#Fern loves Asra and so do I

[fox-daddy]

Second, Gen au, I've been daydreaming about making a chose your own adventure fic for but lazy.

The word child is in '' because I mean 'child of' not necessarily that their a minor. Also, oc x cc for 3/4 of the parents.

Mc - Selasi's 'child' roughly 19-24 - the fool(?)/maybe a different major arcana

- Strong with magic (but doesn't use magic unless has to)

Aurora - The star - 20 (Asra/Kyle's 'child')

- Can sense magic (almost see in a sense but using her own magic can cause a positive feedback loop which isn't fun)

- loves painting and colors (is scared of strong wind and heavy rain)

^^ twinz vv

Solar - The Devil - 20 (Asra/Kyle's 'child')

- tries to be the best at what he enjoys (to the point if he feels like he should be able to do something he won't stop until he can do it. Great when it comes to reading not so much when it comes to picking locks.)

- super defensive about his twin and will protect her. (To the point of using magic to quickly deal with fights that didn't have to be fights.)

- may or may not get along great with the local street kids.

Piper - The Magician - 21 (Julian/Hunter's 'child')

- raised by Julian and someone who's a theater kid at heart. She can and will be dramatic for fun. (Tends to put others' needs above her own)

- high energy and able to keep up with a lot of stuff. (Keeps up to date with Portia on local gossip and the hottest new plays around the community theater)

- When not bugging Julian, Hunter, Nadia, or Portia, she's either running around looking for trouble or around the blacksmith. (She enjoys making accessories and items from the junk and scrap metal with permission and some help.)

Unnamed girl - The high priestess - 24 (Nadia/Portia'a 'child')

- very much knows what she wants and is trying to get it. (More perfectionist in the sense she likes things the way she likes them.)

- mainly interested in learning both secrets and basic knowledge. (Doesn't keep many freinds aside from a close few.)

- sharp minded and witty being able to keep up with Piper in any dramatic exchange. (Trades secrets with people, a secret for a secret. Knowledge for knowledge.)

Unnamed boy - The Hermit - 20 - (Portia/Nadia's 'child')

- prefer to be kept out of the spotlight but even in the spotlight is great at being as unnoticeable as possible. (Suprisingly really smart in a general sense but manly keeps it to himself)

- takes active internet in his mum's tinkering and even picked up the hobby himself. (Likes making the internal gears and mechanics more than actually designing the outside. Leading to a lot of boring looking items with interesting mechanisms.)

- despite not speaking a lot and occasionally stuttering, he typically says interesting or important things. (Although his voice is soft.)

Fern - The Hangedman - 19 - (Muriel/Bluebell's 'child')

- similar to his parents prefers to just stay in the forest away from people. (Although he does sometimes hang out with kids around the outskirts of the forest.)

- enjoys where he lives and how things are and doesn't really want it to change. (Pretty stuck in his train of thought and finds other ways people think confusing at best and straight up wrong st worst.)

- given the chance would keep things exactly how they are forever, no growing up, no changes. (Despite knowing things are always going to change for the worse or better he doesnt know yet.)

The full plot is WIP, and while I tried to shift the major arcana between kids, I gave up with Portia and Nadia's. Feel free to suggest names for the unnamed characters or just suggest ideas.

[marylizabetha]

My Fan Apprentice, Fern! Heavily inspired by Princess Arete. These are her outfits throughout the game! Since there’s a lot of different cultures influencing the game I just pulled inspiration from everywhere. The first outfit is inspired by Indian Runway Fashion, the second by Medieval Europe and the third by Greek and Roman Fashion.

[brownandblackpearls]

📜 🖋 𝒞ourting with 𝒟r. 𝒟evorak (Julian x BlackReader) Pt.1

PART 1 SUMMARY:

You are a reputable, young beauty of means in Vesuvia, enjoying the winter courting season. An odd letter from an odd doctor finds its way to your door. You decide to respond.

─── Julian x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── explicit smut

─── regency/historical/fantasy, courtship rituals, wealthy! MC, love letters, drama, handsome redheads

☾ next.

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

“Letters for you, Miss!” The scullery maid calls through the door.

You pause your writing, hesitating over your final line before turning to answer the call.

“Come in!”

The maid strides in with your daily mail on a silver platter. As expected, there is a heap of them from various suiters, all interested in seeking your hand. 

Some young, some old, some men, some women, some wealthy, and some positively blue-blooded, they are all voracious. Usually, your interest tends to wane after weeks and weeks of these greetings each season. The feeling especially set in after getting the particular suspicion that the lords, duchesses and dukes reaching out to you were having their own maids and butlers pen these letters, a copy of an inquiry to every potential young beauty in the region.

Consequently, many of the letters did not seem to genuine, remaining vague and distanced. Polite. 

Today, however, you find your lessons to be going slow. You decide to take a break and browse through the inquiries.

“Read through them for me, Delilah?” You call out the request as you lower your pen and clean your fingers in a warm, sudsy bowl of water on your desk. Drying your hands, you apply a spot of scented lotion on your fingers before smoothing it in and sliding your delicate gloves back on.

Delilah clears her throat, interested in the letters herself. 

You had no doubt the contents of the proposals would make waves throughout the household by sunset, but all of your staff were well-meaning. Just bored during these slow winter months. Honestly, you didn’t blame them for indulging in your courting dramas.

“Well,” Delilah begins, “Here is a letter from a Clarence Dunford Winthrop, hailing from Bremens County! He greets you and wishes you a very warm winter. ‘I am most pleased to write to you, Miss ------. I possess a healthy 34 years in me, and I seek the opportunity to meet and possibly enter the idea of courtship with you. Are the tales true that you are quite fine and b-buxom…? Goodness, how forward!”

You bite back a chuckle, allowing Delilah her scandalized looks and comments. After she’s thoroughly read Winthrop’s letter, she moves on to the next.

“This one,” she exclaims, “is from a young, Fiorentina Agosti, hailing from the Suthlands. She greets you amicably and wishes you a cozy winter. ‘Dear Miss ------, I am most delighted to write to you. I am a young woman of etiquette and good breeding. I am 23 years old, and yet for one so young, I am more certain of my passions and ambition than most grown adults. I seek the window of opportunity to introduce myself and my estate to you, as I am seeking to build my relationships with the nearby families of standing. I favor women only, as I’ll need a good, feminine eye to steer my estate towards a glorious future…what a boastful girl! I hear she is very attractive, though…”

Delilah goes on, examining letter after letter, reading aloud excitedly. Finally, she lands on a slightly ragged one, with a wax seal bearing no crest. Only a simple plant pattern with dried flowers and ferns trapped to the note.

“My,” Delilah wonders, flipping the envelope, “what a...humble introduction. Let’s hope that the contents are more splendid than the package they came in!”

Delilah adjusts the paper before her and begins.

“This one,” she explains, “is from a young…doctor…in the capital, near the palace. Oh, I think I recall this one? He is of great renown, but markedly odd. Hmm…He greets you fondly and asks if…if you have ‘seasonal allergies’...? He is more than happy to forward any herbs or teas that can help soothe inflammation…as a ‘show of good faith and possible friendship’—yes, very odd...He would like to know if you would be interested in accompanying him as an honored guest to his annual medical tools gala. There will be anatomical displays as well as guest surgeon speakers. Afterwards, he would like to take you to attend the opening night of a Vesuvian theatre drama, and then dinner. I—that sounds more exhausting than eventful. Goodness….“

Despite Delilah’s somewhat opinionated concerns, your interest perks at the oddness of the inquiry and the oddness of the planned date. You’re not so sure a medical gala will be of interest to you, as you’ve never attended one before, but you would like to try.  

“Delilah, please. No more commentary. What does the rest say...?”

Delilah harrumphs, moving on. “Well, he seems certain that you will find the engagement eventful and enlightening on his personage and he hopes to show you how good of a ‘provider he can be for a woman of your means’. He has ‘no grand heritage or acreages’, but he does have one of the ‘best practices in Vesuvia’ sporting several underling surgeons and plenty of business. New blood, instead of blue blood from the looks of it, if you ask me.”

You pause, thinking it over. 

The letter all sounded personally tailored and individualized for your reception, and clearly not something that was drafted up in the monotonous manner of house staff doing as ordered. 

The doctor seems very keen in meeting you... 

...You can’t help but feel the same.

“What is his name?”

Delilah levels you an uncertain look, noticing your choice, before sharing.

“The suitor signed off as a Dr. Julian Devorak.”

“Devorak,” you try out, rolling the name around in your mouth. 

It feels good.

“Thank you Delilah. You may place the letters in my box, save for the doctor’s. Please bring his to me, as well as my pen and good ink. I’ll also need the courting stationery.”

Delilah sours slightly before perking back up and doing as ordered quickly. She clearly does not approve of the choice but remembers her place, and knows that you are not one to be bossed. 

You wait until she delivers the stationery and retreats from your room before turning to your pen and paper, glancing at the letter from the doctor.

You perfume the parchment slightly, and use a fine, shimmering ink to dot the thick, French paper. You being to write, peering at your refined, swirling letters.

“Dear Sir…I take the first opportunity to acknowledge the flattering letter with which you have favored me…your discernment is of my deep interest, as well as your detailed plans for our hopeful outing. I consent to the date and time, and I look forward to your academic gala, as well as the theater and subsequent dinner. I implore that you arrive to chaperone me long before the sun is high in the sky, as we may need much time together that I am wont to spend with you. I will admit, I find you very curious and am interested to learn more of you. Warm Regards, ------.”

You finalize the paper with a neat calligraphy of your signature, before cleanly folding and pressing the letter. You choose a lovely envelope and seal it with wax before stamping and sending it off with Delilah to be mailed. 

“Hmm. Odd man,” you murmur to yourself, before moving on to send responses to the other requests of interest. 

The days pass by, eventful.

You go on several dates, some of note and some not so much. 

A few remain in your mind of potential. There was a beautiful countess seeking companionship after a split from her count…Nadia. Buxom and svelte, she was also the epitome of regality, and a brown-skinned beauty like yourself. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to her. 

There was also Asra, a mischievous but enchanting merchant king. You suspected a penchant for the occult on his end, but his beautiful face was too good of a distraction to focus on what may hide behind it. 

Then there was Muriel, a mysterious man with one of the largest claims of land in Vesuvia. He was fidgety and reserved, but you sensed a deep soul in him. 

Portia, the jeweler of the aristocracy, and her passionate stares paired with her down-to-earth jokes were enough to make you lower your guards and raise your spirits. 

Lastly,  Lucio. Oddly enough, he turned out to be the count that split with Nadia. You found his countenance alarming at first, only to later find a subtle charm in his passion for life, luxury and you.

All of them were far more interesting than the duds you’d went on dates with the past few weeks. 

Valdemar, the ambassador, had spilled soup all over your dress during a brunch while he spoke wildly about some conquest of his past. Then there’d been Volta, an odd little thing that insisted on trying all these unappealing, exotic dishes. There’d been Vlastomil, a weevil of a person who seemed more eager to gossip cruelly than to learn of you. And lastly...most memorably...there was Valdemar…you weren’t too sure what Valdemar did, but you were certain whatever it was, you wanted absolutely no part in it.

Weary from all the courting, you put your best face forward and hoped this day ended up being a delight instead of another disaster.

Foregoing flat-ironing, blowouts, presses, braids and twists this time, you decide to arrange for your servants to outfit you in lovely, long locs for the evening. You line them with fine silver trinkets, baubles, and rings before arranging your makeup to perfection and dressing in your finest, warm regards from the tailor.

Today was the day with the doctor, and you wanted to see exactly what kind of man he was. 

You donned a beautiful gown beneath your long, furred coat and lined your neck with a shining collar of diamonds. The winter snow would reflect stunningly off of them, as well as you.

Perfumed, plucked, and preened, you stand, assessing yourself in the mirror.

Vesuvia’s treasure.

You laugh, satisfied with the show stopping look, before leaving your room. You almost bump into a servant, rushing in to announce to you that the doctor has arrived with a carriage for you both.

“Let him in,” you say kindly, glancing out the window. Sure enough, a large, black carriage awaits. You lift your chest, square your shoulders, and raise your chin, allowing your lashes to lower and your aura to project.

You descend the stairs of your home into the grand hall, your eyes pinning the man that entered and awaited below, greeted politely by your staff.

‘Oh,’ you realize.

He’s gorgeous.

Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of him. Tall, tousled, and terribly attractive, Julian Devorak watched you, open-mouthed, as if you are some sort of ethereal being that decided to grace his mortal existence. Descending the marble stairs, you feel him watch every step you take until you finally reach the landing.

You decide to close the distance and break the ice when he makes no move, still in awe of you. No need for those stars in his eyes, you think. You want him dazzled, not anxious or elevating you to something or someone that is inaccessible.

He is here in your home, after all. If you were inaccessible to him, he wouldn’t be.

“Hello Dr. Devorak,” you grace easily, smiling. “I’m ------. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“J-Julian, please, no need for extraneous titles,” he insists in a light stammer. “The pleasure is all mine, I can assure you.”

‘Aaw,’ you think to yourself, looking fondly at him. You’ve heard the line so many times before, but somehow, the words sound so genuine coming off of his tongue. You also like the sound of his voice very much. He sounds like how he looks, you realize.

Julian mistakes your silence for something bad, and rushes to fill it.

“I-I can’t tell you how…how long I’ve anticipated today.”

“Oh?” You ask, tilting your head in wonder. 

Were you the only one he was querying? That wasn’t possible. There had to be others. You respond pleasantly.

“I’m honored...’Julian’. But I’m sure an interesting man such as yourself is entertaining many acquaintances and possess many options.”

Julian blushes, surprising you. He shakes his head, fingers fidgeting at his sides.

“Not exactly,” he offers, leaving it there.

Your brow lifts in wonder. 

“Really...? But I loved your letter. I’ve reread it several times and am not afraid to say so. I find you quite striking.”

If possible, Julian blushes even harder at that, daring to hold your gaze. You see an odd sort of mask arise on him then, a false yet endearing bravado. You don’t call it out and simply watch as he does his best to disguise his rampant shyness.

“Ah...thank you madam! But not nearly so striking as one such as yourself! Why, I remember the feeling of when I first laid eyes on you. It was as if  lightning had struck me.”

Your eyes widen in pleasure, curious. 

“Such flattery! Where did this occur?”

Julian smiles triumphantly, happy to visibly pique your interest.

“The theater! I noticed you in your private box and it was then I decided that I must inquire to learn more about you.”

Your smile broadens, and you can’t help but step closer. Julian feels very comfortable and warm, even with the pomp.

“So that’s how you knew I’d enjoy the theater!” You exclaim. You had wondered about it since his letter first arrived. He could’ve invited you to any event, any activity, and yet he knew the theater was the right choice...

Julian tenses as you near, unsure of where to look. You can’t tell if he wants you closer or farther away. You decide to hold firm and give him time to sort it out for himself.

“I-uh…yes.” He swallows thickly. “Allow me to enlighten you of the day’s activities in the carriage…?”

You nod, realizing that your questioning is holding the both of you up from your date. You step back, cowed.

“Of course! My apologies.”

Julian swiftly holds out a broad, gloved hand for you to take. The gentleman’s escorting hold.

“No need to apologize,” Julian insists, guiding your offered palm gently, “I...I actually should be the one to apologize.” He bites his lip, thinking of some unknown err. 

You glance at him as the two of you step out the front door together, waved off by your staff.

“Whatever for…?”

Julian looks sheepish, rounding you both to the carriage door and opening it for you.

“I....well!”  He pauses, the words sticking in his mouth. “I was...told by a confidant very recently that the medical gala may have some things that are not...er, conducive for a romantic atmosphere. So I must ask...you’re not squeamish of leeches, are you?”

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

AN: Do not copy, repost, or edit. If you see someone do so, please let me know.

☾ next.

☾ check my blog for more imagines.

[atypicalacademic]

Enchantment

(A/N: As indicated, another long-conversation fic..I love Balam, and I hope you do, too! Balam’s genderfluid, so that’s why the pronouns will change over fics!)

Words: 3410

Relationships: Portia Devorak x Balam Maitreya, (Also Asra and Balam’s friendship play a role here so-)

Warnings: None, I think- a little bit of angst, I guess.

Balam and Portia talk about what they know of magic and trust, find common ground, and get inevitably sidetracked, multiple times.

*

Smoke rose in bright golden spirals over Mazelinka's stove, the tinted brew glittering in the ladle as Portia scooped it up to take a closer look.

Placing one hand on Portia's soft shoulder, Balam took a step closer to peer into it, sensing the steady magic of the ingredients and the richness of Mazelinka's steady, strong aura.

"See that? That's from a Hexamel." She gestured to the sparkling powder emitting tiny crackling sounds as the soup boiled over. "A cave dwelling creature that eats crystals."

"Ooh," Portia's eyes went wide, sky blue and glittering with curiosity. Balam cleared her throat, trying to wrangle her own voice back into its didactic confidence. 

Squinting at the ladle, Portia scooped up a tender pink berry, cooked through enough that it did not squish in her grip. “And these?” She sidled a little closer, her thick red curls nearly catching on Balam’s beaded magenta bracelet. Gently, unconsciously, Balam’s palm brushed the nape of her neck as she swept her hair out of the way.

The berry slipped from Portia’s grip, and landed back in the soup. “Whoops!”

“Oh-“ Balam drew her hand back, flushing. “That’s uh-“  She blinked away the steam rising to her eyes. “Prancing thimbleberry.” She frowned, reciting what Asra had taught her on long, warm afternoons in the woods, quizzing her at odd intervals and smiling mischievously whenever she was caught off guard. “It soothes the nerves, eases anxiety, and grants good sleep.”

Balam watched Portia pick it back up to examine it. “Not to be confused with pickled tingleberry. That one induces dreams.” She smiled at the memory. “Asra once brought a load of those from his travels. It was a lot of fun.”

“That’s..wow..” Portia gave the pot another stir, watching the sparkling bubbles with fascination. The soup’s heavenly scent suffused the bright, tidy kitchen. In the hot steam, her face was bright, pink sheen staining her ginger freckles.

Watching sparkling bubbles form and pop in the pot, Portia frowned. “So if all of this is magic,” she said slowly, looking up over her shoulder to meet Balam’s eyes, “this soup must be some sort of magic too, right?”

Taking note of the easily discernible ingredients, Balam nodded. “It is, definitely. A soup like this keeps the drinker satiated, lifts their mood, eases stress..” She ticked off the properties one by one. “It’s potent magic,” Tossing one end of her brocaded white shawl over her shoulder, she made her way out from behind Portia to perch up on the kitchen counter, beside the stove. “If anything’s good enough to get the Procurator talking,” she raised a dark eyebrow, pointedly, “you’ve brought us to the right place.”

“I knew it.” Stepping away from the pot, and placing her hands on her hips, Portia beamed triumphantly. “To the right person.” She corrected, and then, dropping her hands with a wink, she added, “With the right person, too.”

“With the- me?” Balam laughed, startled but pleased. Self consciously, she drew out her fern-shaped hair pin, shaking away the frizzy black curls that came tumbling into her eyes. Watching her movements as Balam pushed the pin, and her hair back in a half hearted attempt at keeping the wilder locks out the way, Portia nodded eagerly. “Yes, you.”

She stepped aside from the stove to get closer to Balam, her face shining with interest. “I mean, look at you, you really know your stuff.” She said. “I bet I could ask you just about anything from over here, and you’d know it.” Leaning against the counter, hand on her cheek, she looked around. “Like- like that!”

Balam looked at the clumps of white bulbs strung up on the low ceiling, and then back at Portia, blinking slowly. “Portia,” she tried. “That’s garlic.”

Undeterred, Portia rolled her eyes playfully. “Well, yeah, I know that, but what does it do?”

“Uh-“ Balam scratched the back of her neck, feeling rather helpless. “I don’t think it has any magical properties. Well-“ she shrugged. “At least, not in my hands, for sure.” Curling her lip in distaste, she rolled her eyes. “I can’t cook to save my life.”

Caught off guard, Portia laughed, the sunny sound of it ringing through the small hut. “More my wheelhouse than yours, I guess, huh?” She teased. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll teach you if you want.”

“You could,” Balam replied, smirking. “Asra’s tried and given up. About the only thing he couldn’t teach me.”

“Asra’s your Master, isn’t he?” Portia tilted her head thoughtfully. “I’ve heard tell of him around the market. He must be really powerful.”

Balam unwound her shawl from around her shoulders, unclasping the lion’s head brooch and laying the fabric on her lap, fanning herself with one end in sweeping strokes. Straightening out the bright red silk of her nicest blouse, she smiled fondly. “Oh, he is. He introduced me to nearly every kind of magic there seemed to be.“ She recalled some of her earliest memories, of Asra and her amid a sea of books and scrolls, of his confident, patient voice, guiding her through the principles of alchemy, of conjuration, of-

“There are different kinds?” Portia’s voice cut in through her reverie. Balam nodded. “Oh, so much more than one magician could learn. Most of us present an affinity to one, or a few. This, for instance-“ She gestured to the soup bubbling peacefully on Mazelinka’s stove- “Green Magic.”

“Green?” Portia asked. “So, plants?”

“Plants, kitchen magic, poultices-“ Balam gave the soup an absent stir. “The kind of magic you use to care- for your family, for your community. It’s noble work.” She admired the brew for a moment before turning back to Portia. “And it should be, for any self-respecting practitioner.”

Portia looked around the tiny kitchen with renewed wonder in her eyes, as though seeing the drying herbs, the potted plants lining the wide windowsill, the pots and pans laid out neatly over rickety wooden shelves, all for the first time.

Balam felt a flicker of pride in her chest, her heart swooping in some tender, delighted way. Then, suddenly, Portia frowned, the corners of her lips turning down.

“Mazelinka’s always made this soup when we were over. She’s not once told me that any of this stuff was magic, you know.” There was an undercurrent of barely concealed hurt in her tone, one that Balam thought she’d picked up on so quickly only because of its sheer familiarity.

You won’t tell me where you’re going, will you?

Balam-

Or when you’re coming back.

She reached out to Portia, about to take her hand when the discomfort fell away from her face, brightening into a rather deliberate smile. “Guess I wouldn’t have let her be, y’know. If she’d told me.” She shrugged. “And it’s not like I ever asked.”

Balam watched her carefully, torn between gauging if she was still upset, and admiring the soft contours of her body as she moved, the pretty freckles dotting her cheeks and shoulders- Catching herself, she shook her head to clear it. “You could still ask her.” She suggested, hesitantly. “You’d know her better than I do, of course, but she seems pretty forthright to me.”

Portia’s expression cleared, and she let out a breath, wiping sweat off her brow. “You could say that again.” Her smiled widened into something more genuine. “What about you?”

“Me?”

Portia nodded, ginger curls flouncing with the movement. “You said that all magicians have a kind that they’re good at. What’s yours?” Bouncing on her heels, Portia took a step back, as though waiting for Balam to demonstrate something spectacular.

Balam reached into the pocket sewn into her creamy white wrap-around, and retrieved her deck of cards, holding it out for Portia to take a look. “Divination.”

Portia ran a finger over the deck, mouthing the word after her. Then, she looked up, astonished. “Ooh, you can tell the future?”

“Well-“ Balam pocketed the deck again, making a face. “In principle, though it’s not as simple as that. The future’s a nebulous thing, changing, adapting..” She trailed away, pausing for a moment to gather her thoughts. “We can scry or read or consult the decks as much as we want, but we’ll only ever be offered a template, an outcome, guidance, even, if we’re lucky- for what the future as it stands in that very moment.”

Portia was only half-listening to her explanation, suddenly distracted by Balam’s gleaming, dark brown skin, the way she played with her hands as she spoke, wooden bangles shifting as she did,  by the clever spark in her wide, black eyes. Coal-black hair sprung back stubbornly from where it was wrangled with her hairpin, haloing around her face like a short, curly mane.

Her voice carried, as it always did, over the soup’s bubbling and the vague South-End noises of the street beyond, tinged by an accent more fluid than Vesuvian and smooth, impassioned. With a finger, short nails painted burgundy, she wiped a smear of lipstick from the corner of her mouth.

Her skin prickled, annoyingly, and, suddenly at a loss for what the hell to do with her hands, Portia undid her hair tie, bushy red curls falling down her back as she gathered it back up, twisting it the wrong way, letting it fall again, and then the right way.

Totally normal.

Nothing to see, here.

“…what we get, in the end, are impressions that we apply to our lives as best as we can. Not to mention, the Arcana don’t function on our human terms, and-“ Balam cut herself short. “Are you okay?”

“Um-“ Portia hastily tightened her hair tie, ducking her head on the pretext of adjusting her tunic. “Uh-huh”, she tried. “I’m- fascinating. Wait!” Her eyes widened, and she smacked herself internally for the mix-up. “I mean, you’re fascinating.” She regained her composure, and offered Balam a winsome smile.

“Oh-“ Balam touched her fingers to her lips, basking in the praise. “I’m flattered. But don’t bother correcting yourself.” She crossed her legs, leaning back on her hands, black eyes searching Portia’s face, sweeping over her with shameless interest. “You are fascinating.”

“Hmm..” Portia tapped her cheek playfully. “Guess it takes one to know one.” She closed the distance between them, lingering in front of Balam for a moment before she climbed on the counter beside her. “Tell me more.” She demanded. “What’s it like, learning magic? Is it really hard?”

“Well, as hard as learning anything is from scratch, I guess.” Balam replied, sidling a little closer so that their shoulders brushed. “Honestly, still easier than learning to cook.” She snorted.

Portia giggled, swatting her lightly on the shoulder.

“Do you want to know what’s the hardest part?” Balam asked, giving her a meaningful look.

Clasping her hands in her lap, Portia straightened. “Tell me.”

Taking a deep breath, Balam held up her hands, palms up, and hooded her eyes in a show of serenity. Summoning the airiest, vaguest impression of Asra that she could muster, she said, “To clear the mind.”

Portia burst out laughing, bumping against Balam’s shoulder, her cheek inches from Balam’s face. “Well, magician or not, I feel you on that one.” She assured her. “I’d die if someone asked me to just- stop thinking.”

A wave of fondness turning her cheeks and palms warm, Balam threw an arm around Portia’s shoulders. Reciprocating the gesture by wrapping a strong arm around Balam’s waist, she grinned. “And what’s the best part? I bet you go out on a lot of magical adventures. I’ve heard that Asra-“

Balam’s smile faded. “He doesn’t take me along.”

“Oh.” Portia caught herself, and fell silent. She didn’t want to push, and the downward slant of Balam’s shoulders, and her crestfallen gaze, told her nearly everything that she needed to know.

He doesn’t take me along.

There wasn’t a lot that she didn't know about that particular, stinging sentiment.

She laid her hand over Balam’s on her lap, and waited.

Balam shook her head, the tension in her shoulders easing as she wilted. “Guess I don’t blame him.” She said, finally. “I don’t grudge him the break. I’m told I’m not the easiest to live with.”

Okay, no.

Portia jumped down from the counter, walking over to put both her hands firmly on Balam’s shoulders. The rest of Balam’s words died in her throat, caught unawares by the hard, stubborn intensity in Portia’s sky-blue eyes. “Balam.” Her jaw was set, her face pinched in a mixture of shock and indignant anger. “Who told you that?”

“Um-“ Balam swallowed hard, and looked away.

Who told you that?

Once again, Balam carded even further back through her memories, taking care not to knock against the painful darkness that lay beyond what she could recall.

The first one- Asra’s warm hands, tearful lavender eyes, his voice, kind and desperate, gathering her up just as gently as his arms did. “It’s me, Balam. It’s me.”

And the rest- of Asra blowing bubbles on the shop’s roof, of him steadying her as she stumbled through the market, her feet unused to cobblestones, of the late afternoon sunshine streaming in through the shop’s windows, of Faust’s cool weight coiled around her stomach, of Asra pouring her steaming chai in the morning, smooth rum at night.

Who did tell her that?

As far back as she could remember, it had been there, she realized, as if it had belonged somewhere within her bones, in the pit of her stomach, an aching emptiness in the middle of her chest, as though it were a voice in itself, disembodied, speaking in a language that sounded as ephemeral as the whispers of her cards.

I’m difficult.

And then, another memory.

A young girl, hopping into the shop, with warm brown skin and jet black hair. Balam had seen her before, the Bartender’s daughter. As she’d handed over her purchase from across the counter, she’d felt a phantom grip seize her heart until she felt it shatter, a clawing, gnawing void rip her apart, out of nowhere, and she’d barely held herself together until she’d burst into tears as soon as the girl had left.

Wiping tearstained cheeks on Asra’s beaded, tasseled scarf, she’d clung to him, confused. “I felt like I’ve lost someone.” She’d told him. “Like there was someone I was missing so much I could die.”

She’d felt Asra freeze, his arms around her tense, his heart stutter against her chest. “Asra?”

His eyes had been shards of shattered amethysts. His voice had trembled the rest of the day, his smile odd and shaky on his face.

And the next morning, he’d been gone.

I’m difficult.

A single tear clung to Balam’s long lashes, and she wiped it away before it could fall.

Her dark eyes were elsewhere, their sharpness having faded into something lost and tired. She looked forlorn, fragile without the confident set of her shoulders and her voice stripped of its usual certainty. Portia’s heart clenched, painfully.

This won’t do.

After a long, long pause, Balam spoke. “I..don’t know.”

Portia did not reply, only squeezed her hand once.

“I just- feel like I’ve always known it, from somewhere.” Balam sighed, shaking herself and straightening. “Maybe noone did or maybe-“ she squeezed Portia’s hand back, offering a shaky smile “maybe it’s from the time that I don’t remember, you know?”

Letting out a breath, Portia returned her smile, hard and determined, her eyes flashing with promise. “Lemme know if you do, and there’s someone who’s told you that.” She narrowed her eyes, clenching her fists against Balam’s palms. “I’ll give ‘em a piece of my mind.” She took another deep breath. “Because they’re wrong.” She insisted. “You’ve got to know that they are.”

Instead of replying, Balam brought Portia’s hands to her lips, pressing two insistent kisses against the back of her freckled palms, black eyes brilliant and piercing.

Portia felt goosebumps break out all the way to her neck, her hair standing on end, her stomach flip-flopping in heady anticipation.

“Thank you.” Balam said, her voice thick. Then, to Portia’s disappointment, she dropped her hands, and leaned back against the windowsill. “I might be being silly, you know, but-“

“No, you’re not.” Portia assured her, her conviction propelling her before the words were even out of Balam’s mouth. “Even if Asra has his reasons,” she said, tightening the bunch of keys strung around her waist before meeting Balam’s eyes again. “It feels like shit to be left behind like that.”

Balam sighed, softening. “Portia-“

“Though half the time, the reasons are stupid. Like Pasha, I need to keep you safe-” Portia went on, rolling her eyes in fond, familiar exasperation. “And half the time, it only gets him into more trouble, and then he writes stupid letters saying he’s sorry for being sorry, and- ack.” She shook her head, grimacing. “Even if Asra’s not as hopeless as my brother, you’re not being silly by wanting to call him out on it. And you should, really.” She advised. “Just as you told me to.”

“You’re right.” Balam conceded, after a long moment. “You’re right. I guess I should.” The momentary weight in her heart lifted as though it was never there, the shadows clearing from her face.

“Point is-“ Portia brightened, beaming. “I’m sure you’re a lot of fun to live with.” She winked. “You’re a clever, cute magician who can kick ass, read fortunes, shoot fireballs, maybe-“

“Fireballs?” As Portia’s voice washed over her, Balam felt like she could, perhaps, summon a fireball the size of a planet. But she erred on the side of reason, affecting incredulity.

“Can you?” Portia asked, breathlessly.

“Well, maybe not a fireball,” Balam admitted, looking nervously around at Mazelinka’s kitchen. “At least not here, but- hm,” she bit her lip thoughtfully. “I can summon a smaller flame, if you want.”

Portia gasped. “Show me.” She demanded.

Balam could hear Asra fondly teasing her for her showmanship, as she drew her palms together, letting her eyes focus on the space between them, recalling heat and warmth and the light in Portia’s smile.

A small, steady flame, first flickered, then shivered, and then blazed to life in her hands.

“Oh, Balam-“ Portia’s voice was hushed with wonder.

The fire danced in her eyes, brightening her red freckles, her parted lips, the single drop of sweat forming in the crest of her upper lip, the ginger curls sticking to her face.

Portia was brighter than the tiny flame cupped in Balam’s palms, brighter even than the fierce mid-noon sun.

Balam realized, without fanfare, and without a shadow of doubt, how utterly smitten she was.

She closed her palms, putting out the fire.

Portia’s smile seared through her. Firm hands skated up Balam’s arms, calloused fingers tracing over the jewel tones of the king cobra tattooed on to her forearm. “I can live with that,” she whispered, and Balam swallowed, dropping her hands to Portia’s waist.

Auburn lashes fluttered, and they were close enough now that Balam could feel the catch in Portia’s breath. “I could get used to that.”

Balam shivered, drawing her closer. “I’m glad.” She murmured, cupping Portia’s cheek in one hand, thumbing over her freckles. “Because I-“ she tightened the arm around Portia’s waist, “-could get used to this.”

The scent of Balam's perfume wrapped around her like a sandalwood cloud, sharpened with a hint of spice, and Portia pick out the fuchsia flush rising beneath her dark brown skin. “I-“

With a rude splash, the soup bubbled over alarmingly.

Blushing furiously, they broke apart, Balam clearing her throat and Portia patting nervously at her face. “Soup.” She said simply, stirring it frantically.

“Soup.” Balam agreed, her eyes still finding Portia’s over the pot, one hand still laced with one of Portia’s.

Loudly, from behind them, Mazelinka cleared her throat.

“Um-“

“It’s done, Pasha. No need to keep stirring it like that.” She said briskly, striding over. Portia dropped the ladle with a clang. Mazelinka stared at her, and then her eyes landed on their intertwined hands.

She raised a steel grey eyebrow. “Wasn’t interrupting, was I?”

“Mazelinka!”

Bravado forgotten, Balam squirmed and sputtered something unintelligible as Mazelinka poured out the soup into a large wooden bowl.

“Get going.” She ordered, thrusting the warm bowl into Portia’s hands. Her keen, weathered eyes met Balam's with barely concealed amusement. “Got to pick up where you’ve left off, don’t you?”

[greyvvardenfell]

oh shit i didn't realize you reblogged an ask prompt. all the ones you haven't answered yet for that flower post. u know u want to.

tbh i had forgotten that i reblogged an ask prompt... but yes. yes i do want to.

Gardenia: Are your apprentice and their LI married? If not, are there plans to be married in the future?

ye. reyja didn’t super care one way or the other if they got married, but julian wanted to. so they did.

Eucalyptus: What songs are played at your apprentice’s and their LI’s wedding?

i never know how to answer these because, like, canon doesn’t have pop music? but stuff like danse macabre exists? their first dance is definitely to “can’t help falling in love with you” but reyja doesn’t walk down the aisle to the traditional wedding march. (also no one gives her away because eesh. she’s her own person??) otherwise they probably just have a string quartet? julian absolutely knows local musicians. he also plays an original vielle composition for reyja at some point in the night.

Fern: What flavor would they have for their wedding cake? 

red velvet babeyyyy

Blue thistle: What do your apprentice and their LI wear at your wedding? Feel free to provide pictures of wedding attire they would wear!

(ignore that it was technically a spring wedding they’re jewel tone people and everyone knows it)

Hyacinth: What do/what would your apprentice and their LI do to celebrate their wedding anniversary?

fuckin! if they’re able to, they revisit the overgrown garden. otherwise julian /will/ track down starstrand from somewhere and create a bouquet for reyja. starstrand is very important. they do their best to spend the whole day together, whether that involves reyja crashing the clinic or julian taking the day off. the evening (or all day if possible) is devoted to Amorous Activities.

Orchid: Where do your apprentice and their LI plan to go for their honeymoon?

patova. close enough that the traveling aspect won’t destroy reyja for days (she doesn’t travel well), far enough away that daily vesuvian problems seem distant. also, y’know, that’s where the ceremony was so they could get right to honeymooning.

Anemone: Is your apprentice’s wedding extravagant or small and quaint? Do they have lots of guests or just a few close friends?

small, for sure. fewer than thirty people. asra and muriel, yazakh and nadia, portia and nahara, nazali and otheron, lucio and skylar, mazelinka, barth and akillion, and a smattering of other friends.

Sweet pea: Does their wedding have a ‘theme’ or a color scheme that they try to adhere to? If so, what is it?

no theme, per se. but the color scheme was burgundy and silver, as reflected in their wedding outfits above.

Rose: Did your apprentice or their LI do the most planning for the wedding?

reyja has more free time in general, so she probably did the majority of the planning. but julian was definitely involved, especially when it came to actually contacting vendors and friends because reyja’s Bad At That. neither of them had bachelor/bachelorette parties because they had no regrets or fears about leaving single life behind, and felt no desire to have one last single-person fling

Buttercup: Who gives the speech at the wedding? How does it go? 

like, the toast? nazali. they’re one of julian’s oldest friends, plus they’re hilarious.

Daffodil: What does your apprentice and their LI’s wedding rings look like?

except julian’s ring also has two raw diamonds and the same rounded edges as reyja’s. (fun fact i bought reyja’s ring for myself for Reasons)

Sunflower: Were either of them worried or stressed before the ceremony?

nope. they were ready to affirm their love. the worst part was the morning when they were both getting ready so they weren’t together. after they rejoined each other, everything was smooth sailing.

[aria-i-adagio]

Hear the Birds on the Summer Breeze

Masterpost.  Chapter 1. Chapter 2.

Fandom: The Arcana

Chapter Rating: T

Eight years ago.

“Where are we going?”  I scrambled over a fallen log.  My foot feel through a rotten portion, and I cursed as the rough bark of nearby muscadine vine scraped my hands when I grabbed it in another failed attempt to steady myself.  I tried my best to follow Asra’s meandering path through the forest, his body lithe over the unruly ground - a sprite or a fae - his unruly white hair glowing in the dappled light.  “At this point we’ll never make it back into town before dark.”

Asra paused and turned back to me, that easy, enigmatic smile on his lips.  “Were you planning on sleeping tonight?”

“Well, I mean, maybe.”  I would love to sleep tonight, but it was only midway through the afternoon, and I could already tell that the gods of sleep would once again fail to cooperate with me.  Or maybe I was the one would fail - yet again -  to cooperate with them.  My mind whirled and flew along a new tangent each moment.  I should keep my eye out for some of shade loving herbs while we were out here.  The supplies of skullcap and betony were running low.  My fault.  I had drunk through most of those stocks trying to calm myself.  But the herbs hadn't helped.  Even if they should have.

Last night had been whittled away in a bar, and then, when they finally showed me the door to close up, reorganizing the herb stores in my aunt’s shop.  Anna, my aunt, wasn’t very happy with my reorganizing, but she had acknowledged that I had gotten a couple years worth of dust cleaned off the upper shelves.  So that was something, at least.  The wakefulness hadn’t been entirely wasted.  Versus, say, the prior night - day - that I had spent passed out after being awake for three days in a row.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, falling around us, and falling to rest on the ground.  And maybe, maybe I could become the rays of light, to drown in them.  If I was good enough, meek enough, they'd console me, consume me.  Or maybe I didn't want to be the light dappling the ground folding in on itself, soft and cool and warm and all the same time.  Folds, depressions in the ground.  Fold in on myself until I can rest falling warm in the sunlight -

“Dema.”  Asra folded his hands around mine, and Faust stretched herself toward me, tonguing at my cheek.  “Come back to me.” 

I took a deep breath, trying - and mostly failing - to pay attention to the sensation of the air passing through my mouth and sinuses, then shook my head and rock back and forth on my feet.  “Sorry.  I got lost."

“It’s okay.”  He let go of one hand and touched my jaw, my face, one thumb brushing along my cheekbone.  "Where did you go this time?"

"The sunlight, then the ground.  No, not the ground.  The places where it ripples like waves breaking against the light."

His eyes were solemn, but there was no judgment, no discomfort in them.  I heard the words in my head, leaving my mouth, so uncomfortably pausing on my tongue.  I don't blame people who take a step back, not when I start making so precious little sense.  But Asra doesn't draw back from the thoughts, from the words, from me.  He doesn't abandon me to the swirl of odd, inconsistent thoughts that have bedeviled me for days.  He turned my hand so that our palms were touching and wove his fingers through mine.

He was going to teach me to read palms at some point, he promised, but somehow we had always been too busy.  If anyone would teach me, it had to be him.  Anna didn’t dabble in fortunes; said she had no knack for it.  He tugged me forward; his fingers around mine were comforting, grounding.  “Come on.  You’ll like where we're going.  I promise.”

I would have asked him how he knew, but then, Asra has a knack for fortunes.

Asra followed the path of small stream back to its source in a hollow between two steeply sloping wall of limestone, jagged from where the water had been nibbling away at them for years, creating stone formations that cut into the air.  Asra extends his arm, allowing Faust to wind herself around a low hanging branch and pushed aside some overhanging vines, revealing a cave opening out from the side of hill.  I smiled.  I do like caves.  The air is always perfectly cool inside.  I don’t even have to duck down to enter; Asra, does - at least a bit.

Inside the air was cool and moist.  The quartz rich granite walls glimmered in the limited sunlight.  I tapped my fingertips together and took my time to weave my will into an orb of iridescent light - the dazzling reflections of sparks on the tiny crystals were delightful to watch as they danced in the air like fairies carrying fragments of memories.  Beyond the humidity, I felt a sort of thrumming in the cave itself, one that complemented - canceled - the buzzing of my own mind.  For a moment I felt like the cave was waiting for me - somehow meant for me.

“I do like this, Asra.”

He laughed and summoned his own ball of light.  “We haven’t even gotten to the best part.  Take my hand again.  I don’t want to lose you in here.”

I didn’t think I’d mind losing myself in here, or rather, getting lost among the flecks of light and cool, still, so very, very still air.  But I also didn’t mind curling my fingers into his warm hand. 

The chambers he led me through twist and turn, high ceilings and low.  As we get deeper into the cave, patterns are marked on the walls.  Some scar the stone in smooth, deliberate grooves, others are nothing more than a faint trace of magic.  In some of the taller chambers, faint rays of light cut through the darkness, falling down from vents into the cave system.  The thrumming, humming, not quite singing, of the magic that I felt grew stronger as we proceed, but it soothed instead of overwhelming me.  If I could have sunk myself entirely into stone, into the humid air itself, I would have happily done so.

Eventually, the cave opened up into a massive chamber lit from overhead by a shaft of sunlight.  Enough that plants grew in and around the pool of water at the middle.  Ferns and mosses crept up the rocky walls softening their jagged edges.  The water pulsed along with the vibrations of the magic - a rapid and steady heartbeat for the cave itself.    

“Oh!”  I dropped Asra’s hand and knelt beside the pool, fingertips hovering over the surface.  “Can I touch it?”

“You can.  You can swim in it if you like.  Sometimes the water does strange things, but it’s safe enough as long as you don’t panic.”

I dipped my hand in.  The water was surprisingly warm around my fingers.  And soothing.  I laughed, dragging my fingers along the bottom.  The sand spiraled around my fingertips and drifted softly back down, golden in the light.  Then, I stripped out of my shirt and trousers, tossing them aside before wading into the pool.  Within three steps, the water is past my waist.

“Careful - it gets deep quickly.”

“I see that.”  I dug my toes into the sandy bottom.  The gritty texture felt absolutely divine against the bottom of my feet.  Turning back, I waved to Asra.  He seemed further away than I would have expected, but my sense of time and space had been getting a bit confused over the past few days.  Asra’s grinning and had already pulled off his shoes.  “Come with me.”  Asra shrugged off his shirt and the complicatedly pleated skirt he was wearing today, while I sank into the water, letting it take most of weight and watching the sunlight filter down.  Silent in the water, he managed to sneak beside me and surprise me with a splash.  When I turn to retaliate, he’s out of range, swimming toward the middle of the pool and then disappearing below the surface with a kick of feet.

The bottom of the pond fell away almost immediately.  I ducked my head below the water.  The sand sparkled in the dappled sunlight, and tiny plants competed for control of the patches of light left by the giant lily pads overhead.  In the shaded spots, something else grew - pale, glowing, and lavender.  I dove beneath the surface, kicking down toward the strange plant.  Reaching it took longer than I expected; depth was hard to gauge in the clear water.  But, as I got closer to the plant - its leaves are plump and curved like a succulent - I didn’t feel pressure building in my ears or the burning feeling of lungs demanding a fresh breath of air.  I spun and caught sight of Asra, hovering nearby.  He gestured to his chest and mouth, and I remembered what he said about the water doing strange things.  Apparently negating the need to breath was one of those things.

If one or the other of us moved, I didn’t notice it, but Asra was close enough to take my hand.  I wrapped my fingers around his and let him pull me deeper into this curious, weightless place.  The sunlight wavers, competing with glowing patterns from the rock formations in the water; it was unclear whether they are drawn by a hand or part of the natural magic of the place.  Whichever, both, or something else entirely, it’s gorgeous.

The thrum of the cave’s magic remained constant, fading from the top of my awareness into a steady hum.  As I spun and tumbled in the water, savoring the sensation of neutral buoyancy, another pitch takes over, lower, stuttering and uneven.  I twisted around, trying to find the source of the drone.  A crevice opened in the side of the stone walls.  Unlike the rest of the pool, which was caught in an interplay of filtered sunlight and the glow of magic, the absence of light defined this crevice.  I spin toward slow in the water.  The drone from it was a dissonant, but familiar, polyphony, drawing me - dragging me - toward it.  I pulled away from Asra’s hand and kicked toward the crevice eager to know what created such an immersive, secondary sensation.  Something that I could maybe, just maybe I could lose myself in.

Something wrapped tightly around my waist, and I struggled for a moment before realizing that Asra had thrown his arms around me.  He pulled me back, and we’re suddenly back in the shallows, standing in water that barely reaches my waist and breathing the cool cave air.

“Are you okay?”

“What?  Yes.  I was only curious.”

Asra shook his head.  “I’ve never seen that crevice before.  It’s dangerous.  Or at least, could be dangerous.  I don’t think you would drown, but there are a lot of convoluted passages.  You could get lost.”

“Yeah, okay.”  I thought about the ominous drone and wonder just how deep my curiosity would have pulled me.  It was gone now.  All I could hear is the cave humming that same comfortable pitch as before.  “Thanks.”

He pulls me tight against him, cheek pressed to mine.  “I don’t want to lose you.”    

Well above us, the light had darkened leaving the cavern lit by the soft glow of the luminescent plants and the ensorcelled marks on the wall.  Asra stood, dripping wet, and offers me a hand up.  I took it.  When he pulled me up, I overbalanced and fell forward, catching myself against his shoulders.  He laughed as I straighten up. 

“I know a good trick.”  I gestured between us with my hands and a wave of warmth passed over us, pulling the water from our hair and turning what little clothing we had left on - skin tight and translucent with water a moment before - opaque and dry again.  

Asra turned and picked his skirt up from the pile of clothes we had left on the bank and wrapped it back around his waist.  “You’ll have to teach me that one.  Where’d you learn it?” “Figured it myself after a few too many times walking home drenched and cold in the dark post skinny dipping.”  I pulled my trousers back on and shrug into my shirt, wrapping my arms around my chest.  The cave air seemed chillier than before, even it I knew that the temperature should remain constant.

“Cold?”

“A bit.”

Asra dug in his bag and retrieved a blanket that he had somehow managed to pack in a bag half its size.  He shook it out and wrapped it around my shoulders, bending down to kiss my nose playfully.  We were both still for a moment, foreheads pressed together.  I could feel his breath, inhale and exhale, passing across my face. 

“Aren’t you chilly too?”

“Maybe a little.”

I sat down on the sandy bank and stretched one arm out.  Asra settled down next to me and smiled when I tuck half of the blanket around his shoulders.  He waited for a minute, arms folded across his knees, then he looked at me and slid one arm around my waist.  

“Is this okay?”

“Very much so.”

He pulled me closer to him and ran his fingers through my hair.  “I’ve wanted to bring you here for awhile.  The magic here is mostly benevolent.  And peaceful.”

“I like it.”  I curled into his embrace, leaning my head against his shoulder.  “This is the quietest I’ve felt in . . .”  My voice trailed off as I can’t narrow down a timeframe.

“I’m glad.”  Pulling me with him, he laid back on the sand.  He tucked one arm behind his head, leaving the other one tight around my shoulders.  I rested my head on his chest and pulled the blanket as far around us as I can manage.  Closing my eyes, I listen to his heart beat beneath my ear.  His hand slid into my hair, twirling the locks around his fingers.  “I don’t want to lose you too.”

I shifted, lifting my head enough to see his face.  There’s just enough light left to make out his eyes, soft and violet.  “Lose me?”

“Sometimes I worry that you won’t actually come back.  That you’ll get lost in the tangle of your own thoughts, chasing some alluring apparition.”  His hand trailed down my back to my waist.  “I don’t like that there’s nothing much I can do.”

“You don’t run away from me.  That’s what matters.”

He head turned slightly to the side, looking away from me.  “Is that enough?”

I pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.  “It’s enough.”

He was silent for a moment, then turned his face back to me, returning my kiss slowly, lips over mine, other arm unfolding from behind his head and wrapping around me.  It’s sweet and slow kiss, sufficient in itself, heading nowhere in particular.  I tucked my head back under his chin, warm and quiet and content to be pressed against him, and closed my eyes  

When I opened my eyes again, the full moon had risen in the sky, casting its cool light down to the pool.  Asra’s breathing was deep and steady.  One hand is gripping my arm, the other is tangled in my hair.  I touched my fingers to his lips, and he smiles without waking.  He can somehow sleep anywhere.  I envy him that.  Settling back against him, I closed my eyes, falling asleep without a battle against myself for the first time in weeks.

Chapter Four

AN: Chapter title from Lana Del Rey, “Ride”

[watercolourferns]

Honey!

Honey - Have you ever considered marrying someone? What is your opinion on marriage in general?

Hello there! This is Zayn speaking!Oh... hm... I had never asked myself this before... Good question!I’m polyamorous, even if I wanted to marry I don’t know if I would be able, I don’t think Vesuvia likes polyamory, I haven’t really seen much show of it, to be honest, so I don’t know if it’s even legal here... In my culture polyamory IS a thing, though. I was born in Nopal, but my family isn’t from there, so the culture I was raised in is different. I could marry up to 10 different people and it would be alright. I just don’t want to cause problems to my loved ones, current and future, because of where we live... and I have to take their feelings into consideration as well.I consider myself married to Il’ya, though, mostly because of the circumstances, but also because of how he acts towards me. We live together, we work together, we do... other stuff together... -raises eyebrows and gives a cheeky smile- we support each other in the good and in the bad, through illness and health, even after death (I mean, duh, hehe), and we love each other romantically to the moon and back! Isn’t that marriage? I consider him my husband because of this, and then there’s his attitude towards the situation: he calls me his spouse in public, too; when he comes home after work he acts like the tired husband finally getting back home to his beloved “wife” (and looking back... I have a lot of wife attitudes towards him as wel, hehe). Also, he gave me an anklet he made just for me back when he asked me if I could move in with him, and the way he phrased it was like a proposal... I gave him my most cherished aquamarine bracelet while I gather enough gold coins to have one made just for him in response. I guess that those are our wedding bands in a sense...There’s also something else that complicates the topic of marriage in an official way or at least the way people think of as marriage: I’m starting to date Dion... I don’t want Di to feel inferior to Julie just because I have Julie’s band around my finger, so to speak. And I don’t want him to feel pressured into thinking he HAS to marry me to make our relationship serious and official... He’s got Asra himself, and in a poly relationship everyone has to speak about everything in terms of changing a relationship dynamic, communication is key and we aren’t at the “will you marry me?” stage yet. I know that I can’t control how other people feel and I need to relax in that sense... but... I want Dion to feel and know he’s just as important to me as Julian is... And what if Julie finds someone just as important? What is Asra wants to marry Di and Di wants to marry Asra? I prefer to leave things are they are, hehe. It complicates things way less to just let things flow as they go.When you’re poly, topics like marriage are complicated and not traditional in any way, shape or form, hehehe.I apologise for such a long response, I just thought I needed to be a bit more... in depth with it. Thank you for asking! If you have any other questions, please feel free to send Fern an ask, they will let me know and I’ll answer as soon as possible!!-blows a kiss and gives a wink-

[i-am-arcana-trash]

Lovely Hands

I have so many feelings for Laurel, so I wrote about her meeting Julien for the first time also based off that terrible comic I drew.

Pairs: Julien/MC (Laurel)

Pronouns: She/Her

CW: Swearing, mostly fluff, SFW

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a long day. Asra left early in the morning for another trip, as they hugged goodbye he whispered sweet thoughts into Laurel's ear.

'Even apart we'll still be under the same moon.'

'You really liked that sparkly crystal I brought last time, I'll get you another in a different color, maybe two so we can keep them close.'

Laurel smiled into his shoulder before gently pulling away. They looked at each other for a long moment before she leaned over planting a kiss on each of his cheeks. 'Safe travels...'

With a flick of her wrist, a stream of pink magic settles over his form and he grabs her hand planting a light kiss to the palm, smiling into it. 'That spells always keeps the sea sickness at bay' he murmurs. She grins 'well yeah, you have never been good on ships, you always go green, just a little something to make traveling easier'

Asra smiles radiantly at her and gently releases her hand, his eyes flashing something Laurel can't quite read. He speaks softly 'Ill be back before you know it, don't forget me.' 'You know I never could' she murmurs back and watches his form walk away from her little shop.

They never spoke on feelings, Laurel didn't really think she deserved them. And besides Asra was always affectionate with people, his kisses for her we're no different than the ones he gave Auntie Ophelia. So instead she would watch him leave, aching in her chest.

The day had passed by quickly, with the spring season upon them, everyone needed their potions to help crops grow, keep allergies at bay or to find out if their new romance was the real deal.

As the sun set she helped Auntie Ophelia close the shop before the kind older woman yawned. 'Laurel I think it might be time for bed for me, these old bones aren't what they used to be'

'Do you need any help?' Ophelia waved her off, 'I'll be fine, you mentioned earlier we were running low on red flame ferns, my friend on the south end should have some, it's a beautiful evening, go enjoy it I'll be fine'

Laurel adjusts her hip bag before she feels Ophelia's open the pouch, placing coins in it. "There's some extra there, grab some dinner for yourself, also put this on.' She wraps a long scarf around her neck several times. Laurel scowls 'its too warm for this Ophelia.'

'Nonsense' the older woman quips and pat's her arm, 'Off you go, don't be out too late.'

Laurel signs as she is gently pushed out the door and places a cross-me-not spell over the door.

The streets are quiet, couples milling about, the marketplace a glow with lanterns in all kinds of colors. The baker is closed for the day. 'Ugh I'd love some pumpkin bread' Laurel thinks to herself 'I'll wake up early tomorrow and get some.' But continues on her path to the South end of Vesuvia.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She's been on the South end plenty of times. Her boots scuff against the cobblestones as her thoughts drift to Asra, wondering how the trip has gone so far, hoping he's eaten enough, wondering if he's staring up at the moon too.

Her thoughts are interrupted by loud laughter, she sees bight lights on a side street, and a delicious scent wafting in the evening breeze. Her belly rumbles and she decides that now might be the best time to eat.

Pausing at the door she reads the sign over it 'The Rowdy Raven' she smirks a little at the name, cute.

She notices a raven on a nest nearby and reaches into her pocket, she always keeps treats for Vesuvias animals and places a few berries in the nest, gently stroking the soft feathers of it's back before making her way into the bar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inside is warm, the smell of beer is strong. Scanning for a seat, she notices a few open spots at the bar and makes her way over, pulling off her scarf. As she untangles it from her form she accidentally bumps into something, or rather someone. She jumps back, eyes wide. 'Oh no I'm so sorry, are you okay?'

The person in question laughs gently, curly auburn hair falls over one of his eyes and he smirks wide 'No harm done my dear, I shouldn't have gotten in the way of a woman on a mission.'

Laurel turns to the side to let him through, but he doesn't pass her, instead his steely grey gaze roams her face before settling on her lips and then back up to her eyes.

Her pulse quickens ever so slightly, though her expression remains neutral. Suddenly he shakes his head and walks away, dark boots clicking as he makes his way to a far table with several other men.

She scurries to a far stool at the bar and orders dinner and some sort of fruity alcoholic concoction. She doesn't know what it is, but it's sweet and bubbly on her tounge. Unknown to her, from across the room, the man from before watches her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Making his way to the table with 4 steins of Salty Bitters, he passes the drinks to his companions.

'Aye mate, who is she? some long lost lover from your torrid affairs overseas?' Julien flushes under the question 'I've actually never seen her before in my life, but.....' he peeks over his shoulder at Laurel, she's pulled out a small pad of paper, scrawling over it, her cheek smooshed in one hand, rings glittering in the candlelight as she doodles.

'Dont get your hopes up, look at her face, she's got bitch written all over it, she'll grind you up my friend and probably use you for a spell or something.'

Julien bristles, he's never been a fan of the term bitch, but beyond that, when she bumped into him, the concern in her voice was real, she didn't brush him off or get angry. When he looked in her eyes, they were almost unreadable, but he saw a flash of insecurity as he looked at her.

Julien decides that maybe he could get a win-win senerio, steepling his fingers, his eyes glimmer with mischief. 'Let's wager then, my drinks for the night are on you if I get her to dance with me, also her meal. If I lose I pay for drinks'

The three howl before the blonde man across from him sticks out his hand to shake on the wager 'You'll be scrubbing dishes to pay off tonight mate!'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Laurel tenses when she feels someone slide into the stool next to her, she's on her third drink of the night, her curry dinner completely gone.

She turns her head slightly realizing it's the man from before. He motions for the barkeep and whispers to him before he turns more fully to face her. His jacket is off, his white shirt unbuttoned revealing a defined expanse of chest, light red hairs, his sleeves rolled to the elbows.

He smiles at her and offers a hand 'I don't think I caught your name before.' She eyes him warily before turning away 'because I didn't say my name before.'

His grin falters slightly and he drops his hand back to the bar 'and what does a guy gotta do to get on a named basis with you?'

She feels a blush crawling up her neck, she wills it away and closes her eyes before fixing him with an icy look. 'Do you want to die?'

His expression changes then, suddenly his confident air drops and he shifts a little closer blush creeping up his face and murmurs a few inches from her face 'Does that mean I'll get to feel your lovely hands around my neck?'

Her jaw drops, usually that worked wonders for getting over interested folks away from her. Instead he seems to enjoy the prospect of her hurting him. The blush covers her face and she sees his eyebrows raise slightly, he looks smug.

Bristling she sighs but she doesn't get a negative aura from him. If anything his aura is teasing and gentle. She fixes him with another look, downs the rest of her drink and mutters 'It's Laurel.....'

He smiles at that 'I'm Julien and I was hoping you might do me the kindness of a dance, just one and I'll leave you alone the rest of the night, heck I'll even pay for your meal and drinks.'

She eyes him, insecurity taking over, this feels like a trap, one she's been the target of far to many times. Some guy says cute things, she let's her guard down a little, turns out it was some big joke at her expense, she leaves disappointed and her resolve to keep everyone at bay grows even more.

She freezes when she feels a hand on her chin, turning her face to fully meet his gaze Julien's face is gentle 'One dance, no funny business, just, you look like you'd be a worthwhile dance partner, usually I have to dance with one of those idiots.'

Julien gestures over his shoulder at his companions, they all are watching with great interest and Laurel feels a blush in her face again. Ugh these drinks were not helping her keep a cold exterior.

Minutely Laurel nods, and gently takes Julien's gloved hand in hers, he smirks as he guides her to the center of the bar, there is no real dance floor but the jaunty tune from the band forces people to create space, a twirling collection of bodies and heat.

Julien is in fact a good dancer, his long legs might give the impression of a gangly colt, but his movements are as sure as a mountain goat on a sheer cliff face. Julien can't stop himself from grinning over her head at his companions, their jaws hanging, as he spins her through the steps.

As the song comes to a close he hooks one of her legs around his hip, dipping her as he supports her low back, he notices the long line of muscles in her neck and for a moment has to wrestle with the idea of burying his face there, tasting the salt of her skin.

As she stand up against him, his senses return and instead he become acutely aware of the woman in front of him, her chest presses firmly to his, her lips parted slightly as she takes a few heavy breathes, a few beads of sweat hang at her temple. Her palms are pressed to his bare chest and he feels himself flush under her gaze, his heart beat rapid. Gently she pulls away from him, bowing slightly. 'Thank you for the dance....' she then turns quickly grabbing her stuff from the bar and makes a hasty exit, face bright red all the way to her ears.

Julien is dumbstruck for a moment before he turns back to his friends, they all stare at him wide eyed. He absently traces where her hands had settled on his chest and he sighs, his head swimming with sensation. Her muscles under his hands as he guided the dance, the little noises she made under her breath as they moved. He leans on his elbows, and he chugs the last of his Salty Bitters before smirking at his companions, 'I believe I won the bet gentlemen, pay up'

Outside in the ally way, Laurel tries to calm her breathing, her heart is rushing a million miles a minute, and the cool air removes the heat from her skin. She leans against the wall, trying to steady her shaking legs before she hears Julien's voice 'I won the bet, pay up'

Her heart sinks, once again she was the butt of a joke and anger wells up in her chest before her walls come back up.

It's late she realizes, too late to get the red flame ferns from Ophelia's friend so Laurel makes a slow walk back to the shop, she decides to get up early tomorrow, get the ferns and pumpkin bread for her and Ophelia for breakfast.

Unbeknownst to her, Julien peers down the street, he watches her leave. He notices how the moonlight shines off her short hair and watches her hips sway as he feels a deep sense of longing.

'Next time...next time I'll definitely touch her head.....'

[nadiasapprentice]

CLIMBING FIG

genre: fluff??? idk lol characters: julian and the apprentice word count: 321 a/n: when i was writing this i didnt have an actual direction for it so if its kinda jumbled and all over the place im sorry!! i just really like plants lmaooo

Julian had always felt that he was never one to keep plants alive, despite his ability to keep people alive. He thought that it was laughable that any time he tried to keep even just one houseplant it always died. Even when he gave it enough water and let it have enough sunlight as it sat on the windowsill of his office in his old clinic, he still managed to kill it. That was, until you came along to intern for him.

You, as a magician, loved plants and loved to be surrounded by them. And you felt that having some at the clinic wouldn’t do any harm. If anything, it would help the place feel less bleak. You felt that some color against the white walls and cold medical instruments would feel more inviting and less like people were marching to their deaths as they walked in. So you brought in some potted plants that you felt Asra wouldn’t miss-- plenty of small succulents lining windowsills and hanging plants so not to take away space that could be used for patients. You were the one to take care of those plants, on top of caring for patients. Julian just observed, slowly learning what to do and what not to do when it came to keeping a plant well. Eventually, he felt that he could try and found a climbing fig, which he kept in a hanging pot in his office, that you never found out about, because he learned one day that those were your favorite.

Seeing you so lovingly take care of your ferns and palms, whispering kind words to each and gently offering each water, Julian felt almost stupid that he had never tried to connect to nature. He summed it up to how magicians and scientists were just too different in their ways of thinking. Maybe he could be more open to learning from magicians, especially you.

[cedarmoons]

companion to this oneshot + @katharaya u know what u did

She takes none of his jewelry, except the heart-shaped emerald she wears around her neck; she finds Nadia’s letters to her, and Asra’s, all of them wrapped in twine. She finds the black-and-grey photograph of the three of them, taken in their youth, and the photograph of them with the children, and she slips them both between the letters. 

She takes his red looped scarf, and winds it around her shoulders, lifting it to cover her hair as well.

She makes other basic preparations, and then she leaves Vesuvia. She returns to the Waste.

*

Korra comes to her in dreams, the first night she spends alone. She is forty-seven, with streaks of grey in her hair, and Ziah feels sick. She still remembers the day she had met her first daughter, when she had been young and prideful and young.

And now, she is twenty years older than Ziah looks.

“Where’s dama?” Korra asks. “He’s not answering when I reach for him—”

Ziah breaks the dream, and wakes with tears on her face. She restarts the campfire she had huddled beside, and reads Asra and Nadia’s letters collected over the years, holding the emerald in her palm. It is warm, and though Asra’s magic had faded long ago, the feel of it is still a comfort.

I’ll be lonely until the next time I can wake up next to you two, Asra had written, ages ago. She remembers the weight of Nadia’s arms around her as they had read the postcard in their bed. She remembers Nadia kissing her shoulder, smiling against her cheek.

Be back soon.

She does not even notice she is crying until the first tear falls and smears the ink. “No,” she gasps, and bends the water out of the card, but it is too late. The old ink is lost. “No,” she whispers, wiping at her face with the scarf. “Please...”

I’ll be lonely until the next time I can wake up nex Be

“Please,” she whispers, but whatever rules over the universe does not hear her; the ink remains marred.

She puts away the letters, and weeps, and stays up the entire night so she will not have to face the daunting task of justifying herself to her ageing children. She has lost the two halves of her heart; only a hole had been left behind, and she knows that abyss will only widen with every strand of silver she sees in her children’s hair.

*

They catch onto her strategy, soon enough.

“Please come back,” Yosef asks her when she falls asleep at dawn, sitting with her with their feet dangling in the garden’s pool, as they had done when he was young and wanted to escape the chaos of the house. “Mama, we’re not mad you didn’t tell us. We just want you back. We’re all in Vesuvia, we want—”

She breaks the dream.

When she tries sleeping in the afternoon, Lizbet is there with her, in the garden she had crafted from her room, Mango chirping on her shoulder. 

“Mom,” Lizbet worries, peering around the fronds of her fern. “Mom, where are you? Pepper’s grown now, she can take me and Blaise and we can come get you, please. Please, Dama wouldn’t want you isolating yourself—”

Ziah cannot stop her tears, then, and her grief rends the dream apart. But it is not until her fourth day traveling to the Waste, when she encounters a dream-remnant of Asra, that the grief stems into something decidedly more numb.

“Whoever has summoned you,” she tells the fragment, “is very cruel.”

It smiles at her, cheeks dimpling; its lepidolite eyes are clear, unclouded by cataracts, and its hands are steady and warm when it cups her face and wipes away her tears.

“You are five days dead,” she says. “Let me grieve in peace.” Her voice breaks. “Please.”

“Not if it means you’ll be alone,” it says. The sound of his voice, warm and affectionate and soft, is enough to make her turn away. She presses her hand to her mouth, biting down on her wrist to muffle her keening wail, and squeezes her eyes shut.

She smells jasmine and lavender behind her, and her body shakes, knees nearly giving out. No, she thinks, desperately, and when she squeezes her eyes shut she feels hot tears run down her face, hugging the curve of her jaw.

“Ziah,” she says, gently, and she breaks. She collapses, legs too weak to stand upon, and Nadia catches her, lowering them both to the floor as Asra kneels beside them, arms tight around them both.

She cannot endure it.

She cannot endure it.

“You are cruel,” she gasps out, as Asra and Nadia hold her between them. “Enough! Leave me in peace!”

The dream melts away, and she wakes in tears, unable to control her grief until hours past the sunrise. When she calms, she rubs at her sore eyes and summons water from the dirt, calling one of her children.

It is Korra who answers, and the water is clear enough that Ziah can see the age lines between her brows, at the corners of her eyes, around her mouth. “Mom, thank the gods—” she starts.

“I do not know who was responsible for that dream,” Ziah says, thankful that her voice is steady, “but we did not raise you to be cruel. Leave me in peace. All of you. I want to be alone.”

“Arianna’s pregnant,” Korra blurts, before Ziah cuts off the message. That stays her hand, and she looks away, out over the savanna that is slowly becoming desert with every mile she travels east. “I just... I just wanted you to know. She’s gonna name them after Dama.”

An Asra, to match a Nadia. She remembers the news—Evander’s second daughter, their fourth grandchild, Asra insisting they travel all the way to where he had been stationed in Drakr so they could meet little Nadi.

We’re grandparents, Mizi. She remembers how he’d laughed, in the midst of cleaning his spectacles with his shirt. Can you believe it?

Ziah splashes the water, breaking the connection.

*

Lina is—delighted is not the right word. Pleasantly surprised. Lina is pleasantly surprised to see her again. 

She allows Ziah to take up her old rooms by the oasis she had brought forth from the desert, rooms that have nothing but a makeshift bed crafted out of scarab chitin and phoenix pelts.

Ziah does not know what it is—whether Tiamat’s absence, or the shroud of grief that clings to her shoulders and radiates from her body in waves—but Lina leaves her alone, this time.

Her dreams are peaceful.

*

She does not know how long she is in the desert. Time slips away. She is empty, and more and more often she fills her dreams with memories of Asra and Nadia and both. She spends her days reading their letters (Nadia’s elegant script, Your presence lights up even the darkest of places, and Asra’s simple scrawl, I’d cross all the seas to get back to you) or sleeping.

Her dead heart beats, but she does not feel anything except grief and emptiness.

Korra contacts her, once. Her hair is more gray than black, and Ziah cannot look at her because of it.

“Evander’s dead,” she says. “There was an accident.”

Ziah says nothing.

“Asra’s turning two in a few months. We’d love it if you could come.”

Ziah says nothing.

“Mom.” Korra’s voice breaks. “Please come home.”

Ziah says nothing. This time, it is Korra who breaks the dream. When Ziah blinks open her sore, sleep-crusted eyes, she finds the black-and-white photograph of them all—Nadia, Asra, their fourteen children. She finds Evander, standing beside Nadia with Nadia’s hand on his shoulder, and stares at his face the entire day.

Slowly, she begins to reshape her dreams, so that the memories include Evander as well. But when she wakes and faces the day, her thoughts grow more and more consumed with the ocean. Even here, in the desert, the sea beckons to her, pulling upon the foreign immortal soul within her own.

She gives herself to her dreams and to her longing for the sea, and pays no mind to the time that slips through her fingers like sand.

*

She dreams of the desert, of shifting sands and silver dunes. She dreams of walking down an onyx road, one that will lead her back to the waves, where she should have died long ago.

“Wait!” an achingly familiar voice calls. She turns, and there Asra is—dressed in strange clothes, but unmistakably him, not some phantom constructed from the annals of her mind. She can feel his aura, something she has not sensed in years, decades, and it startles her so badly it shakes her out of the dream.

The next night, she has the same dream, and she does not know what to make of it. But it does something strange: it makes her heart beat anew.

*

Blaise comes to the Waste the day Ziah decides to return to the sea. Pepper carries them straight to the palace, and Lina threatens to kill them both for their presumption, but Pepper lifts her golden-orange wings and roars right in Lina’s face. Ziah explains, and Lina begrudgingly returns to the palace, sighing oh, all right, you two have your fun.

Blaise does not look any older than twenty-five, and Ziah’s breath catches in her throat. She looks at Blaise’s chest, reaching out with her magic, and there—a sliver of Pepper’s soul, young and vibrant, fresh where Tiamat’s is shriveled within her.

“How long?” she asks, quietly.

“Auroth taught her,” Blaise says, resting their hand on Pepper’s massive flank. Pepper lowers her head, her snout taller than Ziah herself, and Ziah rests a hand between her nostrils, remembering the day she’d hatched. Beside her, Blaise says, “I’ve been twenty-five for a hundred and thirty-two years.” 

Ziah closes her eyes.

“Mom,” Blaise says, “the world’s a lot different than when you left. But if you want to go back, I’m here to bring you home.”

Ziah thinks of Asra, calling wait!, the desperation in his voice. She closes her eyes. She breathes, and lets her heart feel hope. “Yes,” she says.

*

She dreams of Asra a third time, and this time, she lets him reach her. He crashes into her, pulls her off of the road that leads to the sea, and they kneel in sand that turns to meadow. 

She is weeping, but she does not feel her tears; she touches Asra’s cheek, as he stares at her in wide-eyed bewilderment and relief, and she says, “Thank you, sweet. Thank you for bringing me back. I will find you, I promise.”

*

Vesuvia’s palatial gardens have been transformed into a public park. She does not know what to make of the new world that awaits her, one that roars at night and day both, one where the city’s lights are so bright she sometimes thinks it is daylight. 

But the willow tree remains, as does her name, worn smooth by time.

She sits under the willow tree, reading old letters and staring at old photographs, and it is there he finds her. She looks at him, and though she cannot breathe, she is for the first time in a hundred years aware of her own heartbeat.

There you are, she wants to say. I’ve missed you so much.

“Hi,” he says, and offers her a smile, just as he had in a different lifetime. “It’s a beautiful day today, isn’t it?”

[fangaminghell]

Leo, despite how he's feeling by the time he gets to Reborn , constantly oozes confidence. It's probably the shades and jewelry, but man has swag.i think that's probably why Fern and him slightly mesh well together, but ultimately tend to not get along.

Like, he's like Imani I'd mostly putting a front to mask his insecurities, but the difference is that Imani genuinely does try her best to be happy, or at least think about the positives. Leo by the start of Reborn does not like himself. He messed up a lot back where he was from, and ultimately just ran away from his problems. But he's been putting up a confident front ever since he was a kid so masking everything is like second nature. The only person to see through this is older sister, whom he left. I can see Victoria seeing through this too, though I haven't seen a lot of her character just yet, so that's a maybe.

The reason why I affectionately call Leo pathetic is not because of his low self esteem. If anything, him running away for a fresh start, while it does have some consequences, is his way of trying to better himself. Maybe where he was initially from wasn't the place for that. No, the reason I affectionately call this man pathetic is because he's surprisingly average compared to Imani and Asra. He's just A Guy™. A guy with a complex backstory and story, but still just A Guy™. Sure, he's incredibly skilled at battle, but he's a Pokemon protagonist, what do you except. Anyway. Yeah. I love him. A guy trying to better himself and yet founded himself in possibly the worst situation.

Now, I will say: I don't know if the reborn protagonist have something going on with them like how the rejuv and desolation protagonists do. So for all I know, this all could change as I continue to play. But for now, yeah, Leo is just a guy lol.

[frekydeki]

Hi!

My name is Fern! I’ve been writing for a really long stinkin' time, but still feel like I have so much more to learn! My goal one day is to publish one of my own original works, for now, though, I’m having a great time running this little blog.

Aside from my unhealthy obsession with Bakugo, Gojo, and Asra, the reason I write fanfiction is for practice in conveying stories. It also helps me understand the outlining process and embracing and developing ideas… Plus it’s just so flippin fun to write fanfiction; I have a journal filled to the brim with ideas and prompts and I’m so ready to plague the internet with them!

Some side hobbies of mine are drawing comics (I’m still very new to this so blegh), working with animals, herbalism and gardening, and meditating (10/10 would recommend). I love eating new foods and am an absolute GEEK for food documentaries. If you can't tell, I love stories. So, in the free time that I have where my hands aren't busy, I can be found reading a book, playing a videogame (probably Dragon Age tbh), watching a new show, or staring off into the void concocting impossible scenarios :)

Let me also just get this out in the open: I fall off the face of the earth frequently and will have loooong periods of inactivity. I'm trying to get better at that, but progress isn't linear. Rest assured though; I'm doing my best!

On a real note: feel free to message me privately if you ever need to. My blog and myself are a safe zone, and you will never be judged for anything - E V E R - ‘kay? If you need someone to talk to, I’m all ears. If you want someone to gush over headcannons, I’m there for that. I know I’m a random stranger on the other side of a screen, but I’m here for you and I think you’re precious.