanying its disappearance. Vhagar turned to the side, her great mass dipping and causing you to yelp and once more grip at any part of Aemond within reach.
He laughed, tucking your head under his chin and wrapping his arms once more around your torso. You relaxed into him as Vhagar straightened her course, the stars now shone bright overhead and you tilted your head back to look at them.
You saw Aemond looking down at your face, his eye lit by the rosy glow of the saturated horizon. He traced a finger down your cheek, his curved lips pressed against your forehead in a gentle kiss. You could not express the intimate wonder of this moment, so you cuddled further against him, hoping your eyes would convey the emotion your words could not.
"I love you."
"And I you."
"Always."
"As long as the stars hold their places in the sky."
The sky was streaked with magenta and vermillion, the great pillows of clouds framed with fuchsia light. The light zephyr brought smells of salt and pine to your nostrils, you inhaled deeply, Aemond's arms tightening around you, your hands resting atop his.
To think you had been so afraid of riding Vhagar mere hours before, Aemond had to bribe you up the rope ladder with promises of back massages and imported silks. You giggled again, a rare emotion of sheer contentment rushing through your body, causing a lazy smile to perpetually tug your lips.
Only when darkness began descending in earnest, the moon making her graceful way into the night sky, did Aemond command Vhagar to begin heading back to the ground.
When your own feet hit earth once more, you were wobbly, and fell into Aemond's waiting grip, perhaps a little more dramatically than was strictly necessary. You gave Vhagar a grateful pat, hoping the old dragon would feel the affection you had for her. She grumbled, a sound that shook the ground, and watched as her rider and his wife walked back towards the city.
"Thank you, Aemond." You leaned your head on his shoulder as you walked, your fingers interlocked and swinging at your sides.
"I told you to trust me." He chuckled, a rich lovely sound.
"She's the size of an island, forgive me for balking." You nudged him with your elbow, the two of you lapsing into companionable silence for a moment. "Though I do expect you to take me out riding often."
"When would you desire to go flying once more?"
"Tomorrow."
Aemond laughed, a rare expression of mirth you relished seeing. You looked up at him, his head tilted toward the sparkling night sky, shimmering hair illuminated by the moon's silver light. "I knew there was a reason I married you."
You feigned outrage and attempted to tackle him to the ground.
It took longer than normal for the two of you to return to the Keep that night, taking full advantage of the solitude and peacefulness of being without the city walls. No politics, no plots or prying eyes. Just two people who were very much in love.
For a crystalline moment, time seemed frozen just for you. Duty and the future momentarily forgotten as you basked in each other's arms. The ocean crashing its song against the sandy rocks, Vhagar's massive form shifting far below upon the beach. A perfect night, watched over by the silent moon and glimmering stars.
394 notes · View notes
rising-volteccers · 1 year ago
Text
Whenever I see Friede get inconvenienced in the episodes, I can't pass up the chance to write something out of it. One of my close friends said that it's an endearing trait of mine to see an opportunity for h/c and jump on it, so here's a short, self indulgent piece post HZ030 haha!
Series: Pokemon Horizons
Characters: Friede, Murdock
--
After they've finished breakfast out on the deck, everyone pitched in to clean up the table. Diana, Liko and Roy carried used dishes while Mollie and Orla picked up other dishware before heading towards the kitchen. That left Friede and Murdock to do the heavy lifting by putting away the foldable table and chairs brought out from the meeting room.
When Friede bent down to pick up a couple of chairs, a strange wave of dizziness hit him. He just about prevented himself from falling over by reaching out to the nearest object for support. In this case, Murdock bit back a yelp from the abrupt hand that clasped his shoulder.
“H-Hey! I was carrying–oh, are you alright?” When Murdock looked over his shoulder, he found Friede with his other hand on the table, head dipped while he took in deep, steadying breaths.
“Yeah, ‘m fine,” Friede eventually responded. Once the dizziness passed, he pulled away from Murdock, blinking rapidly until his friend’s worried visage came into view. Friede automatically wore an assuring smile. “Sorry, guess I moved too quickly.”
“Are you sure about that? I can handle things if you need to sit down.”
“Pretty sure! It was just a one time thing. Now come on, let's not keep the others waiting! There's a mountain of stuff to clean up, yeah?”
Friede once again reached for the chairs, though this time he made sure to move a little more carefully. Aside from feeling oddly tired, he didn't get any other dizzy spells throughout the walk towards the kitchen.
Afterwards, he could tell that Murdock kept a subtle eye on him by giving him lighter tasks. As that strange fatigue persisted, Friede didn't object to the lessened workload. It already took effort to act normally around the rest of the crew until they were done.
While everyone else left the kitchen to go about their day, Friede hung back until it was just him and Murdock left. Only then did he plop down onto a chair, legs splayed with his head resting atop folded arms.
For the next ten or so minutes, Murdock focused on drying up the washed dishes so he could store them away. He didn’t start up a conversation with Friede, opting to give his friend some time to rest. Perhaps then he’d share how he truly felt. Once he put away the tableware, Murdock went to the table and took a seat on the empty chair next to Friede’s.
“Are you sure you're alright? You look wiped and it's only after breakfast,” Murdock questioned, breaking the silence that had settled in the kitchen. That concerned look made an appearance again on his face.
Friede turned his head till his half lidded eyes met Murdock's. “Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm fine. Don't know why I got really tired all of a sudden.”
“Think it's a sign that you're getting sick?” If that was the case, Murdock would have to bring out the recipe for his soups that he’d make whenever one of them felt unwell. 
“No, at least I don’t think so. I don’t feel sick or anything. Just tired,” Friede replied, eyes sliding shut. “Which is weird cause I got enough sleep last night. Had a nice breakfast too so that should’ve energized me. Instead it feels like my energy got sapped.”
“Huh, that is weird.” Murdock crossed his arms as he tried to figure out what other reason led to his friend’s strange lethargy. Since Friede wasn’t on night shift yesterday, Murdock more or less trusted that he spoke the truth about getting enough sleep. He was also right in that eating the hearty breakfast prepared should have given him the energy to go about his day, not drain it.
What was different about today? Everyone ate together on the deck, though half the Pokemon didn’t really touch their food because they were asleep–
Wait, that’s it!
“You drank out of that Sinistea earlier.”
“Yeah? Nastiest thing I’ve tasted–oh. Oh.” Friede suddenly groaned out loud, burying his face into his arms again. Murdock can’t quite catch his grumblings but he was certain it involved his misgivings towards the Sinistea.
“You can’t really blame the little one. From how Diana put it, that Sinistea was just recently born. It didn’t know any better.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Friede once again turned his head to look at Murdock, sporting quite the miserable expression now that the mystery had been solved. People who accidentally ingested Sinistea not only got their tastebuds ruined, they also get their vitality sapped away. Seeing that the Sinistea was recently born and he almost immediately spat out the liquid, it didn’t really get into his body. Still, he probably accidentally swallowed some in his surprise, triggering its effects however delayed it was.
“At least we know the cause. I’m guessing what you need now is plenty of rest to replenish the energy?”
“Yeah. I already did plenty of that before…” Friede recalled the previous week of being laid out for a few days due to his bruised back. It dampened his mood to know that he’d have to rest some more in order to recover. He really felt like the universe was out for him with how the past couple of weeks went. 
“It’s only until you’ve got your energy back.” Murdock did look sympathetic. He knew all too well how Friede got when he was forced to slow down and rest for long periods of time. “How about you go back to your room and see about getting some sleep? Maybe you’ll feel better after a nap.”
Friede groaned once more but eventually, he did push himself into sitting up again. Running a hand down his face, his eyes flicker to Murdock. 
“You got things handled?”
“Yeah, you can trust me. Get some rest. I’ll wake you up for lunch later.”
Murdock reached out to offer a hand for Friede to take when he stood up. He didn’t look dizzied from the action so Murdock trusted him to make it safely back to his room. Once Friede left the kitchen, Murdock headed towards the fridge to pull out some ingredients. Perhaps a hearty stew was just what Friede needed to boost his energy later…
20 notes · View notes
caycanteven · 1 year ago
Text
I'm writing stuff for Buster guys. I have sat forever trying to think of a title but I didn't come up with anything yet (welcome to suggestions too) so jus take the writing yeah? LOL this is part 1 currently. :3 Okie I go now. TW: Mention of Guns and Traumatic Memories surrounding them.
You were surprised how fast the sun had begun to set. The warmth quickly retreated with the onslaught of dusk, cool air replacing it with it's gentle caress as it reminded you where you were.
Your skin tingled, shivering with goosebumps as you stared off the ledge at at the horizon, your nap on a jutting rock on the cliffside long over. You hadn't intended to rest for so long on the mountain's hiking path, more so long enough for the sky to fade into soft pinks and oranges. You couldn't blame the feeling of tranquility and peace, though, since you were more than happy to get away for a week from your work back home. You were visiting a lodge with a few friends at the base of the mountain; you were the only one that made the journey up the trail to the semi-peak of the mountain to over look the wilderness beyond the national park that evening.
You needed to have some time to yourself, anyway. Your mind was bustling with thoughts and concerns over next week and the work you'd have to complete upon returning. If your friends knew you were stressed about next week before this one had even begun, you'd never hear the end of it.
You inhaled deeply, sucking in the crisp cool air that started to invade your outfit, dawned for warmer weather but certainly not suitable for the encroaching cool night. After releasing your breath, you slowly stood from your resting place on the rock. While it wasn't the most comfortable, it was enough to make you dose off with ease. While the rest was refreshing, you were met with the consequences of your actions; you'd be late to dinner and you were certain the sun would be long past the tree line before you'd ever set foot at the base of the mountain at the grounds.
You sighed shakily and turned to the hiking trail that led back down the mountain. Mt. Ebott National Park had once been home to monsters some years ago, though the surprise and magical race of beings were particularly kind despite the awkward scare humanity had at their appearance. They lived underneath this very mountain you stood atop of, until they were welcomed into society and to set foot off the mass to join the neighboring city just on the outskirts. Many were happy to join the modern lifestyles the human race introduced to them, with some things similar and vastly different all the same. Though, not many monster's were fond of leaving the comforts of the mountain completely.
You weren't an expert on the history of Monster kind, but you knew the people who made the mountain into a National Park were kind enough to employ any Monsters who wanted to remain on the surface of the mountain and they helped care for the natural balance. Magic, you were told, was wild after all.
You looked back at the ledge you had been looking out from, watching just a minute more as the sun crept slowly beyond the horizon. You smiled for a moment, but it faltered as your gaze drifted up to the dusk lit sky. Puffy, gray clouds were slowly colliding and building on each other, the sweet smell of rain in the air.
Great. You weren't quite prepared for the cool of the night, even less for an impending storm.
You took careful steps down the worn path, mindful of the stray rocks and roots you could still see in the little golden rays that broke through the branches above. It took longer to get up the mountain, but you were certain, if you didn't hesitate or get distracted, you could make it down the mountain within the hour. You just had to be careful, watch your step, and stay on the path marked. You traversed carefully down the rocky path, trees marked with yellow ribbon to lead you the way back. You could fee the wind on your back as the storm drew closer, though you ignored the chilly feeling that cascaded down your back and over your arms. You rubbed your arms, both for warmth and for reassurance that you'd make it just fine.
Though, you were rethinking that assurance with the sounding thunder in the distance, a threat of what was to come if you were unlucky enough to be stuck on this mountain any longer. The park didn't allow anyone on the trails if there was a possibility of rain, though this storm must of snuck right under their noses. You hadn't seen any on the forecast that morning when you shared coffee with your friends, but if there was anything you knew, it was that mother nature was unpredictable and full of surprises.
You didn't like surprises that much.
You took a moment to catch your breath and give your ankles a break at the three quarter checkpoint heading upward. You made good time, but not good enough to outrun the slight drizzle that started to fall on you. You lifted your hand, seeing the droplets gather on your palm slowly, one by one, as the rain started to pace itself. You huffed, worried about how you'd manage going down if the rain was already starting. You thought about waiting for it to pass, but was that any better for your health? It was chilly and the rain was just going to make it worse. You'd no doubt catch a cold and it was probably going to be far worse if you stayed out long enough. With a deep sigh of acceptance, you pushed on, one step after the other as you made your way down the trail, rocks tumbling under your sneakers. You prayed to the stars for the ground to hold it's own against the once drizzle now soft shower of rain, hoping it wouldn't turn to mud before you got to the next checkpoint. There the ground would level out a little and you weren't at a risk of slipping dangerously.
You shivered, your teeth chattering lightly at the feeling of the cold rain on your back and your quickly soaking clothes. Your fanny pack around your hip was water resistant to an extent, so at least your phone and other valuables would be alright for the time being. You didn't have service up on the mountain, so simply calling and telling your friends was already out of the question. What was the point of getting out in nature to escape if you could just have your entire world at your finger tips? Having zero cell service was part of the deal; though, you wished you had it now so you could at least call to meet a ranger or one of your buddies the rest of the way.
Your foot caught on a jutting rock in the path, and you managed to catch yourself before taking a terrible slide, though your racing heart insisted you nearly died. With several deep breaths and stilling for a moment to ease the tension out of your shoulders, you continued your steady descent of the mountain path, the rain only getting harder as night quickly fell with a growing clap of thunder in its wake. You shuddered, the sound reminding you of a gun after it fired; you weren't very fond of guns...
You could feel the memory rearing it's head in the back of your mind, the thoughts circling you at the worst time.
You used to love the woods like the ones around you now. You used to go out with your grandfather, your many uncles and family friends to an old campsite, one upon a time. You told stories around a campfire, warmed and comforted by the sounds of gruff voices and gentle souls. They taught you then how to appreciate the wilderness and it's many creatures...but most importantly they taught you the balance of it all.
How you played a part in that balance.
Your grandfather taught you to shoot his rifle when you turned thirteen. Hunting was a delicate matter and called for respect towards the wilderness; you were taught to understand your place in the chain, maintaining balance and only hunting for what was necessary and never for sport.
Though when the time came for you to finally embrace your family's tradition and lifestyle...
You held to a tree quickly, hands shooting up to ground your fingers in your soaked hair. Your breathing was shaky, but deep rather than quick. You knew the memory was laughable now amongst your grandfather's peers, older, ragged men who understood your experience yet didn't. They simply said it was a right of passage, but how could you think the same when it was so painful for you? You were little, sure, but every time you heard that sound, it just reminded you of the pain...the pounding feeling in your skull.
You jumped at the thunderous clap above you, the lightning strike illuminating the path before you and the looming trees surrounding it. You took an unconscious step forward as the rain started to come down harder on your back...
You missed your step, your foot slipping on wet rock and loos dirt. Your shoe sank down a slick incline, your hands scraping and grasping for leverage on tree you sought for stability seconds before. The bark tore into your palm, leaving scratches that stung with the cool air and rain before they slipped away from the trunk. Though, that was nothing compared to the feeling in your ankle as it turned beneath your weight in attempt to find purchase. You fell to your knees and soon your body collided with muck and mud as you fell off the shoulder of the path and down the mountain side littered with rocks and scattered tree trunks and their roots
You felt your body screaming from the aching pain ignited throughout your body mixed with the roaring rain and thunder around you. You immediately covered your head and neck with your dirtied hands, uncaring for the mess that was your hair as you tried to cover your vulnerable areas. You kept your eyes tightly shut, afraid to open them as your body moved through the brush and undergrowth, your clothes snagging on sticks and rocks as you fell further away from the path. You wanted it to stop. You wanted it all to stop. 
The thunder was too loud. 
The pain in your head was unbearable.
The pain in your legs made you scream. You probably were screaming beneath the chorus of the rain and thunder.
You were cold, wet...and lost.
Your body came to a halt on level ground, face down in the muck, while you breathed shakily. You didn't move, worried that doing so might aggravate your suffering. Was it even a good idea to move around? You most likely broke something, give or take. Your fingernails dug into the dirt, looking for something to tell you that you were still alive in the end, but where were you if not on the path? How far into the woods had you gotten, and would you be found? You attempted to push yourself up, but your arms begged you not to.
You felt your body fall back into the earth, leaves stuck in your hair and dirt caked in streaks on your face. There was no question that blood was present. You could taste it on your lips as well. You took a deep breath, the rain soothing your agony as it swept the land around you.
You knew you couldn't sleep...but it felt so good to shut your eyes and listen to the rain as your fuzzy mind tuned out the thunder above, it's rumble lulling you to unconsciousness.
35 notes · View notes
theultimatesandwich · 7 months ago
Text
DnD OC Fic: Part Two
Trying to really work through a bunch of my WIPs, so finally returning to this series of short stories. Been really fun trying to write out this character's backstory in story format, so hope y'all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. If not, I at least enjoyed the writing process :)
Part one here
Tagging friends who might be interested: @jgvfhl @bazingabacca @bookwyrm-of-the-trees @professorgallifrey @charlie-omniscient
Part Two: Teenager
The cool mountain air filled Annahael’s lungs as she gazed out over her family’s estate. From atop her draconic companion, Azula, it was easy to forget what life on the ground felt like. The horizon seemed to beckon her, calling out from behind the mountains that protected the property. She rested her head on the sapphire dragon, thoughts and emotions flowing across their telepathic bond. 
I know, Azula thought back. Maybe someday.
Annahael smiled, content to have someone whom she could talk with; or, think with. It had only been a few years, but she could no longer remember life without Azula being part of it. 
A spear whizzed by her head, taking her out of the tranquil moment. Right. Training. 
“Dammit,” Elyan cursed, the spear returning magically to his hand. “You couldn’t have moved two inches to the right?” 
“You couldn’t have aimed two inches to the left?” Annahael retorted. She and Azula flew towards Elyan and the obsidian dragon he was seated upon. Just as Annahael had bonded with Azula, her cousins had bonded with their companions, as well. Each dragon seemed to reflect or complement their rider. In Elyan’s case, his companion, Meliodas, shared his eagerness and rage for battle, as well as his hot-headedness from time to time. 
Annahael reached behind her back and withdrew a sleek metal pole. With a flick of her wrist, it doubled in length, topped with an elaborate curved blade. Balancing on Azula, she took both hands and swung the fully extended scythe out towards her cousin. It clanged against his spear, and she used the momentum to push off from him. 
“Not bad,” she smirked. Her cockiness was short lived, as an arrow came flying out from beneath them and lodged itself in her leg. She caught a quick blur of Damien atop an emerald green dragon, Yagura. She groaned, more out of annoyance than actual pain, pulling the arrow out and snapping it. Damien was as stealthy as ever, and his contempt towards her hadn’t seemed to wane, either. 
Elyan looked to be enjoying himself, but only for a moment, as a sword came and tore holes in his sleeves and trousers. 
“FAEDRON!!!” Elyan bellowed, starting to go red with rage. The half-elf appeared behind him, innocently holding a cloth-stained sword. 
“Yes, brother?” He allowed himself a small smile, the opal dragon beneath him committed to pure, silent, innocence.
Elyan didn’t respond so much as he screamed, thrusting his spear out towards Faedron. It would have struck him, if not for Faedron’s companion, Ren, moving to take the hit. 
Annahael took the opening to shove Elyan with the blunt end of her scythe, pushing him out of his saddle. She wasn’t too concerned about the fall, however. A short burst of magic came from Kiana, barely looking up from her book as she drifted over atop her ruby dragon. Annahael wasn’t about to complain about her lack of participation, though. With Kiana’s power and Filo’s ambitious pyromaniac tendencies, they proved a formidable foe in battle, and a near deadly pair to try and train against. So naturally, they were restricted to intense training three days a week instead of the usual seven, providing support as needed the rest of the time. 
As the magic enveloped him, Elyan drifted safely to the ground, Meliodas following close behind. The rest of the Kroxas also landed, still tense with adrenaline. 
“You did that on purpose!” Elyan shouted toward Faedron. 
“And?” Faedron shrugged. “It’s a simple mend; even a child could do it.” 
Elyan swore in Draconic, holding up his trousers and his middle finger as he wandered towards the stables. 
“I’m… going to get a bit more practice in,” Faedron said, adjusting the saddle on Ren. “I still feel like I could do better on my maneuvers.”
“You just don’t want to head to the stables while Elyan is there,” Damien remarked, already climbing back into the saddle. 
Faedron let out a laugh, and the two of them took off, leaving Annahael with Kiana. Normally the two of them exchanged curt nods, or a word or two if the situation demanded it. But today, surprisingly, Kiana said a full sentence. 
“Were you trying to kill him?” 
Annahael stared, shocked, both at Kiana acknowledging her presence and at the question itself. 
“Of course not,” she said. Kiana raised an eyebrow. 
“I mean it. He may be an ass, but I don’t want him dead. Look, even if you hadn’t done your…”Annahael waved her hands in the air, causing Kiana to roll her eyes. “The fall wouldn’t have been enough to kill him. Bruise his ego? Absolutely. Break a few bones? Which one of us hasn’t. But kill him?” She shook her head. 
“You still made the decision.” Kiana responded pointedly.
“I saw an opening and I took it.” Annahael began to busy herself with Azula’s saddle, starting to get annoyed. “Surely you of all people can understand that. Don’t be upset because I actually succeeded.” 
Kiana stiffened as Filo growled, steam escaping from the dragon’s nostrils. She gave a trademark curt nod, then flew off towards one of the towers of the manor. 
Are we sure Kiana and Elyan aren’t siblings? Annahael thought towards Azula. Because I’m starting to think having punchable faces is a family trait. 
She’s just concerned, Azula replied calmly. Although I will admit, you do have a very punchable face sometimes. 
Annahael stifled a laugh as she headed towards the stables. Scouts and attendants bustled by, doing their part to aid the family, but Annahael still felt their eyes upon her. It was no secret that she was the Tzel Mavet Atidah, the next in line to head the family. It was a huge honor, of course, but that honor came with drawbacks. True, the extra lessons she’d grown accustomed to, and distance between her and others of the family felt like a blessing at times. Why should it bother her that everyone else was jealous? But then again, extra pairs of eyes made it impossible to sneak around. 
She’d tried once. Her and Azula, newly bonded, attempted to sneak out one night, just to test their limits without the pressure of others around them. She knew her cousins had done it countless times, yet she was the one to get caught. The Tzel Mavet was too busy to handle such a matter, but Annahael’s parents made sure to pick up any slack. 
Do you even know how reckless your actions were? 
It’s like you don’t even care that you’re next in line
Stupid, idiotic child. Are you even worth all of this trouble?
Needless to say she never made an attempt to sneak out after that. 
Annahael straightened her posture as the eyes darted away from her once more. She tried to give off the same aura as her grandmother: powerful, elegant, and deadly. Well, she could at least fake it until they reached the privacy of the stables. She exhaled, shutting the door behind her. 
Considering how pissed off Elyan had been, the damage could be worse. Doors were kicked in with noticeably more stab wounds than she remembered. Equipment appeared to be thrown and haphazardly put back, still covered in hay. Even Meliodas had joined in the destruction, corners of the room still sizzling with acid. 
A whistle came from behind her, causing Annahael to jump. Her posture straightened again as she turned to find the youngest of her cousins, Brynn, fanning herself with a decorative wooden and cloth fan. She was just barely seven, but acted like she was the next in line to head the family, not Annahael. Close cropped dark hair, electric blue eyes, and an aura of pure innocence. Between the hot-headed Elyan and the quiet trickster Faedron, Brynn was heralded as the golden child of her older siblings. 
Annahael hated her.
“Wow,” said Brynn, surveying the damage. “What did you do to piss my brother off this time?” 
“What makes you assume I had anything to do with this?” Annahael shot back. “And for the record, it was a sibling affair.” 
“Faedron.” Brynn shook her head. “I’m assuming he took off to delay the consequences of his actions?” She took Annahael’s silence as confirmation. 
She sidled up to Azula as Annahael began taking off the saddle. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a ride to my dear brother?”
“No.” Annahael said sternly. 
“You don’t have to be embarrassed about your tracking abilities,” Brynn replied sweetly. “I’m sure I could find him easily; I just need a lift, that's all.” 
“No,” she said. “If it matters that much to you, go ask Kiana”
Brynn wasn’t one to concede easily. “And have to climb up all those stairs?” 
“Have someone send her a message. Or have someone send Faedron a message.” 
“I don’t suppose you could do that, right?” Brynn’s voice slipped from sweet to nearly sadistic. Annahael had never mastered the arcane to any degree, and Brynn always loved to ‘helpfully’ remind her of that fact. 
“Why did you come in here again?” 
“What, I can’t spend time with my favorite older cousin?” 
Most favorite to torment, Annahael grumbled to herself. 
“I just thought you’d want to follow him.” Brynn rocked back and forth on her heels, twirling the fan in her hands. “You know, spend some time away from the manor?” 
Annahael paused, causing Brynn to smirk, knowing she’d hit a nerve. “What makes you think that?”
“I was watching you during training today,” Brynn shrugged. “It seemed to me like you weren’t as focused as you could’ve been.” 
“And what, you’re an expert on dragon riding now?” Brynn stiffened as it was Annahael’s turn to take the upper hand, dropping a friendly reminder that Brynn didn’t have a draconic companion. Two could play at this game. 
“Of course not. You’ve all had more practice than me, clearly. I just thought some fresh air would do you good, considering it’s been… how long since they’ve sent you on a mission?”
Annahael glowered. Her cousins had occasionally been sent on training missions: small fetch quests, diplomatic relations, and the like. But never her. She knew better than to question it outright, though. Of course there was a reason. 
“I guess I’m just too valuable,” she shrugged, trying to hide how much that last comment had stung. 
“I doubt it.” Brynn didn’t even have the decency to mutter it to herself. 
“You know what–” Annahael turned, silver eyes beginning to darken as the power of her bloodline took over. But Brynn was unfazed. 
“You think you’re the only one born with that power?” Her blue eyes also began to darken, reflecting Annahael’s power back towards her. Fear began to take root in Annahael, holding her in place. 
“You’re not as special as they think you are.” 
Brynn’s voice seemed to echo around the room, the perfect sounding board for all of Annahael’s fears. 
You’re not that special
Last time was a fluke
No one really respects you
You’d be so easy to replace
They’re all just waiting for an opportunity to strike
A sharp pain struck Annahael’s leg, pulling her out of her stupor. She looked down to see Azula’s tail returning to the floor, concern flooding in from across their bond. The room returned to normal, but a chill still hung in the air. 
Brynn folded up her fan and tucked it away, seemingly content with her torment for the day. “Well, I better leave you to it. Always a pleasure, cousin.” She gave a curtsey that made Annahael’s blood boil, then left her and Azula to their own devices. 
Annahael tried to control her breathing. While she was telling the truth about not wanting Elyan dead, Brynn tested her will like never before. If the little brat wound up at the bottom of a ravine somewhere, Annahael would give whoever did it a stack of platinum. 
She finished taking the saddle off Azula, cleaning up the stables as much as she could, entertaining herself with thoughts of pedicide as she worked. Soon enough, the two of them made their way to Annahael’s room to settle into the rest of their routine. 
Apart from daily training with her cousins, Annahael spent most of her time alone, pouring over history books until the words began to swim across her eyes. Learning the names of the sects of the organization, where they were from, who was in charge, what gods they worshiped. Names and places and places and names. 
When she got sick of books, she practiced training with Azula. It wasn’t as ideal as private training outside, but imagining the practice dummies with Brynn’s face was at least mildly entertaining. 
And of course, she had to make time to give an offering to their family’s goddess. Hela, goddess of death; a fitting mistress for the death sect. Privately, Annahael thought she was kind of a bitch. It wasn’t like she had done anything lately to help in their goals. But of course, those thoughts could never be spoken aloud. At least she could share them with Azula. 
As days would draw to a close, Annahael would prepare for bed. And on one of those nights, she couldn’t help the tears that would come to her eyes. She threw one of her pillows across the room, scattering various objects on her dresser. 
“I know I can be useful out there!” She screamed, her voice choked by tears and anger. “Why won’t they just let me prove myself?!” 
Patience, child. A voice rang in her head. Your time will come. And when it does, you will grow more powerful than all of them. 
An immense wolf, eyes black as night, fur darker still, flashed in Annahael’s mind. And beside that wolf, a woman, draped in black and purple, the colors of the death sect. 
Annahael jolted awake from the vision, limbs trembling. Apparently the gods did care after all, even if they were cryptic in their delivery. She had been patient all her life, waiting for her moment. And if this vision was anything to go off of, her patience would soon be rewarded.
3 notes · View notes
the-coffee-fandom · 2 years ago
Note
💞what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language
The most important part of a story for me is probably details. I just love details and descriptions.
I feel like they can add another depth to your piece. For example, symbolism is something I lay great importance to. It adds a story behind the story. Like in my hanahaki, the flowers always have a meaning behind it that relates to the situation or relates to their feelings or even creates it’s own story unsaid.
And it can replicate a scene so you can hopefully see it in your mind and place your readers there so they know what you’re going for. When I write describing scenes, I typically work background to foreground.
Example:
Tumblr media
The day was somewhat dull, the horizon splattered with a hazy mountain view and puffy clouds of gray. The sun rose, letting its rays blanket the right sides of the mountains. It was still early so the water was quiet, gentle ripples gliding over the water, centering from a single tree rising from the great lake, bent like a graceful swan head. The sunrise has its leaves glowing golden like a thousand dabloons. Near the tree was a splatter of rocks and pebbles, the only other thing atop the surface of the water. No one touched natures beauty, it was just the tranquility of silence.
And describing outfits. It can be such a challenge to get everything you need from that but sometimes for the scene the outfit is important and you have to describe it. I suggest going from top to bottom, a little trick I learnt from a friend.
Example:
Scene: School uniform; Private school; Female
Tumblr media
Her brunette hair was tied into a twisted low bun, two curly strands of hair framed her pale complexion. She wore nothing more then some mascara and brazen caramel lipstick. Her outfit consisted of a white, loose, long sleeve collared button down with a two golden button waistcoat on top. A name tag was situated on the left side of her chest, last name proudly presented and a tie tucked beneath the waistcoat. A plaid skirt, differing shades of blue including navy and cornflower with white lines crossing through. To complete the look, she wore navy blue fashion boots with a golden latch. Her school supplies tucked into a laptop bag that matched her uniform.
It may not necessarily be necessary, but it’s fun. There is a point where there is too much detail though and I try not to cross that line. Too much detail can make it boring. I know I personally have skipped paragraphs because there was just a bombardment of detail that bored me to death.
You have to know where to draw the line and when it’s important to add descriptions. If it’s important to the story, lay more importance to it. If it’s not, skim over it.
For example, if your character is in a hotel room, you don’t need to describe every little thing about it from the crimson curtains to the tiny ruffle in the sheet. Skim over it if it’s not important to the story. Place more importance to the things that will come later in the story like the spot on the wall that’s a slightly different shade then the rest of the wall as if only that spot was repainted, later to find out there was something hidden in the walls. Or perhaps the hole in the ceiling and later on there’s scurrying you hear every night. A rat falls out of it and you assume that’s all it was and request to change rooms, planning to leave the next day but then you have to go back to pick up something you left in the room and there’s something bigger that’s definitely not a rat coming from the hole.
I got a bit carried away in answering this and it may be far more then you were anticipating, but to sum it up: Details and descriptions ✨
Thank you for your ask!
Ask game
4 notes · View notes
skvaderarts · 2 years ago
Text
Petrichor Chapter 42: Sunrise
Chapter 42: Sunrise
Note: Google autocorrect has been getting on my last nerve lately. Nothing drives me up the wall worse than when you write something and then it’s auto-corrected into the wrong word right in front of you only for the program to then tell you that you made a grammar mistake. No, I didn’t. Maybe tell your hyper-aggressive AI to stop putting words in my mouth. Or, in this case, my story. I know what I wrote. Clearly, you don’t. GAH!
(-~-)
Sirrus stood atop the train car, reaching his hand down to help pull his companion upwards and onto the ever so slightly rounded top of the last car on the train. The young summoner gripped his hand tightly as the man with the mostly red hair shifted his body weight, holding onto a maintenance railing in order to keep from tipping forward, knocking them both off of the high-speed train. He pulled V towards him as the man with the white hair clambered up the side of the train, a flurry of rapid movements insuring that he reached his destination smoothly.
Once atop the locomotive, the young summoner let out a sigh of relief, shivering slightly as he hunkered downward. The air up here was bracing and chilly, his eyes watering slightly as the cool air hit them and his vision became blurry temporarily. He shuddered, pulling his coat close to his body. He’d expected the air to be cold up here, and it was something that he could adjust to, but it still took him by surprise. 
But as his eyes adjusted to the rushing wind around him, he slowly took in something that he’d neglected to notice previously. The sky around them. It was pale and faint, but the variety of colors and hues was breathtaking as they mixed with the deep, fading blue of the night sky, that blue transitioning to the soft blue of the morning sky as the clouds radiated magnificent shades of purple, pink, orange, and yellow. V felt his breath still as he beheld it, the bright colors reflecting in his eyes as he looked out over the tree-covered horizon, the icy lake off in the distance and the powdery covering of snow atop the trees and the distant mountains simply a sight to behold. It was like something out of the prettiest postcard he’d ever seen.
“This view is… absolutely breathtaking.” The awestruck tone in his voice wasn’t lost on Sirrrus, the other man looking over at him with an eager look of excitement on his face as he realized that their trip up here had most certainly been worth it. That was the kind of child-like wonderment that he’d hoped he’d seen on his friend’s face. He wanted to give him that kind of simple joy, especially after how awkward their interaction had been back in the train cabin. He didn’t want to start the day off sitting in awkward silence in the train cabin. No, he much rather sit up there on the roof in imminent danger of losing his life should they approach an unexpected tunnel. That was much better.
“It is.” He allowed the cool air that blew in from the mountains to blow through his hair as he closed his eyes and savored its crisp embrace. The train was in the foothills now. They could both see the station from here, only a few miles off in the distance, glimpses of it visible through the trees and shrubbery as they approached it. And on the far side opposite the tracks in front of the building was yet another lake, this one smaller but seemingly connected to the one they’d seen yesterday via a snaking river. It was hard to be sure without an overhead view. “I’ve always loved the mist in the air at dawn. It’s just so…”
Sirrus trailed off, not sure what to say to describe it. He knew the word that he had in mind, or, at least the sensation associated with it, but it escaped him at this moment in time. All he had was the feeling it gave him, and he didn’t really mind that, in truth. Sometimes words weren’t necessary and only served to complicate and uncomplicated matters. He subscribed to the notion that silence was indeed golden. Something to be treasured in this world filled with far too much noise.
“Reinvigorating. I believe that might be the world you’re looking for.” V said simply, joining him at his side as they both took in the morning sky, the brisk air becoming just another thing they hardly noticed anymore. Just a small obstacle that they had long since overcome. Like so many before it.
“You may be correct, yes. I think that’s the word I’m searching for.” Sirrus said as he slowly sat down atop the train. Standing wasn’t the safest option, and it wasn’t as though lowering his body position was going to compromise the view. Not in an advantageous position like this. You could see some of this through the interior of the fogged-up windows inside of the train car, but this was far better. Clearer. “We should be arriving soon. In perhaps the next forty-five minutes or so.”
There was a short pause in conversation as V nodded his head in recognition of what his friend had just said. The two of them just sat there in silence again, enjoying the view for a solid minute or two before V glanced over at Sirrus, his friend noticing this but not acknowledging it by moving or speaking himself. He didn’t need to. He knew that V knew he was paying attention.
“I feel like we shouldn’t be up here,” V said in an amused tone, clearly not ready to climb down just yet. But it did seem that the reality of the situation had fully seeped into him and he was really registering for the first time that they were sitting together on the top of a train relaxing, doing perhaps one of the most patently stupid and dangerous things imaginable just because they could. And they both knew that and were indifferent to it. In fact, they were enjoying it. The little thrill it brought them mixed with the simple pleasure of what they were doing up there was hard to explain, but it was a welcome feeling.
Sirrus chuckled at the notion. It wasn’t that he disagree, it was simply the casual, dismissive way that V had spoken those words into existence. “What gave you that idea? How we had to climb up here or the lack of any meaningful hand railings. Or perhaps the fact that we’re on a train with no designated viewing platform?”
V shrugged almost playfully. Those were all good points. The statement hadn’t really required an answer, but he wasn’t bothered by the one he’d received from his friend. It was actually pretty funny when he thought about it like that, even if he wasn’t particularly sure why. “We're going to get arrested.”
“You have my assurances that we won’t,” Sirrus said shaking his head as he actually laughed a bit. As if anyone would be out of their mind enough to even attempt to arrest them. That would be a profoundly troublesome thing to attempt for little to no reason. And no one could see or hear them up here anyway. He’d made sure of that. He liked to take risks, but he wasn’t quite that careless. Yet. “This isn’t my first time up here.”
V shook his head, a soft smile on his face as the two of them fell silent again. They stayed that way for a long while, simply enjoying the atmosphere and the natural splendor around them. It truly was beautiful. That was something that couldn’t be ignored. Fall was perhaps V’s favorite time of year, if only for the way it looked and felt alone. He loved winter, but there was just something about the colors in fall that filled him with… it was hard to say, really. Hope? Optimism? He wasn’t sure he knew the correct words to describe the feeling, but there was something that he wanted to say.
“May I say something important with impunity?” V said in a slightly more serious tone, a tinge of reluctance in his voice. This caught Sirrus’s attention almost immediately, his daydream interrupted by the unexpected question. He didn’t get the impression that something was wrong or that V was upset, but he did get the feeling that whatever V was about to say was important since he’d asked in such a manner. And that alone was enough for him to have the man with the mostly red hair’s undivided attention.
“Of course. What’s on your mind?” Sirrus said simply, looking out at the morning sky. He seemed content with how things were at the moment, and V was hesitant to interrupt that bliss, but he didn’t know what the rest of the day would bring, and this was perhaps the best opportunity he would get to bring this up.
V seemed almost hesitant as he remained quiet for a minute or so, obviously trying to think of the best way to phrase what he was about to say. And that in of itself made Sirrus more cautiously fascinated by what his friend might have to say.
“... I don’t do well with physical contact. It’s something I’ve been working on, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be comfortable with it. I’m not sure it’s something I can learn to tolerate. Or if I even should, for my own sake outside of momentary situational acceptions to the norm.” He paused to make sure that he was coming off the right way toward his friend. He wanted to be sure that his tone was coming across properly. He wasn’t upset or anything of the sort, and he wanted to make sure that he didn’t sound too harsh or unsympathetic. That wasn’t his goal in the slightest. “Your request took me off guard. Looking back, I’m not sure what my answer should have been or how I should have reacted, but I wanted you to know that. But I don’t blame you. Not at all. You only did what I gave you permission to. It’s something I’m just not comfortable with. I’m not upset with you, but I just wanted to be honest with you about that. I’m just not sure if I’m communicating that effectively.” 
Sirrus blinked in surprise, taking in what his friend was telling him. He lingered on the statement, genuinely trying to process what he’s just been told. He got the impression that V was worried about how he would react. That he might be upset or think he was accusing him of something. That he might be concerned that he was punching Sirrus away. But he wasn’t, and he wanted him to know that. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again and looking V in the eyes, an understanding present that he could tell V was relieved to see. He knew how that felt.
V had never truly doubted that his friend understood, but the fear that there might be a misunderstanding was always there, and they both knew that deep down. Maybe he was scared that Sirrus would become annoyed by him. But the fact that he was still willing to give him the benefit of the doubt when he’d clearly been hurt before by doing the very same thing was something that Sirrus treasured. He was still willing to take the leap and give him the chance to disprove the fears that he had, not because he believed that was Sirrus’s responsibility, but because he knew in his heart that those fears were just that: fears. They were not founded on anything that his friend had done, and he knew that. The reality was that Sirrus wasn’t like that, and he knew that deep down without any doubts, and he felt no desire for Sirrus to prove that to him.
V believed in him. And Sirrus knew that.
“I appreciate you saying that. Honesty is difficult. It invites judgment. Retaliation. Resentment. But please… always know that you can tell me no. To anything. You have a right to tell me no. I value our friendship over all else, and would never put it in jeopardy over something as petty and foolishly immature as becoming upset over something I have no right to become upset about. And I will endeavor not to put you in situations that make you feel that you have to ask in the first place. Or worse, that you feel uncomfortable refusing.” The look of genuine displeasure at the very idea of that was evident on his face. V got the distinct feeling that Sirrus had been in that situation before, perhaps more than once. And he wasn’t sure why, but he felt a chill crawl up the base of his spine at the thought. Call it intuition, but something about that statement simply felt too personal to him. To relevant to Sirrus personally. “I apologize. I had an inkling that I might have overstepped and that you were simply too petrified to properly respond. Please, consider forgiving my misstep. And please, never feel the need to learn to tolerate something for my benefit. You have the same right to comfort in any given situation that I do.”
“I do not need your apology. I don’t want you to apologize. I never doubted your intentions. Not even for a single moment. I know that you’re only doing what you think is right. And that’s all I want you to do. I simply wanted us to come to a mutual understanding on the matter so that there were no misgivings or misinterpretations going forward. Because you cannot make an informed decision about a problem you do not know exists.” V nodded, a small smile on his face. He was glad that they could talk freely and openly like this. It was… such a welcome relief. He felt that he could be honest with his family, but there was just a special kind of freedom that he only felt with Sirrus. And that was something he truly treasured. He’d always wanted that: a companion who he could share his thoughts and feelings with. He’d wanted that so much growing up that he’d lost sleep over it. And now he had that. And he didn’t want to lose it, but he also refused to allow any fears about that possibility to rule him. He owed that much to himself. He owed that much to Sirrus. “And for my part, I shall make an effort to be clearer on my limitations if I believe clarification is needed. It rarely is when it comes to you. You understand me very well, and I’m not blaming you for anything. Everyone makes mistakes. You’ve not permanently marred me in any way whatsoever. I just thought we could both benefit from more transparency. But at the same time, please don’t cater to me. I’m alright. Really. Don’t agonize over it. You have absolutely nothing to prove to me.”
“And you were correct in that assumption. I’m happy that we can talk like this. It’s refreshing to be able to just… express myself around someone without fear of being judged for doing something wrong. To be understood. I can’t learn from mistakes I didn’t know I made in the first place.” He chuckled softly as he blinked slowly, a small smile on his face as the both of them turned to look at the sky ahead of them. He hadn’t expected to have this conversation today, but he was glad that they had. He felt closer to V, the two of them both mutually sure that they had a better understanding of one another. “Thank you, V. From the bottom of my heart.”
“Thank you for taking the time to listen to what I had to say. And for waking me up to see this.” V said softly, scooting a bit closer to his friend. He… he didn’t mind being closer to his friend right now. And the gentle look of kindness from his friend as he gestured with his arm as if to ask if he could drape his arm over his shoulder and give him a gentle squeeze was a welcome one, the young summoner nodding in approval. He didn't have a problem with that.
“Thank you for being here to see it with me, V. The view is better when I get to share it with you.”
(-~-)
It was pointed out to me in the comments of the last chapter that V could’ve had a more profound reaction to his interaction with Sirrus in the previous chapter considering how uncomfortable he is with being touched in general, and I totally agree with that. But instead of going back to “fix” it, I thought this would be better. I’ll always take an opportunity for a meaningful conversation! So thank you for your constructive criticism, Ooze! I’m a lot more pleased with how this turned out :D I hope you are, too!
I’ll see you all next Friday and in the comment section. I hope I did this topic some justice! Truly, I do. Take care!
2 notes · View notes
kira-nyxie · 2 years ago
Text
Tumblr media
I posted 105 times in 2022
That's 105 more posts than 2021!
6 posts created (6%)
99 posts reblogged (94%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@sweetestapplepie
@dramatic-dolphin
@pmseymourva
@annarts05
@sexygaywizard
I tagged 47 of my posts in 2022
#fuck - 7 posts
#creative writing - 2 posts
#no - 2 posts
#banana - 2 posts
#i love this - 2 posts
#tumblr is destroying me - 2 posts
#cursed - 2 posts
#goncharov posting - 2 posts
#nightmares - 2 posts
#oh god - 2 posts
Longest Tag: 58 characters
#an add on to this post that is a real dead honest question
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
Tumblr media
Oh haha, very funny, Tumblr, VERY FUNNY-
0 notes - Posted November 9, 2022
#4
the underwhelming urge to be high in the ranks with the likes of pukicho
0 notes - Posted October 27, 2022
#3
0 notes - Posted October 15, 2022
#2
The Glory of Word Sprints
So I wrote a short story in like, five minutes and then went back and edited for another fifteen, so yeah:
ORIGINAL (5 Mins):
The unknown stretched out before me. There was nothing but a bright sun over the horizon, a mountain casting a shadow ove r the valley. The valley was full of bodies, and smoke rose above the ground. The smell of the rot hit my nose. I gagged, feeling my stomach heave. I hated the smell of Death. He was a nasty little bugger who levft the wolrd to clean up his mess. I felt a wave of relief pass over me as the soldier behind me put a hand on my shoulder and said, “we got this”. I took a step back, letting the men pass in front of me. They marched in dark grey, solemn as  a funeral procession. I heard a war cry over the ridge behind me, and say the 23rd battalioan come charging over the hill. I shouted for people to get down, but it was too late. The men around me were being mowed down, as gunshot rang out over the valley. I had a panic attack, and dived down into the closest ditch, making it seem as though I had been shot. They’d never know, right? I laid unrestly and felt a sense of terror come washing over my body. I look up adn saw a man there holding a gun. It was over.
EDITED (15 Mins):
The unknown territory stretched out before me, the sunset sending spears of orange rays through the grey overcast. A mountain jutted its shadow over the valley. The valley was full of mutilated, broken bodies and columns of smoke from bombshell craters. The smell of the blood-soaked mud crashed into my nose in waves. I resisted the urge to gag, feeling my stomach churn. I hated the smell of Death. He was a nasty little bugger who left the world to clean up His mess. The soldier behind me put a hand on my shoulder. “We got this, General.”  I took a step back, and felt a wave of relief pass over me as I let the men pass in front of me. They marched in dark grey, solemn as a funeral procession. They were but young men, no more than 20, carrying stretchers and medkits.  Suddenly, a war cry sounded from behind me, and when I whirled around, a battalion of the enemy came charging over the ridge, guns ablaze with leaden ire. “Get down!” I shouted like a madman, but it was too late. The men around me fell, their precious blood staining the muddy ground, gunshots ringing out atop the ridge. I dived down into the closest ditch, hoping to convince the enemy I had been shot. They’d never know, right? I laid restlessly and panted quietly, staying as still as I could until the fire ceased. A man came stepping near me, his brown boots sinking into the mud. I froze as I felt the pressing of the cold, black-powdered metal of the enemy’s revolver against my head. It was over.
This has already increased my imagination. It might not seem like it, but it's certainly there. Just thought I'd share and show you all how easy it is to just WRITE. It doesn't have to make sense at first. Hell, most of it doesn't even have to correspond to one another. Just WRITE. Your imagination will thank you.
1 note - Posted November 2, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Goncharov (1973) Memories
Okay so I just barely remembered I HAVE SEEN GONCHAROV, I was but a wee tot, I must have suppressed it. But does anyone remember that one scene where Ice Pick Joe accidentally dropped the ice pick on his toes when he went to kill Giorno? God damn, best part I say.
2 notes - Posted November 29, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
2 notes · View notes
teacherintransition · 11 months ago
Text
There is A Lifetime in Every Moment
Tumblr media
We live in such a fast paced world ignoring the eternity inherent in each breath we take…
We are starting our third year of traveling the country as my wife works as a travel nurse. I’ve shared many of our experiences while on the road, yet there are so many daily and momentary discoveries that we have overlooked through much of our lives as our society seems to feed on stress and accelerated living. A lesson follows for the still young and always young at heart. In the book, Zen O’clock by Scott Shaw, the author, referencing Eastern philosophy, instructs us how to positively affect our experience with time by simply getting in touch with the immense amount of sensory stimulus that exists in every minute. Thus slowing down our relationship with time. Shaw tells us that the sheer pace and anxiety of life robs us of the magic of occurrence happening constantly.
I used to try to get my students to understand this concept by asking them to share the details of simply getting the mail from the outside mailbox. The response that I would get fell along the lines of opening the door, walking to the box, retrieving the mail and going back inside; usually accompanied by their cellphone. I’d asked how long it would take to do this and the common reply was, “I dunno …maybe a minute.” The next question was, “is it an enjoyable experience?” To which, their comment was, “no, it’s kind of a drag.” Ahhh teenage eloquence. How can this mundane chore be anything but …mundane? Shaw shares that our rushed existence keeps us from noticing the beauty and magic all around and actually encourages a negative view on most of our daily activities. Why does everything have to be mundane, boring, a drag? What if we took in everything going on around us even while simply getting the mail?
Ask yourself when doing some sort of daily chore, do you notice the breeze? Do you feel the soft coolness of the grass? Can you hear birdsong while retrieving the mail? What do you smell or see? Take in all in …every moment and to do so effectively, put down the phone and take out your ear buds. All of a sudden, life and its daily drudgery can become much more alive. Life can exist beyond just the blink of an eye and it’s gone …time can stand still.
Traveling lends itself greatly to exposing yourself to new sights, sounds, tastes, cultures and histories, but we are finding deeper experiences from the places we live three months at a time. For instance? For instance, we can truly say that we have finally experienced the unique qualities four full seasons. Being from Texas, our seasonal weather is generally hot, really hot, not so hot, comfortable, brief cool temperatures and then back to hot. A drag …indeed. We’ve seen lush verdant rolling hills filled to the horizon with corn during the spring; we’ve experienced real winters with daily snow; we’ve seen magnificent colored fall vistas of trees atop equally magnificent mountains. We stop and just look and admire what is around us …truly time stands still. We don’t look at our phones other than to take pictures, but I want to get past that and work on creating visual images and memories in our minds.
The people we meet are wonderful, the cities fantastic, the foods superb …because it’s all new to us. I could write extensively on all of these things, but today I wanted to share our feelings on things that are often overlooked. The immense, timeless, magical beauty that happens all around us whether we take the time to look at them or not. We cheat ourselves out of so much by being in such a hurry and obsessed with getting “something” done. What could be more important? Slow down and be aware of everything around you when getting the mail, running to the grocery, commuting to and from work. Life is happening now …now …now. Let it be life on your terms.
0 notes
linzerj · 10 months ago
Text
Y'all I did not expect over 100 people to be interested in this idea somehow, but hi hello! I promise I am actually working on a fic for this, it just takes me forever to write - especially when I accidentally start at the end, then the beginning, then have to fill in the middle hghghghghg. Anyway, just for all of you, here is a snippet from the middle of the fic - so like. Spoiler warning? but its the first thing I wrote for this and I like it a lot and want to share it. So enjoy!
---
Teba watches Tulin continue to grow, watches him improve in his training and progress his skills – both with the bow, and with the winds. He and Harth go over the intricacies of the Great Eagle Bow, so that they can recreate it again should it ever break. He visits and is visited by Riju and Yunobo and Sidon, at least as often as four people with so many responsibilities can escape from their duties for something as trivial as catching up with friends. He settles into the routine of day-to-day life again.
And then, one day, the world shifts.
The first alert any of them have to something being wrong is the way Vah Medoh suddenly halts in her normal holding pattern above Rito Village, locks onto the castle, and lets out a screech as loud as she once did when the Blights had infected the Beasts.
The sounds makes everyone in the Village flinch from the memory, and Teba is calling for everyone to “stay here!” and launching himself from Revali’s Landing in a burst of Gale before he’s even fully aware of what he’s doing. All he can think is not again, please, not again –
He lands atop Medoh, who is still glowing that soft safe blue and showing no signs of infection - no flecks of Malice, no Blight manifesting before him, nothing. That matter settled, he looks out to the horizon beyond the Divine Beast, to see what could have caused Medoh to act in such a way, and thus he witnesses the chaos taking part across Hyrule.
Hyrule Castle is lifting into the sky, waves of what appear to be Malice (but is actually now called Gloom, not that he knows this right now) helping to hold it aloft. He can also see yawning pits cracking open in the earth, swirling with the same dark magic surrounding the castle once again.
Medoh cries out once more, and as she opens their connection to let Teba hear what she hears, he looks across the region and sees.
Vah Naboris falls from Spectacle Rock. Vah Rudania tumbles into the maw of Death Mountain. Vah Ruta sinks beneath the waves of what he’d thought was just a shallow reservoir lake upon an unnamed mountain in Lanayru.
And in the back of his head, thanks to his connection to Vah Medoh, Teba can hear the calls for help as the three other Divine Beasts fall.
. . . – – – . . .
“S.O.S.” – Save Our Souls.
A signal Revali had taught him, in the time-that-wasn’t, just in case he ever needed it – just in case. (He’d hoped he never would need it, never have to hear it. He wonders if this is the last thing the Champions of this time heard – their peers calling for help, none of them able to respond, all of them succumbing to Ganon and his Blights.)
As the clouds above Hebra begin to swirl with anger and the first snowflakes begin to fall, Teba stands on the back of the last Divine Beast, and tries not to be sick, tries not to wonder about all the why’s and how’s and what if’s, tries not to let out his own mournful cry as Vah Medoh does when the S.O.S signals finally fade into oblivion. (He doesn’t succeed on that last part.)
Just getting this idea out there so that maybe I'll actually finish writing it one day, but -
I've been on a Legend of Zelda kick recently. Currently replaying BOTW. Never played AOC but I've watched gameplay and all the cutscenes so I know what happens. Planning to play that and TOTK again soon. But I've got this idea cooking in my head.
Theres a post that talks about "what if you could find the Divine Beasts in the Depths", and another funny post that was just "what if Teba was the sage of Wind and not Tulin?" And I remembered when BOTW had just come out, and then AOC after, and people were speculating about the characters, like Teba, being the New Champions and getting to bond to the Divine Beasts.
That didn't happen in canon, but. Hear me out. What if even just one of the Divine Beasts bonded with a New Champion... like say, the one who doesn't become a Sage?
Teba, Sidon, Riju, and Yunobo return from their adventure in the past/alternate timeline/whatever, having saved those Champions and that Hyrule from destruction. Their own timeline is still the same, but they continue on as they do in canon.
Except they all meet up shortly after returning home, and one of them (Sidon or Riju maybe) asks "hey did anyone else try going to the Divine Beasts only to get rejected" and while the rest are like "yup wonder what that's about, sad" Teba is like "no wtf are you all talking about I was settling back in with my wife and kid."
But something about it sticks with Teba. He goes home, looks up at Vah Medoh, and thinks, 'it probably won't work but I may as well try just to confirm.'
...Vah Medoh accepts him as its new pilot.
I'm unsure as to whether or not Revali's spirit will still be there for a quick hello - but if he is, he'd be like "whomst?!" And Teba would be like "if you were still alive I'd definitely adopt you because thanks to some time travel shenanigans i know that you desperately needed a parental figure in your life".
Mostly everything else proceeds as is canon up to the start of TOTK - except for the other Divine Beasts continuing to chill at their resting places, because upon hearing about Teba successfully bonding with Medoh, the others want to keep trying.
But, for whatever reason, Hylia decided that you cannot be both a Sage and a Divine Beast pilot, so the Beasts acknowledge them but never quite accept them as their pilots.
Then, TOTK. Then the chasms. Then, the other 3 Divine Beasts taking a plunge into the Depths.
Teba freaks out a little bit, but Medoh is circling Rito Village and is fine, except now there's these random floating islands but also a fuckass blizzard that's making it almost impossible to keep everyone fed, and Teba's just been saddled with Elder status so he's super in charge and Tulin is in a bit of a "I can do anything let me prove it let's go" phase and is trying to convince Teba to use Vah Medoh to fly up and stop the blizzard, but Teba is way too busy trying to keep the village from falling apart to go right now -
Then Link shows up, and Tulin runs off, and Link follows him, and the two go up and find the Stormwind Ark and fight Colgera and as the magical blizzard finally ends, Teba is just like "what the fuck".
Tulin tells him he's become a Sage, and isn't that cool dad?! And Teba is like "you're 12 and you're going to help fight a demon king?!?! Wtf?!"
But then at some point, Tulin (who knows the other Sages from that time he was in AOC, and meeting them a few times with his dad after) one day looks up from his breakfast and says "oh hey Sidon just became the Sage of Water! I saw it through my connection with Link!" And that's when it clicks into place for Teba why the Beasts never quite accepted the other "New Champions" - because they were destined for something else.
But Vah Medoh is still here. And it's pissed that it's fellow Beasts are gone and it also wants to blast Ganondorf in the face.
Unfortunately, Teba can't let it blast the castle when Link and co go to confront the Zelda illusion, because Tulin is there, Link is there, Sidon and Riju and Yunobo are there, and it's not the real demon king yet anyway.
Teba is grumpy about it, about letting Tulin go off and risk his life when he's a child and Teba is an adult, but then a huge dark dragon explodes out from the chasm below the castle and Vah Medoh is all too happy to fire upon it, knowing it's Ganondorf and wanting some sweet revenge of its own.
Teba's just surprised he can see the dark dragon, it's huge but he'd heard tales of only the young, or those chosen by thr goddesses, could see dragons. Maybe it's because of Vah Medoh that he can see this one, and the little light dragon that comes in and - hey is that Link?!
Maybe it ends with Teba going down to the Depths with Link to visit the other Divine Beasts, and suggesting that the locations stay known so that future generations may try to awaken them. They don't really need the Beasts anymore since both Calamity Ganon and Ganondorf have been defeated, but Medoh doesn't want to turn off and is happy just chilling at Rito Village with Teba. The end.
I have like 2.5k of this already written, I just wanted to use this post to write more of the ideas for the fic structure before I go to bed lol. And this idea probably doesn't make a hell of a lot of sense canon-wise, but it doesn't need to because the only reason this exists is because i love Teba and wish he'd gotten more screntime (or at least some spoken dialogue in the cutscenes!) in TOTK.
206 notes · View notes
taelonsamada · 2 years ago
Text
WIP Wednesday - Shaw Ranch AU
This is entirely @dominimoonbeam ’s fault. Not only because of the wonderful Sam/Darlin fic about the mechanical bull, but also due to a lengthy discussion about my experience growing up around horses being put to use writing a western!au for Sam/Darlin about Darlin growing up on a ranch and Sam being a large animal vet for said ranch.
Needless to say it got away from me X3 it’s still very raw and rough, but there’s definitely something good to work with here XD
Tagging @zozo-01 @lovelylonerliterature and @glassbearclock <3
~~~
A deep, relieved sigh came from Sam as he stepped out of the barn into the sun, stretching his back and wincing at the multiple pops it let out. This was why he preferred medicating in small batches. It was a compliment that David Shaw trusted him and him alone to dose his horses, but doing thirty in a day was rough on his back and knees.
Walking a lap around the barn to stretch out his legs, he planted his hands on his hips, twisting carefully to work out the kinks. The last horse he’d worked with had been a biter, and he was pretty sure he’d felt something wrench as he dodged out of the way. Good thing Milo had been there as a second set of hands.
Once the ache eased, he came to a stop, letting out a pleased sound as he inhaled deeply, looking around. It was always a joy, coming to the Shaw ranch. He worked plenty of them as a large animal vet, but so many ranches had that artificial feel to them. So called ranch owners that wanted to parade around and play cowboys, but were nothing more than city folk wearing hats and spurs and bragging to their friends back in town.
This ranch, though… this was a proper home. A generational ranch. Everyone who worked on it was family, and everyone treated it as such. It was like comparing a staged house for sale to a farm house that had been lived in for fifty years.
He’d worked with Gabe for over a decade, and had full faith in David’s ability to carry on his work, which was why when David requested he get as many horses done as he could in a day, he buckled down and did his best. David wouldn’t insist on him pushing himself too far, just that he do as much as he could. Knowing the timeline David was working on with several shows coming up, he couldn’t blame the man for the rush.
Walking up to the aged fence that separated the ranch from the countless acres of field and forest that surrounded it, he linked his fingers together and rested his forearms on the top rail. Studying the mountains that lined the horizons. Taking in another slow, deep breath.
His eyes caught sight of a horse in the middle of a nearby field, and a grin grew across his face as he saw the rider stretched out on said horse’s back. No tack whatsoever.
Ah, that’s where Darlin had gotten to… Seemingly asleep, legs draped over the horse’s neck and arms crossed under their head. Letting the horse wander and graze while said rider napped.
Sam had wondered where they’d gone. Usually they were always in the barn. He couldn’t deny he enjoyed the picture they painted at the moment. Showing impressive balance by remaining perfectly centered atop the horse bareback, staying in place without the use of their hands or legs.
It wasn’t often he got to see them riding. And here he thought it hadn’t been possible to grow more fond of them than he already was...
56 notes · View notes
hrina · 4 years ago
Text
The Thrill of the Chase, Pt. I
PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 3.6k REQUESTED: no
Tumblr media
hi! it’s been a while since i’ve posted something on here lol, i wonder if anyone still remembers me 🤕
this is PART 1 of the hunter!AU that i’ve been writing. while the story is a patreon-exclusive, my patrons gave me permission to post the first chapter here on tumblr for anyone who’s curious about the kind of content i offer on patreon. 
if you want to read the rest of this series and unlock access to my other exclusive work, you can sign up for my patreon here. and as always, please reblog the fics you like and leave feedback for the authors, because we pour a lot of time and effort into our stories. happy reading 💌
~*~
Harry’s life is simple.
He performs only the essentials—wakes up and eats an apple for breakfast. Drizzles some lemon juice into his flask of water to keep his teeth healthy and clean. Shrugs on a few heavy furs. Lets Magnus outside to keep him from howling and pawing at the door. Sharpens his arrows. Knocks on the threshold of the cabin once for good luck. Goes hunting.
Upon returning, he crouches next to the firepit, laying out his kills and skinning them. He cooks one for himself—something small, like a squirrel, or a rabbit. Others, he saves for the market—fox, deer, coyote, boar. The pelts, tusks, and antlers are extremely sought-after (particularly by nobles), and often earn enough coin to carry him through the rest of the week.
He doesn’t entertain visitors, because who in their right mind would trek up the side of a mountain just to seek out one lonely hunter? Despite that, he’s come to appreciate his solitude. The silence is familiar—comfortable. Besides, Magnus proves both excellent and useful company, if the sheer volume of their kills offers any indication.
A simple life for a simple man.
Harry doesn’t need anyone else.
“Ready to go, mutt?”
He scratches behind Magnus’ droopy ears. One of the hound’s hindlegs thumps frantically in response. Harry chuckles, slinging his bow over his right shoulder and pulling open the cabin door.
“Come on, then.”
The sky is a dark, cloudy grey, and the smell of oncoming rain is unmistakable. Still, the two of them persevere, ducking past the trees at the edge of the clearing.
It’s a bad day to hunt.
With the threat of a storm looming just above the canopy, the animals have forgone their typical foraging patterns in favour of taking shelter. Harry only manages to kill a rabbit, and even then, it’s a messy shot. He usually gets them right through the eye—a quick, neat splice that results in minimal suffering. This time, however, his foot slips on a damp stone; he fumbles, and the arrow buries itself into the creature’s stomach.
“Fuck.”
The rabbit is still alive when he reaches it, its furry body heaving with shaky, uneven breaths. Harry kneels down, apologising quietly. His hand finds the scabbard strapped to his waist, and he draws a silver dagger from its depths.
He slits the poor hare’s throat just as rain begins to fall.
It’s easy work, after that. He pins the animal’s fluffy forelimbs together, tying them in place with thick, coarse rope. Magnus whimpers as Harry slides the creature’s limp body over his shoulder. He shoots the hound a tired look and shakes his head. Damp brown curls stick to his temples.
“Think that’s enough for today.”
The two of them have nearly made it back home—Harry’s boots squelch as he jumps over the small creek that flows close to the clearing—when Magnus perks up, lifting his snout and sniffing the air.
“What is it, mutt?” Harry asks.
Magnus releases a loud bark and takes off in the direction of the cabin. Harry sprints after him, one hand clutching his game while the other wraps around the leather grip of his bow.
“Magnus!” he yells.
The dog skids to a stop next to the wide trunk of a tree. He barks again and wags his tail feverishly.
Harry releases his bow, approaching with slow, cautious steps.
“What’s got you so—shit.”
You’re slumped in the mud, unconscious. Harry’s gaze rakes over your form, from your tattered blue gown to the leaves and twigs tangled in your hair. There are a few cuts littered across your face, arms, and chest. Rivulets of blood trickle down your wrist, spiderwebbing across your skin.
Magnus sticks his tongue out and pants.
“Good boy,” Harry mutters, bestowing a rugged caress atop the hound’s head.
He gathers you into his arms, paying no mind to the extra weight of your sodden dress. Your neck lolls over his bicep, sternum rising and falling with shallow, barely-there breaths. Harry carries you out of the forest and into the clearing. When he kicks open the cabin door, your eyelids flutter.
“Bear?” you mumble, lifting your head slightly. Your voice is grating, hoarse.
He looks at you. Your face contorts for only a moment before you slouch back into oblivion.
He sets you down onto the thick, woven rug splayed out in front of the hearth. He works quickly, shrugging off his furs and his game and discarding all of it without a second thought. Rain thrums against the roof, but the sound is lost amidst his heavy footsteps.
He hurries into his bedroom and pulls open the top drawer of his wooden dresser, fumbling for a glass jar and a spool of bandages. When his fingers finally make contact with the desired supplies, he darts back into the other room and kneels beside your motionless body.
He draws his dagger again, gripping the intricate material of your gown and slicing through it. Your corset proves far more challenging, practically embedded into your skin. He sets his knife aside, not willing to risk it. Instead, he hooks his fingers beneath the top of the girdle, rough knuckles brushing against your soft bosom. With a mighty tug, the structured fabric splits under his palms.
He screws open the lid on the jar and dips his thumb inside. The salve is sticky, viscous, and smells faintly of lavender. He smears it across your scrapes before inspecting your wrist.
The flesh is slashed and bloodied—how did you acquire such an injury? Canines? Claws? Harry uses the frayed edges of your dress to clean the mess. He then unwinds a few bindings from their roll, expertly bandaging your wound.
Once he’s finished, he sits back on his haunches, expelling a stale breath. His work is far from over—he needs to wash you, to scrub off all the dirt and grime staining your skin. He’ll go down to the creek with a cloth, he thinks, and saturate it with cool water. He’ll pick the leaves and branches out of your hair, and cover you in spare furs to keep you warm. He’ll prepare a hot meal so that you may eat when you wake. You’ll be ravenous, certainly.
These thoughts whirl around in his head, along with the realisation that you might expire here, lying on an old rug in the middle of a stranger’s secluded home. Still, he watches your chest rise, swelling with proof of your vitality. The sight puts him at ease.
Harry aims a cursory glance over his shoulder. Magnus is stationed at the door, wet snout resting on the ground. The dog gazes at your limp body with big, solemn eyes, as though he somehow understands the severity of the situation.
“Don’t worry, mutt,” Harry tells him, knees shuffling against the floor. “I won’t let her die.”
~*~
Three days pass.
Harry curtails the duration of his hunts. He kills only the essentials: a hare or a squirrel, something small enough to cook over the fire. He has enough coin saved up from his previous trades to last him another few trips to the market.
Every morning, he prepares a simple, homely meal for you should you wake. When you do not, he eats the food in your place—he’ll be damned if it goes to waste.  
On the fourth day, he carries a bowl of soup into his room. He’s expecting to see you tucked into his bed, still unconscious. Instead, you’re alert, sitting upright and studying your surroundings. The furs that previously covered your body now pool around your waist, exposing your naked chest. When you catch sight of Harry lingering in the doorway, you gasp, fumbling for the pelts and clutching them to your sternum.
“You’re up,” he says gruffly, stepping through the threshold.
You scramble back, eyes widening in fear. He pauses.
You’re afraid, he realises, tilting his head to the side. This may be more difficult than he initially thought.
“Soup,” he says slowly, holding out the small clay bowl in his hands. “You need to eat.”
“Who are you?” you ask. Your voice is patchy and frail. “Where am I?”
He sets the dish down onto his dresser before shooting you a stern, expectant look.
“Eat.”
Upon exiting the room, he strains his ears and listens carefully. The creak of a loose floorboard—you’ve climbed out of bed. The sound of nimble footsteps pattering across the ground—you’re moving toward the door. And finally, the quiet scrape of clay against wood, indicating that your hunger has prevailed.
He nods to himself.
You’re not dead. That’s a start.
~*~
That evening, Harry is perched next to the firepit outside the cabin. The orange sun crawls down the horizon, kissing the tops of the trees. He basks in the warmth, knowing that it will soon be eradicated by the cool chill of nightfall.
He fiddles with the spit poised above the flames. He caught another rabbit, today. The creature’s fur is laid out across the grass, scrubbed clean of blood. The rest of it cooks over the fire, darkening with each passing minute.
A faint creak reaches Harry’s ears. He perks up, glancing at the door.
You hover just beyond the threshold, leaning nervously against the strong wooden beams. Harry relaxes and turns back around. He uses a long stick to poke at the charred logs; the kindling pops, and a few embers float into the air.
“What are you doing?” Your inquiry is soft, shaky.
His reply is curt: “Dinner.”
You approach warily, bare feet treading through the grass. When you spot the hunk of meat roasting over the flames, a feeble gasp tumbles from your lips.
“That’s barbaric.”
Harry rubs his palms against his thighs. “That’s sustenance.”
He stands, and you retreat. His attention then falls to your torso. You’ve covered yourself with the furs from his room; they hang just past the swell of your bottom, rendering you exceptionally vulnerable. Goosebumps crop up on your bare thighs, visible in the golden light of the sunset.
He hums. “You need clothes.”
You look down at the ground.
“That would be nice,” you whisper at last.
He merely grunts in response.
You follow him back inside, albeit from a distance. He strolls into his bedroom, pausing in front of a large trunk shoved against the far wall. Twin latches click open, and he begins rifling through its contents. After a few moments of silence, he produces a pale linen shirt and a pair of dark leather trousers.
“Here,” he says.
He dumps the fabric into your arms. You huff in surprise, instinctively relinquishing your hold on the pelts covering your body. They fall to the floor in a heap, exposing every inch of your skin.
An embarrassed squeak echoes in the back of your throat. Harry averts his eyes, staring pointedly up at the ceiling.
“Put those on,” he murmurs.
You nod quickly, sidestepping his broad frame. Now that you’re no longer in his line of sight, he lowers his gaze. Part of him wonders if he should say something else, but he decides against it. His legs carry him forward, and he disappears through the door.
~*~
You emerge from the bedroom a short while later, smoothing your hands over your hair in an attempt to look a bit more presentable. Harry resists the urge to tell you that here, in the mountains, appearances are hardly significant. He doesn’t own a mirror—such luxuries can only be afforded by the rich.
His clothes are too big on you, but that was to be expected. You’ve rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt and cuffed the brown leather trousers so that they cinch at your ankles. You’re anxious, incisors gnawing on your bottom lip and eyes darting around the clearing, like you’re waiting for a monster to burst forth from the bushes.
“Here.”
Harry cuts a sliver of meat from the cooked rabbit carcass resting on the spit. You sit down on a wide, round tree stump as he holds the food out in your direction.
At first, he thinks that you may vomit. Fortunately, though, he finds himself mistaken. After a long moment of deliberation, you accept the protein, bringing it up to your nose and sniffing it warily.
“It’s good,” he rasps, slicing off another strip for himself. “Rabbit—all white meat.”
He pops the piece into his mouth and chews. Slowly, you copy him, sighing happily as newfound flavour erupts over your tongue. You waste no time, then, impatiently shoving the rest of the meat into your mouth.
Harry’s lips twitch.
“Thank you,” you say after swallowing.
He simply nods. The two of you continue to eat in silence, grinding the remnants of supper between your teeth.
Eventually, your curiosity overwhelms you.
“What’s you name?” you ask, timid.
Harry sits back, wiping his dagger with the hem of his cotton shirt.
“Harry.”
“And how did you find me, Harry?”
A low chuckle resonates in the back of his throat.
“Wasn’t exactly hard. You were lying in a puddle of mud not far from here.”
Your lips part. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Three days.”
“Three days?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t remember any of it,” you say softly, playing with your fingers. You hesitate before elaborating: “But I—I remember seeing your face. I thought you were a bear.”
He recalls that day, how you lifted your head weakly and uttered the word before sinking back into unconsciousness. It led him to believe that you’d been attacked. Your side of the story, however, proves much more entertaining.
“Well,” he says, exhaling brusquely, “I’m not.”
You examine him with big, tender eyes. He shifts awkwardly under the intensity of your gaze.
“No,” you finally agree. “You’re not.”
He swallows and flips the conversation around.
“Who are you?”
You stiffen, caught off-guard.
“That is…hardly relevant.”
“Perhaps,” Harry says. “But it is fair.”
When you don’t reply, he continues.
“You’re a lady, aren’t you?” he guesses. “A duchess. Your gown was too pretty to have belonged to a commoner.”
“My gown?” You perk up at the mention of the dress. “Where is it?”
“Gone. I tore through it.”
You gasp. “Why on earth would you do that?”
“It was the only way to keep you alive,” he says simply. “Your corset was impeding your ability to breathe.”
“My corset…” you mutter, mostly to yourself. You grimace after registering the implications of his words, thoroughly scandalized. “So, you—you—?”
“Yes. I had to.”
“God,” you choke out, covering your mouth. “How dare you? You should have just—!”
“Let you die?”
His query successfully squashes your disapproval; your lips flatten into a thin line, and you say nothing else. Harry watches the creases in your forehead dwindle as you realise that he’s right. You fiddle with the collar of your shirt, turning to the side and regaining your composure.
“Thank you,” you finally murmur, trying to hide your face from his piercing stare, “for not letting me die.”
He grunts. “You’re welcome.”
Brief silence ensues. A light breeze blows through the clearing, tousling the curls atop Harry’s head. The gust is enough to extinguish the last few flames frolicking over the kindle, until glowing embers are all that remain.
“I am a lady,” you suddenly add, though you refuse to meet his eyes. “But not a duchess.”
Harry leans forward, prodding at the residual ash in the firepit.
“What were you doing in the woods?”
You tinker with the bandages wrapped around your injured wrist.
“I was to be wed,” you confess, peeking up at him. “But I—I could not bear to go through with it. One should not marry for duty, but rather—”
“For love?”
You pause at his intrusion, lips parted in surprise.
“Yes,” you breathe. “For love.”
Your gazes lock. He clears his throat, breaking the contact quickly.
“You ran away, then.”
It’s not a question. You nod, and he hums.
“What is it?” you ask, brows knitting together.
“Nothing. It’s just…I may find good fortune in this situation.”
“How so?”
He shrugs. “Any man with sense would carry you down this peak, deliver you back to your family, and collect a hefty reward.”
Though he’s not looking at you, he can tell that you’ve recoiled.
“Please don’t,” you whisper.
He examines your face in the periphery of his vision. Your eyes glisten with unshed tears.
Just then, Magnus races out of the cabin, his tail wagging eagerly behind him. He trots over to you, sniffing your shoulder and releasing a high-pitched whine. You use one hand to swipe hastily at your cheeks; the other migrates to his head, tickling his floppy ears.
Harry watches the interaction unfold, completely stunned.
“He—he likes you.”
You glance over at him, still wary of his previous threat.
“I suppose he does,” you say quietly.
Magnus paws at your thighs. You direct your attention back to the keen bloodhound, pressing a feathery kiss to the tip of his wet nose.
Harry blinks a few times, trying to pinpoint the reason for his mutt’s newfound behaviour. At first, he wonders if his eyes are simply playing tricks on his brain. Yet with each flutter of his lids, the sight before him only seems to solidify.
“He doesn’t usually take well to strangers,” he mumbles.
When you don’t respond, he clenches his jaw tightly. Countless thoughts zoom through his head, spinning like wheels, tangling like thread.
Any man with sense would carry you down this peak, deliver you back to your family, and collect a hefty reward.
Harry is not a sensible man.
~*~
The three of you retreat indoors when the last shards of sunlight fade from the sky. Magnus circles the large woven rug poised in front of the hearth. Eventually, he collapses onto the mat, his snout drooping over his front paws. You stretch your arms into the air and yawn gently.
Harry is the last one to enter the cabin; he shuts the door behind him.
“Thank you again for dinner,” you say lightly.
You spin around and nearly crash into the hard barrier of his chest. Reflexively, his hands fly up to grasp your biceps, steadying you. He peers down at your face in the darkness, his thoughtful gaze tracing the contours of your cheeks. Your eyes are wide, lips split apart as you suck in air.
“Sorry,” you say, frozen in place.
He only grunts, releasing your arms and stepping away.
Your attention lingers on him as he approaches a wide pile of furs stacked into the corner of the room. He’s been sleeping on the makeshift cot for the past three nights, and though his back is always sore the next morning, he has yet to find a better alternative.
“What are you…?” You hesitate, rethinking your question. “What is that?”
“My bed.”
“Do you…always sleep there?”
“No,” he rasps, lowering himself onto the thick pelts. “I prefer to sleep in my room.”
He shoots you a pointed look, and you frown when the realisation sinks in.
“We—we can switch,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “I don’t want to impose.”
“No.”
“I insist.” You try again.
“As do I.”
You clamp your mouth shut, unsure of how to respond. Magnus has already dozed off—his soft snores filter through the heavy silence hanging over your heads.
“He’s lovely,” you suddenly say, referring to the quiescent hound. “Well-trained, too.”
“I won’t take credit for that,” Harry grumbles, rubbing his palms against his thighs. “He was a palace dog.”
You blink. “W-what?”
“A palace dog,” he repeats. “I found him alone in the woods after a hunt. His leg was broken—the guards left him there to die.”
“That’s awful.”
He hums in agreement.
“You took him in, then,” you say. When he nods, you add, “It seems that you have a knack for nursing others back to health.”
He doesn’t reply.
“The hunts—” you start, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. “Do they…occur frequently?”
“Why do you ask?” Harry says. His shoulders wobble with a hollow chuckle. “Are you afraid of being caught?”
You inhale sharply, and he realises that yes, you are.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. Subconsciously, his voice drops an octave, taking on a soothing quality. “They don’t come around often. And even if they did, I doubt that a single runaway lady would be of much concern.”
You blow out a relieved sigh, though the uneasy expression on your face never wanes.
“You’re probably right.”
A few hushed seconds draw out, during which neither of you speak. Your bare feet shuffle clumsily against the cold floor. You appear to be waiting for some sort of cue—a sound, a gesture, anything.
“Er—” Harry breaks the peace, cocking one eyebrow. “I sleep naked.”
“Oh.”
The exclamation is unbelievably breathless. Your throat bobs amidst a difficult swallow, and you totter back.
“Of course,” you stammer. “I’ll just—”
With a trembling hand, you motion toward the entrance of his bedroom.
He nods wordlessly.
“Right,” you mumble, retreating. “Goodnight, then…Bear.”
At that, he pauses. Your cheeks twitch with a feeble smile, but you don’t comment on the sweetness of the simple endearment.
Harry remains completely still as you scurry into his room. He sits there for a prolonged moment after the door shuts, trying to make sense of his thoughts. Your features have been stamped onto the backs of his eyelids, practically seared into the skin.
At last, warm air spills past his lips, and he allows himself to utter the low, relentless reply pulling at his tongue.
“Goodnight.”
283 notes · View notes
cherrynojutsu · 3 years ago
Text
Title: Years Past
Summary: Sakura haunts their small home in grief, feeling already a ghost even while surrounded with beautiful raven-haired children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. As she sees each and every one of them over the months that follow, a select few stare back with her own eyes. Most of them are so like her husband's, though, luciform soot flecked with silver, and she feels so sorry when she looks too long and starts to cry. Romance, Character Death, Sad With a Happy Ending, Sakura POV.
Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.
Rating: T
A/N: A little late to this prompt, but better late than never, I suppose. This has been sitting in my drafts since June, but reading it made me emotional and I got distracted by writing things for Like Gold. I apologize for the tardiness!
Sasusaku Month 2021, Day 7 Prompt: Years Past @ssskmonth
AO3 Link - FF.net Link
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Sakura passes in her sleep, marcid and weary of a broken heart and missing mismatched eyes, at the age of eighty-two.
It is longer than most Shinobi make it by far, but she doesn't feel very grateful for it, in the last five excruciating months of her life.
Her husband hadn't made it to eighty-two; Sasuke-kun passed in December. It had been peaceful, all three of their children, most of their grandchildren, and even some great grandchildren, the ones not on missions outside of the village, at his bedside.
Sakura had been there, too, old and frail and holding his hand. She'd kissed him goodbye tearily, sensing it was almost time after decades of watching it happen to others inside secluded hospital walls. It had been in front of nearly all of their descendants, family the only thing helping to hold her together in his final moments.
He hadn't complained. He'd kissed her back, for everyone to see, and Sarada and the twins had started crying, then, squeezing their hands around those of their parents, because they knew it really was time.
He had thanked her, said her name one last time, all equanimity even then. Then, so softly, "I love you. I'll see you next time," before he went, bones settling wearily at long last.
There had been melancholy in his expression even in death, wrinkled skin turning glaucous and beginning to sag against old, hardened muscle.
Sasuke-kun was buried next to Itachi’s memorial. There is a plot he saved for her on his other side, his right arm, the hand she held so many times in life.
Sakura haunts their small home in grief, feeling already a ghost even while surrounded with beautiful raven-haired children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. As she sees each and every one of them over the months that follow, a select few stare back with her own eyes. Most of them are so like her husband's, though, luciform soot flecked with silver, and she feels so sorry when she looks too long and starts to cry. Little Satoko, their newest great-grandchild all of eleven months old who she dotes on endlessly, reaches at her wrinkled cheeks to try to wipe them dry, babbling out a garbled version of "Oobasan, no cwy." He is talking earlier than most babies, stormy eyes eerily full of awareness and an endless lineage, just like Sarada at that age. Sakura laughs as she sobs, cradling him close to her heart, and looking out her window at their daughter's visage on the mountain. It is also Satoko's grandmother's image; it is hard to believe their sweet little baby is now old enough to be a grandmother. She remembers the first time Sarada had smiled at Sasuke-kun, the first time he held her at only an hour old, and he broke down sobbing.
She makes the trek to Sasuke-kun's grave every day for 138 days, each step an arduous agony, before stooping down to lay a fresh daffodil atop the soil where her husband's bones rest. She has also planted white lilies around his headstone, the same as those that surround Itachi's and the Uchiha Memorial Stone. Her children help her keep them watered as needed through a short spring drought; she is too old to carry a watering can now without spilling.
She misses him. It hurts worse than Sasori's poison or Madara stabbing her or giving birth or a giant shuriken nearly cleaving her in two.
There is joy to be found in the desolation, too, in her last few months of life. Their progenies throw her a birthday party like none other, and she eats her fill of cake while watching little hands eat some, too. Little Satoko dances, or moreso balters, with Sarada in time to a dramatic song he finds by pressing buttons on the radio; it is not a very appropriate tune for a dance with a toddler, all clumsy crescendo and orchestra, but amusing all the same. Sasuke-kun would have smiled, if he were there.
The white lilies bloom before her eyes one last time, resplendent and perfect. She gets to hear about Haruki making Chunin on the first try, every bit the pride of the Uchiha, reborn anew with Sharingan blazing. She even gets to see Akiko make Jonin in person, ambitious and ingenious with Sharingan and diamond seal on her forehead setting her apart from her adversaries in the arena.
But finally, at long last, it is her culminating day. 138 days doesn't seem like a long time to be without him, compared to the larger number of days he was absent in their youth, but she finds it is worse, following their life together.
She tells them all she loves them and falls asleep for the last time, watches their confluence of family say goodbye from above. Sarada and the twins cry the hardest, clinging to her body as her heart finally pumps for the last time. Satoko is too young to understand, but he pats at her, too, in a sea of dark-haired descendants that she knows will continue to bring honor back to a clan revived at the brink of death. She takes in each and every one of their beautiful faces one last time, faces so similar to Sasuke-kun's; not a single one of them has her nose.
It is a legacy of love they have created, exactly the dream they started willing into color the day they discovered they had made Sarada together.
Then, she is on a dock that has slightly singed edges, looking over a small, familiar pond.
It is a spring evening, the sun just falling beneath the horizon and cherry blossoms abloom, and she thinks that is strange, because it is June and Hanami has already passed them by. Satoko had been so cute in his new outfit; she had made it herself, not much else to do in their empty house filled with aching memories. The tiny uchiwa on the back of his collar was sewn with the utmost care, the kind that came from decades of practice.
Crickets chirp, cicadas buzz, and there are a few fireflies leaking out of the greenery, soft light reflectant in the stillness of the water. It is serene. She had sat on this dock many times with her husband, when he was alive, on his right side so she could hold his hand. He told her she was beautiful during Hanami here, every year. She shifts to begin the process of sitting down, planning on leaving the space he'd taken up in life empty for him, in case his ghost is around. She has felt it, sometimes, tugging at her own spirit; she leaves his side of the bed empty every night, trying to will him back to her.
As Sakura shifts, she looks down, and she is startled to see pink hair instead of white, and no wrinkles. She crouches to analyze herself more closely in water still as glass, and there are no creaking old bones. She is young again, somehow.
She is overjoyed; she will be able to water the white lilies herself again. She can even dance with little Satoko now.
Light footsteps sound behind her, and just as she stands and turns, she is being swept into an unfamiliar yet comforting pair of arms. A woman with long inky hair, black as night, is hugging her tight.
"Thank you for loving my son," she breathes immediately, and Sakura starts crying, because she somehow knew who it was before she even said anything, without even seeing her face. When her eyes focus blearily through tears over Mikoto Uchiha's shoulder, Sasuke-kun's brother is walking up not far behind her.
Itachi Uchiha is smiling at her like she's done something wonderful, like he has been waiting for years to meet her. He is younger, healthier here, flecks of silver dancing in eyes just like her husband's, just like their childrens'. There's an impossible ache in her chest.
He waits patiently for his mother to pull back. When she finally does, Sakura looks into her eyes, and Mikoto is smiling at her so big, like she hung the moon in the sky, beginning to peek out from behind clouds above them.
"I have waited so long to meet you," she says, eyes shining, and her eyes are like Sasuke-kun's, too. "You are so beautiful."
Then Itachi is embracing her, and Sakura cries harder, because his arms feel almost like Sasuke-kun's arm had felt, slipping around her for sixty-one years of marriage, the same height and strong.
"I have waited, too. It's an honor. Thank you, for everything," Itachi says as she sobs.
"They are so beautiful, too, Sakura," Mikoto adds softly, hand at her shoulder, and she knows she means their children, Mikoto's grandchildren that she hasn't gotten to hold yet, Sarada and the twins and their children and all the others. Little Satoko had made twenty-seven blood relatives; including spouses who married into the clan, the number was thirty-eight, and there were two more babies on the way, yet.
Itachi lets her go, smile tender when he pulls away. He directs his gaze momentarily to the path leading up the hill, as if he's looking for someone.
She follows his gaze; Fugaku Uchiha is coming over the top, all stoicism even as a spirit. He stops momentarily and gives her a nod of recognition, not breaking eye contact for a long time.
Then, he glances back over his shoulder, tilts his head as if telling someone to follow him down the hill, and Sakura is running, though she hasn't been able to for years.
Sasuke-kun is all of twenty again, young and strong, too handsome for his own good and every bit the sweet but stoic man she fell in love and grew old with. He's smiling at her, just for her, and she's in his arms - he has both, here - in the blink of mismatched, teary eyes.
His arms feel like home, two spirits together in permanence at long last. It is the same feeling as the little piece of heaven they touched together whenever they made love, souls intertwining, but this time for good. She has missed him. Oh, she has missed him.
"...I told you I'd see you next time," he murmurs against her hair.
75 notes · View notes
nad-zeta · 3 years ago
Text
Home is where the heart is!
Ikesen
Pairings: Hideyoshi x Reader
Words: 700+
Comments: Eeeeeeeek! Happy Belated Birthday Tsu! Hehehe I had every intention of finishing this yesterday buuuuut gaaaaah life man! hehe, hope you had the best Birthday and got spoiled rotten! Sending ya allll the hugs @tsubaki3192
.*:・’゚:。.*:゚・’゚゚:。’ .*:・’゚:。.*:゚・’゚゚:。’・゚。.*:・’゚: 。.*:・’゚:。.*:゚・’゚゚:。’
Dusk marked the end of the week-long battle. One in which the Oda emerged victorious, and as such, the loud festivities could be heard all around the camp, as warriors finally had a moment to breathe without the imminent danger of war looming over them.
"Monkey, why are you still here," the commanding voice echoed through the camp, crimson eyes piercing the vassal in green who was busy filling his cup to the brim once more.
"My lord?" Hideyoshi looked up at Nobunaga inquisitively; where else was he to be other than at his lord's side after a battle won.
He had devoted his life, soul, and very being to the raven-haired man; however, his heart was snatched away from his lord— stolen by a strange princess from a strange land. This, of course, was no new news to Nobunaga as without his intervention, his hopeless vassal would have left the only woman for him, stuck in the sister zone for all eternity.
"The sun will greet us soon, see that you are back before then," was all the man said as he drowned the cup and, with a flutter of his haori, stood up and strode away.
Hideyoshi was left speechless, staring after his lord. It wasn't until his gaze drifted down to the ring on his finger that things clicked into place and sprung into action. Nobunaga was right in calling him a monkey as he could certainly be foolish at times. But despite his foolishness, you still loved him, and you still decided to remain at his side—something which he was eternality grateful and thankful for.
A bright smile befell his features when he remembered the way you confronted Nobunaga weeks after the two of you had gotten together. "He is mine over the non-war weekends," you demanded, eyes glaring down at the lord of the castle— fearless, brave, bold, determined. God, he loved you so much, your strength, your kind heart and your bullheaded stubbornness. He had promised his loyalty, and unending devotion to the both of you— albeit in different ways. But to you and you alone he promised his whole entire heart.
It would be a tough pill for anyone to swallow, having to share the pedestal with Nobunaga, especially since he had occupied the largest part of Hideyoshi's life for so long. However, you were amazing in your ability to worm your way up the ranks and even at times dethroning the very man Hideyoshi had sworn his life to.
He mounted up his horse and gazed out into the distance, excited to be reunited with the one he loved most in the world.
"If you take the mountain pass, you should be home before sunrise," came the soft angelic voice from below. With a firm nod and one final goodbye to his comrades and friends, he kicked the horse into a gallop and rode through the planes at the speed of light. True to his observations and advice, Hideyoshi indeed had made it back to his manor before sunrise, just enough time to bathe and make breakfast.
Quiet as a mouse, he snuck into his own home and began the preparation. For you see, today marked a special day, one in which Hideyoshi was sure to use to its fullest potential by pampering and spoiling you as much as humanly possible.
His golden eyes caught sight of the sun now well above the horizon; it was finally time to set his plans into motion. With a tray of tea and breakfast balancing in his arms, he carefully manoeuvred the door open using only his foot.
He crept deeper into the room, heart-melting at the sight of you and Uri snuggled up in bed, kissed by the warm rays of the rising sun. He freed himself from the breakfast tray, leaving it on his writing desk before he knelt down beside you. His expression was soft and loving as fingers gently moving the hair from your face to tuck it behind your ear.
You stirred, tired eyes slowly fluttering open and adjusting to the brightness of the room.
"Happy birthday, my love," came the words followed by a smile that easily outshone the very sun blinding you. It took you a moment or so to realize that this was, in fact, not a dream— that your husband truly was home safe— and that Nobunaga has stayed true to his promise.
With a squeal of delight, you launched yourself forward straight into his arms. "Welcome home!" You happily chirped, crushing the man in a tight embrace.
Hideyoshi's eyes crinkled in affection as he returned the embrace in kind. "I'm home," was all that was said before lips descended to leave an adoring kiss atop of your head, happy to be in the arms of his dearest soulmate.
70 notes · View notes