#FEROCIOUS LOVE BLOOMS WITH EACH NEW SPRING DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[nyaaasougi]

HAPPY FEROCIOUS LOVE BLOOMS WITH EACH NEW SPRING DAY TO ALL WHO CELEBRATE

[sfaghetti]

happy ferocious love blooms with each new spring day <3

[flower-biter]

1-7 April 2024

Boop-pocalypse! 'twas a lot of fun, even if I did wind up blocking someone over it.

Requested a booking at an NYC tattoo artist I’ve had my eye on for a while! Fingers crossed they’ll accept my request during my visit dates (and that I won’t be a baby when I sit for it, it’ll be my biggest piece yet)

Still haven't really read anything. My brain just says No. <3 right now.

Even costar’s ai word salad bot thing is aware of how ferociously lonely and horny I’ve been lately. Sigh.

Trivia night again; we did poorly but still had fun. Cute bartender had a strong southern accent and she kept calling me “baby” and “darlin’” which had me grinning like an idiot.

How did my friend not tell me he is a literal doctor?? Why did it come up in a conversation where he confessed to having to google what’s in honey mustard?? (I’m never letting him live that down. It’s like the time I went to a bar and asked for a gin & tonic and the bartender said “oh I’ve never heard of that, what’s in it” and I like. Bluescreened. Sir I don't know how to explain this one without sounding really rude but. Say it again, slowly ????)

Office drama has my manager whom I really like getting moved to a different building; however, a new position is opening up that I think I might apply for. I’m mostly qualified and a bit scared but think I can (and probably should) do it. And the company is prioritizing hiring internally so I think I have a decent chance.

Saturday was gorgeous and I got to spend most of the day outside. Mum and I took a walk along a rail trail to our favorite coffee shop to get breakfast, then enjoyed a sunny, birdsong-filled stroll before we went and poked around a local antiques mall.

My friend invited me to her ultrasound and I got to see her twins moving around and hear their heartbeats, which was wild!Afterward her parents took us out to celebrate. We’re doing the gender(s) reveal party Sunday and I’m the designated keeper of the knowledge! I get to find out first thing and then get supplies for the party (Will report back). Nobody is allowed to bet on the genders because according to my friend, “if anyone in the family bets wrong they’ll remember, and if one of the kids turns out to be trans they’ll insist they were right all along and demand their betting prize with interest and adjustment for inflation, and we just don’t need that kind of drama.”

Update: I went over this morning and she logged me into her patient portal and I got to be the first to see that the twins are a healthy girl and boy! I threw them a little gender reveal party (which felt really funny to shop for because what’s the surprise? You get both??) and they’re so excited, it’s adorable. I’m so so happy for my friend and to get to be part of this phase of her life.

Reminded each day just how much I love love love spring. It’s so beautiful right now: cool and sunny, birds singing, flowers in bloom, windows open, not too hot. Feels like maybe everything will be okay.

This week:

Lavender oat milk latte at my favorite local coffee shop | wisteria in the woods | butterball beans | blue skies + baby leaves | Sasquatch got lei’d | mom’s cactus blooming | old industry | saturday flowers | leftover lemons on my great grandmother’s 1950s tablecloth | construction & young magnolias | heavenly-smelling Japanese cheesewood | a girl and her cat

last week

[retvenkos]

within these lines | t.l.

Little Women - Theodore “Laurie” Laurence x Reader, fluff requested by @mywinterbucky​ - sorry for the wait!

tw: none

word count: 1.6k

prompt: “you still have that?”

A/N: sorry timothee chalamet fans, but the gif is of christian bale’s laurie because sometimes you gotta switch it up, y’know? after all, variety is the spice of life.

Summary: The world had come in between Laurie and (Y/n) five years ago, but neither time nor distance could keep them apart for long.

There’s something elusively romantic about the teenage years. Despite any tragedy that reaches the hearts of the young, there is something infinite in youth that takes such melancholy and spins it into something beautiful beyond recognition.

It was in their teenage years that (Y/n) was torn from Laurie’s embrace - two friends on the cusp of being something more. A “perhaps” that ended in ellipses, each dot like the thousands of miles that separated them. All through their childhood, they had been together, and up until the moment (Y/n) was whisked away to England, they had constantly been at each other’s side. To have known someone so fully and to lose them so completely was a tragedy that often left the soul barren. But they were teenagers at the time, standing at the precipice of adulthood, and their minds preserved a beauty that existed in their youth - something unique and not likely to happen again; gold-spun.

When (Y/n) was plucked out of Laurie’s pocket and ripped from his heart, there wasn’t much else to do than wander. Laurie passed the days on his own and when he wasn’t lost amongst the memories of his youth, he was writing letters to (Y/n) when he ought to have been studying and fashioning poetry when he should have been sleeping. There is something elusively romantic about writing to someone you don’t have the address for - something that lies in the yearning of one’s being and the void that is left behind.

As the years wore on, Laurie grew out of those rose-colored teenage years, but his heart still beat to the rhythm of a sonnet. Across the ocean, (Y/n) was much the same. Although less of a poet, (Y/n) was a dreamer, and when they closed their eyes, they were there in the gardens of their youth, with a boy they had once thought of loving at their side.

It was a muddy, April day when Laurie felt a particular kind of ache settle in his heart. (Y/n) had told him, once, when they were hiding in the study of his grandfather’s house rather than practicing the piano, that muddy, grey mornings were their favorite. He had laughed at them back then, even after (Y/n) insisted that grey mornings had a comforting sort of calm about them - something that made sense to Laurie, despite it all. (Y/n) had insisted on the beauty of drab mornings, and when he told them that loving dull skies was like loving the taste of over-boiled tea, (Y/n) told him that they loved that, too. “After all,” they had said, “that’s how you make it when your grandfather is away, and there’s no one here but us.”

“But it’s not any good.”

“To me it is.” At their statement, Laurie made a face, and (Y/n) laughed like a spring breeze. “As is anything that is made with love.”

Laurie’s cheeks bloomed with a soft red at the mention of something so sacred as love, and he hid his flustered feelings by fiddling with the papers on the study desk. On a few pages, Laurie saw his own messy scrawl, and on a couple of others, he saw (Y/n)’s curled handwriting.

“Why don’t you make a list, then?” Laurie searched for a blank piece of parchment and set one down in front of (Y/n), giving them a quill and inkpot. “Make a list of everything you can think of that’s made with love.”

“Why?” And the curiosity in (Y/n)’s voice was gentle.

“So that I may make a list of my own, and we can learn to love the list of the other.”

(Y/n) smiled.

That had been many years ago, but Laurie could still remember the soft, subdued smile that (Y/n) had given him that day - an expression of contented awe. He had associated that look with muddy, April days a long time ago, and there was something particularly melancholic about a memory so beautiful and so full of love.

And a long time after, Laurie was still in the study, now in his early twenties. Sitting in a newly upholstered seat, he pulled out of a small tin box a stack of old papers filled with curled handwriting. At the bottom of the stack lay the list from so long ago, well-loved and well revised, with additions like “poorly done sketches from the neighbor children,” and “broken seashells from the beach,” written in minuscule letters.

Laurie was reading number twenty-six (“the singing of birds on Sunday mornings”) when a voice spoke from the stillness.

“You still have that?”

Transcending time and distance, Laurie would have known that voice anywhere.

“(Y/n)?”

Laurie's old friend, leaning against the door of the study, giggled from delight, and not a moment later, Laurie had them wrapped in a hug, his years of loneliness only tightening his grip - warm, enveloping, and ferocious, like he would do anything to never lose them again.

“Laurie, you’re going to crush me!”

“Wasn’t that on your list, though?” Laurie pulled away, holding (Y/n) at arm's length, looking into eyes he hadn’t seen in years - bright and strong; beautiful beyond belief. “Number thirty-one: ‘hugs you think will crack your spine.’”

(Y/n) hummed fondly. “And if I remember correctly, your number thirty-one was hiding in the closet during parties, whispering stories by candlelight.”

“You remember?”

“Of course, I do,” (Y/n) said earnestly, their brow creasing slightly, as though they were surprised at his question. “I have it right… here.” (Y/n) reached into the inside pocket of their coat, pulling out an old and fading envelope. They gingerly pulled out a piece of old parchment, reading the first sentence on the page. "Number one: 'the too-small gloves that you made me.' You really should have written my name - had anyone else  found the list, they would have been terribly confused."

“You still have it.”

(Y/n) smiled, and the expression was there - that contented sort of awe that never failed to make Laurie feel seen and, perhaps most of all, loved. For a moment, the two just stood there, within arm's length, holding onto each other and marveling at all the other had become. There was something elusively romantic about the moment; something heavenly that had been captured in every poem Laurie had ever written and every dream (Y/n) had ever fathomed.

“I missed you, Laurie.” And those four whispered words held a fragile sort of intimacy that could be shattered with a voice much louder than a sigh.

“And I missed you more than you could ever know.”

(Y/n)’s breath hitched.

Laurie stepped away suddenly as though a spell broke. He turned his back to (Y/n), his cheeks already starting to flare, and scanning the study for another chair - something for (Y/n) to sit in, close to him, at last.

“Ah, here.” Laurie pulled a chair closer to the study desk. “You can sit there and tell me all about your adventures in England. Would you like any tea?”

He turned to face (Y/n) once again, and they had a mischievous smile on their face. “Over-boiled, I’m guessing?”

Laurie chuckled, looking downward to hide the embarrassment that crept up onto his cheeks. “I think you’ll find I’m much improved. I’ve had five years of practice since you were last here.”

“Five years,” (Y/n) mused, walking over to their seat and sitting gently. “It’s funny, it feels like it’s been an eternity since I’ve been in Massachusetts, but it’s only been five years.”

“Five years is a long time,” Laurie supplied. “A lot can change.”

“But a lot can stay the same. Or, at least I hope.”

The two friends looked at each other. For a moment, it felt like the world slowed around them, and they were nothing more than the teenagers they had been five years prior when they were writing silly lists of things that were made with love.

“Well,” (Y/n) started, “I suppose I have stories I could tell, but I want to know about you."

"Well, I want to know about you!"

(Y/n) scoffed and shook their head, an expression that was beautiful, akin to the breaking of a new day.

"Well, this town has been like it's always been." Laurie relented, relaxing in his chair. “The March sisters have been less willing to spend time with me lately, since my mood has gone sour. but you’ll be glad to know that I have plans for getting back in their good graces, soon.”

(Y/n) leaned forward, putting their elbows on the desk and steepling their fingers, as though whatever they were talking about was of great importance. On instinct, Laurie leaned in as well, two conspirators in an empty house. "Well, now we're getting somewhere, Mr. Laurence."

Laurie stifled a chuckle, (Y/n) clearly struggling to do the same. "Indeed we are, (Y/n) (L/n)."

They both broke, and laughter filled the room, the sound echoing through the floorboards, unearthing the past where they had done just the same when they were years younger, but much the same.

Laurie sighed. "How is it that after five years of being apart, nothing has changed?"

"Well, I know you, Teddy, nothing can change that." (Y/n) smiled, gentle but full. Laurie felt a tugging on his heart - something almost painful if it weren't for the care in (Y/n)'s eyes, wrapping him in the most comforting sincerity - a gravity more divine than existing. "Even when we were far from each other, I had your list and my memories; you were the most full thing I ever had."

"I didn't know if you'd remember."

"I always remembered you."

Laurie breathed.

“Well,” (Y/n) began, something in their voice a little unsure, endearing Laurie already, “Now that we know we both remembered and kept the list of the other, I have to ask: did you learn to love my list?”

“I did.”

(Y/n) seemed pleased. “Even muddy, April mornings?”

Laurie chuckled, the feeling warm and pleasant in his chest - like a thunderstorm in June. “They were the first I learned to cherish.”

They smiled at each other once more.

-- taglist: @locke-writes, @brokenandheadoverheels​, @coffee--writes, @swanimagines, @amortensie // message me if you want to be added!

[edenmemes]

the witcher 3: wild hunt starters

including quotes from the dlcs hearts of stone & blood and wine

❝  you were always an unruly child. i adored that about you.  ❞ ❝  mmm. yes. of course. the excuse you resort to when you’d rather not talk about something.  ❞ ❝  how many have you killed? how many more might you still?  ❞ ❝  you know who i am. and why i’m here.  ❞ ❝  you're a madman and always have been. a cruel, cold-blooded killer.  ❞ ❝  a man should frame his wishes carefully. it forestalls disappointment.  ❞ ❝  no argument. you knew what you were signing up for.  ❞ ❝  maybe once, in a different time...i’d have helped.  ❞ ❝  don’t train alone, it only embeds your errors.  ❞ ❝  wanna get drunk off my ass. and it’s gotta be on cheap wine.  ❞ ❝  you’re a heartless bastard.  ❞ ❝  try to trick me anyway, anyhow, you won’t go anywhere, you know that. ‘cause i’ll take your head off right where it meets your neck.  ❞ ❝  sorry. i don’t want to talk about it. not now, at least.  ❞ ❝  we are more like a family.   we support each other and help each other survive tough moments.  ❞ ❝  so how’s it feel to be the village witch?  ❞ ❝  realize, please, that you were made for great things.  ❞ ❝  folks say a curse has fallen on that place, a dark power brought down by the bestiality of the murders it beheld.  ❞ ❝  so, now you’ve threatened me and all...are you in or are you not?  ❞ ❝  i know it must sound foolish, but in the dream - well, it was all too real...  ❞ ❝  we may not survive this. in fact, our chances are slim.  ❞ ❝  it’s always been about you. only you.  ❞ ❝  i remember finding your sense of humor both groan-worthy...and somehow endearing.  ❞ ❝  kings die, realms fall, but magic endures.  ❞ ❝  i detest banquets. vacuous conversation, food portions fit for a mouse, drinks that taste like piss...  ❞ ❝  despite what you’ve heard, i don’t lunge at every monster i see, sword in hand.  ❞ ❝  each day’s more dangerous than the last.  ❞ ❝  it’s folks like you that restore my faith in humankind.  ❞ ❝  my power lies in possessing knowledge, not sharing it.  ❞ ❝  the rotten smell brings back childhood memories.  ❞ ❝  awfully noble of you, showing so much concern for the needy.  ❞ ❝  no need to thank me. always glad to save your ass. you’re welcome.  ❞ ❝  i may be inhumanely beautiful, but i don’t have super human senses.  ❞ ❝  anyone can be made to talk, even a corpse. one must simply know how.  ❞ ❝  we’ve done the hardest part. only got the pleasant bits now.  ❞ ❝  there are few causes worth saving. even fewer men.  ❞ ❝  don’t treat me like a child.  ❞ ❝  there’s strange men lurking outside the house. watching me.  ❞ ❝  you must be careful what you wish for lest your wish be granted.    for there are consequences.  ❞ ❝  shall i be free of the suffering? the sadness?  ❞ ❝  i wish to gaze into those eyes, eyes the devil would be proud to have.  ❞ ❝  you were born with a great gift. and only you can decide how to use it.  ❞ ❝  any other words of wisdom? or can we go?  ❞ ❝  what i need is an ally. and something tells me i shall find none better than you.  ❞ ❝  i can see no row can occur here without your participation.  ❞ ❝  i and what concerns me have not been a concern of yours for some time now.  ❞ ❝  if you’d not arrived in time, things might have ended considerably worse.  ❞ ❝  if they can bleed, they can die.  ❞ ❝  a man must display some madness from time to time --- it helps him feel alive.  ❞ ❝  i was deeply troubled. you’ve no idea.  ❞ ❝  done that so many times, but...it felt like our first kiss to me.  ❞ ❝  don’t need to play tough on me.  ❞ ❝  i've lost too many mates already. i won’t risk it, i can't.  ❞ ❝  there’s just not enough of us. it’ll be a hard fight.  ❞ ❝  in lonely woods, screams carry long.  ❞ ❝  things used to be simpler.    monsters were bad, humans good.   now, everything’s all confused.  ❞ ❝  as for your missteps --- i don't rightly see why i shouldn't laugh if they're amusing..  ❞ ❝  i’ve no gold to offer you in reward...but i shall be ever so grateful.  ❞ ❝  if you’re scared, turn back. i’m gonna go on.  ❞ ❝  if anything happens, i’ll defend you.  ❞ ❝  once you say "i love you," a kiss has to taste differently.  ❞ ❝  maybe we should sit? you look a bit dazed...  ❞ ❝  drink it off, sleep it off, whatever it takes...just get yourself together and think things        through.  ❞ ❝  i shall join later, if it’s no trouble. i don’t yet feel strong enough to venture out.  ❞ ❝  awake at last. you writhed like a squirrel caught in a snare.  ❞ ❝  again you plan without even asking what i think!  ❞ ❝  come to see how i’m feelin'? thanks, not bad.  ❞ ❝  i remember that day quite well...there was a light drizzle, yet the cold tore right through you.  ❞ ❝  you gotta keep your eyes peeled wide open. someone’s taken an interest in your work.  ❞ ❝  oof...for a minute, i actually thought we were doomed.  ❞ ❝  you shouldn’t worry yourself --- it tarnishes your beauty.  ❞ ❝  i’d even embrace you...were you not covered in blood.  ❞ ❝  guess i could’ve been someone worse...just a shame i had no choice.  ❞ ❝  facts interest me. not fairytales.  ❞ ❝  hm, odd smell. blend of alcohol, blood and monster stench.  ❞ ❝  i’m old and i am wealthy. i may say what i please.  ❞ ❝  now, be so kind and leave me to my thoughts.  ❞ ❝  in your shoes i’d pack it up and go hide somewhere far away.  ❞ ❝  forgive me, but that's the blatherin' of someone who clearly can't snap out of it after a tragic loss.  ❞ ❝  that all you gotta say? i saved your life.  ❞ ❝  i swear on all that is holy: we shall be together forever.  ❞ ❝  think of me as part of the decor.  ❞ ❝  anyone who’s bold enough to fight is already a hero.  ❞ ❝  if this is a trap of some sort...  ❞ ❝  you can count on me, you know? always.  ❞ ❝  you don’t know how much it means...to have someone you can rely on in this fucking city.  ❞ ❝  i know you. you have no heart.  ❞ ❝  no room for friendship in this business.  ❞ ❝  evil is evil. lesser, greater, middling, makes no difference. the degree is arbitrary, the definitions blurred.  ❞ ❝  hands off, or i'll cut them off.  ❞ ❝  i’ll need to clear my head first. after those deranged dreams, i feel it’s full of cobwebs.  ❞ ❝  on your way? or will you stay longer? it’s far safer with you around...  ❞ ❝  really sad story, but something’s not right. got a feeling you’re not telling me everything.  ❞ ❝  gotta admit, there’s something about you. you’re...different.  ❞ ❝  with each arrow i shoot, i think of my dad. he’d be proud, i think.  ❞ ❝  i merely know when to indulge my pride, and when to swallow it.  ❞ ❝  you were born to greatness.  ❞ ❝  these’re dark, grim times. no room for knights pure of heart or happily-ever-afters.  ❞ ❝  a life without liquor’s like loving without licking.  ❞ ❝  my certainty i walk the right path grows strong as iron, firm as steel.  ❞ ❝  few make me feel awkward, but in your presence, i feel anxiety, discomfort.  ❞ ❝  some men have got good reason to fear their own shadows.  ❞ ❝  some men cannot admit defeat. some keep fighting from beyond the grave.  ❞ ❝  stare into their eyes, feast on their terror. then go in for the kill.  ❞ ❝  forget not that you are a person right and honorable, devoted to doing good.  ❞ ❝  ash shall fertilize the soil. by spring, the valley shall bloom once more.  ❞ ❝  there’s lots of wraiths here. i hear them whispering every night.  ❞ ❝  no one has the courage to face this threat! yet we must kill them, or sooner or later we will all die.  ❞ ❝  you are a step away from losing your head. speak the truth and you might yet keep it.  ❞ ❝  you carry within you the weight of a terrible tragedy. you are a good person, but lost. which is why you come across as grim.  ❞ ❝  if i understand you correctly, you would rather help a monster than kill it?  ❞ ❝  discouraged after a mere eight attempts?  ❞ ❝  easier to pat someone on the back and hope things will work out than it is to face the truth.  ❞ ❝  know that they can’t teach an old dog new tricks?  ❞ ❝  my, you’ve grown beautiful.  ❞ ❝  my swords a promise --- if i reach for it, heads will roll.  ❞ ❝  one condition: no one dies. that clear?  ❞ ❝  patience happens to be my weakness. so dispense with the dramatic pauses and talk.  ❞ ❝  you proved today you can take care of yourself.  ❞ ❝  you under the delusion you’ll complete your tasks, live happily ever after?  ❞ ❝  i will not sit and twiddle my thumbs. i'm sick of waiting, sick of hiding!  ❞ ❝  glad you know who i am. haven’t introduced yourself, though.  ❞ ❝  i’ve seen a great deal --- cruelty, cynicism, greed.  ❞ ❝  you tempt fate, because at heart you are unhappy.  ❞ ❝  we had our chance, but...let it go.  ❞ ❝  come now, you didn’t expect it to be that easy, did you?  ❞ ❝  promise me one thing --- you’ll stop risking your life for others.  ❞ ❝  instead of dwelling on the future, i’d rather live in the moment.  ❞ ❝  i adore love stories. especially the ones that end happily ever after.  ❞ ❝  we are drops of rain that together make a ferocious storm.  ❞ ❝  the path to freedom is paved in blood, not ink.  ❞ ❝  we’ll get our happy ending. one day.  ❞ ❝  i’ll never forget what you did for me...and what we had together.  ❞ ❝  don’t meddle in other people’s lives.  ❞ ❝  i don’t get attached to places. just people.  ❞ ❝  it’s dangerous, there are risks involved. understand that, don’t you?  ❞ ❝  and here i hoped someone would finally take pity on me.  ❞ ❝  seen a lot of dead in my time, but that must’ve been hard.  ❞ ❝  air is strange...like dropping into a deep cellar on a hot day...  ❞ ❝  wouldn’t carry a sword if i didn’t know how to use it.  ❞ ❝  take it you didn't summon me to reminisce about the good old days, so...  ❞ ❝  i was attacked --- had to defend myself.  ❞ ❝  guards have never stopped me, you know that.  ❞ ❝  treating the ill and wounded...it’s my calling.  ❞ ❝  you think it’s enchanted?  ❞ ❝  there are times when a woman should simply not explain her decision.  ❞ ❝  won’t find too many comforts, but try to feel at home.  ❞ ❝  i was looking for you...sometimes i thought you were just a step away. other times, i felt like i was going around in circles.  ❞ ❝  i’ll remember you. always with a smile.  ❞ ❝  i’d rather you not make anymore trouble --- for yourself, or us both.  ❞ ❝  got the stench of corpes on you.  ❞ ❝  you stood to gain --- that is why you saved me.  ❞ ❝  sages invariably have hidden agendas. altruism is simply not part of their constitution.  ❞ ❝  the gods have abandoned us. the mighty of this earth care not for our fate.  ❞ ❝  is that admiration i hear in your voice?  ❞ ❝  i started off heading in the opposite direction, but then turned around.  ❞ ❝  i’m fed up. i won’t have others deciding for me behind my back.  ❞ ❝  where’d you get this idea? what’s gotten into you?  ❞ ❝  i don't expect you to commit now. think it over, what you've heard, what you feel.  ❞ ❝  head torn clear off...takes incredible strength.  ❞ ❝  desperate fathers have been known to do a lot to find their daughters.  ❞ ❝  you cannot kill me. you know this...  ❞ ❝  "i give you my heart”? what kind of spell is that?  ❞ ❝  i’d go anywhere with you.  ❞ ❝  why? because i am a woman? in a frock, rather than plate? i can take care of myself, i assure you.  ❞ ❝  everything we discussed here, hope you’ll keep it to yourself. counting on it, in fact.  ❞ ❝  trusted you once. won’t make that mistake again.  ❞ ❝  shut up. i’ve heard enough of your bullshit. draw your weapon, let’s get this over with.  ❞ ❝  exaggerating for effect, right?  ❞ ❝  well, well...when cornered, you can bite.  ❞ ❝  you cannot win...even if you kill me.  ❞ ❝  you know i’m good at accomplishing the impossible.  ❞ ❝  it’s nothing, really. you’d have done the same for me.  ❞ ❝  you are not ready. you do not control your powers.  ❞ ❝  you’re a tool in their hands, even if you don’t see it.  ❞ ❝  i’d do anything for you, i would. you know that well.  ❞ ❝  this is a land where the fantastic is normal, and the impossible occurs daily...  ❞ ❝  know when a legend becomes a prophecy? when it gain believers.  ❞ ❝  i thought you’d become a stranger to me. that i’d look at you and not feel a thing. but it’s not like that at all. nothing’s changed.  ❞ ❝  to be honest, i just wanted to go on a walk with you.  ❞ ❝  what i really want is to be with you, to...to be together and...  ❞ ❝  this is not the kind of offer one refuses.  ❞ ❝  despair devours you like maggots devour a corpse.  ❞ ❝  before long every soul will kneel before you.  ❞ ❝  i run into dilemmas all the time. situations where it's hard to judge, hard to know what's right, make a decision. this is not one of them. you disgust me. and deserve to die.  ❞ ❝  you know me. i’m rare to praise, but when i do, it’s sincere.  ❞ ❝  i'm not a thug for hire.  ❞ ❝  i like being on adventures, sleeping under the stars, waking up with dew on my face.  ❞ ❝  the dream's within reach now. i’m not about to let it go.  ❞ ❝  unlike you, killing gives me no pleasure.  ❞ ❝  can't speak for the world you inhabit, but in mine, nothing is ever black and white.  ❞ ❝  you cannot possibly imagine how much i detest this place.  ❞ ❝  stones you’ve got. but i didn’t think you’d have the stomach for a massacre.  ❞ ❝  the dead man --- looked like a monster attacked him recently.  ❞ ❝  finish all your business before you die. bid loved ones farewell. write your will. apologize to those you’ve wronged. otherwise, you’ll never truly leave this world.  ❞ ❝  i've had nothing but nightmares lately. pretty horrible.  ❞ ❝  i was wandering through the forest, breathing deep the air, and then i heard a strange sound, unsettling.  ❞ ❝  had a few nice dreams. for example, in one we sat around a fire, drinking good wine, and all around people danced and laughed.  ❞ ❝  they’re all dead! mountains of corpses. yet here i stand alone. all alone.  ❞ ❝  this isn’t a game. men have died.  ❞ ❝  if you wanna listen, listen, if not --- i'd rather you spared me your wit and throw me out now.  ❞ ❝  you fed me, cared for me, had my wounds looked after. we're even now.  ❞ ❝  you’ll return, you shall. our fates are bound.  ❞ ❝  i’ve nothing left. not a fucking thing.  ❞ ❝  i don’t question your abilities. i simply don’t trust you.  ❞ ❝  what foolish things men sometimes do.  ❞ ❝  dare harm me, and against you will rise all the powers of nature.  ❞ ❝  did you destroy the evil powers? have you brought peace to my domain?  ❞ ❝  well, perhaps i shall tell you about it one day. one day, but not today..  ❞ ❝  times like these, you never know what tomorrow will bring.  ❞ ❝  you worry too much. what will be, will be.  ❞ ❝  have you gone completely mad? we must leave here at once!  ❞ ❝  time eats away at memories, distorts them. sometimes we only remember the good... sometimes only the bad.  ❞ ❝  you don’t need magic to strip men of their humanity. i’ve seen plenty of examples.  ❞ ❝  if i’m to choose between one evil and another, i’d rather not choose at all.  ❞ ❝  see what i’ve got on my back? wolves fear it. kings do, too.  ❞ ❝  i missed those awkward compliments of yours.  ❞ ❝  sometimes i think it’s all too lovely to be true…that something’s bound to happen, another war or some other horror.  ❞ ❝  took you a while. did you run into trouble?  ❞ ❝  i just travel a lot. and i don't always happen upon such good and civil company.  ❞ ❝  what can you know about saving the world, silly?  ❞ ❝  done my share of fighting. wouldn't carry a sword if i didn't know to use it.  ❞ ❝  all right, perhaps i wasn’t completely honest.  ❞ ❝  ever thought this day would come? me and you...peace and quiet...bees buzzing, birds chirping.  ❞ ❝  i detect a shadow of impatience in your face.  ❞ ❝  took me a long time to find you. wasn't an easy road to travel.  ❞ ❝  wipe that frown off your face, or i might think you don’t like me anymore.  ❞ ❝  always believed attack was the best defense.  ❞ ❝  once it’s all over, if we survive ... i wish to leave, go far away.   and i’d like you to come with me.  ❞ ❝  naturally, you suspect me of the worst. i don’t deserve that.  ❞ ❝  we can fight another time, in another place, where the walls have no ears.  ❞ ❝  once i was free...i shall be free once more.  ❞ ❝  believe me...a tavern, mulled wine, our boots drying by the fire --- i’d like nothing better.  ❞ ❝  prove it. kiss me.  ❞ ❝  the prophecies do not lie...you cannot survive this struggle.  ❞ ❝  i know you better than you think.  ❞ ❝  you know me. nothing i like more than breaking rules.  ❞ ❝  what’s happened? it’s so quiet, all of a sudden.  ❞ ❝  thank you, for coming with me.  ❞ ❝  i cannot do everything for you. use your head.  ❞ ❝  i'm angry and tired. had to kill a lot of people along the way.  ❞ ❝  we’ve come a long way, and i’d be damned if we’ve come to fail.  ❞ ❝  i sense your pain. i see your fear.  ❞ ❝  how’s this for an answer: kiss my ass.  ❞ ❝  how many have you already killed? how many more might you still?  ❞ ❝  i'm quite alive and extraordinarily well. better than i've ever been in this rotten life of mine.  ❞ ❝  i like it when you smile. come here. everything will be all right.  ❞ ❝  ugh. don’t fall in love with me.  ❞ ❝  i don’t like you. in fact, i feel like slapping you.  ❞ ❝  i'm too old to play the blushing bride...unless you ask nicely.  ❞ ❝  that bit of my life --- forgotten it already.  ❞ ❝  the world doesn’t need a hero. it needs a professional.  ❞ ❝  next time you wonder why i’m so bitter...well, there's your answer.  ❞ ❝  nothing wrong with having a drink in good company.  ❞ ❝  i want you behind those rocks. and keep your mouth shut.  ❞ ❝  nice of you to worry...but i've made my decision, and i won't change it.  ❞ ❝  this is my story, not yours. you must let me finish telling it.  ❞ ❝  after all that toil, i believe we deserve a bit of a rest.  ❞ ❝  i was afraid you were dead.  ❞ ❝  we’ve all some stain on our conscience.  ❞ ❝  leaving the castle walls means certain death.  ❞ ❝  right good jest. had us a laugh. now fuck off.  ❞ ❝  i’ve heard about you. you bring trouble, or thus far have, always.  ❞ ❝  ah, you’ve struck a raw nerve.    memories of a time long past to which i’d rather not return now.  ❞ ❝  we meet again. and it seems you need my help. again.  ❞ ❝  got a relative i can talk to? someone - how do i say this - a smidgen less irritating?  ❞ ❝  miss the target, you owe me fifty push-ups. hit it, you owe me twenty.  ❞ ❝  oh. serious talk coming.  ❞ ❝  i feel like one more lie'd be the last bitter drop in a chalice full of sorrow.  ❞ ❝  romantic? thought we came here as friends.  ❞ ❝  you’re hiding something. and that’s one thing i can’t stand.  ❞ ❝  tell me, how do you do it? always manage to pull yourself together, focus, no matter what’s happening?  ❞ ❝  i go wherever i please, whenever i please.  ❞ ❝  uh oh. i know that look.  ❞ ❝  sounds tempting. so tempting i don’t think i can refuse.  ❞ ❝  so, what do you say to a moonlight ride on horseback...and dinner?  ❞ ❝  perhaps...perhaps you’d stay just a bit longer?  ❞ ❝  how are you feeling? sleep well?  ❞ ❝  such a gloomy subject to broach...  simply shouldn’t have.  ❞

❝  such a gloomy subject to broach...i simply shouldn’t have --- not during our romantic dinner.  ❞ ❝  got it. a bit of blackmail --- just your style.  ❞ ❝  it’s the crack of dawn. where do you wanna go?  ❞ ❝  shut up before you wake someone. last thing we need is a crowd.  ❞ ❝  watch what you say. the trees have ears.  ❞ ❝  no bow at hand, no spear. my sword was all i had.  ❞ ❝  never expected you’d take such an interest in my private life.  ❞ ❝  i’m special. always was the rare beauty.  ❞ ❝  damn. been ages since we last saw each other.  ❞ ❝  some charming orchards nearby. in bloom, even, so you almost can't smell the corpses.  ❞ ❝  you know me. nothing i like more than breaking rules.  ❞ ❝  man spends his whole life learning.  ❞ ❝  if only i was as skilled with my words as i am with my blade.  ❞ ❝  i wished to know what was going on in that head of yours. i thought perhaps i could help.  ❞ ❝  i can tell something’s bothering you.  ❞ ❝  dangerous times. each thinks five times before sticking their neck out.   and i can’t blame them.  ❞ ❝  now i care not in the slightest how you think or feel.  ❞ ❝  i no longer know if i still hate you.  ❞ ❝  i see how you look at me, and i see you wither.  ❞ ❝  one last bit of advice --- find a new tavern. everyone here knows you.  ❞ ❝  you won. no point bothering with ‘what ifs’.  ❞ ❝  it’s time i took fate into my own hands. lived life anew...and truly, this time.  ❞ ❝  ahh, 'cause you thought you'd killed me that time. surprise, sur-fucking-prise.  ❞ ❝  who...who’s that? gods, i’m hallucinating.  ❞ ❝  it’s no exaggeration to say i’ve never met a warrior like you in my life. you’re lithe as an eel and strong as a bear.  ❞ ❝  i’ve a heart again, yet all it feels is grief, sadness and defeat. my life is a ruin.  ❞ ❝  sought only to protect myself. in doing so, i put you in harm’s way. forgive me.  ❞ ❝  there’s a charming grove nearby where  kisses  taste  sweeter than anywhere else in the world.  ❞ ❝  you’ve handled tougher situations. you’ll figure this one out.  ❞ ❝  who you are and why you’ve come matter little. for you’ll not leave this place alive.  ❞ ❝  i’m not panicking. just trying to be realistic.  ❞ ❝  hahahahaha...i can’t believe you fell for that!  ❞ ❝  i was actually going to recite an anthem praising your glory, but if you’re not in the mood...  ❞ ❝  lying didn’t always come so easily to you.  ❞ ❝  everyone wants to rule. i can do that better than any monarch.  ❞ ❝  tell me what you want already, and make it quick.  ❞ ❝  what a mess we made of it all...if i’d only known then how it would end...  ❞ ❝  seems a faded dream now, but there were a time where i was happy.  ❞ ❝  why’d you leave me? you claimed you loved me.  ❞ ❝  never liked boats. not one bit.  ❞ ❝  you must be mad. i’ve no intention to make things easier for you.  ❞ ❝  i don’t wish to look at your face any longer than i must.  ❞ ❝  please, no. i can’t stand spells.  ❞ ❝  we agreed not to keep any secrets from one another. we promised.  ❞ ❝  that i like! a man who boldly dares, damn the risks!  ❞ ❝  i thought you bowed before no man.  ❞ ❝  smile a bit wider. ...you were meant to smile, not bare your teeth.  ❞ ❝  is that blood? have you hurt yourself?  ❞ ❝  no reason to trouble the guards. i’ll go willingly.  ❞ ❝  look at me. promise you’ll stay out of it.  ❞ ❝  the minute we’re in trouble, you make me responsible for getting us out.  ❞ ❝  they say they don’t fear the wrath of the gods. and you, do you fear it?  ❞ ❝  i’ll let that pass. i know grief eats at your heart.  ❞ ❝  we all lie sometimes. but lying to yourself is running away, whereas there’s really nowhere to run.  ❞ ❝  don’t need your sympathy, just your help.  ❞ ❝  your loss -- it must hurt, bad. but there wasn't anything we could do.  ❞ ❝  i wish to leave, go far away. and i’d like you to come with me.  ❞ ❝  i trust you have an explanation for this. a very good one.  ❞ ❝  lot of bitterness in you.  ❞ ❝  i assure you, you’re excellent at covering your tracks --- though not terribly subtle. but i’m even better at uncovering them.  ❞ ❝  glad to see you happy...but i don’t think what we did was right.  ❞ ❝  i look at you, and...and feel like i am exactly where i am supposed to be. at long last.  ❞ ❝  i’m no coward. i'll not run this time.  ❞ ❝  yes, i know you’ve trained with swords. but you’re still shit with them.  ❞ ❝  how many innocents have you cut down?  ❞ ❝  problem is, you’re not ordinary. you were born to greatness.  ❞ ❝  not too late to surrender.  ❞ ❝  men turn honest when they feel a blade at their throat.  ❞ ❝  i'm not gonna drink. why dull my senses when i’m in such pleasant company?  ❞ ❝  it’s bound to come in handy, and each time it does, you’ll think of me.  ❞ ❝  lie still or you will bleed to death.  ❞ ❝  your life is yours, exclusively. you choose who you are.  ❞ ❝  for a minute there, was almost sure you’d leave me to die.  ❞ ❝  there is never a second opportunity to make a first impression.  ❞ ❝  it’s all because of that secretiveness of yours.  ❞ ❝  plead the gods spare us, for without their favor we shall most certainly perish.  ❞ ❝  i must say -- seen a lot, but nothing like this, never.  ❞ ❝  you don’t look like you can get home on your own. i’ll walk you.  ❞ ❝  all’s in the past, never to be restored.  ❞ ❝  you know full well i never hold a grudge. i forgive you.  ❞ ❝  the good gods sent you to me.  ❞ ❝  and the guilt, the responsibility of all this, lies with me.  ❞ ❝  you’ve only been here five minutes, and you’ve already managed to offend me twice.  ❞ ❝  you will certainly fetch me a higher bounty alive.  ❞ ❝  what's wrong with my beard? always thought it added to my dignity.  ❞ ❝  if i’m to die today, i wish to look smashing for the occasion.  ❞ ❝  i was stupid. stupidity costs a lot.  ❞ ❝  even your humblest requests seem like threats.  ❞ ❝  your motives do not interest me. only results.  ❞ ❝  and you laughed, oh, how sweetly, how brightly you laughed!  ❞ ❝  you don’t know how it is. to see someone you love die. because of you, for you.  ❞ ❝  to have a scapegoat --- that’s the key.  ❞ ❝  no need to fear me.  ❞ ❝  sorry, but -- your life story? just not interested.  ❞ ❝  with you...it was love at first sight.  ❞ ❝  gotta understand. you don’t betray people like me.  ❞ ❝  i struggled long to find a place where i’d feel safe, needed. until i finally arrived here.  ❞ ❝  just don’t faint on me.  ❞ ❝  could never be there for you everyday. but i’m happy to see you always. and today, i’m all yours.  ❞ ❝  what others think...your image...that’s all you care about.  ❞ ❝  in these foul times one must be wary, even of their friends.  ❞ ❝  come on, don’t get angry - it’s not good for you..  ❞ ❝  so, apart from the sword play, you know potions and all that?  ❞ ❝  i actually envy your sense of wonder --- common in children, and morons.  ❞ ❝  a lot of misfortune for a small village.  ❞ ❝  who are you? do you seek to hurt me as well?  ❞ ❝  the hand that feeds can also strike its wayward wards.  ❞ ❝  shh. eat now. we’ll speak once you’ve rested.  ❞ ❝  brother has turned against brother, the land is soaked in blood. evil reigns stronger than ever before.  ❞ ❝  good looking and clever. where’ve you been hiding?  ❞ ❝  doesn’t bother you, having monsters for neighbours?  ❞ ❝  stay here --- no matter what happens.  ❞ ❝  i never told you this, but i’ve always felt it: i love you.  ❞ ❝  listen to me this once -- don't take matters into your own hands.  ❞ ❝  love these moments. the air before a battle -- nothing smells as sweet.  ❞ ❝  they tried to get in through the main gate. i’m afraid they could succeed next time.  ❞ ❝  too many claim you’re evil.  ❞ ❝  why are you so eager to help strangers? sit your ass down or there’ll be misfortune.  ❞ ❝  you'd never have managed without me, would you? come, now, admit it.  ❞ ❝  for those who remain, death should never take precedence over life.  ❞ ❝  thanks for coming. thanks for risking your life for me.  ❞ ❝  don’t force me to speak of it. no more, please.  ❞ ❝  when doubt plagues your mind, follow your instincts. should they steer you wrong and land you in muck, you'll land at peace with yourself. and that's most important.  ❞ ❝   just know that i know you're here. one misstep, one error...you'll make a mistake, it's inevitable...i'll be the first to learn it.  ❞ ❝  i do not know you. i’ve done you no harm.  ❞ ❝  try not to panic...just doesn’t suit you.  ❞ ❝  we’ve come a long way, and i’ll be damned if we’ve come to fail.  ❞ ❝  had i known what would happen here, i'd never have come.  ❞ ❝  i can say i’ve seen it all now.  ❞ ❝  these scars have long yearned for your tender caress.  ❞ ❝  i don’t fall victim to curses. i cast them.  ❞ ❝  come outside. we can hold hands and stare at the sky.  ❞ ❝  we’ll work well together --- i can see that already.  ❞ ❝  from the first moment i set eyes upon you that fateful evening, my heart has only beaten for you.  ❞ ❝  i trust you as much as you trust me --- not at all.  ❞ ❝  you’ve gone all red in the face just for talking about it.  ❞ ❝  wake up. it’s just a dream. wake up!  ❞ ❝  i still don’t believe everything that happened.  ❞ ❝  i never miss twice.  ❞ ❝  bit too old to believe in bedtime stories, aren’t you?  ❞ ❝  you humans have...unusual tastes.  ❞ ❝  didn’t think it worthwhile to tell me, warn me of your plans?  ❞ ❝  i think you will not attack one unarmed.  ❞ ❝  the deeper i get into this, the more i gotta wonder...why’re you even helping me?  ❞ ❝  to live in peace, we first must kill.  ❞ ❝  at times fate muddles our path, and life turns toilsome, hard to bear.  ❞ ❝  i fight for whoever’s paying the best. or whoever’s easier to rob.  ❞ ❝  do not let my beauty distract your aim.  ❞ ❝  i’ve seen what is to come, i know destruction approaches.  ❞ ❝  the war awoke an ancient power. an evil one that feeds on bloodshed.  ❞ ❝  guess you’re no stranger to fury, either.  ❞ ❝  think i’m gonna fall for that? no chance, you’re wrong.  ❞ ❝  gotta admit --- you do pretty well with a sword.  ❞ ❝  you dare tell me to calm down?! you?!  ❞ ❝  let's say i go about my business, and when there's coin to be earned, i don't readily turn it down.  ❞ ❝  i wish to know the truth...be it sweet, be it painful, i wish to know.  ❞ ❝  men, the polite ones at least, would call me a monster.  ❞ ❝  even i grow ill at the sight of you.  ❞ ❝  i’m going on a walk. or is that not allowed either? because i could break my leg?  ❞ ❝  plan’s crazier than it is sane...but there’s an irrestistible charm to it.  ❞ ❝  unbelievable! you said something romantic! you!  ❞ ❝  we may not survive this. in fact, our chances are slim.  ❞ ❝  if anything should happen to you...  ❞ ❝  there’s not been a dark cloud yet that didn’t have a silver lining.  ❞ ❝  those are some fresh lookin’ scars you’ve got there.  ❞ ❝  no. no more about the battle. just hold me. and say something nice.  ❞ ❝  stay. this is the only home we’ve ever had.  ❞ ❝  you’re so charming when you try to be funny.  ❞ ❝  not proud of it...yet i considered all the options and found none better.  ❞ ❝  i look far different from when you last saw me.  ❞ ❝  i admire your optimism. wish i shared it.  ❞ ❝  and...try not to draw any attention to yourself.  ❞ ❝  nightmares haunt our nights and days. folk sleepwalk from their homes, never to return.  ❞ ❝  forgive me. it couldn’t be avoided. i truly am sorry.  ❞ ❝  well i’ve departed, escaped, been forced to flee so many times…yet i always returned. you ought to be used to it by now.  ❞ ❝  the human mind is as wild and unexplored a place as any land far beyond the sea.  ❞ ❝  you think you’ve won. you are wrong. i can’t die.  ❞ ❝  you’re something more. something more.  ❞ ❝  barely nicked me, i’ll be fine.  ❞ ❝  it’s just that i felt...stifled, in your shadow. i’d have suffocated had i stayed.  ❞ ❝  come, don’t just stand there. i want a hug.  ❞ ❝  it’s lovely here! i could stay forever.  ❞ ❝  do what you will, but leave me out of this.  ❞ ❝  we should end this discussion -- before i say something i'll regret.  ❞ ❝  you all right? you’re as pale as death.  ❞ ❝  let’s get back to the hut. i’ll protect you along the way.  ❞ ❝  not to keen on talking about it, are you?  ❞ ❝  it’s better to die than to live in the knowledge that you’ve done something that needs forgiveness.  ❞ ❝  i was afraid you were dead.  ❞ ❝  at times one must use reason, rather than blades.  ❞ ❝  need some peace. gotta prepare.  ❞ ❝  i suspected it might not be the best idea, but i was desperate, had no choice.  ❞ ❝  so tell me how it happened. step by step.  ❞ ❝  it was a bit of a lark, a jest. i meant to bring it all back, i swear.  ❞ ❝  if i wanted to kill you, you'd be long dead by now.  ❞ ❝  that is precisely one of the reasons why i abhor your world.    your senseless brutality.  ❞ ❝  i won’t let them take you, you know that?  ❞ ❝  magic...childish hocus-pocus. it’s just not interesting. what i find fascinating are true tales of true human lives.  ❞ ❝  save your praise for others. i couldn’t give a shit.  ❞ ❝  well, well, i am impressed. doubted you still had it in you, frankly.  ❞ ❝  i like you. don’t make me hurt you.  ❞ ❝  you know very little can hurt you being immortal, so you take wild risks, chase extreme sensations. there comes a point you’ve done it all, and all seems boring and monotonous.  ❞ ❝  with you i finally feel...harmony. a calm. feel like things are the way they're supposed to be.  ❞ ❝  i'm afraid the dishwater’s as good as it gets in this establishment.  ❞ ❝  sorry to take so long, but i had to deal with the guards.  ❞ ❝  i’d never miss a chance to spend a pleasant evening with you.  ❞ ❝  you know too much. yet one more reason why you must die.  ❞ ❝  or perhaps you seek to trick me.  ❞ ❝  if you acknowledge any gods...start praying, now.  ❞ ❝  it’s very simple. you either deceived me...or not.  ❞ ❝  i am known neither for my sense of humor nor for my patience.  ❞ ❝  naturally, it would be easier with your help, but...you irritate me.  ❞ ❝  love questions like that. am i holding up? what, my dick?  ❞ ❝  we never hunt in these woods. not even if it means the whole village starves.  ❞ ❝  we’re only ever the ones to know the truth about ourselves.  ❞ ❝  you’re insolent because you believe i cannot afford to hurt you. and you’re right.  ❞ ❝  i detest graveyards, especially wandering them alone.  ❞ ❝  you know too much. you impede me too often. and i find your arrogance an annoyance.  ❞ ❝  i know it’s wartime, but try not to be a hero, all right?  ❞ ❝  i don’t know that i’ll make for engaging company. in truth, i rarely talk to men.  ❞ ❝  you know...had a dream about you recently.  ❞ ❝  i thought i could at least count on you to treat me seriously.  ❞ ❝  don’t ask questions you know the answers to. it makes you look stupid.  ❞ ❝  you’re nosy. starting to piss me off, you know?  ❞ ❝  what did i do to deserve this? have i given you cause to doubt my intentions?  ❞ ❝  don’t fret about me. i always get by somehow, right?  ❞ ❝  i wanted to go with you --- that was my idea.  ❞ ❝  i shan’t stray a step from your side.  ❞ ❝  if that’s what it takes to save the world, it’s better to let that world die.  ❞ ❝  what’s that supposed to mean? that a threat?  ❞ ❝  i’m offering a great and true adventure, an experience like no other, the fate of only the chosen few.  ❞ ❝  that’s like choosing between pestilence and the plague.  ❞ ❝  what’s it matter? i only ever thought of you.  ❞ ❝  did you know you’ve gained twenty-seven new scars since we’ve last saw each other?  ❞ ❝  i need to know the details if you want me to get my hands dirty.  ❞ ❝  don’t know you. go away.  ❞ ❝  ever vigilant, even in your sleep. quite vampire-like, in fact.  ❞ ❝  gotten used to people treating me like a freak, an outcast.  ❞ ❝  we share a cause, then. just like the old days.  ❞ ❝  ever considered becoming a burglar? skill like that’d come in awful handy.  ❞ ❝  there’s never been a frown that couldn’t be turned upside down.  ❞ ❝  honesty's an attribute of the truly brave --- and thus the privilege of the very few.  ❞ ❝  you do not have a monopoly in altruism, my friend.  ❞ ❝  great love demands great sacrifices.  ❞ ❝  i believe it wise at times to share one’s secrets, unburden oneself to those one can trust.  ❞ ❝  it would be nice from time to time if you could sit back and enjoy life, instead of going around solving everyone’s problems.  ❞ ❝  we shall dance until the break of dawn!  ❞ ❝  a man could lose his head for a lass like you.  ❞ ❝  don’t have to come if you don’t want. wait here.  ❞ ❝  never seen this side of you.  ❞ ❝  i’m to kiss the ground you walk on, is that it? but you just did your duty.  ❞ ❝  the day you give me a smile...that moment, that’s what i’m waiting for.  ❞ ❝  i need a soul intelligent and clever, an individual who fears no dare. someone like you.  ❞ ❝  if i was you i’d catch some shut-eye, not go on flapping my tongue.  ❞ ❝  the plan is simple...which does not mean it will be easy to execute.  ❞ ❝  sometimes you really get on my nerves, you know.  ❞ ❝  you shall not turn on me, use what i say against me? you shall not tell anyone?  ❞ ❝  gave you a chance. should’ve taken it.  ❞ ❝  always better to do a bit more and even gain nothing by it,    than to do too little and face regret.  ❞ ❝  it’s lovely out here. the birds singing, the bees buzzing...blissful, really.  ❞ ❝  what a lovely dress. the color suits you exquisitely.  ❞ ❝  pretty fantastic tale. hard as hell to believe.  ❞ ❝  it’s time you discovered my romantic side.  ❞ ❝  you gotta understand the whole world doesn’t revolve around you.  ❞ ❝  can you not see i am out of my mind with worry?  ❞ ❝  every rose has its thorn, and there are no happy endings.  ❞ ❝  pretty quick to reject help. why is that?  ❞ ❝  don’t need to like each other. just gotta do our jobs.  ❞ ❝  frankly, if i can do something for you, i'll do it, willingly.  ❞ ❝  you were hired you kill me, were you not?  ❞ ❝  what’s it like, going toe to toe with a monster? knowing you’ve only two options --- to kill or be killed?  ❞ ❝  this place --- there’s evil here. death hangs in the air.  ❞ ❝  intellect counts as much as strength.  ❞ ❝  i run back inside, hasp the doors, and then i hear it --- someone whispering my name.  ❞ ❝  you know i like you. unlike the rest of this lot, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.  ❞ ❝  if you love somebody, set them free.  ❞ ❝  if you hate me so deeply, why don’t you tell me to my face?  ❞ ❝  i’m afraid you’d not realize which way the wind was blowing if you pissed straight into it.  ❞ ❝  that was courageous. i'd never expect it from you.  ❞ ❝  i am not easily impressed, but i must admit you have succeeded, my dear.  ❞ ❝  kill me if you must. i’ve nothing to live for anyway.  ❞ ❝  aren’t you an extraordinary beauty.  ❞ ❝  never suspected you believed such things.  ❞ ❝  wait...you want to go with me? out of the question.  ❞ ❝  used to it. not the first time i’ve been hunted.  ❞ ❝  enough of this hesitation, this fretting, these feelings of guilt!  ❞ ❝  strange working with you. strange, but great.  ❞ ❝  give me a moment. i must don something more appropiate and concealing.  ❞ ❝  killing comes as naturally to me as blowing my nose.  ❞ ❝  ......   another tale of a life compromised and ultimately claimed by greed and ambition.  ❞ ❝  in the future, though, remember this --- i can look after myself  ❞ ❝  you'd really worry about me if i went on alone?  ❞ ❝  you have many merits. you merely hide them from the world very diligently.  ❞ ❝  is it true virtue always trumps villainy?  ❞ ❝  watch my movements. i’m spry as a cat and sly as a fox.  ❞ ❝  ah, if only this could last forever.  ❞ ❝  few i can rely on like i can on you. kinda hoping you think the same of me.  ❞ ❝  you are angry at the whole world. you feel inferior, feel pain, though you mask this with confidence, arrogance, even.  ❞ ❝  there exist worries for which there quite simply is no other medicine.  ❞ ❝  your bones look thin, your breathing’s wheezy. afraid one punch might kill you.  ❞ ❝  to love is to build a house of cards, or play a game of chess, but one word or ill-thought move and you must start it all afresh.  ❞ ❝  i’m doing what i ever wanted to do, being who i wanted to be. i believe that’s one definition of happiness.  ❞ ❝  you’ve not an ounce of refinement in you, have you?  ❞ ❝  pain rules the body, but fear is born in the heart.  ❞ ❝  either i get burned, or i’ll burn all else down. no other options.  ❞ ❝  should you decide your sword is the sole solution, i shall not stand in your way.  ❞ ❝  c’mon, come closer.  ❞ ❝  would you prefer i treated you like the lying manipulater you are?  ❞ ❝  i regret nothing. one lives but once.  ❞ ❝  i just hope this tale has a happy ending. for me, for you. for everyone.  ❞ ❝  just gonna go our seperate ways? no parting words?  ❞ ❝  you still stand to be quite useful to me.  ❞ ❝  i suppose you wanted to frighten me...alas, you didn’t in the least. after all, i’m a monster too, am i not?  ❞ ❝  i trust no one. learned that long ago.  ❞ ❝  it cannot be! you actually have a sense of humor.  ❞ ❝  didn’t ask for a lecture on probability. need a simple answer --- yes or no.  ❞ ❝  another word, and i shall spill even more blood. yours.  ❞ ❝  you feel resentment, i understand, but we shall work through all the unfortunate matters of the past.  ❞ ❝  stop playing dumb. i know everything...your plan.  ❞ ❝  honestly can’t see what all those dames see in you --- you’re a stick in the mud.  ❞ ❝  not showy, lovely location...perfect for romantic getaways.  ❞ ❝  i hope you’re not upset i came like this, without warning...  ❞ ❝  i’m still a long way from mastering anything. but i am trying.  ❞ ❝  now i know how you do it. just annoy your opponents to death.  ❞ ❝  word on the street is there’s a hefty bounty on your head.  ❞ ❝  for a few days now i’ve been having dizzy spells.  ❞ ❝  i’ve always had a way with ostensibly dangerous types.  ❞ ❝  wound doesn’t look good.    patch that up quick if i were you, before it starts festering.  ❞ ❝  always seemed to me you were a very complicated creature, by nature. not one to resort to such simple methods like drinking your worries away.  ❞ ❝  may i be honest? yes, i’m nervous. i really would prefer to just run off.  ❞ ❝  father always said a wise man learns from others’ mistakes, so here i am, learning from his.  ❞ ❝  ever since that horrid night...everything has changed.  ❞ ❝  what’s wrong? afraid? gut feeling queasy?  ❞ ❝  used to bother me, all your secrets...now i know if you have something to tell me, you’ll tell me.  ❞ ❝  i so don’t feel like going anywhere. sit here a while longer?  ❞ ❝  there’s something i’d like to know...how can you be so damned calm?  ❞ ❝  my knees quake like a carnival rattle.  ❞ ❝  honestly didn’t think this’d work. doubted anything would happen.  ❞

[captainkurosolaire]

The Enforcer

 Lalafell’s decoratively made a resolution coming together in their federation. Their feminine representative, “We’ll do it. Seems like fun, we enjoy high-stakes.” The nerdiest one of them, “By our calculations, the succession of rates is significantly increased with humoring this blueprint of yours.” The more glamoured and fabulous hat worn one pouted, “Sorry yo, in pounding you earlier dood.” Another echoed, “We were just kidding on blowing you up…” the one who often tells lies spoke. Lastly, their appointed central leader, Jackal who had some characteristics of Captain himself scooted in, “Where do we begin?”, he’d crook ahead, “Shelah, hand em a linkpearl fer me from my talisman.” Since his arms still couldn’t bend and were in their cast she had to be the aide. “Your priorities should b’ in getting a new flag of your old design, say you’re renovating the design to your former employers, one-day, gradually after you prove t’ them you’re earning the same shares, you can tell them about th’ shift in leadership. Say the other got executed finally by Maelstrom, it’s something believable. They’ll keep their normal frustrations level in-tact. Fer the Maelstrom sake do the opposite for the disappearance of their ‘resource’ they’ll become irritated equally. Though long as you’ve shown the same results and have a steady grasp you’ll pull it off. Least long enough until I rebuild my crew. Then, I’ll provide coverage, we’ll go after the Scourges who pose a threat, but I need to gain allies and treaties, each Scourge could bring many battles and wars... Warning, whatever you do never, ever, cross or short-change the Crew named OMONGA. They’re yer prime clients to see pleased.” Each of them wondered just what sort of devils were among that Crew to be specifically singled out. “Ay ay!” They’d all enact before solidifying as a unit and properly get acquitted to their ship and the disposal of maintenance they’d need to clean. Shelah worded between him, “Amazing. But Cap’n do you think that’ll work?” He’d chortle, “No chance. We’re on borrowed time. Someone will compromise or make an error. Though I’ll push harder… Unless.” Klethera stepping in, he didn’t forget about the deal about turning himself in firstly, it was possible none of this would matter anyway. Shelah realizing this should be between them gave her parting, “I’ll get the little ones to the Capital safely. I’m not Wanted or injured too badly, I’ve had time to recuperate my injuries. There’s a Chocobo stable not far.” She’d bow slightly before Klethera continuing to carry her efficiently in trying to honor her Captain who similarly saved her with his Navigator. Giving reassurance and looking after people’s living seemed to be his worst habit. Klethera recognized his crewmate was someone who wouldn’t be suspected at all how she envisioned his ranks or members. “I’ve decided.” She’d grumble between her teeth, “You’re not nearly as terrible initially, I still don’t agree with you pirates. Especially don’t forgive your actions fully either. Though.” She’d remain unfinished, her sentence while looking over the scenic ebb and flow waves. The parting turtle-vessel leaving their view. “I’ll make you a deal, let me in this... your Crew. I won’t arrest you temporarily..” Kuro abruptly and erupted in a bellowing cackle, “O’ is that how it works huh? It’s certainly admirable. Who’s to say I wasn’t them? Or am I not? I’ve thrown people n’ chains, decided and jailed them too. I’m not innocent. I’ve pledged myself t’ the seas and a cause... and I won’t let those try conquering it and think they own it or decide massively they can. I reshape and build things that are broken often seen damaged past repair, tainted or forgotten, I take what people neglect and tell it a value, steal and give it refugee to a sanctuary, show them the potential of a hand’s properly callous for appraisal, but my words matter not they’re cheap spew and sometimes, my palms can’t adequately contain certainty those I cherish th’ most… Lost things I have utterly loved and they killed themselves for me. Slain me from mind to save themselves.” She’d punch him in the rib, “Dummy. That’s why I want in. You can’t expect yourself to always be accounted for your actions. When you cross the line, I’ll beat you back in line. And when I… admitting, go overboard in my justice, I need you to do what you just did. Help me find clarity. You want to clean these polluted seas just as bad as anyone. I don’t intend to let those incapable of fending for themselves to be damned. You talk in past-tense, I think you can change this dooming aura, assuming your resolve never goes misplaced.” Her words echoed his consciousness turning in facing.

“We call that role on a crew, The Enforcer, but I couldn’t agree further. Though I want the condition, if I break the line. You do as I asked, you bring the bullet t’ my skull, and you get out of this. We can defeat some of the worse looming nightmares once we’re ready to port from these shadows and reclaim our taken fortunes and acquire the relics of the loss. Fer now I need to remain a ghastly specter of once. You’ll oversee interrogation and throwing vile n’ our cozy brigs and discipline the crew keeping us in check and aligned, even me. My First Crew-Mate is similar too. I have no purpose fer a crew filled ov’ strictly agreein’ nancies. Mutiny me if I fail expectations.” Strictly he’d apply shackles on himself and pressure, the more stress a leader had, the better they were stable and performed effectively in keeping lives in-tact. Lacking this resolve or willpower to constantly want a Captain who didn’t take the challenge, was a sign of someone who’d bring death to all those who were behind that supposed leader that was his learning of age. Inside this particular cursed pirate, was a budded root, a nourishing plant which grew with each new addition of a springing face of his worldly cherished. Those blooming petals would shortly under weathered conditions would open themselves and my... a marveling ferocious beauty laid under all those drenches if those storms could be navigated. She’d shake even his request at an awareness of this fact of his oddity. So-far she was wrong about many avenues of him and kept guessing despite her earrings preventing deceit. She had this hope about him too. Despite neither of them would ever have admittance of it cause their pride, in this short-encountering of events they made a pact of poetic uniqueness. The estranged daughter and a no-good father had a path to deliver their proving. 

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[sasorikigai]

🆗 for drabble. (( idea: commander hasashi seeing operative yang loose control over her power for the first time and go feral. ))

Muns, have a drabble in mind? Send me a “🆗” for a random drabble. || @yetremains || accepting 

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || The world remains on the precipice, as the perpetual threat of disequilibrium imperils to be disintegrated and shattered to naught. Commander Hasashi has witnessed Yang’s prowess and power, unparalleled even to match the most formidable warriors gracing the Special Forces. His reblossomed love would grow to have no bounds; for it has only ever continued to grow. Their love is like an established rhododendron that blooms more magnificently with each passing season. And Hanzo Hasashi’s adoration for her develops brand-new, hopeful buds nurtured by her solid, tender presence in glorious spring days, Hanzo’s heart becomes a beating machine; ventricular assist device propelling emotional pain, as the fueled conflagration scorches and blackens the insides of his ribcage, tendrils of white-hot flame, tendrils of his hellfire thawing icicle veins of the past. 

In celebration of a love that’s balanced with equal measures of sunshine and torrential showers, and though they have endured winter months felt right down to the very roots of their thriving beauty and betterment has set bare, covered in decembers’ harsh breath. Perhaps during their times of retreat and reflection, their love has only ever grown and bloomed more resilient and mesmerizing than ever before. 

They equip wounds so deep that they have become their respective graves. They are ferocious and formidable warriors, because their powers are thrilling, ebullient, and enchanting. Their hellfire and light and dark elements imbued within her weapon become the arsenal in their own, lancing at the foes’ heart, lacerating their own with the process, as the whistled tunes of righteous justice splits through the wind, speaking a story and letting it ride. For the unfathomable reserve of their power is vast and mysterious, and the willpower they pull from every drop of their vigor. 

Hanzo has never thought he would completely recuperate from the burn and sting from everything that has been happening. For life is an engulfing fire and they are just walking through the flames, struggling with moribund ghosts that come and fade, never fully deciphering the entirety of his surroundings, despite their sharp intuitions and crimson-streaking paint they were frequently as the unbearable pain and melancholy become the persistent company. However passioned and potent, their powers are sometimes akin to a thread snagged on a nail of amalgam of emotions; for Hanzo, it is mostly guilt and incompetency, for his vengeance and vitriol anger stems from having been rendered powerlessness. It has been unraveling for decades now and now, he is finally naked, bare and somewhat self-aware, but still remains cold in the familiar vacuum as Talia Jones Yang’s own volatile unfurlment brings about a certain visceral, poignant emotion. 

The landscape around them may change, evolve, and blossom - into something magnificent, almost euphorically, beautiful. Beyond the repressed shock and empathy, there lies a deepening sense of appreciation for it. For their merged landscape is both the universe, and the orbiting attraction amidst compassionate tenderness, as he would simply attempt to share his own wisdom and will of the mighty, fortified scorpion. Hanzo Hasashi may be a scarred and soldered one with so many imperfections and golden joineries from irreversible wounds of the past - but as the conglomerating tendrils of the pandemonium of light and dark continue to battle for its dominance.  

For all he could do is to willfully surrender himself to both that also nourishes and demolishes his soul, as magnificent red flows around him in orbiting circles, breaching through as the mighty sun reaches forth the land below to mercifully bask the world with its ever-giving warmth. Heed my words; was it worth it? Was it worth the trial? Was it worth what you have sacrificed? Do you feel anything now? What do you feel now? How Hanzo wishes to hold her hands now, in unbearable yearning and unbearably exciting moments of hand-holding as it becomes a quotidian necessity. Such intermittent notion could convey the power, giving him such sacred hope to survive any catastrophe he will face. 

And he hopes to do the same as the breaching tendrils reach for her with its zealous intensity. For it’s his fire’s nature to spread, emit its passion and intent without fabricated guise and falsity. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || 

[cynthesii]

the road to hell is paved with petals (1/?)

series: boku no hero academia

word count: 2.4k

summary: It began as a spring day just as any other, except it wasn't- not for you anyway. “Can I hug you?” a voice said behind you. Your head turned towards the sound on instinct, and suddenly your dulled world was filled with brilliant shades of grey and blue. At four years of age, you encountered your third major crisis: love. (a reader insert hanahaki au, in which todoroki really needs a hug)

links: next: part 2 (coming) | ao3 | quotev

part 1:  absence makes the heart grow flowers

*

*

At only four years of age, you encountered your first major crisis: daycare.

It had been a spring day just like any other, except it wasn’t- not for you anyway. This would mark your first day away from home, and away from the bindings of your parents’ strict influence. It was strange, finally having the freedom you had craved for so long in your hands, but you gratefully treasured the independence granted to you nonetheless.

So, why were you sitting alone, at the back of the room, staring at the large cherry blossom tree from beyond the windows?

Frankly, you were scared beyond belief. Socializing just wasn’t your thing, especially with kids as obnoxiously loud as the ones in your classroom. Everything was just too overwhelming for you- the bright lights, the loud sounds, the sight of tiny bodies running tirelessly around each other. In the midst of the comotion, your heart beat rapidly. Your breathing became more shallow. You felt like you were going to pass out. Unlike your monotonous home life, this was all too much for you to handle.

Freedom was truly a frightening thing.

So, you sat there, staring off in your own little world. That is, until a soft voice beside you cut into your thoughts and rang gently in your ears, waking you from your daydream.

“Can I hug you?” a voice said behind you.

Your head turned towards the sound on instinct, and suddenly your dulled world was filled with brilliant shades of grey and blue. His eyes captivated you, stunning you in place with their sheer intensity. Unlike your parents’ gaze, he stared at you with an unfamiliar and chilling sense of transparency and honesty. It sent a shiver down your spine, and you were rendered helpless against the enchanting boy in front of you.

He opened his mouth again, a little embarrassed by his previous choice of words. “Mama says that I should give people who look sad a hug. You looked sad, so I want to give you a hug.”

The word spilled from his mouth and rang gently like a chime in your ear. It was soothing.

“I’m not sad,” you replied after a thoughtful moment.

His alluring and cheerful eyes soon turned crestfallen. It felt... wrong. Seeing the mysterious boy dejected made your heart ache. You realized that you liked him better smiling than with a frown on his face.

Too caught up in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice the unknown boy had approached you until he was right in front of your chair. His soft and gentle hands cupped your tightly clenched ones, easing the fears that had engulfed you only minutes prior. Before you knew it, he had guided you into standing in front of him.

You were completely helpless when it came to the boy with red and white hair.

Then, small, trembling arms found their way behind you to encase you in a soft, heartfelt embrace. With his head right next to your ear, his words reverberated throughout your entire being, spreading a sense of belonging along with it.

“I wanna give you a hug anyway.”

He’s caught you off guard. But, you silently admitted to yourself that his hug’s not an entire unpleasant sensation. If anything, you would have said that being in his arms made you feel safe. And so, you allowed it to continue, bringing your own hands up to clutch the back of his shirt, rather uncertain of how to reciprocate the innocent hug.

And when he he pulled away to greet you with that dazzling smile of his, you wished that the moment would last forever. Seeing him smile was your favorite thing, you decided. It brought a smile to your own lips, and a warm, fuzzy feeling all throughout your body.

“My name’s Todoroki Shouto! I wanna be your friend!”

Your eyes blink open, and you could feel the gentle warmth from your dream already fading. Lying in your bed, you wake up to find yourself surrounded by cherry blossom petals once again. It’s no mystery how they ended up there despite your window being closed, but you don’t think too much of it, as usual.

It’s spring, and the cherry blossom tree outside your room are in full bloom. A new day, another fleeting memory, another morning full of petals. You sigh. Days where you woke up from dreaming about past memories were the hardest. On days like these, nothing ever seemed to work out in your favor. The coughing fits seemed especially bad as well.

It’s been eleven years since that fateful first meeting, and sometimes you wonder where things had gone wrong. When you were four, things seemed so much happier compared to how they were now. But, there would be no room for nonsense like that this morning. Today was the day of your first prospective marriage interview—your first Omiai meeting—after all.

Pushing the covers off and dusting the petals from your body, you go to open the window and start your morning routine.

“Good morning, Shou,” you say to the cherry blossom tree. “I wish you were here. I really need a hug today.”

It began as a winter day just as any other, until you realized that it wasn’t: Shouto hadn’t shown up to daycare. To you, it was surreal moment and something you had never thought to imagine. Ever since that first day when Shouto asked you to be his friend, he had stuck to you like like glue, never failing to show up and greet the you with an excited hug. Wherever you went, he went too. Whatever you did, he did too. There was no you without Shouto, and no Shouto without you.

The boy brought with him colors that you’d never seen before- frustration, sadness, jealousy, excitement, and most of all, happiness. To you, Shouto was like your cherry blossom tree at home— a comforting friend and a constant presence you could rely on to be there no matter what happened. He was always there, armed with his warm embrace and ready to attack you with it whenever possible.

So the fact that it was noon and Shouto still hadn’t shown up disturbed you greatly. If there was one thing Shouto was, it was that he was never, ever late. It felt lonely without him by your side, and you hated it. You cried yourself to sleep that night.

The next day, Shouto showed up and tackled you in a bear hug so loving you completely forgot about the previous day’s sorrows. Things were right again, or so you thought.

You would soon learn that the days without Shouto— the days you hated the most— would become more frequent though time. Without any explanation or hint, Shouto would go missing from daycare and return as if nothing had happened. Every time you asked him about what had happened, he refused to give you a reply and instead swallowed you in his warm embrace. Eventually, you learned to stop questioning his mysterious disappearances and just cherish the moments you had with him. For another half a year, things continued like this.

And then, It was a spring day just as any other, not that you realized it; today, there would be no Shouto. And the next day. And the following days after that.

You tried to believe that he had caught a nasty cold and was fighting it off ferociously, you really did. But deep down inside, you knew something was wrong this time. Maybe Shouto had finally abandoned you too.

So when Shouto finally came back one winter day, grey eye ablaze and heart as cold as ice, you couldn’t stop the trembling in your hands as you ran toward him, pulled him into a tight hug, and cried like there was no tomorrow.

All you could think about was how something was very, very wrong. After all, what were you supposed to assume when half of his face was wrapped in bandages? Those brilliantly colored eyes that were so full of life were no more. All you could see in them were unadulterated hate and rage. Could he even see you?

Your arms were wrapped around his body in that familiar manner, and in that instance you realized something important;

You weren’t crying because you missed him.  

You were crying because you knew Shouto’s tears had dried up. He couldn’t cry anymore.

The tears that failed to spill from his eyes instead fell from your own, and the pain he couldn’t feel in his hardened heart struck yours intensely. It set your soul aflame, and you couldn’t tell if your heart was on fire or as cold as ice. It just hurt.

And then, there was one more thing you realized.

That day, Shouto never returned your hug.

At five years of age, you encountered your second major life crisis; A heart broken into irreparable pieces.

(You wouldn’t realize this until later, but that had also been your best friend’s last day at daycare. You would never see him there again.)

Sighing, you plop down on your bed and allow yourself to sink into the plump mattress and along with it, old, painful memories.

As your years apart grew longer, your memories of Shouto only grew stronger. Though you two had only been together for a measly year and a half, the impression he left on your soul ran deep. As you grew up, those happy times became your source of comfort in the harsh trials to come. From your quirk training, all the way to the death of your mother, your childhood memories of gentle and expressive Shouto had become a source of strength for you.

You only wish that it had been the same for him.

It had been six years since Shouto’s sudden disappearance from daycare, and not a day had passed that you didn’t think of your best friend. Keeping the old, familiar title was a lot easier than giving name to the painful ache in your chest. You missed him.

You naively clung to your youthful memories, hoping that you’d see him again one day and be able to pick up where you left off and continue your friendship. To continue those happy times.

It was a spring day just like any other, another day without Shouto and his hugs, except this time it wasn’t. There, across the street, was a familiar tuff of red and white hair. Though he was much taller and skinnier than you remember, you recognized him nonetheless in a heartbeat.

“Shouto!” Your feet were running on instinct and his name came tumbling from your lips before you even knew it. Maybe this was fate’s way of giving you another chance, telling you to not let him slip away again without telling you.

Hearing his name called, Shouto turned, and in that moment you realized that he wasn’t alone. You recognized the large, fiery man beside him as Endeavor, the number two hero of Japan— Shouto’s father. His presence was overwhelming and the glare in his eyes almost pressured you into running away. But no, you finally found Shouto again and not even his intimidating father could deter you from this moment.

You gulped. Turning to face Shouto, grey and blue eyes as beautiful as ever bore into yours and suddenly, six years of words you had been dying to say to your childhood friend were stuck in your throat. You could still see the seething hatred in his eyes being reflected back at you, and your heart cried out once more in sadness.

You had learned, though, that nothing would ever come to fruition if you just stood aside and allowed fate to run its course. So you opened your mouth, arms twitching by your side and ready to engulf the boy in a familiar hug.

Ba-dump.

“Hey, Shouto, it’s been a while.” you start, nervously playing with the hem of your clothes. Being in front of him made you feel insecure; it was as if you were the same child he met on the first day of daycare. But that was then, and this was now.

Ba-dump, ba-dump.

“Do I know you?” he said, almost daring you to say yes.

You noticed how his voice was deeper than you remember, but also an air of hostility in his voice you definitely knew wasn’t there before. It frightened you into silence.

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump.

“I don’t think we’ve ever met before, so don’t use my first name as you please.”

And then, you swore you could almost hear the shattering of your glass heart once more. There was no trace of the lively and loving Shouto you used to know.

In that moment, you realized two things:

Shouto had forgotten about you, and—

Pulling on your favorite formal wear, you sighed for the umpteenth time that morning. At age fifteen, you were legally required by the government to begin your marriage meetings. With the cursed disease still running rampant as ever, it was a necessity in order to preserve the nation’s future. According to your grandmother, there had been a nationwide poll to enact these marriage meetings after a huge epidemic had occurred worldwide. Clearly, the majority had spoken in approval.

Not that it really bothered you anyway. These meetings were intended to foster mutual love through mutual consent and prevent the formation of the dangerous disease. It made sense, considering the death rates and bad reputation that accompanied the cures.

Straightening your shirt, you remember your indifference as you sent in your questionaire on your fifteenth birthday; that indifference still stood today. And it would continue to stand throughout today’s prospective marriage meeting, for it was already too late for you.

You already had someone you loved.

In that moment, at eleven years of age, you realized two things:

That Shouto had forgotten about you, and—

You had encountered your third major life crisis: unrequited love.

As the boy with raging grey and blue eyes walked away from you, the sole cherry blossom petal you had just coughed up only solidified that fact. You were hopelessly, and irrevocably in love with Todoroki Shouto.

Hanahaki disease: an illness in which the victim coughs up flowers due to their one-sided love. If left untreated, the flowers inside the victim’s body will bloom into full flowers, resulting in death.

[suzie-guru]

Strange Magic FanFic - “Between the Shadow and the Soul”: Chapter Ten

Chapter 9

Two years. It’s been two years since I updated this story. I can’t believe it. 

Well, I can believe it, but good God, I wish it hadn’t been so long - you can blame it on starting then pulling out of Grad School, grandparents on both sides of my family falling seriously ill, losing not one but two jobs, dealing with/caring for the mental illnesses of both family and friends, and then as a grand finale, my own dealings with the ever delightful demon known as depression. It’s been a hell of a ride, with emphasis on “hell”. There were times where I was positive I would never be able to write again, let alone return to this story...

...but, slow as it has been, slow as it is doubtlessly going to be in the future, I wrote it. Word after word became sentence after sentence, then page after page...and now here we are.  

I just want to say I would have never been able to do it without the support and love and care and wisdom that you have provided. And I mean ALL of you. I know that in the grand scheme of things, updating a fanfic doesn’t mean that much, but...this story is incredibly dear to me. The thought of finishing it is what keeps me going though some very dark times. So please know that I am so desperately thankful to those of you who bore the waiting with patience and offered me support and kindness and love during the hellish periods I’ve gone through these last two years. As I have always and will always say, the Strange Magic fandom is the BEST fandom. I love you deeply and dearly, darlings. 

I want to dedicate this chapter to my dearest friend @dainesanddaffodils , whose birthday it is today (and which she shares with a certain Goblin King according to my own personal head canons for Strange Magic). Tangy, my darling, my bestie...you are one of the best things to ever happen to me, and I am so much the better having you in my world. You’ve been a never ending source of kindness and compassion, sweetness and support, and this Chapter couldn’t have happened without you. Happy Birthday, sweetheart - you make my heart sing <3 

And now...on to Bog and Marianne’s reunion. As always, I hope you enjoy.

Chapter Ten

The sky curving above the Border was a blue so soft and sweet the desire to reach out for it was not a mere, fleeting fancy but a need. 

The thought of fingers curling up through the air with cautious craving was one every heart harbored, the soft, sifting warmth of the soil churning up beneath feet banishing the memories of frost flashes and sudden snows. All the while, the sky stayed true and blue, only a few curls of clouds crossing it as the sun stayed steady in its warmth. The bud of Spring was starting to blossom, and the fingers that curled to the sky were brushed by a wind that had no bite of Winter but a teasing and tender warmth, twining around them, purring and perfumed. The scent was one of damp, dark soil freed from the iron freeze of Winter, grass growing victoriously verdant after suffocating under snow, and the sweet scent of blooms opening onto a new world, their perfume as delicate as the very petals they unfolded. With a patience and readiness each had carried since a seed, flowers turned their faces to the sun, welcoming the returning warmth of the sunlight as it spread over them.

And as always, none welcomed the dearly missed sun more so than the primroses.

They bloomed tall and proud and beautiful as ever, light and shadow playing over tender, newly opened petals delicately fanning out and fluttering in the warm wind. The sunlight fell upon the blooms with a gentle generosity, a radiance reserved for their best beloved. One little primrose seemed to nod its head in gratitude, the silken blush of its pink petals bobbing gently before tipping up once more to the bright beams and the soft sweet blue stretching high above it.

The heavy blade sliced through the stem with a satisfying thwack, and the silken petals fluttered once more as the flower fell to the earth like a star, splaying upon the dirt, softness spread over the soil with innocent beauty.

Bog took a particularly vicious satisfaction in spearing it with his scepter, ripping and rending the pliant lushness of the petals – and all magic they contained–beyond repair. Once done, he looked down upon it with triumphant contempt, his sneer of victory close to a snarl. Ensorcell the soil with your miserable magic, ye damn thing.  

Done with the act – which felt cathartically close to retribution – he shook the mangled mess free from his scepter with a contemptuous growl and seized a handful of plush moss, wrenching it free with such violence that clods of earth tumbled between of his clenched claws. With rough strokes, he wiped any sticky residue that lingered, scowling all the while. Like hells he was going to have the symbol of his rule carry the scent of the damned things. Probably could rub it down with some mud as well…

Although what with how said mud had only come to be from the earth thawing, it would still make his mind move back to Spring…

Bog sighed and let the moss fall to the floor of the Forest, looking around him with fatigued vexation. Like he had to think of any damn thing to be troubled. Hells, he was bloody surrounded by every single sight of the season—

There was a sudden cry above him. “Sire, watch out!”

Bog looked up just in time to get a face full of primroses, a multitude of toppled stalks showering down from above, the petals pattering upon him like pink, perfumed rain.

With a snarl of incandescent irritation, Bog tore them off him with such savagery he felt the swipe and scrape of his own claws across his scales. This time he didn’t bother with his scepter, grinding the blasted things beneath his heel, mangling any magic before kicking them away so hard several pebbles and a spray of soil accompanied them. He then turned his face to the top of the Border, the blue of his eyes venomously bright as they slit in a glare.

The goblins perched atop of the primroses watched him with wide eyes and frozen features, their breath bated by the prospect of the brutal bout of ferocious fury that their King was no doubt only moments away. A few traitorous glances revealed the doomed perpetrator, and Bog turned his glower upon them.

Thang swallowed at the sight of his King, before licking his lips. When he spoke, his lisp even more pathetic than usual. “…Sorry?”

Bog could feel the roar of rage forming in his throat, a hard and bitter and ugly thing, the beginnings of his growl scraping up his gullet like a hard and harsh stone. Beneath his cloak, his wings began their tell-tale twitch of temper, gnarled knuckles taut as he gripped his scepter, his claws scrapping along it, several new nicks resulting. Staring up from beneath a murderously furrowed brow, Bog gave Thang the full force of his glare as he bared his fangs, ready to unleash all the hells he could summon—

—and then suddenly the fire of his fury was snuffed out in a strange swirl of smoke, and with a sudden and aching intensity, Bog felt enormously empty. What does it bloody matter?

He sighed, his wings falling limply down his back, and passed a scarred palm over his face and the scales of his scalp. When he spoke, his mutter was low and rough and tired. “Bloody be more careful, Thang.”

He turned his back on their stunned faces and strode off down the Border, trying to ignore both the whispers he had left in his wake and how the Forest was beginning to thrum with energy, the glow of growth and greenery gradually coming back overhead and underfoot. Instead, he focused upon the crunch of his feet over leaves long dead and the slide of his cloak over grass now gray. But even the garment was a reminder, simply bat wings now, no need for insulating moss what with the warmth slowly but certainly coming back to the air. And though leaves long dead and gray grass was on the ground, tender new growth far outnumbered them, buds hanging heavy on branches in soft clusters.

There was no use denying it – soft and slow as it was, the season was a seed now flourishing fast. Spring had come back.

But she hasn’t…

Bog scowled and swatted down another primrose bobbing boldly in the breeze, the twist of his heart robbing him of any satisfaction in watching it fall. To steal a phrase from his mother, that was the bloody bitter seed in the midst of all the flowering fruit, wasn’t it?

He had never welcomed Spring. Well, perhaps when he was younger, before the bloody Potion had come into his life. But Bog was a creature of hardness and habit, favoring control and certainty in a world of chaos. And foolishly – so foolishly –  he had let himself slip away from the comfortable contempt of this season, all because it had carried the promise of seeing her again…

And now it was bloody Spring and everything was turning bloody green and bloody blooming, especially those bloody, blasted primroses, and she still wasn’t bloody here, and he was about bloody ready to bloody molt—

“Impetuous.”

The hiss of the word, a dagger drawn from the sheaf of memory, pierced him clean through, the echo of that infernal creature’s voice stopping him with a sudden and sickening halt, before Bog groaned in self-disgust. Bloody proving her right, aren’t you?

Hells, but he was pathetic. A few days – or weeks, not that he was so callow as to be counting – denied of the return of the fairies from their Migration, and he was back to the surly, stroppy youth of yore, green to governing and impatient to the point of irritation. You’re starting your bloody sixteenth year of ruling, git. Try and bloody act like it.

Never mind that in all those years he had never had to be separated from someone like Marianne. God, even after falling in love, he hadn’t had the pain of being parted from Fen—

Bog bit his lower lip till the rust of blood welled up under his fangs and passed his tongue over the wound. Logically, he knew he was being a fool. Logically, Bog knew that such a journey would take time, the path back home just as consuming and demanding the same caution and care.

But hearts and logic never kept company, and his was apparently fixed to sulk over any and all delays. Bog scowled, feeling the burn of shame. Fine thing for a King to do.

Especially when there was the all-too-likely fact that unlike her first journey, Marianne had to keep the company of the golden dolt for this one. Any pains he suffered paled in comparison to that, and Bog found himself not only gripped by impatience but by wretched worry for her. Let her be alright…

Had those been the sole factors in his frustration, Bog would have content to claim them, beat them back, and leave it at that. But—

Concern a King can claim, and impatience was always in your blood. But there’s another beastie in your breast that clawing at you, fool—

Bog twitched his head, cracked his neck so that the noise of it echoed off the trees, and began to walk once more, his scepter swinging by his side, his strides long. Yet try as he might, he couldn’t walk away from that poisonous voice of old, tunneling into his thoughts like rot through a tree.

Fear is something no Goblin should carry, least of all the King of them. And for all your pining and whining—

Bog bared his teeth, a snarl tucked behind them, but the voice kept on.

—you’re afraid to see her once again.

This time Bog did snarl, the sound of it so harsh it was a wonder the tender new leaves around him didn’t shred under the sound of it. Him, afraid? Load of rot. Fear was another instrument of chaos, and he had bloody well beat that back, hadn’t he?

Bog scoffed, his certainty making it stronger. Besides, even though it was bloody impossible and wasn’t the case, it wasn’t because he had a strange sort of…fear over seeing Marianne again.

Because he didn’t.

At all.

Bog scowled and gave his scepter another savage swipe, another stalk sent toppling and another primrose felled. He paid it no mind even as he ground it beneath his thorny heel. Gods be good, he was the thrice damned King of the Dark Forest, he could bloody well do what was expected of his position, that of reaffirming the connection and communication that existed between his Kingdom and the Fairy Kingdom included.

Bog stopped his stalking to mutter a curse and scrub a harsh hand over features that felt harsher still. It seemed so bloody simple when put like that: ruler meeting with ruler to reaffirm diplomatic goals and gains, the King of the Dark Forest meeting once again with the Queen of the Fairy Kingdom. Hells, it wasn’t like it wasn’t the bloody truth.

But…

Bog sighed, low and long, before planting his scepter into the ground. No one else in sight, he turned away from the Border to let himself lean against a tree, his claws scrapping over the knotted bark mindlessly. The few clouds in the sky curled around the sun, causing it to disappear and coldness to creep back a bit as Bog let his eyes stare out beyond the Border, the blue of them unseeing, the depth of them deep with thought.  

It was…part of the truth. A seed split in two but giving the same bloom all the same. He was a King and she was a Queen, both throwing their lots in with the other, and he had no true dread contemplating the likelihood of continuing such a path once they had reunited.

Reunited…

Bog closed his eyes and passed a hand over the scales of his scalp, the gesture no longer harsh, but weary.

He was King, aye. But…

It was not it was not the thought of a Queen whose return sent his heart racing.

It was Marianne.

The fact was even after everything, after all he had devoted to the diplomacy, all he could give a damn about was having her back.

And gods, how that made him burn with shame. His guts twisted at the dismay and disgust he could so easily see on her face if she found out he felt so, what with how dear the diplomacy was to her…

Bog gave another curse, this one far more heart-sore. If they had kept it to only being King and Queen, to only being connected by diplomatic communication, perhaps he wouldn’t be acting so—

Awash with such—

Bog’s sigh was a shredded thing as it passed through his fangs, any curse befitting his state beyond his ken, and he sagged against the tree trunk, the bat wings of his cape barely protecting his back from the bite of the bark. Gods.

What was the worst, what was the absolute bloody worst, was that his damned heart, that was supposed to be too sore and scarred for fluttering, couldn’t seem to decide if it was avaricious in anticipation or aching with anxiety. Bog would have clawed it out from beneath his carapace if he hadn’t needed the stupid thing, so riddled by nerves was it.

But…gods help him, how could he not be? When there were so many things that could go wrong…

He had spent so much time thinking of her, dreaming of seeing her, his thoughts had become nothing so much more than a cyclone of concern, the whirl of them sharpened with cynicism, cutting his soul to the quick.

What if it isn’t everything you want? Do you even know what you bloody want, you fool? You could come off as too eager to see her—

But then if you come off as too cold—

Bog pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing. Then there was Marianne to think about, good gods—

What will her reaction be? What if she has no reaction? The letter showed she missed m—our talks, but what if she misses the memory of them more?

…Gods, what if I disappoint her?

Bog closed his eyes as pain lanced through him at that. It was ridiculous, not to mention the worst kind of traitorous to even harbor such thoughts. But the thought that truly shamed him, made him yearn to rip his heart out over the sheer offense of what it betrayed was that…

Bog sighed as he dropped his head, the aching weight of shame making his heart so very heavy.

…was that the possibility of everything going right only served to make him far more terrified than the thought of everything going wrong.

He...he was not one for whom things turned out right. Dearly held dreams did not come to be for him.

They never do for hideous beasts. Why would you be the exception, ye old fool—?

Bog closed his eyes against the voice, but could not keep back his sigh. Old. Gods, but he felt it now. He couldn’t remember a Winter weighing on him more, making him feel every ache in his bones. And now with the passing of his thirty-fourth Spring so soon to come, he could only wearily resign himself to more.

He had felt so young with her…

And now such a feeling felt impossibly beyond his reach now, as far away as she was right now…

Even with the sky so blue, the wind so warm, Bog grew cold. Hells…even with the warmth of this wretched season keeping the cold at bay, who was to say that Winter could not come again? He had awoken many mornings to snow falling on the day of his birth, a shock to the tender shoots and roots. He had taken bitter satisfaction at Spring being staved off so savagely, but now…

Another fall of frost, another casting of coldness…it all just keeps her away.

Bog sighed once more, the sound of it gusty and deep as it rolled from him, like the wind that had so howled over the Fields this Winter, bitter-strong in its song as it cut to the very bone.

Then…

Ever so faintly from the Fields came a sound, one that was lilting, lifting with the light of the sun, the soft strumming of strings almost like sunlight in that it was felt before it was heard.

Bog lifted his head, bewildered. Music…?

With a wariness he knew to be ridiculous, Bog cautiously stepped away from his tree to come closer to the Border, the tangle of vines thickened with ones long dead and new growth. With the dexterity of his youthful adventures he hadn’t quite managed to lose, Bog climbed the thicket, relishing the burn such activity put in his chest, the roughness of the vines beneath his hands, thankful he hadn’t simply flown.

When he finally made it to the top, the Fields stretched before him, no longer barren of life but still nowhere near the state of bloom that came with the height of Spring and stretched into the sultry days of Summer. The green growth carpeting the land was tender and soft, some parts still hidden by stubborn snow. The looming gray shape of the Fairy Palace was no longer stark against a stretch of snow, patches of velvety green lichen spattering it as if some of the Forest had come over with all the diplomacy work…

Still, the sight of it sent a stinging sort of longing through him, and Bog averted his eyes, allowing them to wander, searching for the source of the song.  They came to rest upon the Elf Village, and his heart gave a queer ache at the song drifting up from the huts and houses, the melody softly building in its strength, carrying all the closer to him.

“Here comes the sun doo do doo do… Here comes the sun… And I say it’s all right…”

The tune was simple and sweet, the voices carried the slow certainty of a blossoming bulb. Though Bog could not see from such a distance, he could easily imagine the look of happiness upon each face of those who had been so beset by snows and sleet, their faces beaming as surely as the source of light they sang for.

And strangely enough, the sun did seem to be getting stronger, clouds fleeing from it, no longer able to keep back its the warmth…

“Little darling, it’s been a long, cold lonely winter… Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here…”

Bog found himself leaning against one of the trees of the Border quite without realizing it. He would have wondered at falling into such a state of entrancement, but those lyrics...

The longest, loneliest Winter in his memory, but now…

“Here comes the sun doo do doo do… Here comes the sun… And I say it’s all right…”

Goblins had no such songs. Frankly, no goblins had ever welcomed the return of the sun. The return of warmth, yes. The return of freedom from freezing frost and stupor from snows, undoubtedly. But to welcome the light that pierced the foliage and fortress of their Forest? Darkness was theirs, and while sunlight did not blister or burn them as legends of the Light Fields said, it was not something they sought, let alone sing about. Sunlight was not a cause for disdain or distaste, but it was one for distrust.

Likewise, Bog could confess that he held no reason to begrudge sunlight, excepting for the fact that it revealed him in all his hideousness, hard features made harsher still under its strong rays. Darkness was kinder to him, always had been, but the sun was not his enemy – it only aided its blossoming.  

But now…

“Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces… Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here… Here comes the sun doo do doo do… Here comes the sun… And I say it’s all right…”

Now…Bog was tempted to see it as a herald. Or, at the very least, the song it inspired was. One that served as a reminder, a beam of warmth that fell across the darkness of his mood, the coldness of his loneliness, bringing him out of both:

Cold as it had been, long as it had stretched…Winter would retreat. Had retreated.

And aye, the primroses rose tall and triumphant, yet so did the sun, beaming and bright and beckoning other blooms into blossom, other growth into gloriousness, covering them away.

And the higher it rose, the sooner she would be back.

“Sun, sun, sun, here it comes…”

While impatience was a weed in the soil of his soul, and anxiety and nerves would cause his claws to curl across any and all surfaces…no matter how long a day stretched, each one would end.

And with each falling of the night and rising of the sun…slowly but surely, his wait would lessen.

And her welcoming would come closer…

“Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear…”

Bog felt an odd sort of tugging at his mouth, a strange sort of squeezing in his heart, and gave an exhale that felt curiously close to a laugh. Gods, but what wonders a single song could wrought. To be fair, he had been a long time without such music. Almost as long as he had been without such light…

“Here comes the sun doo do doo do… Here comes the sun… It’s all right…”

The song faded to a soft and sweet close, and for the first time in gods knew when, Bog looked to the sun with welcome. After so long away, it had returned, bringing warmth and wonder in its wake, slowly burgeoning seeds and song.

And soon…she would be back as well.

Bog smiled, the sun falling on his face, and closed his eyes as he imagined how it would fall across wings, iridescently purple and indescribably welcome.

“It’s all right…”

The sun continued to shine, the greenery grow lush, the sky beam bright and blue, and Bog wreaked the primroses, all the while keeping his eyes on how other stalks in the Forest and the Fields grew stronger, stretching up to the skies with each passing day.

Any time he could claim as his own he spent it along the Border, eyes watchful and ears open for any more songs. After that first day with the primroses, he had had the idea of sending a group of goblins to the Elf Village to see if any further assistance was needed. Purely pragmatic, really – not only did it establish that his people wouldn’t cease in their attentions to those the fairies had left behind even with Spring returned, but it also might provide him with news on when to expect Ma–the Migration party to return.

If the reports were to be believed, the Village’s inhabitants had been truly touched by such dedication, obviously unused to a concern that continued even when a duty was done. Unfortunately, they had no news to give aside from assuring his company that the return of the fairies was not be off at all. “As soon as the flowers fully flourish, that’s when fairies fly back to the Fields, sire!”

Bog was dearly tempted to send a swat his lackey’s way when told such flowery tripe instead of an actual sodding day, but seeing as Thang was merely reporting, the blame didn’t truly lay at his webbed feet. But of bloody course this is the time he doesn’t bungle a message—

Still, a message was a message. Bog managed to temper his first instinct into a glower that had sent the smaller Goblin stumbling backwards in his hasty retreat, before concentrating on just what such words meant. When the flowers fully flourish…

Gods, it was as good as a riddle, and he hated riddles. His care towards the primroses that day had been particularly rewarding.  

Now Bog fell back into his throne, closing his eyes and drawing his claws across the arms of it, the drag of them falling into the telltale grooves he had put there before. Day after day after day…

It was a new day, yes, and a new day meant a new nightfall and one day closer, but his temper was like an old root now – tough but twisting with each turn of time, bearing the burden of each passing slowly but surely. Gods, how much longer could he truly take—?

The throne room was full of his subjects, all of them bringing him reports from across the Kingdom, each one talking over the other in a tangle of tales, a meaningless mess of noise that Bog had no desire to sort out. No desire, aye, but damn well a duty.

With that in mind, Bog drew himself up, head already aching. His office didn’t carry a crown like that of the Fairy Kingdom, but heavy was the head indeed. Right.

His voice cut through the throng of voices like a blade through a tangle of roots, the slam of his scepter on the floor punctuating it. “Enough.”

The goblins immediately fell to silence, and Bog made his glower a mighty thing, sweeping it over the throng of their faces. “If ye want waste mah time with arguments, Ah’ll show ye an argument of mah own.” His claws scratched meaningfully along the length of his scepter, and he noted their collective gulp with a grim satisfaction before planting it back by his side with a heavy thunk. “If some o’ ye are inclined to make some sodding reports, step forward.” He marked each of his words with a thud of his scepter, eyes narrowed. “An’. Do. So. One. At. A. Bloody.  Time.” He leaned back. “Boil, yer first.”

There was a grumble across the crowd, a few goblins groaning audibly as Boil stepped forward with an officious air, small eyes squinting in pleasure at holding power and positon, no matter how small. Bog tried not to sigh. Gods, but how he wished this windbag’s uncle didn’t hold such sway with the Elders.

Boil rolled back fat shoulders with complacent importance. “Ahem. My dark and dreaded Sire, I bring news—

“—FROM THE BORDER!”

Brutus thundered into the room, his weighty gallop sending down dust from the ceiling what with how the walls quaked, the throng of goblins likewise sent to the floor from the tremors. While Brutus tried to come to a halt, he only achieved it in form of running headlong into Boil, who flew across the room before a tree root caught him in the gut, the blow knocking him bug-eyed and windless.

Bog quickly covered his mouth with his claws, desperately trying to smother a snicker. Hells, that’s one way to deal with a windbag—

Hoping that his voice came off as rough with irritation instead of restrained laughter, he issued the necessary commands. “Moldia and Fleasley, take him to a healer. Bit of a lie down for ye, Boil.”

Boil groaned in response as he was led away, and Bog turned his attention to Brutus, his tone dropping into a scold. “Brutus, how many times have I had to tell ye not to run in the Castle?”

Brutus licked his lips and looked properly abashed. “Lost count, Sire.”

Bog sighed as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, noting how the walls of the throne room now had several new cracks in them. Hells, now Hedgwort would be badgering him again. “Ah’d think it’d be enough to bloody stick.”

Brutus nodded, his great head bobbing up and down. “Stick this time, promise. But news! News from the Border! Flowers flourish fully!”

The crowd muttered and murmured in confusion, but Bog stilled. “…What?”

“Told to tell you! Flowers flourish fully, petals spread under sun! Elves gathering for ceremony!”

“Ceremony?” Muggon questioned, his eyes narrowed in confusion as he exchanged baffled looks with Stuff, even as Bog sat frozen on his throne, eyes wide and fixed on Brutus, his heart—

“For fairies!” The large Goblin looked around the room before shaking his great head, clearly disgusted at such slow understanding. “Flowers flourish—”

“Cheese and rye!” Thang finished wonderingly, understanding dawning in his eyes.

Stuff swatted at his head. “It’s fairies fly, mud-for-brains.”

Bog stood suddenly, his heart hammering and his voice a rasp. “They’ve come back.”  

“Fairies approaching!” Brutus nodded, cheeks plump with his pleased grin. “Ceremony to happen! Elves told to tell you—!”

He was cut off by the babble of the crowd, the Throne Room becoming a cavern of chaos, voices tangling once more into a tempest of noise.

For once in his rule, Bog paid such chaos no mind. It was understandable, given how his whole head and heart had flooded with need, the force of it sending his heart into a beat that was making it very hard to inhale.

Now, she’s coming now, if you go now you can finally finally finally see her—

Lost in the thrill of such thoughts, Bog was only dimly aware that his scales had begun to flair, his wings thrum, limbs tensing for takeoff—

“Impetuous.”

The clarity of that achingly familiar and always dratted voice cleaved through his heedless excitement like a sword through mist, and Bog reluctantly forced himself to settle. It wouldn’t do to fly off without a company. Besides, Brutus was still speaking, his gravely tones at odds with the childlike beam he sported.

“—said that Forest folk can come, but not all. Just few. Just how Bog King usually does it.” Brutus looked at Bog pleadingly. “Know too big for dragonflies, but can come to party, right? Since I brought message, yes?”

“A party, huh?” Moldia, back from tending to Boil, leaned at the doorway and scratched at her fronds, looking both intrigued and wary. “I wonder if they expect us to bring something. Fairies like that kind of stuff, baubles and glittery things—”

Fletcher snickered. “They would be a fan of anything that showed them their reflection.”

Farrow snorted. “Nah, that’s just that King of theirs.”

A ripple of amusement ran through the crowd, but Muggon shook his head, annoyed. “Surely there’s not enough time for that, we only just got the news that they’re coming back—”

Vexspur groaned, her trunk wilting with the exhale. “If we had spent even the smallest bit of time gathering our reports into a more organized state instead of leaving it off, we could’ve presented them—”

“The primroses had to be taken care of!”

“So what, we should slack off on presenting a good image to the Fairy Kingdom?”

“Careful, Nettles, you might get mistaken for a Fairy if you’re that image obsessed—”

“Watch your mouth!”

“Watch your ego!” 

“Stop using Fairy for an insult, we’re supposed to be beyond that—!”

Bog took to the air in a thrum of wings before landing on his thrown forcefully, causing the structure to rock back and forth with a bang, the bone clacking with each movement, slamming his scepter into the arm of it to steady himself.

The goblins immediately silenced themselves, looking up to their ruler with eyes wide with both wariness and wonder over the impressively fierce figure he cut, standing so upon his throne.

“Who,” Bog announced in an effectively low growl, “does nae want their head on a stick?”

Thang was the only one to raise his hand with cheerful obliviousness. The rest of the goblins side-eyed each other nervously before raising their own hands in a cautiously rippling wave.

Bog cut his scepter to Muggon, who immediately snapped to attention. “Muggon, get the dragonflies harnessed and saddled, then take a count of how many wish to go, ye can only take so many. Brutus, ye leave to meet us there, let them know we’re comin’—”

Brutus beamed before rushing from the room in a rumbling run, and there was an immediate turmoil of voices, fierce denials of wanting to go and frantic desires to, all rising to the roof in a clamoring clash.

Bog banged his scepter down, his voice a bark. “Silence, or Ah’ll scupper yer skulls.” The harshness of his glare was as fierce as it was false, so very false when he felt so – when his heart was so—

She’s come back—

Fighting for control over the burn in his breast, the ache of anticipation in every bit of his body, Bog snapped his fingers, claws clicking. “Stuff an’ Thang, ye’ll come with me.” If ye dawdle, Ah’ll kill ye was kept behind his teeth, but just barely. Each second that passed demanded another poisonous pinch of patience that he simply did not have, not when he knew she would be there and soon, so very soon, so would he—

Only if ye make it on time, ye dolt.

Bog forcefully brought himself back and took to the air, the thrum of his wings nothing to the excited beat his heart. “Moldia, to my mother. Let her know Ah could nae wait.”

Never mind that there would be all kind of hells to pay when his mother got ahold of him for leaving her, especially when a party was involved—

Then best be off now, hmm?

Bog dove over his company and seized Stuff and Thang by the scruff of their necks, Stuff giving an indignant howl and Thang plaintively wailing that he hadn’t done anything. The crowd beneath commenced once more in their clamoring, called for more instructions.

Bog merely shot over them, grinning with fierce anticipation and something suspiciously akin to joy. “WHO WANTS TO GO TO A PARTY?”  

The day blazed forth beauty, the slowness of Spring’s bloom finally rewarded through a bounty of blossoms that spread over the land in riots of color, the green grass of the Fields lush and long, swaying in rippling waves in the warm wind. The sun and sky were so bright Bog would have cursed them any other time, but now he only spared a thought for the warmth of the wind on his wings as he sped over the Fields, Stuff and Thang keeping close behind on their dragonflies. It felt just like the trips he had made before, although the past rush of anticipation was nothing compared to what he was seized with now, his scales threatening to flare from the sheer excitement, almost distracting him from his flight. Gods, but he had to get a grip on himself—

If he could see him now, soaring over the Light Fields with such frank fervor, his father would have most likely been aghast, or the very least stupefied if he was inclined to be kinder. Bog nearly snorted at the image of his so easily imagined expression, the grave growl of his voice. “Yer one song short from bein’ a bludy Fairy, boy.”

Any other time, the memory of those words would have stung, but now Bog could only laugh, the brief exhale of it still sweet. Only fer today, Da.

Though gods knew how long he would stay in such a state, now that she had come back to him—

Bog rolled his eyes impatiently, dodging a particularly tall poppy. Hells, not to him. She had come back, aye, but to her Kingdom, that was all. He wasn’t about to be so trite as to think himself special—

Bog’s frantic fervor dimmed a bit at that. Gods, let her be pleased to see him—

Let her be as happy as I am—

Bog grimaced, biting back a worried glower, gripping his scepter determinedly as he flew past another poppy, his speed causing it to snap back after he passed. There was a faint thwack, and Thang cried out, but Bog easily ignored him. It would be enough to see her, he told himself sternly. Just to know she was there, that she was back, that was enough.

Aye, but it wouldn’t hurt if there was a bit more than just that—

Bog bit the inside of his cheek, the salty gush of iron and sting of pain a sharp reminder. Dearly held dreams did not come to be for him. He wasn’t about to forget that. He wasn’t about to be a bloody boy and build his hopes up only to be disappointed if they didn’t come to be. Hells, but that wasn’t any kind of fair to Marianne.

Yes, the Winter had been a long one and the wait, gods, the sheer bloody wait had been utterly intolerable, but he wasn’t about to place that at her feet, what with everything else she had to manage—

“Sire!”

Stuff’s cry brought Bog back to his flight, and he quickly looked around to see where they were. His heart gave a jolt when he saw the buildings of the Elf Village loom before him, a thick crowd already amassing below, a song rising up to them, wordless but strong. He had heard of this tradition, the songs that the Fields sang only at such pivotal moments, the original words lost to time but still weighty with meaning for ceremonies like this, a crowning or a—

A coming back…

Bog dove, barely paying any mind to the sounds of Stuff and Thang struggling to get their steeds to follow with the same speed. It looked like they were congregating around a stage, one of the many he had been told they used for their Spring and Summer gatherings and performances, the hubbub of the crowd loud and cheerful, frank excitement on the face of each of the elves, brownies and pixies he could see. Even with how the gradual gratitude over the Winter for their aid, Bog could only hope the presence of his people wouldn’t take away from the spectacle they were so obviously anticipating…

He needn’t have worried. Now nearing, Bog saw that Brutus was in the midst of them, and noted with amused amazement that several Elf and Brownie youths had taken to climbing him like some sort of living boulder, happily dangling from his arms and neck, perched upon his mighty shoulders and thick skull. For his part, Brutus seemed utterly content, beaming benevolently as the children chattered and giggled and played, happily sitting in the square as the parents in the crowd milled around him. Bog shook his head in wonder. To see those that had once whispered rancid rumors flavored with fear about his people now allowing their babes to sport with them, watching a Goblin keep their company with fond indulgence…!

Marianne will be so pleased.

Biting back a smile, Bog swooped around a tall wheel that rose into the air and flew over the crowd, his eyes searching back and forth. Would that he knew one of the elves more than just in passing, one of them could be comfortable telling him where she would be, if she was already there—

Cries of surprise filled the air at the sight of him, and though some spoke of sudden shock, it was swiftly followed by calls of welcome, warm and sincere. Bog spared himself a moment to wonder over such a profound change the Winter had wrought before he heard it. “Your majesty! I mean, ah, Bog King, sir!”

Bog spun around, his eyes narrowing and then widening at the sight of the small Elf who had spoken, his shock of hair black hair and red head gear fashioned from the wings of a ladybug immediately familiar to him. The brother-in-law.

Bog touched down on the stage at once, striding to where the Elf was. “Ye’re back. Where are the—?”

“Yeah, she told me you might be impatient,” the Elf – gods, what the hells was his name? – chuckled. The sound was a touch nervous as he took in the dark, scaly beast of a King before him, but his smile was sincere as he continued. “I’m the first of the party to get here, I’m always sent on ahead a few days earlier to check out the Village, make a list of the damages done.” There was profound gratitude in his brown eyes as he looked up at Bog, earnest. “And there’s none. I can’t thank you enough, sir! The Village always falls into disrepair, and now it looks even better than before, it’s incredible—”

Bog waved away the thanks impatiently, his wings rattling with his fierce feelings. “If yer here, they can’t be far behind. Where are they?”

The Elf made to reply before another voice rang out from the crowd. “Sunny! Pip says he sees them just starting to cross the eastern tree line!”

The Elf – Sunny, right, that was it – immediately brightened and turned to the throng of his people, who hadn’t paused in their song. “Right, folks! We can head on over now!” He looked back to Bog with eager excitement, ready to share the happiness. “You can follow us, we know the best way to get there.”

Bog was torn between gritting his teeth and keeping his wings from buzzing from eager elation. “Where?”

“To the main royal garden! That’s where they always have the reception area. The pixies ought to have finished setting up by now, that’s what they do, it’s the brownies job to get the Palace all ready—”

The crowd had already begun to move, still singing their song. What with that and how Bog’s wings thrummed as he took to the air again he had to raise his voice to make sure he was heard. “Stuff, Thang, you follow me and then double back to guide the rest of the party behind us.” He looked to Sunny, nodding his head to Brutus. “Can some of yours wait with him to guide any stragglers?”

The young Elf nodded and then quickly and guiltily bowed, obviously still unsure just how he was supposed to treat this strange new King. “Yes sir! I mean, yes sire, sir! I mean—”  

Even in the midst of his impatience, Bog had to roll his eyes with a smirk. No doubt his brother-in-law demanded the upmost formality, the ass. “As long as ye dinnae call me dirty rotten Goblin, yer fine.”

The Elf started and then laughed, the action making his eyes crease into a happy squint. “I can do that, sir. I’ll get Pare to wait back by the Border to make sure y’all are accounted for. That good?”

Bog tried to nod but gods, this waiting wasn’t any kind of kindness to his heart, the anticipation of it all a nigh unbearable ache. He couldn’t take much more. He tried to keep any of this out of his voice as he looked to the trees, the thick foliage hiding anything from his eyes. “They’ll be here soon, aye?”

But there was a new slant to the Elf’s smile as he looked up at the King of the Dark Forest, commiserating and kind. “Yeah, they will. I hated waiting to see Dawn when she got back from Migration too, sir—”

Bog would have asked what the hells he meant by that, but there was a sudden surge in the song, a crescendo of cries. “Here! They’re here!”

Bog spun around, his heart in his throat, and sure enough, there were several small shapes above the line of his land, tiny specks swirling and twirling over the swaying treetops. They were too far away to see clearly, but Bog fancied there were flashes of color now and then from the sun falling across fluttering wings.

Suddenly it was very hard to swallow. I’m going to be see her, finally see her—

It was a good job that his wings didn’t stutter as his heart did then. Gods, but after all this time, the moment had finally come. Please don’t let me make a ruin of it—

“This way, your majesty!”

Snapping back to reality, Bog trained his eyes on the Elf as the little fellow made his way through the crowd, who parted before him to let him lead at the front. Bog swiftly followed, before realizing that the whole company was earth bound and therefore kept a much slower pace than his wings allowed him, meaning he would have even longer to wait. Bog grit his teeth, resisting the urge to claw a hand across his face in frustration. Gods be sodding damned.

By the time the Fairy Palace finally came into view, Bog was near about to have a headache what with how he had ground his teeth, and was severely tempted to ditch the party entirely and find the main royal garden himself, manners be damned. It was only when he saw the gardens the crowd was aiming its track towards did his heart jolt – the same garden he and Marianne had talked by on that rainy day so long ago. Those were the main royal gardens?

“Nice, aren’t they?” Sunny called up to Bog with a grin. “Perfect place to hold the reception too, what with it being right below the ballroom balcony!” He then turned back and raised his voice. “It looks great, girls!”

Bog turned as well and saw that he was addressing a veritable swarm of pixies, their movements a swirl of motion and color as they flew to and fro between the small courtyard and the pavilion of the sprawling gardens, both of which they had transformed into veritable bowers of blooms and blossoms, the arches of the high windows garnished with garlands woven with bluebells, poppies and buttercups, their colors popping against the stone of the boulder. Likewise, the walls in the courtyard were hung with the blooms as well, while thick clusters of lilacs and freesia stood about to perfume the air. Several butterflies had already come to drink freely from the sweet blooms, and dipped in drunken dances across the space, their wings so like the heralded fairies that Bog had to squint to make sure he wasn’t mistaking them for the other. A small stage had been erected near the front of the pavilion, and Bog saw a small clustering of brownies fuss about a table bearing a frankly enormous spread of food and drinks that was no doubt for the refreshment of their long overdue court.

Bog would have been impressed - or perhaps nauseated - by the sheer spread of wealth had he hadn’t been so busy scanning the sky then, his eyes tracking back and forth as he touched down to the ground. Surely they would have made it by now—?

“Sire!” Stuff and Thang were both clambering off their dragonflies, Thang gaping about at the embellishments and elegance about him. Stuff waved to Bog, her face just holding back a grimace at the unapologetically Fairy décor – even with being a professional, apparently there was only so much her Goblin sensibilities could bear. Her voice held a subtle edge of pleading. “Shall we double back now, BK?”

Bog was about to reply when there was a sudden crescendo of song from the elves and the sky. What the hells—?

The three goblins only had a moment to look up before the rush of song crashed over them, like a wave rushing over the shore or the sun breaking out from behind a bank of clouds. Suddenly the sky above them was filled with countless beings, their wings spangling sunlight and casting the ground beneath them into various rainbow tones as the brightness of the day shone through their wings. They dipped and danced in their descent, all singing sweet and strong, and the elves broke into wild cheers – the fairies had returned, and true to form, it was done with colorful aplomb and a multitude of the sweetest of splendors. The song from the elves rose again, and the fairies echoed it back, wordless and wonderful.  

Bog swiftly grabbed Stuff and Thang by the scruffs of their necks and retreated to the nearest patch of plants that would shield them from the onslaught of such songs, his head already buzzing with it. His time with at the Fairy Palace had given him some immunity to the constant use of songs in Fairy culture, but he was made of sterner stuff than either of his lackeys. Even as he deposited them at the base of some towering stargazer lilies that could serve as their refuge, Thang and Stuff were both holding their ears, Thang actually whimpering.

Bog would have rolled his eyes, but even he wasn’t that callous – his people preferred the darkness and shadows for a reason, after all. Sunlight and songs weren’t poisonous to those of the Dark Forest as the prejudices of the Fairy Kingdom had thought them to be, but singing their own songs amongst their people was a matter of willing participation and therefor something else entirely. The elves singing had been similar enough to their own that it wouldn’t trouble them. But now with the fairies back, it was like being subjected to an onslaught of blinding sunshine without any warning.

Bog spared no time in issuing his orders. “Get back to the Forest. If you see fit, collect the beeswax and pine sap for ear plugs.” He didn’t know how long the singing would last, after all.

The two of them nodded and quickly ran back to their steeds, the look on their faces profoundly grateful. Bog watched them go, their dragonflies dodging the flight of the fairies, before turning to the stage, making sure to keep himself beneath the shelter of the lilies as he watched it intently, his heartbeat picking up once more. That would be the space she would appear, he was sure of it—

Already were fairies touching down, embracing each other, greeting the elves and the brownies with friendly but formal waves. The pixies were not so restrained, and many bunches immediately flew to their favored persons to shower them with clamoring affection, causing those fairies to halt their songs in order to laugh and return such nuzzling. Bog spotted the little yellow one, Daffodil, shower a young blonde Fairy with gleeful little kisses, and could only hope she wouldn’t spot him.

Then—

In the midst of the greens and yellows and pale blues shining upon the ground, there was sudden flash of purple, and Bog’s heart nearly seized—

And there she was.

Marianne gracefully touched down upon the stage with her sister, the sun striking across her brow and the golden-green band of her crown, making her dark locks gleam and her skin glow. She wasn’t singing the song of her people, instead wearing an expression of furrowed concentration, looking around her as her sister twirled across the stage in a delirious dance of happiness. No doubt she was taking stock of the situation, making sure all was well.

And why wouldn’t she, thought Bog, determinedly ignoring how his heart was now thumping with positively painful thuds in his chest. Hells, but to be back after so long, of course that would be her first concern, not some silly song or—

 —or looking for him—

He couldn’t help himself, stop himself from watching her, each flick of her fingers as she tucked her hair behind her ear, the path of her hands as they smoothed at her top, each tilt of her chin as her head moved back and forth to take in the spectacle of their homecoming, her eyes – those eyes, gods, but to see them again – searching over the crowd. The Elf was up on the stage now, rushing to embrace his wife, and the young Queen smiled softly at the sight of them as they twirled around in their bliss at being back together, at being home, even after spending their Winter together.

A few feet away on the stage, the golden oaf had landed and was immediately greeted with a hail of cheers, causing him to laugh loudly, throwing his head back with the gesture, his armor and crown gleaming. He waved a hand over at Queen Marianne to come over to him, not even looking to see if she obeyed. Her soft smile fell for a resigned eye roll and a slight pull of lip that could have been a grimace as she turned to walk towards her King.

All this Bog saw, drinking her in like the most parched of beasts at a spring, aching to reach out for her, to her—

But then her footsteps to Roland abruptly halted as she looked to the lilies.

And the King they sheltered.

Bog’s mind blanked. She had seen him.

Oh gods…

In the midst of the moment, Bog was aware enough to know that the world did not stop, though for the briefest breath it felt as though his heart had as their eyes met.

It did not stop, but continued on with the inane formalities of the ceremonies of returning, the throng still very much present and still very much intent on singing their songs, elves and brownies and pixies raising their voices in warm welcome, whilst the fairies replied with a deep delight in an arrival long denied. None of this ceased when Marianne’s eyes met his.

Yet the need to move along with the rush of it, to participate in power plays and politics, was simply exposed as nothing in comparison to the need to drown in that long denied golden gaze, the depths of them damning any memory he had held over the Winter with their living luster.  

Bog found that the former fervor that had so consumed him until now was now easily brushed away in their presence. In fact, his only concern was to take in how those amber eyes widened in that achingly familiar way, how the dark, lush line of her lashes fluttered in the Spring breeze, how her face reminded him of a flower, open and fresh and fixed on him, like he was the light so long denied…

She was there, just across the crowd from him, so far and yet so close, the closest she had been to him and him to her for so very, very long—

And then she smiled.

And if her face was a flower before, now it was a garden, blooming bright with a beauty hidden away for far too long, and Bog’s heart near about burst, his incredulous delight was so great.

For me, all for me, such happiness and all because of me—

Bog knew he must look an absolute fool, completely unable to keep his smile from burgeoning across his face, but Marianne’s own merely spread all the more as she watched him, apparently just as content to take him in as he was with her.

In that moment, Bog dared to step into the sunlight, and its warmth on his scales was nothing compared to the light of her smile, her amber-warm eyes. His wings shivered, and for the life of him, Bog didn’t know why.

All he knew was that the thought that had kept him going through the Winter had finally come to be, the price of dearly held dreams be damned.  

She’s back. She’s back and right in front of me.

As Bog stood there, surrounded by sunlight and sweetness and song and all that was deemed intolerable by his people, he could think of no place he would rather be, standing only so far away from Marianne with her smile upon him.  

Of course, the rest couldn’t be that easy.

Claws scrapped down the already deep grooves of his scepter as Bog bit back a harsh exhale, fighting the urge to swat at the lilacs hanging overhead, the sickly-sweet scent of them nigh overpowering even in a good mood. In his current state, it was too bloody much.

No sooner had Marianne taken a single step in his direction and he to her when they had both been swarmed with dignitaries and nobles on both sides, all pressing for their attention, their thoughts on how the Winter had passed, every bloody detail demanded. Bog had almost yelped in the sudden onslaught, and he was direly certain that the look he had passed over the heads of the crowd was one of panic and pleading, a fine thing for a King to show—

To be fair, Marianne had looked none too happy either as she looked over her own crowd, her brow hard and flat over her eyes, her mouth fixed in a tense line as her people clamored about her, unceasing and unrelenting in what they asked of the young Queen only just returned. Bog now bit back a hard and sympathetic sigh at the memory of her face, leaning against the stalk of the lilacs, one of his mother’s many sayings brought to mind. Anyone who fantasizes about ruling is one fungi short of a fairy ring.

After the river of unrelenting questions had tapered off into a gurgle of inquiries, what had followed was a formal presentation from the Fairy Kingdom to cement their return from the Winter, then an official tour and inspection of the Palace, before this final ceremony held once again in the gardens. All of which had of course demanded more songs and dances in both the figurative and literal sense. It was to be expected, of course, given the affection fairies held for both, but as Roland made himself the focus of each song and speech, it wore on already thin nerves. Honestly, it was probably a good thing that Griselda had been having one of her allergy onslaughts and had deemed herself too sick to attend the ceremony. Bog was sure that even her love of parties would have been tested and tried by the prattling pettiness of the golden idiot.

Hells, he wouldn’t have minded it all so much if he had simply had a moment to talk with Marianne—

Bog sighed once more as he sank further back against the stalk, causing one of the blooms to bounce closer to him, the ripe perfume of it cloying and close. With aimless ease, Bog reached and ripped down one of the blossoms, rending it with idle ferocity between his claws as he watched the happy crowd with a wilting will any introvert would appreciate. Wonders of wonders, despite being King of the Dark Forest and the one of the very reasons the Winter had been such a success, Bog had managed to keep himself to the sidelines of the crowds well enough throughout all of the ceremonies. It was a fact no doubt helped by Roland’s glory seeking ways, and Bog found he didn’t give a damn about not receiving recognition as long as he wasn’t bloody expected to participate in a number. There’s diplomacy, and then there’s lunacy.

Still, he had hoped…

Bog frowned, his claws pricking at his skin as he clenched a fist. No need to get bloody greedy. Seeing her had been bloody well enough, a talk would come later.

Maybe even later that day, if he was lucky…

If he could find her, that was.

He had tried to keep her in his sights throughout everything, but Marianne had managed to slip away from the proceedings with a stealth that would do any warrior proud. Indeed, Bog would have readily offered his congratulations on that fact if only he bloody knew where she had gone off too. No doubt she had seen the same proceedings in the past and knew when to make her escape. Clever girl.

Bog let the remains of the flower fall from his fingers as he turned his head away from the crowd. No one was bloody paying attention to him now, just like they hadn’t at that past party. Perhaps…

Hells, she had once flown into his Kingdom uninvited, once upon a time. Surely he could do so now to seek her out…?

“Impetuous.”

Bog scowled and ripped another bloom from the bower before him, rending with a fine bit more of ferocity then he had the last one. Sod off, Plum, you’re not but a memory and an annoying one at that.

He was already in her Kingdom, anyway—

“Sire? Is it fair of us to leave soon?”

Bog sighed as he turned to Muggon, who looked up at his King with an expression that was pleading it was almost pained. “Muggon, if you can stomach guttin’ and skinnin’ a squirrel in the dead of Winter, ye can stomach a party for a while yet. I need to stay here.” And see if I can find her again—

“That’s hardly a fair comparison,” Muggon groused, looking thoroughly put out. “One of those things is a pleasure, the other is a pain.”

Bog nearly groaned, he was so sodding done with it all. “Muggon, fer mud’s sake, get over yer—”

“Um, your highness? Bog King?”

The two goblins immediately stopped and looked at the young Fairy maiden before them with surprise, which only seemed to make the already nervous lass all the more uncomfortable, twisting a pale golden curl around her finger and biting her rosebud of a lower lip in consternation as she took in the two fierce beings before her.

The Pixie hovering over her shoulder was what caught Bog’s attention, and he surprised himself with his smile at the sight of them. “Lady Daffodil! How fares ye?”

The Pixie chittered and chirped in delight before zooming up to him and around him a fair few times, trilling her happiness at his greeting. Muggon gaped, and the Fairy maiden blinked frankly enormous brown eyes – not the amber-gold of Marianne’s, but the soft brown of soil – in amazement. “Daffy, you know each other?”

“We met during the Winter,” Bog clarified, mildly wishing he could shoo away the creature without hurting her physically nor her feelings. Aware that Muggon was still gaping, he cleared his throat and stood his scepter in the ground, drawing himself up as regally as he could. “What is it, Lady…?”

The lass blinked again then blushed, the pink of her cheeks far outstripping any of the roses beside them. “Oh! Um, Daisy. Lady Daisy. I mean, just Daisy is fine…” she trailed off and gave a clearly embarrassed wriggle. “Whichever you prefer, sir. I mean, Sire.”

She snuck another look at Daffodil as she still merrily made her way around the dark and dire King, and was obviously unable to hold back her amazement. “I can’t believe she likes you so much…!”

Muggon dropped his gaping in favor of a scowl, and Daisy’s cheeks flushed crimson once more, but Bog merely chuckled. “Nor can I, lass. What was it ye wanted?” Amusing as it was to him, he doubted a girl as naturally nervous as she seemed had willingly come to him to chat about her little friend.

Daisy, clearly quelling under Muggon’s fierce look, started and flushed even more. “Sorry, I meant to tell you straight away – I mean, she wanted me to tell you as soon as I found you…”

She stopped herself and took a breath, straightening her shoulders and spine even as her hands tucked themselves in her skirt, still clearly nervous. “Queen Marianne sent Daffy – I mean, Daffodil to come ask you to the Library. If you wanted to meet her there, that is? Apparently she wants to talk to you—”

She stopped with a little shriek as Bog went past her in a rush of wind and wings.

Remembering himself, he flipped around midair to address Muggon. “Muggon, find Stuff and Thang and let them know Ah’m meeting with the Queen. If they wish to leave before th’ end of th’ ceremonies, tell th’ fairies my mother is ill and she needs attending to.” It was true enough, wasn’t it?

Muggon had lost any trace of his scowl in favor of panic, his dark eyes darting back and forth between his King and Daisy. “Alright, but – ah – what do I do afterwards, your majesty?”

Bog favored him with a slightly evil smile. “Why, enjoy th’ conversation with this fine lass, mah good Goblin.”

Muggon scowled once more, gritting his teeth so hard Bog could easily imagine the dagger he was certain his lackey was yearning for in that moment. His smile growing, he inclined his head to Daisy, who also seemed less then enthused about keeping her current company. In fact, the girl looked rather faint. “A great gratitude to ye, my dear, but Ah best go now – it would nae do ta keep yer Queen waiting, would it?”

Hells, like he would be able to be kept waiting any longer—

“Hmph! Since when do you ever?”

With that dratted voice in his ears and that thought in mind, Bog rolled back into his original path and sped through the air, the sight of Muggon shooting him a discrete obscene gesture doing nothing to stop the chuckle he had to give.

A chat in the library, eh? He could do that. He most certainly could do that indeed.

The route to the Library was as well-known and familiar as ever, though sheets were now draped over the furniture, no doubt as protection from the dust and frosts of the Winter. They would’ve made a ghostly sight if not for the swarms of pixies taking them off and shaking them out, chirping and cheeping merrily, buzzing about in bright swirls of color.

That was until Bog passed by, and the small clouds of them were scattered, the wee things tumbling back with shrill little screams from the force of his speed. Looking back, Bog gave an apologetic grimace before continuing on, still intent. So close, he was so close—

And then he was there, almost all too soon, the doors of the Library looming before him.

His frantic flight at an end, Bog touched down, the buzzing of his wings slowing to a stop as a strange sort of trepidation coming over his heart. Just beyond the doors, that was where she was…

They could finally talk after all this time, just like before…

A Winter without her, and now she was here, just a few feet of wood and gilt separating them the only barrier between them now…

Bog lifted his fist, then lowered it, his heart giving a queer thud. What if he did something to ruin it?

Enough stalling, ye great coward.

Bog closed his eyes and took the deepest breath he could manage, the feel of it rattling through his scales before he let it out in a great gust and knocked on the door before his nerve could fail him, his heart echoing the hammer of it.

There was silence, and for a few heartsick seconds, Bog wondered if the Fairy maid had been mistaken—

Then a familiar alto called out curiously, even cautiously. “Who is it?”

Oh gods.

It took Bog several seconds to find the breath for his reply, meager as it was. “Me.”

There was a pause that seemed to last forever to Bog, and he began to panic anew. Oh hells, had he already done something wrong—?

Then the door opened with a great heave, and there was Marianne, standing there with a smile of such sincerity upon her face Bog felt his heart stutter.

She looked…

Bog wasn’t sure how he managed the few steps past the doorway, Marianne quickly stepping back to let him through, but somehow he did it with enough sense not to stumble as he drank her in.

She had changed out of her traveling outfit into a new gown, the purple iris petals hugging her slender waist like a lover’s embrace. Her hair seemed lighter, a bit more golden-red then when he had last seen her, and there was a glow of sun to her skin. Even her wings seemed to shimmer with a new iridescence as they flowed behind her. Undoubtedly it was all because of the sunlight she had seen in the South.

Or perhaps his memory had betrayed him and she had always looked so bright, so—

Thoughts and feelings crashed through him, words tumbling upon his tongue before he just managed to keep them back behind his fangs. The thing that remained clear in the tumult of it all was the desire to take her in, bask in her being there, right there, when for so long she hadn’t. This whole time he had felt it, had fought against the fast-burgeoning bud of it in him, impatient and ill-concealed no matter how hard he had tried to dismiss it.

Now it was all he could to steady his drinking in of the shine of those dark locks under the light of the Library, that warm flush in those cheeks and the amber flash of those eyes he had – so dearly – missed, all of her so tangible and so there—

He wanted…

Marianne let out a soft, breathless laugh under the continued silence, bashful but beaming, her eyes sweeping down and her wee white teeth catching at her lower lip in a vulnerable bite, slender fingers twisting at each other, hands clasping together for comfort. Bog’s fingers itched to curl along them, feel the press of her palm against his once more, hold her—

Hold her.

He wanted to hold her.

The tempest storming within him came to a crashing calm as Bog’s mind blanked with shock. He wanted to hold her?

—hold her hug her embrace her feel her heartbeat against his know that she was there, there there there, with him—

Bog tried very hard not to reel. He – that – that was completely inappropriate, especially between two rulers, rulers of neighboring kingdoms—!

—but between you and her—

Bog viciously pushed the thought away. They were a King and a Queen. His kind may have never set much store in fluttery, fanciful forms of formality, but some codes had to be observed, impetuous impulses or not.

More importantly, such an action would be undoubtedly shocking for Marianne, most definitely unwelcome—

Like anyone would welcome being in your arms—

The hot, discomforting prickle of angry acknowledgement and bitter acceptance in the wake of that venomous old voice brought Bog back to the fact that he was still stewing in silence whilst the poor girl was waiting for him to speak, amber eyes wide and getting worried—

You great git, bloody well do something.  

His hand nearly shot forward in decisive determination before Bog caught himself in time and gentled the action, claws curling in careful consideration, his palm open and up and undemanding. No matter what her response would be, a returning clasp or a rejection, it was hers to make and his to readily accept.

Marianne looked up at him, eyes still wide, and something in them flickered, a faint flame of something – disappointment? ­– in those amber depths before she softly placed her hand in his.

For one brief moment, so brief that Bog could have easily dismissed it as mere imagination, her fingers seemed to curl at his, clasp him closer, a coil of power tensing through her arm like she was preparing to tug, pull him to her—

And then those glowing gold eyes ducked down, and Marianne gave another soft, bashful laugh, giving his hand a firm shake before letting go and clasping her hands together, tucking them into her skirt. Her voice carried the same warmth and edge of embarrassment that traced her smile. “It’s…good to see you again, Bog King.”

Bog had to fight once more for the breath that formed his reply, and even then, it was a trial to get the words out. “And…and you, Queen Marianne.”

Oh, brilliantly spoken, you great git. Yer winning awards for sheer prose.

Marianne gave another laugh that distracted that poisonous voice, breathless and bashful still. “I—I mean, it’s incredibly good to talk to you, face to face. I was so scared that we wouldn’t be able to, if you needed to get back to your Kingdom—” she stopped and looked at him with wide, worried eyes. “You don’t need to go now, do you?”

Bog gave a laugh of his own, even softer than hers, both amused and touched at her endless concern. “I—no, there’s no worry of that. They know that I wanted—I mean, that I needed to be here. I…”

He paused and hoped his words didn’t betray his heart. “…I can stay as long as you need me to.”

Marianne’s smile was so giddy with gladness that Bog almost had to grin himself, it was so infectious. “Good. I mean—!” she stopped and stumbled, her words and wants so clearly conflicting, her hands leaving her skirt to twist at each other. “I don’t want you to feel as though you have to stay as long as I want you to, because, well, I know that, ah, the ceremony and the tour must have been quite tiring and, um, tedious, I mean, hell, it’s tedious even for me and I’m the Queen here—”

She stopped again then sighed before letting her head drop into her hand, her crown gleaming with the gesture and her voice muffled. “I swore to myself I wouldn’t do this.”

“This?” Bog knew he shouldn’t be grinning, but gods, he couldn’t help it, he so loved hearing her voice again, after a Winter of its silence, and she was so…endearing when she let her words carry her away—

Marianne looked up to give him an apologetic, lop-sided smile. “Babble. Get clumsy. I always do that when I’m hap—” she stopped and cleared her throat, bringing a hand through her hair as a blush came back on her cheeks, “—when my emotions get the better of me. I…”

She stopped again and her blush deepened before she took a deep breath and straightened her spine, her skirt rustling. “Well…suffice to say, I didn’t and don’t want to waste your time. That’s not the point of the diplomacy, and I know that you’re probably sick of all the songs and dances we put on in this Kingdom when it comes to politics—”

“You’re not entirely wrong,” Bog replied, smiling wryly. “Particularly when your King is the one singing and dancing them.”

Marianne snorted before controlling herself. “Regardless, I wanted you to know how deeply we appreciated everything you’ve done this past season.” She laid her hand on his forearm, and Bog felt a prickling warmth flood from the spot, her the press of her palm sinking into him like something he had no words for—

Marianne continued on, oblivious of the effect such a simple touch was having on him, and Bog fought to regain what control he could and pay attention to her words. “—practically sang about how much the fireroot helped them this season. You know how much music means to this Kingdom, so that’s huge coming from them. And then to have invited you to one of their communal sings—!”

She stopped and exhaled, a great gust of pleasure. “I knew it was going to be a success. But to have such an outpouring, to have them make such a point of singing your praises to everyone, and to see them greet your people with such good cheer…”

Bog smiled with pleased wryness. “It almost makes this Winter worth it.”

Marianne looked at him concernedly. “What do you mean?”

Bog immediately wished he hadn’t said anything. “Nothing, it’s nothing, I promise you—”

She didn’t need to hear about how he had fared, after all—

Marianne put her hands on her hips and gave him a stern look, her manner so like his mother’s that Bog almost laughed.

Instead, he tried not to do her any disservice and fought to find the right words, ones that would pacify and yet inform, divulge and yet not be steeped in self-pity. “This Winter…”

Was hell? Hateful? A bane because you were gone?

Bog cleared his throat and raised a shoulder, setting his scales to crackle as he dropped his gaze away from her, feeling something close to almost…bashful? “Well…it seemed a long one.”

He couldn’t very well tell her it was made all the longer by her absence, after all, he wasn’t about to pile on meaningless guilt, not when she was here now—

“I know what you mean.” She turned and walked to the table, leaning against with a carelessness one wouldn’t think would come from a Queen. The gesture was so familiar and welcome that Bog only just restrained his pleasure at it in a half smile.

Marianne caught it and a smile of her own blossomed upon her face as she took him in, the look in her eyes fond. “I hope at the very least yours was better than mine.”

Doubtful, that. But there was something beneath that amber-gold gleam, something staining her tone that made Bog look at her in concern as he joined her at the table. “It was a trying Winter for you as well?”

For while he was sure any Fairy would be nothing but happy to be away from the snows and drenched in sunshine, Marianne was different. He had reread her letter enough times to recall her words, the cursive carefully constraining an unhappiness Bog was all too ready to remedy.

Marianne sighed, her smile dropping along with her eyes, and she studied her hands as they twined together in front of her. “Well, some parts were…lovely. Being with Dawn and Sunny, seeing Jasmine, that was great.” Her lips curved in a brief hint of a half-smile before it fell once more, and she fell into pensive, almost pained lines. “But, there…there was…other stuff.” Her brow furrowed, and her lip curled. “Council stuff.”

Bog drew his head up at that, a sage and sad understanding in his voice. “Ah.”

“Right.” Marianne rolled her eyes, an unhappy scowl twisting her fine features. “Shockingly, they weren’t pleased with my reports about all that you and I accomplished this Fall, nor by the fact that I was still so eager to continue working on our diplomatic aims even during our stay in the Southern Fairy Empire.  Apparently, they were under the impression that a Winter away from y—”

She stopped and flushed before continuing, speaking with what seemed to be more care. “A Winter away from here would have caused the flame of my enthusiasm to cool.” She smirked unhappily. “So to speak.”

Bog looked at her, her small stature smaller in her unhappiness as her shoulders drew up and she crossed her arms in front of her, and a positive deluge of distress made his fingers twitch with the need to reach out to her as she stood by the table, take her hand, comfort her somehow.

He set his jaw and contented himself with moving closer, hoping that his voice held some of the pained sympathy so heavy in his heart. “Ah’m sorry…”

Disquietingly, Marianne seemed to withdraw further at that, ducking her head down as she spoke once more, her voice strangely dull. “I wouldn’t have minded so much, but then they…” she sighed gustily before raising her head to meet Bog’s worried gaze, her face almost brutally blank. “They apparently used the Fall to do some brainstorming sessions themselves, to think of ways to improve the moral of the Kingdom other than diplomacy.”

Bog blinked before sputtering in his shock. “But…it’s a success! We know it to be—”

Marianne laughed, soft and bitter. “Like they would let that stop them. Prejudice is a weed that never stops. It just finds new ways to grow back.” She ran a hand through her hair, rough enough that her crown was set slightly askew, sighing as she did so. “The Council had many…” her lip curled, “…suggestions for alternate ways in which to improve the moral of the Kingdom.” Her voice became dull once more. “One way garnered almost…unequivocal support.”  

Bog raised a scaly brow at her, trying to ignore the foreboding unfurling in him like some awful bloom. “Which is…?”

She looked away. “An heir to the throne.”

Bog could only stare at her in the silence that followed, the slow rise of horror within him sticking in his throat, stopping him from speaking.

No…oh gods, no…

Marianne’s shoulders rose and fell with her silent, deep inhale, before she looked up with a briskness that bordered on brusque. She then turned to the table with a tenseness in her shoulders that traveled down her wings as she began to sort through the papers on the tabletop, gathering and shuffling them in a forceful manner that seemed to hold no true rhyme or reason. “Like that will happen. Still, good to know that they recognize my worth.” Her voice was as bitter as belladonna seeds, brittle as bones. “Roland’s the King. I’m the breeder.”

Bog stared at her, horrified at the resignation in her voice, and the words left his mouth before he could even think. “You’re the heir to the throne.”

She looked up at him sharply, her brow furrowing, the papers slacking out of her grip.

Bog continued, urgent and low, determined to make her see, make her understand that she was not – that she was so much more – “You were born to rule, a royal by blood and character. He had to marry you to get whatever power he has. He is nothing without you.”

He is nothing compared to you.

Marianne’s wide eyes were had grown wider still, and she was so silent as she stared at him Bog wondered if her very breath had stopped. The look in her eyes was one of an almost unnerving intensity, as if there was a chance that if she were to give even the merest blink, he would disappear.

And she desperately didn’t want that…

The thought came so suddenly that it was Bog who blinked, before furiously focusing on something else so he would not follow such an idea. Looking away, he cleared his throat, shrugging his shoulders with a crackle of scales. “B-besides, if the need for the heir was so very pressing…” he paused to look at Marianne, careful cautious concern at odds with honest confusion, “…is not adoption an equal path to parenthood?”      

Marianne blinked and started, passing a hand through her hair once more and making a noise that was somehow a huff of laughter and a shaky exhale. “It…it absolutely is, but…the Council isn’t concerned about parenthood. They want an heir. Someone to continue the royal bloodline. I’m pretty sure there some horrible old archaic laws about it too.” She crossed her arms once more and slumped against the table, her face somewhere between rueful and wrathful. “I would love to destroy them, but fat chance of that happening.”

Bog shook his head, appalled. “But if you chose the child—!”  

Marianne’s voice was horribly flat. “In their eyes, the symbolism of blood trumps the power of choice, even if it comes from a Queen.” She paused before continuing, her voice turning soft, a melancholy murmur. “Besides…no matter how badly I want—” she stopped to take a breath, so deeply it was almost a shudder, before continuing with a detached determination that was honestly dreadful. “I couldn’t live with myself, bringing in an innocent child into such a sham of a—”

She stopped again, took another breath, and closed her eyes. “Into a marriage like Roland’s and mine. I don’t…I can’t do that. I won’t do that.” She then sighed, uncrossing her arms to press a hand to the back of her neck. “Besides, I don’t think Roland has ever wanted to be a father.”  

She then shrugged, turning her head away with a determinedly blasé air that made Bog’s heart ache anew. So careful to mask her unhappiness. “Anyway, I decided long ago to pass the throne onto Dawn and Sunny. Sunny might not be able to be recognized as King, but everyone will be happy to have Dawn on the throne.”

Bog silently ruminated over this news, considering the implications of it. To have an Elf on the throne would no doubt cause no small amount of chaos in the Fairy Kingdom. Marianne was wise to play to the power and popularity that her sister held over the court, and undoubtedly she had considered the support those in the Fields would give to her brother-in-law, even if it was only her sister who bore an actual title.

Yet there was one detail that was distracting him…

Bog his lower lip a slow pass of his tongue, wondering if he even dared pursue such a train of thought. Surely it would hurt her further still to discuss—

“You can ask it, whatever it is.”

He started and looked up, and Marianne gave him a smirk that didn’t negate the weary fondness in her eyes as she looked at him. “I know you well enough by now to tell when you’re trying to hold yourself back from doing something. And I always prefer answering questions then dealing with assumptions.”

Right. Bog swallowed and scratched at the back of his neck, nervous nonetheless. “You…said you believe your husband has never wanted to…to enter parenthood. Would…would you…?”

Marianne looked at him with those large, luminescent eyes, eyes that could give him so much but gave nothing to him now, and Bog wondered if he had made a fatal mistake.  

Then she turned to the table, her easy casualness almost surreal, leaving Bog to look at her back, the gentle shifting of her wings.

Her voice was clear and calm when she spoke, her hands busying themselves with another bundle of paper. “I suppose that’s what makes it such a shame. I…”

She paused, then slowly and softly set the papers down to the table. Bog saw the slight tilt to her chin that kept her face even more away from him.

And gods help him, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking that one worried step to her, his tread almost timid.

Marianne must have sensed him all the same and turned back to face him. Though her face wore an inscrutable expression, her eyes were down and withdrawn, gone to some secret, silent pain. Yet when she spoke, her voice was still collected. “I always wanted to be a mother.”

Bog lowered his eyes, his heart giving an even fiercer ache, unable to look at her as the sight would bring even more pain, a reminder of all that she was and all that she was unable to be. Fiercely protective, forthright and fair, warm and compassionate and kind…she would be a wonderful mother, and now…

Gods, but it’s so wretchedly unfair.

Bog exhaled, slow and steady. Like his unhappiness at her own would make her feel any bloody better.

Then a thought went through his mind with such striking horror that he almost reeled, aghast at the very thought, the very chance—

Oh Gods, please no, please please please no…

Marianne turned to him, going tense as a hare sighting a hawk as she looked at him, her face full of fierce concern. “What it is? What’s wrong?”

Bog shook his head dumbly, numb with the still fresh horror of the thought. He had caused her enough pain with his prying, he wouldn’t add anymore, especially not if there was a chance that they…that he…

Marianne set her jaw, her ferocity fierce as thorns and her concern tender as petals. “Don’t you shake your head at me, you’re obviously freaking out about something, now what is it—?”

“Ah don’…” Bog stopped and cleared his throat, trying to rid himself of the telling rasp in his voice before speaking once more. “I’ve troubled you enough with questions, I don’t want to cause you any more pain—”

“And I don’t want you hurt either,” Marianne retorted, her stern words accompanied by the soft touch of her hand on where his hand held his scepter with clenched knuckles. Her eyes were so soft as they looked at him, so ready to put aside her pain when faced with his. “Please…let me help you like you’ve helped me.”

Well then…

Bog ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth, wishing he could test the mettle of his words on them, taking time to taste them on his tongue before finally speaking. Even then, they sounded trepidatious as he tried to keep his fierce turmoil at bay. “You say that the Council has put this pressure upon you. Given how…they’ve frequently have his support in the past, I know how often your husband sides with them.”

He stopped and breathed as deeply and evenly as he could, even as the sickening thought pushed up through him like welling bile. When he spoke, his words were halting, trying to lessen the horror of them. “Is there…is there a chance, a danger of him…of him…?”

Marianne stared up at him, her brow knit in perplexion and still fierce concern, obviously trying to make sense of the implication of his words, and Bog could only pray that he wouldn’t be forced to make himself plainer.

And that if the golden braggart had done something that irredeemably vile to her, that his claws were sharp enough to gut him from stomach to sternum to stupidly shining smile—

There was a sudden dawning in Marianne’s eyes, and the same horror in the pit of Bog’s stomach was on her face, her features twisted in fresh and fearful understanding.

Then she looked into his eyes, and all fear and revulsion fled, leaving only desperately distressed reassurance.

She reached a hand to his, seizing it with the obvious intent to comfort, the clutch of her fingers so fierce his hand ached. “No,” she said, low and obviously trying to dispel his own horror, even in the face of her own. “Oh god, no no no, it’s…no, I truly don’t believe there’s a danger of…” she swallowed, the slender line of her throat working, trying to get the words out, “…of that. Roland wouldn’t dare.”

Bog closed his eyes, his relief was that great. He had never had to deal with the abomination of rape in his kingdom, what with all goblins holding it as the horror it was, but to think of Marianne in such a position…it tore him to his core. To hells with the diplomacy if the bastard so much as laid a hand on her—

Marianne continued on, tripping over her words in her haste to reassure him. “I mean, I think…I would hope that there are…things beyond him. The most he does is try to convince me of the Council’s ‘wisdom’, but…” Marianne trailed off and sighed, lifting a shoulder.  “Roland doesn’t really…care about the future of the Kingdom.” She then snorted. “Well, apart from the fact that he’s the King of it. But in his eyes, it begins and ends with his reign. Besides, we haven’t shared a bed for—”

Marianne stopped, her whole face aflame.

Bog felt a wave of awkwardness wash over him as well, hot and prickling, as the weight of such an admission sunk through. As close as he and she had become, there still remained some lines that were not to be overstepped. And he already knew far too much about her marriage to begin with.

Would you want it any other way, if you knowing is a comfort to her?  

Surprised, Bog tilted his head at the thought. The echo of old words rang in his ears: “You needn’t worry about letting yourself truly be…be you. There’s no shame in that.”

He had meant them that night, hadn’t he? Marianne had never given any inclination of not wanting to confide in him, and whenever she had expressed reluctance or embarrassment, it had been over her concern of his discomfort.

And he had never turned her away. To be sure, he had never let her know he had soused out Roland’s unfaithfulness, nor had she ever mentioned it to him, but still…as far as he knew, he was the closest thing Marianne had to a confident, besides from her sister and her pixies.

And who was he to shirk such a role?

He was the Bog King of the Dark Forest, and he had never turned down a duty before.

Meanwhile, Marianne seemed to have recovered from her humiliation and had shrugged back her shoulders, her mouth in a moue of resolve. “So…yeah. Roland hasn’t a chance to try anything like that. Even if he wanted to…” a look of disgust flitted across her face before she pushed on determinedly, “…like you said, I’m the heir to the throne. If he harmed me in any way—” she stopped and gave a wry smile, “—well, physically harmed me in anyway, he would have the whole kingdom to answer to. They might take flirting with other women lightly, but not that.”

She then sighed, letting her shoulders slump in a shrug. “Besides…I’ve learned to take care of myself.”

Bog smiled sadly, wishing he could say something to put a smile back on her face. “I don’t doubt you there, Tough Girl.”

Marianne looked at him curiously, her eyebrows quirking. “Tough Girl?”

Now it was Bog’s face that was aflame. “Ah—Ah’m sorry, that was—”

“No, it’s fine.” Amazingly, Marianne was smiling. “I just…no one has ever called me that. Roland always calls me Buttercup—” her nose scrunched in disgust, “—or pretty little thing. He’s never…he never would call me strong or tough or anything like that.” She gave a wry smile once more. “Probably wouldn’t think it’s ladylike.”

“That you put any store by what that fool thinks is a kindness he doesn’t deserve,” Bog retorted gently, daring to give her a smile of his own.

Marianne laughed, and it sung through Bog like the sweetest song. Gods, to think he had missed her voice—

Marianne smiled at him, full and frank, beautiful and beaming, and her laughter still colored her words when she spoke, shaping them into something beyond any kind of sweetness Bog had ever known. “God, I’ve missed you.”

She took a step to him, her arms rising, and suddenly his heart was in his throat—

Marianne halted before blushing brilliantly, her hands falling to her sides, twisting into the fabric of her skirt. “I…I actually had an idea I did want to discuss with you, one that’s…that’s sort of related to that.” She pushed a hand through her hair, her cheeks still carrying a bit of pink. “Missing you, I mean.” She stopped and let out a soft, deprecating laugh. “I’m sorry, I sound so sappy each time I say it—”

“Ye truly don’t,” Bog managed to say, and for some reason his heart was pounding. Gods, he could listen to her say that all day. Him, she had missed him—

She smiled at him gratefully before clearing her throat and continuing. “Well, the thing is…I know that you don’t like to be away from your Forest, so you can absolutely veto this if you think it won’t be useful, but…” her fingers fiddled with the bodice of her dress, picking at petals, and the look she gave him was hesitant, almost shy. “I…I was thinking of building a wing for you.”

Bog could only blink at her in his shock. “A…a wing? Here? At the Fairy Palace?”

She gave him a smile both nervous and teasing. “Well, yeah, where else?” She blew out a breath, a strand of her hair fluttering out of the way. “I just…I just thought that it might be nice, you know? Having a place for you to stay so you wouldn’t have to keep traveling back and forth. Knowing that…” she blushed again, her eyes ducking down, shyness once more stealing over her, “…knowing that you’re here, even if it’s only for a night or two. After a Winter without you, I…I think it could be nice. Would be nice.”

She stole look up at him, biting her lip and then shrugging in a determinedly nonchalant way. “At the very least, it’s a definite show of hospitality between the two Kingdoms, and maybe we can get both of our people to work on it, architects and laborers and, and—”

Marianne stopped with a sharp inhale as Bog took her hand in his, and even he wondered at his daring as he raised it up between them to cover it with his other hand. But it was suddenly rendered a matter of little to no consequence when he looked into her eyes, their great golden-brown depths so deep, so guileless and gorgeous…

He had had no intention of sounding so tender when he spoke, but he simply couldn’t summon up a damn. “You would give me a home here?”

Marianne stared up into his eyes, so close that he could see the butterfly-flutter of her pulse on her throat. “Only if you wanted one,” she breathed.

Bog could only nod, his heart too strangely full for him to answer.

Marianne blinked then ducked her head down, her free hand going to her hair and a blush once more stealing over her features, her wee teeth biting into her lower lip, deprecating and delicate. “I mean…if you really think it’s a good idea…I don’t want you to only do it because I’m a huge sap who missed you so much that she can’t bear to be without you now—”

“I did too.”

Marianne stopped completely to look up into Bog’s eyes, her own eyes wide.

“Miss you.” Bog’s throat was tight, his heart so full of something inexplicable and unexplainable and all for her that it ached, but he could only continue. “I missed you too. So much.”

Marianne remained stock still, her eyes still taking him in, her lips parted.

Bog felt the prickle of humiliation begin to creep over him, and he cleared his throat, his scales rattling as he shrugged his shoulders, preparing to drop her hand which he really ought to have done ages ago. You great prat. “That is, I, uh—”

The rest of Bog’s words left him in a gasp as Marianne launched herself into his arms, her hug fierce and strong, her tiny body clutching at his in a clasp that the flytraps of his Kingdom couldn’t have competed with.

Bog could only gape as he stared down at her, his hands hovering over her form, his heartbeat thundering beneath her cheek. She was—

He was—

No had ever, no one besides his mother, no one had ever dared to—

And she had—

And she felt so—

Slowly, softly, his touch as tentative and timid as a twice-burned moth, his hands settled over her back, and Bog wondered at the feel of the petals beneath the wide weight of his palms, so soft under his skin, so warm from her body…

A strange and sudden flash of something went through him at that thought, and Bog could only spare it a passing glance as he quickly discovered just how huge he was in comparison to her. The top of her head only barely brushed where his chest began, but her arms, slender and yet so very strong, easily wrapped around the skinny, scaly trunk of his waist. His hands covered the width of her waist and then some, and Bog found that he could just as easily span the length of her spine with them too. Now more than ever did he take care with his claws, his heartbeat hammering at the thought of her dress rent by him, or gods forbid, her skin…

He could so easily hurt her without even meaning to. He knew that, she had to know that…

And yet here she was, hugging him like…like…

Like she’s been wanting to hold you as much as you had wanted to hold her?

Bog nearly reeled at the thought. For him to feel such a way for her, that was one thing, but to have anyone nurse such a feeling for him—!

It was then that it truly dawned on him, the feel of her in his arms and the press of his palms upon her back and her breath above his breast all combining into a powerful punch of understanding.

She had missed him.

She had truly, truly missed him.

Bog’s gaping shock slowly faded into a slow and wondering smile. He looked down once more at her, this young Fairy so ferociously fine in all her ambitions and dearly held dreams, and felt his heart throb in tender astonishment. She would never cease to amaze him, would she?

And it was suddenly so very easy to embrace her back, not just hold her but hug her, his sudden gush of feelings making any stiffness of shock leave his body. Bog bent easily, his arms circling her, and let himself sink into the embrace and all the emotions it gave forth. This…

This, more than any blue sky, more than any tender furl of new leaves, more than even those wretched primroses, proved that Winter was utterly banished, that all cold loneliness had fled. Spring had come, and Bog felt a warmth spread through his chest like new roots as he held Marianne in his arms.

She’s back.

[uncontrollablyme]

Surviving his winter.

I was a young and vibrant tree in the spring.

Abounding with growth, beautiful and full of precious leaves and flowers that created an environment of life for all things.

My exhale giving life and love. My inhale rejuvenating me with each moment passing into summer.

I provided shelter and shade, space and care. A home.  

Fall ascended after months of bloom and richness, each leaf gleaming in her magnificent hues.

True and simple beauty, shining, colorful.

As fall settled into its crispness the shift of winter was clear. 

My leaves began to change and fall slowly with his approach. It was as if they knew instinctively. 

Winter, he came boldly, with a ferocious wind full of fury.

Shocking and rattling against my unsuspecting branches.

He knocked away each pedal and leaf with a mocking smile of accomplishment.

Winter.

Day by day, enduring his worst, my core rooted in the beautiful earth began wavering.

I stood questioning my strength, the ability to continue on as the pain radiated with the loss of each piece of me.

He blew through me with shards of ice on his breath leaving my sap oozing and instantly freezing my insides through the raw openings.

Winter was here, hell-bent on doing his worst.

He took the last of my leaves and branches and everything else that made me look like me, felt like me, created like me.

He took it all.

And when he was done inflicting his worst, he looked back with an angry last lash of hail and storm that I no longer had anything left of me to take.

Ravaged, beaten, barely surviving.

Alone now in the woods, I stood with all of what I once was ripped away, blown to pieces, nothing left even at my feet.

Nothing left but wounds and scars. 

With his exit, I stood still, unsure of myself and how I could go on.  

In that stillness of depth and solitude, I remained until slowly the warmth of the sun once again rose upon my bark, my face.

All of me bare and aching.

Daily, in its persistence and flowing light the sun bathed me in love again.

Breathe it in, trust it, let it in, a gentle reminder, "Believe in who you are, just hold steady, hold on."

Suddenly, my branches felt a pulse and then expansion and once again growth.

I fixed my eyes on my beautiful branches that had withstood his wrath and through the corners of my swollen eyes I saw another tree. And then another.

We all had survived that winter.

I was not alone, we were not alone.

We had all survived.

As the weather shifted once again into spring, as it always does, I again became myself, new, evolved.

Each new leaf and beautiful bud proof of my resilience.

My fullness and wholeness grew and I remained

l existed. 

I returned to life stronger, better, grateful, along side all of the other trees.

And, as my buds began to open into their full and glorious blooms, I learned I could survive the winters.

Life is full of seasons, some take from us, feel harsh and traumatic. Others are full of growth and abundance. The lesson is in our survival and resiliency. We were not put here just to suffer. We are love and magnanimous, it is all right there within you!

Sending out love and light!

XO

T

Photo cred: Danielle McVey aka photo genius!

[sound-of-reverie]

THE SOUND OF REVERIE.

Basics.

Full Name: Rosalie de Cristaux. Aliases: Rosie. Title: The Bridge Between Worlds, The Bridge, Gatekeeper, Lady. Birthday: 8th September. Race: Fae. Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual. Relationship Status: Dating Xemnas (Soulmate). Home World: Château de Cristaux. Other Residences: Twilight Town, The World That Never Was. Family: Baudouin de Cristaux (father), Giselle de Cristaux (mother).

OH, I INHALE YOU IN SMALL DOSES …

Physique.

Biological Age: 22. Eye Colour: Lilac. Hair Colour: Rose bloom pink. Height/Weight: 168 cm/64 kg. Build: Hourglass. Skin Tone: Relatively fair. Face Shape: Oval, chubby cheeks.

… AND ADORE YOU LIKE THE ROSES.

Personality.

Rosalie doesn’t see the world in black or white. Rather, she believes that things are always in the grey area, and that everything happens for a reason. She sees things in the point of view of others, particularly like how not everyone has the same definition of what’s right and wrong.

As the prime source of what keeps the Worlds connected, Rosalie knows and understands the weightage upon her shoulders, along with the responsibilities that she has to handle with the job. 

Although Rosalie takes her role seriously, she isn’t completely serious, stiff, or uptight, but rather lighthearted and carefree for the most part. She is often seen as cheerful and upbeat, always seeing the positive side of things no matter how bleak a situation may be. 

She is also quite intelligent, particularly in battle strategy and risk management, being able to assess situations on the spot.

Remarkably friendly (and occasionally quite a loud mouth), Rosalie adores befriending the new people she’s met in her journey, regardless their personality; Be they standoffish, brash, eccentric, rude — It doesn’t matter, she welcomes them all with open arms.

Despite all this, there is some sense of negativity to being as easygoing as Rosalie is, as often when things don’t go her way or the way she thought they may go, she has to handle the situation to the best of her abilities. This makes her a bit of a pushover, or someone that can easily be walked all over. In her own opinion, Rosalie sees herself as someone with remarkably low expectations, thus not setting herself up for disappointment as easily.

Rosalie has always been a curious lass, even when she was younger. Maybe even a bit too curious for her own good, always keen on learning and discovering new things, places, and meeting people. 

Furthermore, Rosalie doesn’t bask in the light, nor does she fear the darkness. She is comfortably situated in the centre between the two and between Xemnas’ thighs.

Beneath everything else, Rosalie can be seen as a very selfish person. For an example, she knew of Xemnas’ overall plans but never told any of the other Organization members, nor did she warn Sora, or anyone else for that matter. While this proves how loyal she is to Xemnas, it also shows how much she prioritizes him. However, Rosalie is not blinded by love, and steps in or intervenes with his plans if they put her duty in jeopardy.

ROSALIE’S HOME WORLD: CHÂTEAU DE CRISTAUX.

The inhabitants of Château de Cristaux are Fae-like people whom were guided and influenced by the Crystals within the underground of her family’s castle. While the World itself is named after the Château, it spreads to forests, villages, and farms on the outskirts towards the mines. The World is made up of mostly pastel and pearlescent colours, particularly on pinks and purples. 

Rosalie’s people all had magic coursing through their veins, mostly used for healing, sustenance, and agriculture while Rosalie herself became the sole source of keeping the wards surrounding the World up, thus making her its guardian by extension. 

Since separation of the Worlds, Château de Cristaux has been forgotten through magic, and former rulers have isolated the World and treated it like a haven and sanctuary, sealing anyone from entering or leaving without permission from the appointed gatekeeper.

As mentioned prior, her people, and Rosalie herself, are Fae-like, especially in their culture: beliefs, rituals, and spiritual connections. They see their Crystals as sacred, believing their very livelihood and lifespan depends on them, and refer to themselves as the Crystalline, though the term is rarely used due to a lack of outsiders that visit. Another ‘tradition’ is that eventually, at a certain point in their life, a Crystal will tell them who their Soulmate is, and a mating bond will form. Soulates of the Crystalline can be anyone, and only properly form after they’ve met, but don’t necessarily develop in an instant. Commonly, it is other Crystalline; However, some unlucky souls find their Soulmate in residents of other Worlds, and due to the wards, never get to meet or be with them. Mating bonds needn’t always be acted on or accepted, and sometimes are ignored completely in the modern times, believed to be part of old traditions.

The Crystals and the existence of the Cristaux bloodline is the sole reason why there is neither an excess of light or darkness in the World.

Baudouin was the former Bridge Between Worlds and thus its former ‘ruler,’ however Rosalie is the current bearer of the title.

THE DARKNESS IS NOT TAKING PRISONERS TONIGHT, MY DEAR.

A little bud in bloom.

The only child of Baudouin and Giselle de Cristaux, Rosalie was the next one to take up the mantle and role of the Bridge Between Worlds. Thus, her childhood and upbringing involved a lot of preparations for when she was mature enough to handle her duties. She experienced all sorts of training, all to hone the abilities that eventually would aid her; Particularly opening pathways or gateways for those with the ability to travel through them. 

Her Home World is a lavish, elegant, and beautiful place, with her and her family having lived in a castle-like estate. While having a princess-like upbringing, Rosalie always had the heart of an adventurer, longing to explore the other Worlds she was groomed to protect the balance of.

The relationship between herself and her parents wasn’t necessarily warm, but fine all the same. Which was all the more reason why leaving home was easier for an adolescent Rosalie. She had inherited the title and responsibility from her father, who was a stern, and dedicated to his work; Only weak, and putting in the presence of his wife. Her mother was just as stern as her father. Despite the femininity of her name, Giselle was harsh and ferocious woman, built like an Amazon and originally the personal guard to Baudouin. The two married after their mating bond finally clicked after years of romantic tension, and during a brief courtship. 

Although she doesn’t show it much in the current day, Rosalie felt significantly burdened by her responsibilities when she was younger, always feeling a sense of weight on her shoulders. Despite having to grow up fast, Rosalie had a pleasant childhood, having enjoyed herself as well as having a good environment to be raised in.

When Rosalie eventually came of age and was prepared enough, she was sent off to maintain the connections between all the Worlds. 

The Darkness is not taking any prisoners tonight, my dear. 

In her adventures, Rosalie travelled from the dry savannahs of the Pride Lands, to the underwater world of Atlantica, the Land of Dragons, Wonderland, and so on. 

Each World provided her with the thrill of adventuring and discovery of new places, history, people, and stories for her to remember in the days to come.

Yet no amount of training or preparation could have prepared her for the outbreak of the Heartless. However, some of the Worlds disappearing was what brought Rosalie out at her busiest. Restoring the invisible threads that connected one World to the other while the ‘chosen’ she kept hearing about battled the darkness and locked the Keyholes. Rosalie eventually managed to reconstruct all of the destroyed Worlds once Ansem was defeated by Sora, Donald, and Goofy, and through the situation, she discovered new insight on both darkness and light. 

In this moment I let go, with you.

And despite all this, the one place which left the biggest impact on her was one which wasn’t originally on her 'list.’ Having — quite literally — stumbled into The World That Never Was. This was where Rosalie met Organization XIII’s leader, Xemnas, for the first time, but only for a brief, passing moment. As the World was a bit too much for her to handle due to its uniqueness (much alike the End of the World), she had to leave to attend to the other Worlds once the Nobodies had began to spring up. 

Still, her wish to properly meet the mysterious, hooded figure came true when they ran into each other in Twilight Town. 

Even though she was well-aware that Xemnas was a Nobody, Rosalie’s significant soft spot for him was not ignored in the least. The two of them, despite one being overemotional and the other having a severe lack of emotion, became a couple. A very odd pair; She was the somebody that gave her heart to nobody. While not entirely agreeing with his methods, and goals, Rosalie never intervened with his plans. 

Rosalie was devastated at Xemnas’ supposed defeat at the hands of Sora and Riku, yet still didn’t blame them whatsoever. Everyone had a different definition of what was right and wrong. Yet, that didn’t make it hurt any less, of course.

But then for some reason, he came back, they were reunited. Young Xehanort and Xemnas explained it to her but honestly what the fuck even why did they bring time travel into this. “You have a giant fucking forehead,” Rosalie yells at Xehanort, and Xemnas drags her away before things get out of hand. they have hot sex or something i have to check my fanfiction

After they were reunited, Rosalie told Xemnas that he was her Soulmate.

BEAUTY, AND GRACE.

Paraphernalia.

Attire.

Rosalie wears a white tube top with a black under bust, and with a black pair of panties shorts that have a chain belt across to fasten her ruffled cape skirt. She wears a pair of ribboned pink heels, black thigh high socks, and pink fingerless gloves. Her wavy hair is kept up in a ponytail, held back with a black hairband.

There is honestly nothing functional or practical about her outfit, but honestly at least there aren’t like fifty thousand unnecessary zippers.

Like really, what the Hell is going on over there?

Weapon.

Rosalie wields a metallic pink whip sword, adorned with a rose keychain and motifs across it. The radius of her weapon is wide, and has the ability to inflict damage on both Heartless, and Nobodies, though Rosalie doesn't normally come to blows with the latter.

Her choice of weaponry also permits her to open, and even close pathways if necessary. Though not entirely the sole source of her powers, her whip sword lets her use these abilities without draining too much of her energy as it would if she went freehanded.

Additionally, her weapon lets her open doorways, and with Xemnas' teachings, she is also capable of opening Dark Corridors.

Rosalie has various whip swords, all with differing names, and having a rose keychain. Her known weapons are: Wicked Rose, Savage Thorns, Dragon Spine (Ultima).

Abilities. 

Everything has rhythm.

Rosalie is a skilled gymnast, thus making her quite flexible and quick on the battlefield. Her attacks do not deal great deals of damage too often (unless used in repetitive succession, such as Rosea Arcanum), but are very quick and often stuns her foes. 

Her battle style uses a mix of both swordsmanship (when her whip sword is not detached), and a dominatrix whip user.