#A Whisper on the Wind

[ghost-of-ecruteak]

Kiss the rufflet

I have been told that is not a good idea.

[cheeseburgersinparadise]

feeling…….vaguely horny today. like, let’s follow this - but not too closely - or we might spook it.

[atangledfate]

The soft crunch of snow under her boots was the only company she had for hours now. Her fur blowing in the cool wind as she passed by the burned out old buildings. She paused near one of the old cabins, an old sign swaying back and forth reading Cafeteria. She could almost hear the sounds of laughter and jeers echoing from the old building. It almost made her smile, yet it was a fleeting one as her eyes traveled to the old Obstacle course. Her eyes parting to reveal her blue eyes--- filled with anger, rage and sadness.

This place was where she grew up, and yet it brought her no joy. Her memories were filled with the screams of her friends. People taken from there homes, or conned into signing over there lives. Forced into this camp and pushed beyond normal bounds until they would break or push past there limits. The fact she survived at all was a miracle, and yet some days she wished she hadn't.

She didn't linger long staring at that obstacle course, filled with old jagged blades, and machines that fired gouts of flame. She'd only been a little girl when they brought her here. She barely knew what war was, let alone the atrocity of what they were turning her into. It was a pain she could never escape, and one she forever lived with. The people that did this to her would never be forgiven--- and yet she had no idea where they even were today. She prayed they were long gone... but if they were not? She'd kill them should she ever find them... without hesitation.

She finally arrived at her destination, her arm dropping as she held onto it with her other arm. The flowers she heled drooped as they nearly touched the ground. The mural that rose upward filled with names etched upon it, each name a soul who perished in this horrid camp. A mural she and the Cutters had erected just before the war, as a show of respect to those who perished.

She reached out placing the flowers at the base of the mural, a large sign with GUN's logo on it. She motioned for purple to do what they came to do. The purple Wisp flew forward and used his Hyper Go On energy to carve the names of the Cutters into the mural. His hand writing was something to be desired but, that was less important then the act itself. She prayed this brought her some closure--- and maybe now she could truly forget this place...

and most of all... put it all behind her.

[ghiblin]

The Wind Rises (2013) Kiki's Delivery Service (1989) Porco Rosso (1992) My Neighbor Totoro (1988) Whisper of the Heart (1995)

[nariism]

neuvillette is aware that he shouldn’t have let you get so close. but he did, and now he’s lamenting the fact that your hands are grasping at his soft horns — his fucking horns, of all places — and he might like it.

uptight and strait-laced, you’ve never known the chief justice to be someone so easily flustered. yet here he is with heat crawling up his neck, so warm that you can feel it against your palms as they ghost over his skin.

you can’t help but laugh at his current situation.

he was vehemently against you coming anywhere near his hair at first, grumbling about how his horns were on the sensitive side and he would rather not have to go into work feeling uncomfortably aware of their presence on his head.

however, you were hard to deny with that little smile on your face and such soft hands grabbing at his arms, tugging him closer. a sweet voice chanting, "please, honey? pretty please?"

neuvillette has never been good at denying you what you want.

it’s how he ends up sitting at your shared vanity. you comb through his long hair, watching him with amusement in the mirror as he huffs and jolts with every brush of your fingers against his horns.

the fact that he was letting you get anywhere near them was surely a testament to his trust in you. he was completely vulnerable here, at your mercy.

“sorry,” you mumble disingenuously, clearly enjoying seeing your usually serious husband falling apart with a simple action. you quickly tie off the end of his hair with a bow and he sighs in relief, thinking that the torment is over.

it's far from over.

he draws a sharp breath when you lean forward and press two gentle kisses on him; one on either side of his head just beside his horns.

neuvillette glowers at you in the reflection, disapproval written all over his face. "stop that," he scolds.

you do, but only because you're worried he might melt into a puddle before your very eyes if you continue.

it becomes a daily routine after that, with him sitting patiently in front of the mirror while you brush and tie off his hair. and you always end it the same way: two kisses, a soft "have a good day at work," murmured against him, and a mischievous little smile that makes him sigh.

he responds everyday with the same two words. "stop that," with a narrow-eyed glare.

the day you do stop, he's confused and irritated.

not only because you have the audacity to throw a wrench into routine again, which you know he hates, but also because he can't figure out why he misses your lips so much.

"what are you doing? i am going to be late."

"hm?" you peer up lazily from your spot on the bed, still half asleep.

"you have to do my hair."

"i thought you didn't want me to, so i slept in today."

your husband is eerily silent for a moment as he mulls over your words. then, he carefully perches himself on the edge of the bed, back turned to you expectantly and still wordless.

no, he would never admit he likes it just a little bit — the vulnerability, the trust, the feeling of your hands threading through his hair, the intimacy of it. hell no.

but neuvillette doesn't have to say a lot of things for you to understand; not when the way his skin heats up says it all; not when you're the first person to touch his horns in centuries; not when he’s saying stop that with such an affectionate glimmer in his eyes.

you give him four kisses that morning, two on either side.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[sjoongki]

STUDIO GHIBLI + HUGS

[floralcavern]

“Not all men.”

You’re right.

They would NEVER.

[elizabugz]

[augentrust]

extremely enamored with the image of ludinus in aeor trying to figure out where the fuck all of the ancient technology he was relying on disappeared to, followed by a smash cut to essek in a cozy demiplane, wrapped in a handmade sweater and casually labeling all the artifacts from his third aeorian honeymoon with caleb

[haranikala]

Trains of Ghibli

☛ twitter, instagram, website ✉ art print shop

[fakerobotrealblog]

Providing a deep analysis of all Studio Ghibli films would be an extensive undertaking, considering the studio's rich and diverse catalog. However, I can highlight key themes and elements that are often present in their films.

1. **Spirited Away (2001):** Explores identity, environmentalism, and the spirit world. The bathhouse setting is a metaphor for societal structures.

2. **My Neighbor Totoro (1988):** Focuses on the innocence of childhood, the connection to nature, and the acceptance of mystery.

3. **Princess Mononoke (1997):** Tackles environmentalism, the clash between industrialization and nature, and the complexity of human relationships with the environment.

4. **Howl's Moving Castle (2004):** Examines themes of war, love, and transformation, set against a backdrop of magical realism.

5. **Grave of the Fireflies (1988):** A powerful anti-war film exploring the impact of conflict on two siblings during World War II.

6. **Kiki's Delivery Service (1989):** Focuses on self-discovery, independence, and the challenges of growing up.

7. **The Wind Rises (2013):** Tells the story of an aeronautical engineer against the backdrop of historical events, reflecting on creativity, passion, and the moral implications of invention.

8. **Porco Rosso (1992):** Explores themes of identity, war, and redemption through the tale of a World War I flying ace transformed into a pig.

9. **Castle in the Sky (1986):** Features an adventurous tale with themes of environmentalism and the consequences of human greed.

10. **Whisper of the Heart (1995):** Focuses on adolescence, dreams, and self-discovery, emphasizing the importance of pursuing one's passions.

These brief insights into a selection of Studio Ghibli films highlight their exploration of diverse themes, including environmentalism, identity, and the human connection with nature. Each film is a unique artistic expression that often combines fantasy with deep, thought-provoking narratives.

[ghost-of-ecruteak]

Has the @interregionalgyminspections hit your gym up, yet? I hear they don't like bottomless pits very much.

I don't believe they have, no. Though, I assure you the pit is perfectly safe. The ghosts deliver any who might fall off the walkway.

[amaterasou]

ghibli films

[atangledfate]

On the Edge of Madness...

@awanderingbountyhunter​

She didn’t respond, as she used a nearby vehicle to lean on as she was still suffering from injuries she sustained while fighting surge. Nothing she couldn’t power through, her injuries from fighting Boss were worse by far. She kept her eyes focused on the two speeding objects in the distance, all she needed was one good opening and she could put a bullet clean through her and end this whole conflict in one move. Tangle was wrong---sometimes you had to become a monster to beat a monster. It was the ONLY way, some people didn’t deserve to live, some people needed to die and someone had to carry the burden of that act. She was ready for it, ready to make that call if no one else was, she would!

But Ariel’s voice stopped her cold, her body tensing up and her ears shifted toward her. She was treading on dangerous ground, her mind was already teetering on the edge of losing herself to the old her, to that killer that GUN made her. She snarled at her worlds spinning on her heels and pushing the barrel of that pistol into Ariel’s forehead! Her hand was shaking as tears filled her eyes and she felt her anger, her rage, and all the death and loss in her life piling up.

She wanted to scream, wanted to call her a heartless bitch! she didn’t have any idea what she’d lost! what she’d given up to get where she was. How many families had perished because she wasn’t strong enough? Her clan, Her GUN team, the Cutters, and now her wisps---how many more had to die before it was enough? Ariel had better choose her words carefully at this point it was very clear just how unstable she was and on the edge of losing herself to the killer she kept locked away for everyone's sake. 

[mxtxfanatic]

There are a few places in mdzs where, in the midst of Wei Wuxian trying to placate him, Jiang Cheng says something so terribly, egregiously misrepresentative of Wei Wuxian and his morals that all Wei Wuxian can do is stare at him—like an adult realizing for the first time that the tantruming child they are attempting to calm may just be spoiled—before deciding to give up on the conversation. “Sure, Jiang Cheng,” he says, “it’s whatever you feel. It’s whatever you want.”

People like to say that the problem with the Yunmeng friendship is simply communication issues, but I think the real problem is that when true conflict happens between them, they both realize that they truly do not like each other. The difference is that Jiang Cheng reacts to this realization by trying to force Wei Wuxian into the shape that he wants, which is submission—“Do as I say! Listen to me! Obey me!”—while Wei Wuxian stands at the other end of the torched bridge he plans to never cross again and goes, “Sure Jiang Cheng, it’s whatever you feel, it’s whatever you want.”

[nariism]

ೃ⁀➷ WHERE THE HEART LIES ˚ ༘♡

a/n: fluff, pining, childhood friends to lovers, reader was in the same orphanage as wriothesley when they were kids, mild codependency (?)

happy wishing everyone! ≧◡≦

Amongst the hundreds of books stored in the Duke's office, none hold a place in his heart quite like the dusty old atlas you gave him when you were children.

It's old and worn, something aged with the faint scent of Tidalga wafting as the pages turn. To an outsider, the atlas almost looks like garbage, or rather, exactly what it is—the only crappy book in the entire vintage shop that you could afford with your terrible allowance.

He doesn't see it that way.

It's a precious commodity to him, something he holds in high regard (despite the way he's glued the spine together on nearly a dozen occasions with the amount of times he's flipped through it).

Wriothesley is not a sentimental man. Growing up the way he did taught him not to grow too attached to material belongings.

There are few things in the world he would consider treasures: his boxing gloves, for one, though that's a given. His growing tea collection that originally started as a treat he would spend coupons on, but somehow evolved into a hobby.

And lastly, but perhaps most importantly, the map of Teyvat you gave him in the orphanage you came from. Because it wasn't only a birthday gift, it was something infinitely more meaningful than that.

He remembers that birthday fondly: he was twelve and you were ten. You'd snuck into his room beyond curfew and lights out, sheltered yourself under his blanket, and shoved the poorly packaged gift bag into his hands.

The two of you spent the entire night going through the pages, amazed at how giant the world truly was outside the confines of your orphanage—imagined how freeing it would be to explore it with nothing but your pair of feet and each other.

"One day," you breathed with excitement bubbling in your voice, "We'll leave this place and travel all across Teyvat."

It wasn't just a promise to see the world. It was a promise to see it together.

For a boy who had nothing at all, what you offered him was like placing the universe itself in his hands. And even at twelve years old, with you and that book sitting between his legs and a blanket thrown over his body, he knew he'd found a dream.

The older he got, the more he clung to that. 

You were the one he came back to when he was lost. The one who made the orphanage a home. The one who gave him a raggedy atlas of the world and whispered purpose into him.

Something to cherish. Something to protect. Something to love in this world when he had little to spare.

Though time had changed everything in his life, he still found it hard to abandon the welded pieces of your conjoined hearts.

Unlike Wriothesley, you had chosen to return to the surface after you finished serving your sentence.

It was lonelier beneath the crushing pressure of the sea without you. He made sure you knew that, too, always bringing it up whenever you came by to visit in the most nonchalant ways.

The Fortress of Meropide was a home both of you had discovered after years of being without one. "Come home already," he used to complain when he was still just a regular inmate and you were dropping by with a care package. "I miss you."

Nowadays, he made certain you understood the gap in his heart without you by other means. Like, say, when he would invite you personally to his office for a cup of tea and some cake, which was a rare treat you missed out on as kids.

Once, you called him out for attempting to bribe you back down into the iron fortress which he, of course, denied with his chest. Still, you never failed to make the trip down despite your outspoken disinterest in being back in the prison, and his weak offer of sweets since you now worked at one of the most prestigious bakeries in the city.

You had initially greeted him this time with your hands all over him, arms wrapped so tightly around his neck in a hug that he could barely breathe. Sweet smiles and kisses pressed to his cheeks and fingers pinching his nose—every action endearing and a remnant of your childhood spent together.

Now, you're seething in the office at his simple question: how are things on the surface?

"... That's when I turned to Lady Furina and, get this, she somehow ate every pastry I'd brought in a matter of seconds!" You huff, pacing back and forth in front of Wriothesley's desk while you rant about your latest visit with the Archon.

Furina was often in your schedule in one way or another, and almost always she wanted you to bring along sweets from the shop you worked at.

Wriothesley finds humour in your woes, following you around in your pacing with his arms folded over his chest.

"You know, you could just show up to your audiences with her without treats."

"She would call high treason and toss me back in prison!"

The Duke just snorts, earning him a well-deserved glare. Even with the pull of your lips into a thin line and the narrowing of your eyes, he thinks you look like a breathing angel under the warm orange light of the office.

There was nothing in the world you could do that would make him stop loving you. Not even glaring daggers at him like he's your mortal enemy.

"You're exaggerating," he hums, trailing behind you once again as you pace around the desk. 

"No, I'm not. She's absolutely crazy. She's insane—!"

He nearly bumps into your back when you suddenly halt in your steps, attention stolen from the conversation. The hands that were flailing around in the air to animate your anguish drop to your sides.

Wriothesley peers curiously over your shoulder at what has caused you to stop so abruptly.

Oh. Oh, Archons. He can sense the heat rising to his ears.

He feels as though he's been spotted in vulnerability, even though that isn't at all what has happened and that you would be the last person to judge him even if he was.

But he feels seen. Caught in the act of sentimentality just because you've picked out the book you gave him all those years ago when all you had was each other.

"You still have this?" You gawk, pulling the atlas from its prestigious position on his bookshelf. It's in a spot that he can always see as soon as he enters the room—in his direct line of sight, he has a part of you with him.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, I just thought..." You consider the words for a moment, tasting them in your mouth before admitting embarrassingly, "I just thought you'd have thrown it out for a newer atlas. You know this is out of date, right? Half the oasis in Sumeru is covered in sand now."

"Why would I ever throw it out?"

"It's old," you lament again.

"And?"

"And... you can't even use it?" Your statement comes out more as a question and he can't help but roll his eyes.

"I can still use it," he insists.

You raise a brow, slotting the book back into its regular spot. "Good luck. When are you ever going to have time to do that, oh great and powerful Lord of the Fortress of Meropide?"

He ignores your little jab, as he's gotten so good at throughout his life. There's a sense of familiarity that rises in his chest, a strange nostalgia that drives him to open his mouth once more.

"Actually, about that..."

You turn to look at him again, hand coming up to brush the hair from his eyes. You always used to scold him for not taming it better. Now it seems permanently stuck as a fluffy mess.

"What is it?"

Your fingers graze his skin and he falls apart on the spot, feeling as though you had just tipped him over the edge of the cliff he's been too afraid to dive off of.

His hand catches yours, holding it just beside his cheek for a moment before lowering it to his side and tugging you just a little closer.

If he didn't ask now, would he ever?

"Let's leave this place," he murmurs, reciting the dream you promised him when he was twelve years old. "Let's travel all across Teyvat."

The silence that follows is so loud that it makes his ears ring. For a moment he falters, thinking he may have misread the situation and in turn whatever feelings he thought you may have harboured for him.

But then you take a daring step forward, nearly flush against his body. There's a look of wonder in your eyes that makes his heart race.

"Just you and me?"

"Just you and me." Just us.

There's a heavy implication behind that and you both know it. More than a proposal to chase a dream of bygone days, it's starting to sound like a confession. In his own roundabout ways, of course.

He can see the hitching of your breath, the subtle widening of your eyes, and all he wants to do is laugh at how seriously adorable you look.

"And what about the Fortress?"

"People here are less problematic nowadays than you may think."

"Won't the paperwork back up?"

"I can deal with it whenever I come back."

"Why me?"

Another silence.

"You ask too many questions," he says quietly, dodging your interrogation. In reality, he already has an answer. It's instantaneous, resting comfortably in his mouth but never leaving.

Why would it ever be anyone else?

He's having trouble focusing on anything right now with your chests so close together and his thumb running along your knuckles.

"Wriothesley," you say his name and it sounds like honey, the sweetest thing in all of Teyvat. And the look you're giving him, so touched and melting into nothing but a smiling mess—he isn't sure his heart can handle this. "I can't believe you remembered that."

"You kiddin'?" He laughs, slowly closing the distance between you. "It's all I've thought about my whole life."

He watches you carefully as you swallow down the lump in your throat. Your hand squeezes his and that's when he knows he's got you. You kiss him and he can feel the curve of your lips, the ever growing smile on your face meeting his. His knees are on the verge of buckling by the time you pull away.

"Surely you'll miss this place in your absence. This is your home now, isn't it?" You tease.

"Well, you know what they say." He gives you a grin so wide that his eyes crinkle. "Home is where the heart is."

It didn't matter if you were braving a sandstorm or the rainforest or the depths of the sea. 

Wherever you were, you would be his dream. You would be his home, too—just as you always had been for as long as he could remember.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.