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saintstars · 2 days ago

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Devotion and Desertion @russingon-week day two

Plus (Gen Rated) drabble below. Or read it on Ao3

Sanskrit: Svayaṃvara -> english: self choice -> Quenya: self - immo, choice - cilmë, wedding - vestalë -> imcilmë vestalë

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It comes as no surprise to anyone that Turukáno garlands Elenwë of the Vanyar at the Imcilmë Vestalë. They have been courting for several years, a slow pace by the reckoning of the Eldar.

Russandol wanders the hall, his garland of needleflower and hibiscus almost invisible against his red attire. It does not invite speculation. Still, the speculation is inevitable for any noble of age, even some not yet of age are eyed as viable prospects for an alliance.

His brothers are similarly attempting to blend in, except for Kanafinwë who, of course, has fashioned a garland entirely of jasmine and gold beads, as though he intends to make a match of a Vanya himself. It is a bold statement, even for him.

Fëanáro destains the tradition, despite choosing Nerdanel at his very first Imcilmë Vestalë and causing a massive argument among the suitors by avoiding all the appropriate selections. Tales of him veering past the many assembled nobles to place his garland over the head of a simple smith’s daughter still inspire songs, as do tales of Nerdanel weaving a magic gown to enchant him, or answering Manwë’s riddles to attend the Imcilmë Vestalë.

Within her own household it is well known that Fëanáro invited her there himself and was perfectly clear with his intentions, but that does not make for entertaining songs.

Fëanáro's sons have grown all too used to hearing a familiar tune hummed by hopeful maidens as they pass by, as the Valimar guards have grown all too used to plucking the uninvited from the high walls of the great hall during a festival.

Findekáno finds him in the crowd, his arm slipping around Russo’s waist, his head falling against his shoulder. He brings with him a strong scent of flowers, almost enough to cloak his own honey-wax and leather scent.

How Maitimo wishes they could be in the stables instead, saddling the horses for a long ride over Túna’s low hills, to sleep on bedrolls under the light of Telperion away from courtly rules and taboos. Instead it will be feasting and singing and every cousin and sibling wandering in and out of each other’s rooms in the Vanyarin palace with no space for smuggled kisses and hidden caresses. Not to begin to speak of Ainur lingering around every corner.

‘No one catch your eye, cousin?’ Findekáno jests. He might have been taken for sincere by anyone else but his bedmate.

‘Alas, my heart remains with my family,’ Russandol dares to laugh and loops his own arm over Findekáno’s shoulder. ‘Are you so weary already?’

His garland is plush with hydrangeas and delphiniums, dotted with striking passionflowers and beaded with lapis lazuli at the back. Russo plucks at a bead and Finno swats his hand away before he can crush the delicate flowers further.

‘Turukáno has absorbed all the energy for his own celebration.’

‘My congratulations to your household.’

‘Oh yes, thank you, we receive them very gladly indeed.’ Findekáno fakes a yawn. ‘Is it over with yet? I need a drink.’

Intoxicants are not allowed at the Imcilmë Vestalë, as the choice is meant to be uninfluenced. As though that stops families from forcing together a desired match until they cave to the pressure.

‘Soon enough now.’ Russo presses a kiss to the side of his forehead and reaches out his free hand to spin Írissë as she passes in a smiling blur of white and blue.

‘You know, I heard talk of matching the pair of you.’ Finno looks up at him slyly.

‘Me? With Írissë? Ridiculous.’

‘I’m quite serious; I believe the reasoning was an alliance to soothe the warring Noldor families.’

‘Turcafinwë will be glad to hear the attention has lifted from him.’

‘Not all; they want him with young Artanis.’

Russo chokes on air, and has to let go Findekáno entirely for how hard he is laughing, doubled over with mirth, tears in his eyes.

Recognising his brother drawing near he straightens and gestures him over to join the nonsense.

‘Makalaurë, come here, you must know of the awful scheming Finno has overheard!’

———

After the Imcilmë Vestalë the attendees walk out to Ezellohar to sing by the Trees and get, very necessarily, drunk.

Findaráto and Kanafinwë have already managed to procure several bottles and try to entourage him to join taunting the newly engaged couple with the bawdiest songs they can invent.

But Russandol demurs, though he steals a bottle from them, and goes to seek out Findekáno, who was parted from him in the merriment.

The bright lights of Valimar fade away into the peace of Lorien, the long tresses of the willow trees blowing in a gentle breeze, the tranquil lake beyond.

Findekáno stands looking out over the water, braids hanging black and gold down his back. Under the silver light he glows with warmth.

His garland lies discarded on a nearby bench.

‘You knew to find me here,’ Findekáno says, the smile obvious in his voice before he turns and casts its full radiance upon Russo.

‘You know I dislike the crowds.’

He uncorks the purloined bottle and refills the empty goblet Finno holds out to him.

They sit and share the miruvórë as they have a hundred times before.

Findekáno’s fingers are warm, the wine cool and Russandol feels himself suddenly overwhelmed with affection.

His garland is off his neck and in his hands, held out to garland Finno, before he has fully thought it through.

‘I may not yet declare it before the gods and our families, but know that my heart’s choice is and always will be you.’ He confesses, more earnest than he means to be.

‘Oh, Russo, I’m devastated,’ But Findekáno’s eyes shine with affection and with mirth. ‘You beat me to it!’

He lifts his own garland from beside him and offers it out haplessly.

Russo scoffs at his antics.

He garlands Finno and ducks his head in return and to his surprise feels a tear trace his cheek.

On close examination he realises that nestled in the all the blue flowers, in the joints of the garland are uncut rubies. Ah, so Findekáno had planned it as he made it, and Russo simply stumbled upon the idea in the moment. How unlike each of them.

‘I’m not so upset as that!’ Finno laughs, his hands cupping Russo’s face.

‘It’s happiness, fool.’ Russo growls, unable to sound as harsh as he wishes when his chest is so full of love.

‘Fool you’d wed.’ Finno grins and kisses him.

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br3adtoasty · 1 year ago

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⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

UNIQUE MAGIC

This section is empty…

🦋 That drunkard butterfly has made its way to your window once again…

“Once upon a time-“ A tale was told, As the land and seas Was it age-old The mystical unicorns, it spoke of Of great triumphs, valor, and love The young colt sat and listened, spirit stirred To fly the nest, its wings spurred So set off, the fledgling did To adventure and bright future promised it glided around in circles, then abruptly stopped Alas, Its mirth did not last For the crane was netted Caught like a bass! By merry men, outlaws And bandits alike That wished for its fall That delighted in its plight Earthly, it planted its feet on the floor Disheartened, it’s forgotten its splendor Never again shall the crane soar Days spent gazing at the stars, body, heart, surrendered

It flew away… And what a dreary song! You should probably find some fun and uplifting activities to do after all that to clear your mind. Like painting, cooking, playing games… Ah! Of course, not in the presence of a certain killjoy of a classmate.

My OC for @marcoritasdorm !

#watch out for mr loser cringefail numero uno is here #if someone gets the reference for his coffin icon i’ll love you forever #twst #twst oc #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #twst fandorm #marcoritas #marcoritas dorm #mort crandell #profiles

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fiyaa-xoxo · 1 year ago

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Theres something different about receiving a handwritten letter......

✧˚ · .Spring has sprung as the NCR students walk through out the NRC campus. With spring here and the flowers blooming, and most important of all valentines day right around the corner. NRC launches lockers for students to anonymously give someone something for valentines day. Surprise, Surprise the prefects locker was the one with the most letters. Lets see what some of them wrote, will u find out who wrote what?....

From: A crimson flower...

My Crimson Rose,

In this whimsical realm where time dances to its own curious tune, I find myself enchanted by the notion of Happy Unbirthdays and the delightful chaos that ensues in the shadow of the Queen of Hearts. It is within this peculiar Wonderland that our paths have crossed, and my heart, typically bound by the rigidity of rules, has succumbed to the joyful mayhem of your presence.

Oh, how the tea parties unfold in blissful disorder, each cup raised in celebration of the nonsensical day that is every day but one! The Queen of Hearts, with her regal decree and whimsical demands, presides over these gatherings where laughter echoes like the most harmonious of melodies. In the mirthful company of jesters and creatures, our souls intertwine, and the rules of reality bow to the capricious whims of Wonderland.

As the Queen commands the cards to paint the roses red, I am reminded that the essence of love in this fantastical realm is as unpredictable as the ever-changing hues of Wonderland's flora. In the intricate dance of courtly affections, I find myself waltzing with you, my partner in this splendid, topsy-turvy masquerade.

From: An Inky Dealer...

And so, my heart, once bound by the rigid laws of reason, now surrenders to the whimsy of Wonderland and the joyful rebellion that accompanies it. With every unbirthday tea party we share, I am reminded that true happiness lies not in conformity but in the enchanting chaos of love.

To my Siren,

As the currents of fate weave through the whimsical waters of Twisted Wonderland, I find myself drawn to you like a siren's call echoing in the depths of the Monstro Lounge. In this ocean of magical mayhem, your presence is a beacon that lights up the darkest corners of my heart.

The glittering allure of Ursula's domain mirrors the shimmering depths of the feelings that swirl within me. Much like the ebb and flow of the tides, our connection resonates with a rhythm that transcends the ordinary cadence of everyday life.

In the enchanting embrace of the Monstro Lounge, where secrets are exchanged like treasures and laughter dances upon the waves of conversation, I am captivated by the spell you cast upon my existence. Ursula's wisdom echoes in the whispers of our shared moments, and I am reminded that love, much like the sea, holds depths yet to be explored.

So, let this letter be a testament to the enchantment you bring into my life, a tale woven with threads of magic and mystery. In the embrace of Ursula's sanctuary and the symphony of the Monstro Lounge, my heart finds its rhythm in harmony with yours.

From: The oasis in the hot sands...

Dear, sunshine

With the boundless energy of a desert breeze, my affection for you grows, and the tapestry of our shared moments becomes a mosaic of joy and laughter. Your smile, a treasure more precious than any gem in the sands, illuminates my world with unparalleled warmth.

In the vibrant oasis of love, I find solace in the melody of our shared laughter and the dance of our dreams under the twinkling stars. With each passing day, my heart beats in rhythm with the magic you bring into my life.

So, let this be a simple testament to the love that blossoms like a desert rose within my chest—a love as boundless as the endless sands of Twisted Wonderland.

From: A loyal knight

My dearest Everglow,

Amidst the tapestry of my own existence, I pledge my loyalty to you with the same unwavering devotion that I offer to the illustrious Malleus Draconia. To serve him is an honor, and in his guidance, my loyalty becomes an intricate dance—a choreography of duty and affection.

In this realm where loyalty is both a shield and a key, my heart beats with the rhythm of a promise made not just in service but in love. Your understanding gaze, a refuge in the labyrinth of obligations, is a testament to the deep connection that transcends the boundaries of duty.

So, let this be a tender acknowledgment of the magic that binds me to both my fae heritage and the loyalty I extend to you and Malleus—a love letter written with the ink of allegiance and sealed with the embrace of my heart.

Writers note: Hello everyone! Were u able to find out who's who? Let me know if u want more writings like this!

Requests are open!! ^^

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

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shadyfestivalperfection · 1 month ago

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May I request Loki x reader hurt comfort?? Maybe readers is breaking from all the pressure of work, she becomes a mess and is just so so stressed but Loki is there to comfort her

Love, Lies And Loki~25

Summery: When a pregnant Y/N loses her fashion show designs, Loki steps in to help her rebuild—bringing love, mischief, and magic to the runway. A heartwarming tale of creativity, support, and unexpected surprises.

Characters: Loki x pregnant!wife!reader

Note: All characters except y/n are not mine!

||Master List||

26. Welcome home

🧵Woven Together 🪡

The late morning sun filtered gently through gauzy white curtains, casting dappled light across the hardwood floor. Birds chirped outside, and the scent of lavender from the garden wafted into the house. The soft hum of the sewing machine, normally a soothing rhythm in the studio, had been silent for two days.

Y/N L/N sat curled up on the large velvet armchair in her studio, cradling her seven-months-pregnant belly with one hand and her phone with the other. The screen was still on, the call long ended. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she read the last message from her assistant over and over again.

“I’m so sorry. Everything—your sketches, mood boards, the concept files—somehow got wiped from the system. I don’t know how. I’ll keep checking backups, but it looks bad.”

The designs for her next fashion show. Months of work. Vanished. Just like that.

Her fingers trembled. The stress pressed into her lungs, making it hard to breathe. Her pregnancy hormones already had her in a vulnerable place, and this?

This was too much.

A hot tear slipped down her cheek, landing on her sweater. She didn’t even notice it until the fabric turned dark with dampness.

She barely heard the footsteps approaching from the hallway until a deep, familiar voice sliced through the silence like a warm knife.

“Darling?” Loki’s tone was light, amused. “You vanished on me. I thought we agreed you’d rest today.”

She quickly tried to wipe her tears, but it was no use. Loki saw everything.

He paused in the doorway to her studio. His gaze flicked over her posture, the tremble in her hands, and the too-still sewing machine.

The mirth disappeared from his face instantly.

“What happened?” He was beside her in two strides, crouching in front of her with concern etched across his fine features.

Y/N tried to swallow it down. “It’s fine. Really, it’s just—”

“No,” he interrupted softly. “That face? That’s not fine. Something’s wrong.”

She hesitated. The lump in her throat made it hard to speak, but Loki reached up and gently tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Talk to me, love.”

Y/N took a shaky breath. “The show… The files are gone. All of them. The whole collection I’ve been working on. Designs, concepts, fabric samples… it’s all just gone. Wiped.”

Loki’s face didn’t change immediately, but she saw his jaw tighten.

“I don’t understand. There were backups, weren’t there?”

“Apparently the backups failed too. My assistant is looking into it, but she said it might be weeks before we can recover anything—if we even can.”

He took her hand. “And the show is when?”

“In four weeks,” she whispered. “There’s no way I can finish it in time. I can’t redo everything. Not while I’m—” She motioned toward her belly. “Like this.”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

She looked away, her tears falling freely now. “I just feel like I’m failing at everything.”

“Hey,” Loki said gently, moving to sit beside her on the armrest and wrapping one arm around her shoulders. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” she sniffled. “I’ve barely been able to do anything for weeks. My back hurts. My feet are swollen. I sleep at weird hours. And now I’ve lost months of work. What kind of designer—or mother—am I even going to be?”

Loki was quiet for a long moment, just holding her, letting her cry into his shoulder. Then he finally spoke, his voice low but steady.

“You’re going to be a magnificent mother,” he said firmly. “You’re also one of the most talented people I know. And what happened today? That’s not your fault. You didn’t fail anything. A technical error or accident doesn’t erase your brilliance.”

Y/N leaned against him, comforted but still overwhelmed.

“I don’t even know where to start…”

“Then let’s start together,” he said simply.

She pulled back slightly to look at him. “You mean…?”

He gave her a soft smile. “Let me help you rebuild. We have four weeks. You’re not alone.”

“You’re a literal god of mischief and chaos,” she said with a weak laugh. “What do you know about fashion design?”

“I know my wife has a brilliant eye and a wild imagination. I know how to sew,” he added, earning a surprised look from her. “And I can certainly sketch. Asgardian battle garb doesn’t design itself.”

She blinked. “Wait, you can actually draw?”

Loki summoned a piece of parchment with a flick of his fingers. The parchment displayed an intricate sketch of a flowing cape with etched armor details and embroidery down the sides. It was impressive—even by her standards.

“I’ve dabbled,” he said, smirking.

Y/N stared at the drawing, and then at him. “You never told me you could do this.”

“You never asked.”

She let out a laugh, then quickly sobered again, overwhelmed by the emotions still coursing through her. “It’s just… I wanted this show to be perfect.”

“It still can be,” he promised, gently cupping her cheek. “Let’s do this one step at a time. What’s the theme of the show?”

She sniffled again. “The original theme was rebirth. Like spring meeting couture.”

Loki’s eyes sparkled. “Fitting.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s what we’re doing now. Rebirth. From chaos, we’ll build something even better.”

She let out a quiet breath, her shoulders relaxing for the first time in hours. “Alright. Let’s try.”

⸻

(Two Days Later)

Y/N sat at her desk, surrounded by fabrics, markers, and half-drunk tea mugs. Loki sat across from her, a sketchpad in hand, long fingers gliding smoothly over the paper as he worked.

“Okay,” she said, rubbing her belly with one hand. “We’ve got five looks redone. Twelve more to go.”

“I still vote for enchanted cloaks,” Loki muttered. “They’d be perfect for dramatic entrances.”

She raised an eyebrow. “It’s a spring show, not a magical duel.”

“I’m just saying. Practical and fashionable.”

She laughed, then reached over and tugged gently on his shirt. “I never expected you to be this helpful.”

He glanced at her with mock offense. “Darling, I have many talents you’ve yet to fully appreciate.”

“Mmhm. Like organizing fabric swatches by tone?”

“Like charming you even while your feet are propped on three pillows and you’re cranky from backaches.”

She smirked. “Fair.”

They shared a soft smile before she glanced at the clock.

“I need a break,” she admitted.

“You’ve been working for hours,” Loki said, standing. “Feet up. Tea. Now.”

“You’re bossy.”

“I’m efficient.”

He waved his hand, and in a shimmer of gold, a tea tray appeared with ginger cookies and warm chamomile tea. Y/N stared at it, amazed.

“You really are magic.”

“I like to think so.”

He sat beside her and helped prop her feet up on the ottoman.

“Do you still feel overwhelmed?” he asked after a moment of quiet.

She sighed. “Less so. It’s still a lot. But having you here… helps.”

He reached out, placing a hand gently on her belly. “We’re doing this together, my love. Everything. The show, the babies, the sleepless nights ahead.”

She looked down at his hand resting over hers, where she could feel the tiniest flutters from the twins moving beneath her skin.

“I’m glad it’s you,” she whispered. “Even when the world feels like it’s falling apart.”

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Then let’s rebuild it together.”

___

It was the day of Y/N’s highly anticipated fashion show. Despite being seven months pregnant, Y/N had pulled together the most incredible collection. She’d faced a few setbacks — like the time her designs had been lost and had to be recreated from scratch. But now, here she was, standing in the bustling backstage area, her heart pounding with excitement and nerves in equal measure.

Loki had insisted on being a part of the show, much to her amusement. At first, Y/N had laughed it off, but when Loki started offering his help, she couldn’t help but say yes. He had insisted on walking the runway, causing a flurry of reactions among her team, and she loved every second of it. His playful grin and mischievous glint had a way of turning even the most stressful of situations into something manageable.

As the evening wore on, Y/N found herself standing in front of the full-length mirror in her dressing room, adjusting the last-minute details of her own outfit. Her baby bump was perfectly accentuated in a flowing dress that hugged her curves in all the right places.

“You look stunning,” Loki’s voice broke through her thoughts, and she smiled at his reflection in the mirror. He was dressed in a tailored suit that made him look even more charismatic than usual.

“Thank you,” Y/N replied, a soft blush creeping onto her cheeks as she turned to face him. “I just hope everything goes smoothly tonight.”

Loki walked over to her, his steps graceful despite his height, and placed a gentle hand on her stomach. “Everything will be perfect. You’ve worked too hard for it not to be.”

Y/N couldn’t help but feel a wave of warmth at his words. Loki wasn’t one to give compliments easily, but when he did, they carried weight. “And what about you? You ready to rock the runway?” she teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

He grinned, clearly relishing the moment. “Oh, absolutely. I have quite the reputation to uphold as the god of mischief.”

The sound of heels clicking on the marble floor interrupted their playful exchange, and Y/N’s assistant, Eva, appeared at the door. “Y/N, we’re ready for you,” she said, her eyes widening at the sight of Loki in his suit.

“Right, let’s get this show started,” Y/N said, straightening her posture as she took Loki’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

Backstage, the atmosphere was electric. Models were being prepped, makeup was being touched up, and there was a buzz of anticipation in the air. As Y/N and Loki made their way to the front of the stage, she took in a deep breath. This was the moment. The show that she had spent countless hours working on — the show that had her nervous, excited, and feeling a sense of pride all at once.

When it was her turn to step onto the stage, the room quieted. The lights were blinding, the spotlight hitting her perfectly, but she kept her focus. Her heels clicked with confidence as she walked the runway, her hands gracefully placed at her sides. The audience was enraptured by her presence, the collection, and the way she carried herself with elegance despite the weight of her pregnancy.

Just as she reached the end of the runway, she turned to look over her shoulder, and that’s when Loki stepped out. The crowd gasped in surprise, and a few people chuckled, seeing the God of Mischief walk the runway himself.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Loki,” Y/N said with a playful wink, causing the crowd to cheer. Loki smirked, walking confidently, his head held high, as he owned the runway.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, watching her husband, in all his glory, strut down the catwalk like it was a battlefield he’d already won. He was naturally charismatic, and this moment was no exception. She could hear the admiration and applause from the audience, and it was clear that Loki was having the time of his life.

As he reached her at the end of the runway, he leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. “I do hope I’ve stolen the show,” he whispered, his voice laced with mischief.

“Oh, I think you’ve certainly made an impression,” she replied, barely able to contain her laughter.

But just as they both started to walk back, Loki turned to her and gently cupped her face in his hands. “You’ve truly outdone yourself, my love,” he said seriously, the playful glint in his eyes replaced with something much more sincere. “You’re radiant, and this show… it’s nothing short of magnificent.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at his words. She’d always known that Loki was full of surprises, but hearing him speak so earnestly made the evening feel all the more special. The stress, the late nights, the challenges she’d faced — it was all worth it for this moment.

The rest of the show went smoothly, with models showcasing Y/N’s designs, the crowd enjoying the vibrant energy, and Loki adding his own flair to the entire evening. At one point, he even joined in with the models, helping one of them fix her dress just to get a reaction from the audience, and it worked.

As the show came to an end, Y/N stood backstage, taking in the accomplishment. She couldn’t believe how much had changed in the last few months — how much she had grown as both a designer and a person. And there, with Loki by her side, she felt like she could do anything.

The afterparty was lively, but Y/N felt content simply being with Loki, surrounded by friends and family. Thor and Brunnhilde were there, clapping her on the back with a hearty laugh and praises, and even some of her models had stayed to celebrate.

But it was Loki who kept her company the most, offering small gestures of affection, ensuring she was comfortable despite her growing belly, and making her laugh with his playful antics. He would occasionally glance at her with a smirk, his pride in her work shining through in his eyes.

By the end of the night, the couple found themselves alone on a balcony, the soft breeze of the night brushing against their skin. Y/N leaned back against the railing, looking up at the stars, her thoughts drifting to the future.

“I can’t believe it’s over,” she said quietly, her hands resting on her belly as she glanced at Loki. “It feels like I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long.”

Loki joined her, his arm around her waist as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Well, you did it. And it was perfect.”

She smiled softly. “Thanks to you, too,” she added, her voice filled with affection. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You never needed anyone else,” Loki replied, his voice warm. “But I’m glad I was here.”

The two stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the noise of the party still echoing behind them. The chaos of the night had settled, and the only thing left was the sense of accomplishment and the shared joy between them.

“You know,” Y/N began, turning to face him, “this show wasn’t just about fashion for me. It was about us… our future. And I’m so glad you’re here, through everything.”

Loki’s expression softened, and he reached for her hand. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

She nodded, her eyes bright with emotion. “Yes. And I’m excited for everything that comes next.”

He gave her a teasing smile, squeezing her hand. “Well, we’ve got a long life ahead of us. And trust me, it’s only going to get more interesting.”

Y/N chuckled, leaning in for a kiss. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The night stretched on, the promise of a future full of love, laughter, and adventure lingering in the air as they held each other close.

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adrift-in-thyme · 1 year ago

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@telemna-hyelle it took more than an hour (sorry about that) but here it is! The Four/Dot fluff I promised!

I hope it helps you end your day on a good note <33

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He isn’t ready for this.

Four moves along the wooded path as if in a trance. He knows every step of this place like the back of his hand. But usually, he is much more attentive than this. Usually, he keeps a watchful eye on the surrounding area, scouting for the stray chu or keese.

Today, however, he cannot seem to keep his mind on such things. The sunlight dappled earth beneath his feet, the scent of leaves and bark baked in the afternoon warmth, the breeze that caresses his cheeks, and the chittering of the many critters that scamper about within the foliage – they are all lost on him.

He feels Dot’s hand in his, her palm smooth and warm. He smells her perfume – light and sweet like the cotton candy they spin at the yearly festivals. He hears her laughter, bright and unrestrained and free as she tells a tale from her day. He sees her, radiant, hair like strands of gold and eyes the color of the joyful sky.

She looks at him, says something he can’t comprehend. He nods, conjures up a smile. With luck, it won’t be as strained as he feels that it is.

He has faced beasts one hundred times his size, navigated the pain and confusion of being split into four, saved the world twice. But by the golden three, he is not ready for this.

And yet, he is going through with it anyway. He can’t back down now. Not when his best friend is right here beside him, every moment of basking in her presence strengthening the love he feels for her.

Four squares his shoulders. Yes, this is the right thing to do. The hardest things often are.

The Minish have done a spectacular job preparing the clearing. That much is evident as soon as it comes into view. Everything is as they had planned. Every detail has been attended to with immaculate care.

Vines drape over tree limbs, their slim strands heavy with layered blossoms. Flower petals drift down in lazy pirouettes to join the coat of vibrant pink already lying on the forest floor. The sun glimmers through slightly parted branches. Not far off a fairy fountain casts its soothing glow. Soft notes of magic drift to Four’s ears as he leads Dot forward.

“Link,” she breathes, gazing upward and all around, eyes wide with adoration, “this is beautiful.”

“Yes, it is,” he agrees with a calm he in no way feels. “The Minish worked very hard on it.”

Dot turns to him now, head cocked in question. “The Minish? What do you…”

She trails off as he drops to one knee.

It feels as though he is kneeling on a bed of silk. But the sensation in his chest as he reaches into his pouch is about as pleasant as the Big Octorok sitting on him.

The ring is in his palm though, a delicate thing melted and shaped and fired by his own two hands. It had taken countless tries to get it right, to meld the corners into the perfect curve, to carve the designs in the way he imagined them to be. Making jewelry is not quite the same as crafting a sword. It requires a different sort of skill.

But he had found that skill within him. And he had created something beautiful. Something he will be proud to see upon her finger.

“Zelda,” he murmurs and curses the way his voice trembles a bit at the end, “Zelda, Princess of Hyrule, my dearest friend…” He raises his head, gazes into those big blue eyes. The ones that had shone with empathy when the pieces of himself had threatened to shatter him anew. The ones that had glowed with mirth and joy at the festivals, brightened when he told a joke, gone sharp with interest when he told a tale.

The eyes he has gotten lost in so many times before, and hopes to many more times in the future.

“Zelda, will you marry me?”

She stares at him for a long, agonizing moment, hand held to her mouth, emotion surging across her face. Then, she laughs. She laughs and the world sings with the noise. And she swoops down and lands a kiss right on his lips.

“Was…” he croaks when his surroundings have swung back into focus and the dizzying mixture of elation and trepidation have abated somewhat, “...was that a yes?”

“Oh, Link, of course, it was! Of course!” Her hands are on his face. The ring shines on one of her fingers, though he can’t remember placing it there. Everything is a haze, a haze of wonder and joy and fear.

It looks perfect there, though. Almost as though she was born to wear it.

“I’ll marry you, Link!” She cries, visage aglow. “I would like nothing more!”

A laugh bubbles from his lips now, smaller and more hesitant, but overjoyed nonetheless. He stands and suddenly, his arms are around her and hers around him and they are hugging like the world depends upon it. Like if they let go, this moment, this delicate, beautiful moment will solidify and shatter.

Perhaps, it will. But Four likes to think that it is stronger than that. Like they are.

He blinks away the tears and smiles.

As a sword is forged to endure the struggles of time, so is their friendship made to withstand the toughest of tribulations. And that makes moments like this one even more precious.

“I love you,” she says and her very soul is in the words.

Four holds her tighter and makes himself a promise that he will never let her go. He will never allow her to fall in harm’s way again, never leave her to face life alone. No, they will stand tall through it all. Together.

“I love you too,” he whispers. “I love you too.”

#another wild fluff fic appears #two in the span of two weeks??#idk what's happening to me XD #thanks for letting me write this for you tellie <333 #i hope you liked it #and i hope your day gets better #and that tomorrow is easier and brighter #linked universe #lu four #lu dot #zelink #fluff #trin writes

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elrondsscribe · 1 year ago

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Okay so here’s the thing. I freely admit I am Big Stupid. I forget things constantly. The Vampire Chronicles is a layered tale packed with constant retcons and gaps getting filled. Whole chunks of characters’ stories slip my mind on the reg.

So I understand I may be missing something major.

But.

From where I’m standing … I know that Armand was v upset when it happened, and given everything he’d been through to that point he’s absolutely allowed to be upset; but did Marius do wrong by turning Sybelle and Benjamin?

Hear me out: the rule of this universe wrt humans who tango with vampires is there’s only three eventual outcomes: death, madness, or vampirism. Obvs if Armand had his choice at that point in the series he’d have preferred them to have regular human lifespans and eventually die, but 1) given his history with Daniel, who knows if he wouldn’t eventually have changed his mind, and 2) it might not have been what they necessarily wanted for themselves. Cause the way both Sybelle and Benji talk makes it sound like they might’ve actually asked Marius to get vamped??

(And Pandora? Or wtf was Pandora even doing while all this was happening? She was there, what was she doing?)

Because here’s their response to it:

(…) Sybelle rose from the piano, and with her arms out ran to me. And Benji, who had been watching all the while, rushed to me also, and they imprisoned me gently in their tender arms.

“Oh, Armand, don’t be angry, don’t be, don’t be sad,” Sybelle cried softly against my ear. “Oh, my magnificent Armand, don’t be sad, don’t be. Don’t be cross. We’re with you forever.”

“Armand, we are with you! He did the magic,” cried Benji. “We didn’t have to be born from black eggs, you Dybbuk, to tell us such a tale! Armand, we will never die now, we will never be sick, and never hurt and never afraid again.” He jumped up and down with glee and spun in another mirthful circle, astonished and laughing at his new vigor, that he could leap so high and with such grace. “Armand, we are so happy.”

“Oh, yes, please,” cried Sybelle softly in her deeper gentler voice. “I love you so much, Armand, I love you so very very much. We had to do it. We had to. We had to do it, to always and forever be with you.”

Like, in the immediate aftermath, they’re both over the moon about it; they’ve even fed already. Later in the Prince Lestat era, they both seem fine; like I’m not recalling any major fledgling angst.

Claudia was eternally unlucky, and she was intensely lonely. Her relationships with both Lestat and Louis were complicated and strained (to the point that she tried to kill Lestat), she didn’t really have peers, and by the time she finally got a companion Armand was already engineering her death.

Daniel gradually went unhinged for a decade before becoming a vampire, and Armand might’ve blamed himself for Daniel’s full-fledged insanity afterward but it sounds to me like even if he’d somehow survived that horrible night he’d have lost his mind anyway. (By the way, who was it that kept Daniel fed while he was in that madness, huh?)

Benjamin and Sybelle are super lucky, relatively speaking; they have each other as peers, and Armand is somewhere between a peer and a guardian. From what we see in the PL era, they have their pursuits, they have a place in the vampire world — as fledgling vampires go, they seem to have as close to an ideal life as fledgling vampires get.

And like,, they got what they wanted: their Forever With Armand, with the sweet bonus of less physical harm to fear. And in the long run, after the … Veil-induced mania? wears all the way off, it seems like Armand isn’t that unhappy about it either.

So.

As much as Armand is totally allowed to have his feelings about it in the moment, all things considered it doesn’t seem like Marius “ruined” much of anything by turning them. At least not to me.

(Marius and Pandora? Tf was she doing?!)

#tvc meta #again i may well have missed smth #i know ppl super hate marius and everything he does #but idk this seems like one of his better moves?#marius de romanus #maybe the healthiest vampire family??

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what-have-i-unleashed · 8 months ago

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when the fog thickens, blurring one's sight

now back to our irregularly scheduled mermaid watching...

(finally the polls are relevant yippee. 2nd person pov just fits the vibes so i'm using it.)

(cw: toxic relationship, obsession, violence, implied substance abuse)

She groped in amongst the ugly nettles, which burnt great blisters on her hands and arms, but she determined to bear it gladly if she could only release her dear brothers. So she bruised the nettles with her bare feet and spun the flax. - Hans Christian Anderson, "The Wild Swans"

you don't dream much, but when you do, it's mostly about killer now.

this time, it's a memory-dream, where both of you are walking along the seaside of an abandoned human town. you remember this - this was when there were only you and him and nightmare. there was no castle yet, no cross, no horror. just you and killer for most of the time. you have no idea why you're dreaming this, but you follow it - you follow killer down the road. you look to the horizon where the sky and sea meets. the orange sunset casts a luminous sheen on the surface of the sea, reflecting light like a mirror.

"pretty, isn't it?" killer says next to you. you don't say anything, your neck wrapped in bandages with the wounds that killer has inflicted on you. the wounds that now leave you without a voice to speak.

"you know, the surface has many things to offer," killer stops to lean on the guardrails, his face serene in a way you've never seen before. "it never ceases to amaze me how many times i see the sun. maybe this is what life is about."

you watch him, only now savoring this rare moment where he appears calm and content. where he exists only for himself, his soul unable to be contained in its usual target-shaped form. where you exist as an afterthought to him, an outsider to his story, his self-realization.

you eventually turn away from him, from the sunlight that falls onto his tear-stained face. killer, as always, notices (but he never noticed your feelings, how funny).

"what are you, a vampire?" killer laughs with such mirth. "come on, taste the sun a little. being in the shadows forever is bad for your bones, haven't you heard?"

you remember being defensive about it. you remember swatting your hands at him, unamused by his cavalier attitude. you remember wanting to kill him, dragging him to the ocean and making him drown in his hubris. you remember the fight you have on the beach, making waves in the water and blasting holes in the sand.

you remember crashing on the ground with him next to you, both of you now watching the moon rising from the light of the sun. you remember his laugh as he declares himself the winner. you remember your and his blood mixing with each other and seeping into the sand there.

(you wonder what happened to that little spot now. maybe it has been washed away by the sea. you hope something will sprout from it, a piece of evidence of your existence there. but it's just a fairy tale dream.)

"ha... that's what i like about you, dusty," killer smiles at the sky, despite his wrist broken. "you always give it your all. you're as crazy as i am."

you can't do nothing but try to regain your breath. your magic still runs wild in your bones, still craving for another release, another carnage. but you're not sure your broken legs will allow for that.

"welp, at least the sky's pretty," killer cheers with that fake enthusiasm of his that you're used to now. you remember staying there until nightmare appears to pick both of you up from the ground. so it's just you and killer right now, together, but none of you would look at each other.

you close your eyes, listening to the sounds of waves crashing into the shore. you hear a shuffle next to you, and you open one eye to see killer kneeling on your side, his head hovering on top of yours.

you don't remember this.

"you're kinda cute, you know?" killer says as he slowly leans in. you don't move. you don't dare breathe. you grab at his jacket, unsure if you want to stop or encourage him.

you don't remember this.

"what's the matter?" killer asks, but his voice sounds far away. like a thousand ocean waves crashing upon the shore that is you. "did i read the signs wrong? you like me, don't you?"

i don't remember this, you mouth. not to him. you're not him. get out.

"what are you-"

get out. get out. get out. get out. get out. get out. get out. get out. get out. get out. get out. get out.get out. get out. get out. get out. get out. get out.get out. get out. get out. get out. get out. get out.

GET OUT!

the scene pauses. the waves are frozen in time as you try to control your hyperventilation. you don't let go of killer, his face also forever frozen in that confused expression of his.

"again, dust?" nightmare's disapproving voice echoes in the vast space with no clear source. "must you decline every morsel of happiness i grant you?"

yes you must. because you can't let your memories - memories of him - be tainted with falsities. you cannot let your broken soul be haphazardly glued back with the sedative promise of peaceful apathy.

you shake, your hands letting go of your beloved as he crumbles into sand that flows into crevices of your bones. the scene turns gray, lifeless, colorless just like how your soul feels - hollowed and carved out.

"you're always determined in the worst ways," nightmare clicks his tongue. "just like the traitor if i'm to be honest. maybe you truly deserve each other."

thankfully, nightmare must feel somewhat merciful because you don't immediately wake up after that. you are left alone in the gray void, the dreamless land that nightmare often puts you in as his occasional rewards for good work. you grip your head and put it between your knees. and you breathe. in and out. trying to regain your thoughts. your composure. you don't want to wake up thrashing and crying again. maybe you should look into those narcolepsy meds again. anything to delay these inevitable dreams that nightmare no doubt will put you through again.

you can survive it. you can survive the temptation. you must.

#cw toxic relationship #cw violence #three fics in a day??? what is this level of productivity i will never reach again #sorry but bunny is having a time in here #the memories are painful but at least he will hold on to it like the last lifeline he has #dust sans #murder sans #killer sans #nightmare sans #kist #love affair #utmv #undertale au #sanshipping #sanscest #i write #fic: mermaid bunny #edit: I FORGOT KILLER IN THE TAGS OMG

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fuedalreesespieces · 1 year ago

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inukag week - day 1: yearning

nan chun

read on ao3!

Inuyasha waited for his mother to light the lanterns. It was a nightly tradition of theirs, unspoken but consistent throughout the long, tedious days of isolation. Though the luminous glow of stars flooded their home, Izayoi insisted on lighting the four lanterns christening each corner of the house – for warmth, she said simply, her sticks of incense trailing their smoky tresses through the buffeting winds.

The orange flames made grand, admirable leaps past their wilting wicks, and Inuyasha watched them as they flickered desperately over the clay diyas. They bathed his mother in soft golden hues as she did away with the day’s cumbersome adornments, sheet after sheet of silk layers from her jūnihitoe. She tied up her heavy hair best as she could, then came to sit behind him, their chins tilted towards the moon’s silver face.

The wooden teeth of her comb gently began to part Inuyasha’s hair. “Haha-ue,” he said, “tell me a story.”

She hummed in consideration. “Shall we continue last night’s tale of the bridge oni?”

He refused to admit that that story had been so vivid it practically roosted by his ear like an owl, reminding him to check underneath the low stone bridges cusping the estate each time he crossed them. “No,” he said with feigned disinterest. “Something new.”

“I’ll tell you...” her voice trailed off, “...the story of the youthful bakeneko.”

Bakeneko?”

“If she were to stretch her torso, it would span the length of this lake,” Izayoi said. “But she kept her form to that of a young village girl. She would offer to brush the hair of the other little girls – see, her brush was lacquered gold, and nobody could believe it was hers and hers alone. It was so shiny, the others could glimpse their reflection in its metal from afar. And so naturally they all wished to be pampered by the bakeneko, in the hopes that they might get a look.

The girls came each day to get their hair combed. The bakeneko told them stories and gave them fresh persimmons, and she kept them so distracted that they hardly ever looked to her face.” Izayoi’s fingers pulled away at stray, tangled locks, tilting her son’s head to the right. The lake surface skewed in his vision like a spinning metal disk. “When they left, their hair shined with an silky veneer, but their skin was wrinkled and tight.”

“What’d she do to them?” Inuyasha asked, wrenching his head out of his mother’s hands to face her.

“So impatient,” she teased, her grin endearing. “The youkai’s golden brush was the culprit. The comb’s teeth were magic, and with each stroke they tore the youth from one’s scalp, like a bat siphoning blood. In this way, the bakeneko could stay young forever.”

Izayoi’s fingers traversed Inuyasha’s spine, slow as a spider’s crawl. “Eventually she was chased out of the village...but there were always other villages, and there would always be youth to steal.” Her fingers rested at his upper torso, and when he was sure she would say something, she attacked with a barrage of tickles. He shrieked with laughter, running out of her reach and tumbling onto their sole futon.

“Not fair!” he shouted.

Izayoi’s eyes glittered with mirth. “I’m afraid you walked right into the bakeneko’s trap, my dear son. Look how you crumble like an autumn leaf. You’ve grown old already!”

He quickly returned to her lap, his stubby hands finding the ticklish spot on her neck, and she joined him in laughter, making no move to push him away. There were few moments where he was able to make her laugh so boisterously, and he suspected that years in the main estate had made her bottle up the sound, like a sweet fragrance stifled in a clay jar.

But there was no one here on this wooden island, so she laughed until her chest hurt. For warmth , she repeated, snuggling close.

“Haha-ue,” he asked sleepily, as they lay curled up on the futon, “why did the bakaneko want to live forever?”

“Who can say?” she told him. “Perhaps there was something she wished to do. Perhaps she wanted to extend her life to figure out what.”

Inuyasha thought about it for a moment, his mind muddled by encroaching sleep. He understood that part, at least. He’d never thought about how being half-youkai would effect his lifespan, but if it meant he could keep these nights with his mother, and every day after that, then...then he supposed he wouldn’t mind living forever. As long as she was at his back, her warm robes enveloping him and the sound of waves lapping at the edge of his consciousness, for as long as he was given.

. . .

The first thing Inuyasha noticed was that his wife was not in the house.

He knew she wouldn’t be. Her miko duties required that she rise early, and she could often be found in the shed assessing her medicine stock at this hour, or attending to the village herb garden.

Her side of the futon was neatly made, and he did his best to match her efforts as he rose for the day. The blankets smelt of the lavender soap she lathered herself with each day to remove the aroma of herbs from her skin, a mild yet soothing scent. He found himself holding them longer than necessary, savoring the comfort they brought.

There was a cup of tea by the fire, the same kind she always made before departing. He decided to take it with him as he strode out, the ceramic warm in his wrinkled hands. He stood outside for a moment, watching the villagers slowly awaken – men heading out to the fields with their eldest sons in tow, women gathering together to cook the evening meal as they gossiped, their children playing beneath the shadow of their connected cutting boards.

A fine, powdery snow sprinkled the stones above their huts. Below, flowers began to push through the wet soil, flanked by dewy grass.

“Dad?” a familiar voice cut through his inspection of the flourishing plant life. “Staring into space again, huh?”

Moroha ascended the hill, a basket of apples at her hip. He smiled at the sight of her – it seemed her wife had finally convinced her to wear a cloak, much to Moroha’s chagrin, and it hung snugly at her shoulders. She reached into her basket and offered him a piece of fruit.

Inuyasha slipped it into his suikan, ignoring her previous jab. “Is Kagome still at the shed?”

“She just left the hot springs. Why?”

“Nothin’. You know where we’ll be if ya need us.”

“Dad...” she trailed off. “I dunno if you should go alone. The path there is still pretty icy. I heard ojisan fell on his way up to the temple.”

“Sure is helpful that I ain’t Miroku.”

“Yeah, but you’re also only three years younger than him and tripped over a root yesterday, so there isn’t that big a difference.” Inuyasha rolled his eyes. “At least let me get you the cane Aki made for you-”

“Keh!” he bellowed. “To hell with that. I’ll be walkin’ with my own two feet.”

“You’d be doing that regardless,” she said dryly.

“I don’t need that scrap of wood. Tell Akira she can keep it.”

“Dad!” she admonished. Her gaze sharpened, the way it did when they hunted together and she’d spotted their prey before him. “Fine. If you’re going to be like that...”

Moroha dropped the basket of apples and lifted him off the ground, sprinting downhill. He sputtered – a combination of expletives Kagome would have whacked him on the head for saying, despite the fact that Moroha was well in her thirties and had exhausted cursing to its limit. Kagome herself was guilty of profanity too, the worst in the family by far, for she always cursed at the most inopportune times and immediately denied doing such a thing afterward.

Mikos don’t curse, she once declared jokingly. So whatever you just heard come out of my mouth is the sign of a whimsical imagination.

Just the reminder of that outlandish statement made him laugh, and Moroha peered down questioningly, though she didn’t say anything. He suspected she was starting to rationalize all his behavior with ‘he’s old’, which was a little insulting but granted him a sizeable amount of leeway. And though his younger self would rather have cut his tongue out than admit it, being carried was a nice gesture. She cradled him gently against his chest, just as he had done with her for the earliest years of her life. The thought made him yearn to raise her all over again.

“Put me down here,” he told her, before he grew too emotional. It was much harder to hide things like this from her than ever before, and it was a conversation he wasn’t prepared to have so early in the morning.

She obliged, eyebrows drawing forward in concern. “Are you sure? There’s still a ways to go.”

“Not too far. I wanted to walk some of the path anyway.”

Moroha squeezed his shoulder. “Alright. Stay safe.” She lightly kissed his cheek. “Don’t trip on any tree roots. I won’t be there to pick ya up.”

He snorted at her cheeky grin, but allowed her the last word as she departed. The path ahead was a meager distance. Beneath his feat, the ice cracked and bit into his toes. It was cold enough that his breath steamed in the air, but warm enough for little blossoms to begin emerging from the dull earth.

The goshinboku remained as unchanged as it had always been. Its thick trunk was dusted with the final shavings of winter’s snow and rose higher than its companions. Boughs stretched out to meet the sun, heavy with new, budding leaves. Kagome sat at its feet, her bright red hakama easy to spot among the pale foliage. She held one of her arrows, caressing the pointed tips with a fixed, droll gaze.

At the sound of his footsteps, her eyes brightened. “You’re early.”

“Moroha brought me,” he admitted, coming to sit beside her. “Said the path was too slippery for an old man.”

Kagome laughed. No matter how many years passed, that sound was eternal, beautiful and never-changing. He found himself more desperate to hear it each day. “Whomever could she have been referring to?”

“You’re laughin’ now, but it’ll be you next that she’s coddlin’.”

“You shouldn’t say anything about coddling, Inu-ya-sha. You carried me everywhere.”

“’Cause you were slow.” Their fingers coiled together like braided twine. The wrinkles in his skin are little compared to the ones in her own, but they share the same calluses. “And ‘cause I wanted to be close to you.”

She smiled. “Maybe that’s how Moroha feels, then.”

A silence descended between them. It happened often as they grew older and less words were needed, only the comfort of the other. A fox scampered past, kicking up snow. “Do you think she’s worried? ‘Bout us, I mean.”

“It’s natural for her to worry,” Kagome said. “Sometimes I overhear her talking with Gyukuto. Miroku’s been sick lately, and his fall hasn’t helped. After Sango passed, I think it’s on all their minds.”

Sango’s passing had been, thankfully, a peaceful one. She had succumbed to the long lasting injuries from Kohaku’s sickle. They had revealed themselves slowly after the birth of her final child: a consistently aching back, stiff muscles, and in a year, she couldn’t move above her hip. Confined, her children kept her entertained in their hut. Despite the confounding nature of their mother’s condition, in Sango’s final months, their home had been a merry one.

Kohaku had shown up briefly for the funeral, and no one had seen him since, but Sango’s grave was always clean when Miroku and Kin’u came to pray. Moroha had been inconsolable for weeks, and eventually she began looking at her parents differently, realizing that they, too, could leave at any moment.

“Did ya ever think about it?”

“Mm?” she hummed.

“During the journey, when we were hunting the shards...” It felt like such a long time ago. “Did you ever wonder about dyin’?”

Kagome was silent for a moment. “A few times,” she admitted. “But it was always dreams about you, or Sango, or Miroku’s deaths. Naraku kept pulling the rug out from under our feet, and I always wondered when we would hit our limit on how much power we could consolidate. Naraku always had something up his sleeve, but there were only so many things we could do...”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her silver hair plastered against the tree. “In the end, he was mortal like us, and it didn’t matter how many tricks he had.”

Inuyasha nestled closer. “‘M glad.”

Kagome rose one incredulous eyebrow. “Glad I was thinking about death?”

He gave her a deadpan look, and she laughed again, clear as melted springwater. “Very funny.”

“I try.”

He pressed a kiss against her forehead, savoring the dregs of her laughter. “What I meant was...’M glad we have this. Enough peace that we can sit and think about a natural death.” Inuyasha sighed. “Sometimes I just think I’m dreamin’. I never thought about bein’ old. Now my daughter’s offerin’ to carry me to my wife. My daughter. My wife.” He made a sound of incredulity.

“It’s not so crazy. You’re very handsome,” she teased, snuggling close. “What were you thinking of when you were younger, then?”

“Survival, mostly. What I was gonna eat that night.” His claws brushed against her knuckles. “When I was livin’ with my mother...I dreamed about stayin’ forever with her.”

“Immortality?”

“Nah. I wanted to live as long as she did. That was the only way to be with her forever, ‘cause if I lived longer than a normal human, she would die before me. And after she died, it was food. Shelter.” He peered up at the branches, where light filtered through. “Strength. That’s when I started searchin’ for the jewel. I wanted a lotta things. And then I wanted you. You know...you made me start wishin’ for things I didn’t think I gave a damn about.”

It was always his most candid statements that made Kagome blush like she was in junior high again. “Oh?” she squeaked.

"Oh?” he echoed. “Soundin’ real mousy there, Kagome-”

“Shut it, you,” she hissed, a grin on her lips. “You don’t get to romance me and make fun of me after.”

“I thought that was our routine by now?”

Her grin widened. A flock of birds settled in the goshinboku’s branches, shaking snow onto their heads. Inuyasha remembered the apple he had stashed away and broke it in two, offering one half to his wife. The ate in silence, the sounds of the village greeting them from below. They had sat here season through season, but the comforting presence of the tree never waned. It stood steady and reassuring, even as their backs bent from age.

Inuyasha shifted gently, opening his mouth to tell Kagome they should get going, but she had fallen asleep. Her eyes were fluttered shut, and she made no movement as he swept her hair across her brow. He could hear her heartbeat and the soft cycle of breathing, in and out. The blood-red apple laid listless in her hand. With how pale her skin had gotten in the cold, she resembled a body awaiting embalming.

He draped his suikan over her and kissed her forehead. It could be his last, but strangely enough, there was no fear in the thought.

#i accidentally deleted this post so here it is #lowkey don't know if i conveyed what i was trying to with this one #inukag #inukag week 2024 #inukag week #inuyasha x kagome #kagome higurashi #inuyasha fanfic #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha a feudal fairy tale

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taldigi · 11 months ago

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Hi I’m back with more ideas because all of your aus no matter what fandom give me life.

Magician!Naoto - Issun-Bōshi

Issun-Bōshi is a folktale and I believe one of the design inspiration for Canon Naoto’s persona. In said story, a childless couple prays for a child, and they are blessed with one, although the child is only 3 cm or 1.3 inches. When he left home and used a chopstick and a bowl to paddle his way to Heian-Kyo (Modern Day Kyoto) where he comes across an oni kidnapping a girl. Using his “sword” (a needle stuck in a piece of straw as a scabbard) and magic hammer, he kills the oni, and saves the girl. He uses the hammer to become 6ft tall. There are some differences depending on the version of the story, such as the old couple believing he was some kind of monster due to his height.

Fortune!Kanji - Aizen Myō’ō

Yes, I know Aizen Myō’ō already exists as a persona used by another character in the Persona Franchise, but we already have like 3 three people using Prometheus and 2 people using Hermes so whatever. Anyways, Aizen Myō’ō is a deity known for his rage, lust, and passion. He is one of the many wisdom kings in Buddhism and channels his aforementioned rage and lust into love for all of humanity and has the ability to transform worldly lust into spiritual awakening. He’s also the patron of male homosexual desire, with several men leaving live letters in his temple.

Chariot!Rise - Ame No Uzume

Ame No Uzume is the god of revelry, dawn, mirth, and the arts. Her most famous tale is when she aided in getting Amaterasu out of her cave after Susanoo enraged her. She does this by…er..upturning a tub in front of the cave, strip naked, and dance. The gods found this so funny and hilarious that their laughter causes Amaterasu to come out of her cave to see what the commotion was. I imagine the design would probably not go so risqué.

Dude hell yeah? Issun would be perfect fhbdksk you're so damn good at this 💗 🙏

#P4: Retransmission

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themontess · 3 months ago

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Four Idiots in a Bar

Slowly been chipping away at this one: Gale, Wyll, Tav and Karlach hanging out in a tavern and rolling dice.

Do I have any cute pictures of Gale and Eilidh (Galidh?) together? No I do not. Do I have a cute picture of Eilidh and her two Best Boys™️ - yes.

Half-Elf Paladin Tav

Mature rating for alcohol consumption (also CW: the same)

Budding relationship, mutual pining, drinking games - all the fun stuff

1.5k / One Chapter

It was a wind-bitten, stormy night...

... which forced the brave band of adventurers from their camp into a tavern of supposedly good repute. Gale Dekarios - Gale of Waterdeep , if he was feeling fancier than their current surroundings allowed - sat in a high-backed, wooden chair near the fire, a goblet of middle shelf wine in one hand, and a battered tome from the pub's limited selection in the other. Some sordid tale of an epic quest, over which some wounded party had scrawled: not wot I remember and her tits was bigger than that . A crude picture accompanied the last. Gale balanced the book on his knee and turned the page. He wondered what else they would get wrong. Some misdescription of magic, perhaps, which he could correct if only he could borrow a quill… Still, as engaging as the story was, it couldn't capture his full attention. There was a pretty little bard trilling on a stage over yonder, but his gaze kept lifting from the book to the bar, where two imposing women rolled dice and quaffed ale with alarming regularity. One flaming hellion, one paladin. Weapons abandoned for the night but no less fearsome for it. Power and charisma pulsing from them in waves. “By the hells, Gale. When you asked if I'd noticed any romantic attachments in our camp, I didn't realise you meant yourself. And Eilidh .” “I can scarcely believe it myself,” Gale muttered. There was no use pretending to maintain focus any longer, when the warlock's semi-demonic stare was so fixed on him. Morbid curiosity, he supposed. “There was a night at camp - I showed Eilidh how to channel the Weave and she showed me a… desire for connection. It's been on my mind ever since-” “So you’re sat here, now, rather than over there because…?” Gale laughed. He closed the book, and instinctively his thumb and forefinger went to the silver star earring hanging from his left lobe. Still a source of comfort. Whatever Eilidh and Karlach were playing, they'd both just drunk again, faces creased with mirth about it. “You can't be serious. They'd drink me under the table.” “I don't think so,” said Wyll. “You can trust Eilidh.”

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jamiemooreblog · 6 months ago

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The Intellectual Absurdity of "Smart Fella" vs. "Fart Smella"

Imagine a world where profound philosophical questions crash headfirst into the most juvenile of bodily functions. Welcome to the realm of "Smart Fella" vs. "Fart Smella," a linguistic paradox that exposes the glorious tapestry of human existence, where brilliance and buffoonery dance hand in hand like a tipsy philosopher and a flatulent ghost.

So, dear reader, grab a beverage of questionable provenance and prepare to embark on a journey into the depths of intellectual absurdity. We shall wade through the weeds of linguistic wonders and ponder the ponds of pompous pronouncements.

---

The Phonetic phuckery: A Linguistic Car Crash

"Smart fella" becomes "fart smella," and the English language trips over its own tongue, careening into a ditch of existential confusion. This, my friends, is the magic of the spoonerism, a verbal sleight of hand that transforms the mundane into the uproarious, like a pat of butter that bats its putter or a crushing blow that becomes a blushing crow.

Psycholinguists call this phenomenon phonological interference: your brain, anticipating a discourse on the finer points of quantum physics, slams on the brakes when confronted with the unexpected vulgarity. It's a cognitive pileup, a mental demolition derby that leaves you gasping for air between fits of laughter. In a flash, your expectation of intellectual grandeur is disrupted by the sheer chaos of bodily functions, a reminder that even the most polished of minds are vulnerable to the absurd. It's as if you've ordered a fine wine and received a wine fine instead.

---

The Existential Dichotomy: A Tale of Two Selves

We are all shape-shifters, oscillating between the "smart fella" and the "fart smella." One moment we're pontificating on the migratory habits of penguins, the next we're sprawled on the floor, having tripped over our own shoelaces, a victim of a keen scene gone clean bean.

This duality, this inherent contradiction, is the very essence of the human condition. We are simultaneously philosophers and fools, geniuses and buffoons. To deny this is to deny the very symphony of our existence. We are all, in a sense, noble souls trapped in a snobby hole.

Just yesterday, I was wrestling with a particularly elusive concept in my latest manuscript, my brain feeling as barren as a desert landscape. Frustrated, I sought refuge in the great outdoors. As I wandered through the park, I stumbled upon a dog chasing t embodiment of the human condition, endlessly pursuing meaning in a world that often seems devoid of it. I, the writer, was the "fart smella," humbled by the canine's unwitting philosophical insight. But as I chuckled at the absurdity, the words began to flow, and my existential crisis (and my manuscript) were saved. It seems that even a bad dog can lead you to a God dag!

---

The Timeless Appeal: Why We Laugh at Our Own Tragedy

Why does this question resonate with such profound humor? Because it reveals the fragility of our intellect, the precariousness of our existence. We laugh because we see ourselves in the absurdity, in the unexpected eruption of chaos that reminds us we are all, ultimately, just a fleeting gust of flatulence in the grand scheme of the cosmos. We are all, in the end, just a soul searching for a roll.

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The Takeaway: Embrace the Absurdity

So, the next time you're asked, "Are you a smart fella, or a fart smella?" don't recoil in horror. Embrace the absurdity. Guffaw at the cosmic joke. For in that laughter lies a profound truth: life is a ludicrous escapade, and the sooner we accept that, the sooner we can truly begin to live.

---

Footnotes:

The Heideggerian Fart: Even philosophers are slaves to their bowels.

The Tao of Fart Smella: True wisdom lies in balancing intellectual prowess with the occasional olfactory faux pas.

The Fart-Hegelian Dialectic: Every fart is a philosophical debate, culminating in the synthesis of unrestrained mirth.

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The Final Word:

Go forth, dear reader, and embrace your inner "fart smella." Find the humor in the absurdity, the wisdom in the ridiculous. For in the words of the great philosopher, Anonymous, “Life is a fart—volatile, unpredictable, and bound to leave its mark. Hold on tight and enjoy the ride.”

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bg-brainrot · 1 year ago

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Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 16: Before the End

Chapter 16: Before the End

Each chapter can be read as a standalone hug.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Rogue!Tav)

Genre: Fluffy, Filling in Canon

Rating: Teen

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Act 3, post-cazador, planning fluff

WC: 2.3k words, 16/18 chapters

Summary: Set right before the end, Rogue!Tav and Astarion discuss their future. Rogue!Tav is determined to not make Astarion's decision for him.

Ao3 | [Hug15][Hug17] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

It’s almost over. You can tell by the way that your companions listlessly sway whenever you’re not actively doing something to either cause someone bodily harm or save someone from bodily harm. Part of the unease comes from the fact that you may all die any day now, but a not-insignificant part is not knowing where you all will be after all of this.

Despite being forced together through danger, fear, tears– gods were there tears– you’ve all grown incredibly close. You’re getting to the point where you fondly think back on even some of your worst moments, remembering the way that Karlach had made a funny face or Lae’zel had made a comment that threw all of you off for a moment. In spite of (or perhaps because of) all of their flaws and quirks, you’ve come to love each of them in turn. And, of course, there is Astarion, for whom you have an even deeper affection for. Whatever happens in the coming days, that’s something that will stay, rooted to the deepest parts of you.

This love you have for them is all you’ve been able to think about recently. Which is why, as their leader, you decide to make sure that the time you have left together is worth it, that you all leave knowing the impact you’ve had on each others’ lives. So lately every night at the Elfsong has been veritable feast after veritable feast.

You have enough gold to comfortably order food and drinks for all, and it’s no Alfira but you heartily tip the Elfsong for its lively music. If you're lucky, you even get visitors from The Guild, Ramazith's Tower, or the rest of your tiefling allies to join in the festivities.

Tonight is one such lucky night, and the Elfsong is bursting at the seams with familiar faces and raucous laughter. Dammon is deep in conversation with Wyll, discussing a rare weapon you’d recently pocketed from a Bhaalist. Lakrissa and Alfira roll their heads back in gleeful giggles at a dirty joke Karlach delivered. Rolan is smiling despite the very colorful argument he’s having with Gale about schools of magic. Several members of The Guild seem to have completely changed their tune about the Stone Lord as Minsc and Boo regale tales of his adventures. You look on with a pleased smile and a cup of sweet honeyed mead.

The room is full of mirth, music drifts throughout the inn’s wooden walls— the atmosphere is without a doubt impeccable. So you do your best to be present, to act the leader you’ve been up to this point. But, despite the camaraderie in the air, you feel incredibly stifled.

Normally, you would recuse yourself, inform them of your whereabouts in case of some unseen danger lurking in the shadows. But you’re certain that, short of the Absolute showing up on your doorstep, you’ve eliminated all major threats within a five block radius. So you slip away unseen. You don’t want to be the reason why anyone’s revelry is cut short or loses an ounce of its joy.

Satisfied that everyone is occupied, even your silver-haired lover, you slip up the stairs. It’s dark, but you’re able to navigate past your shared lodgings, up the stairs to the roof, where you’d first met Alfira when you entered the city. It is a lovely spot, perhaps somewhere you’d have liked to have a picnic with a certain vampire.

Not that we will be able to, after we eliminate that evil brain, you think to yourself.

Enough of that, you chide yourself. You should be so lucky to enjoy as many picnics as you’d like, in or out of the sun, with Astarion.

You nod to yourself, knowing that there are more pressing matters than picnics. Such as what will happen to you all if you don’t succeed? What if you actually do succeed? How long does Karlach have left? Will Lae’zel be able to stand against Vlaakith? You’ve saved Duke Ravengard, but where does that leave Wyll? Despite your repeated warnings, will that damned wizard go for the crown?

Question after question comes to your mind, each one vying for your attention more urgently than the last. After what feels like hours of haranguing yourself and doubting every decision you’ve made thus far, you’re left with one final question: Where will I be in a week?

Realistically, you haven’t been gone that long. So when you hear a rustling behind you, you know you haven’t been able to reign in your emotions quite yet.

“Darling?” You turn to see Astarion climbing up and onto the roof, the latch to the Elfsong closing softly behind him. Of course he found you. His voice is questioning at first, but, seeing the grim set of your face, he hurries forward in concern. “Is something wrong?”

You shake your head, as if you could shake the doubt you feel along with it. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He, of course, doesn’t believe your dismissal. “The wrinkles in your forehead say otherwise, dear.”

“How dare you,” you say, releasing the scrunch of your face. “I do not have forehead wrinkles.”

A flash of fangs shine in the moonlight as Astarion laughs. “I swear it’s not a mockery. I rather like the lines of your face. If only they weren’t caused by realm annihilating horrors.”

“Thanks,” you state dryly. “And I’m sure we’ll find plenty more worries once this Elder Brain is dealt with.”

“I expect no less.” He steps forward, closing the distance between you in a few gliding strides. He stops a hare's breath away, looking at you directly in the eyes. “Now, if nothing’s wrong, will you at least tell me what’s on your mind?”

You consider this for a moment. It’s hard to pinpoint a singular thing that plagues you right now, and you’re reluctant to add to Astarion’s worries. Besides, most of your worries are likely already on his mind to some degree. So you opt for something that’s been lurking in the back of your thoughts in these last weeks in the city, ever since you defeated Cazador– A conversation you’d like to have prior to defeating the evil plaguing the city, and one that you need Astarion for. “You, for starters.”

“Me?” Astarion seems cautious, sensing that it isn’t just ‘how much I love my vampiric lover’ on your mind. “Did I do something wrong?”

Shaking your head vigorously, you hold up your hands in shock, “Oh gods no, it’s nothing like that.” He seems to calm after that reaction, so you continue. “More like, now that you’re free to live your life, where will you go... Where does that leave me… That kind of thing.”

It seems you've surprised your lover into a rare silence. You're somewhat taken aback yourself, as if saying the words aloud has given them physical form and now it's up to the two of you to fell this beast together.

When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper, "Where would you like to be?"

"By your side, naturally." You've said as much before, but like you are wont to do with Astarion, you’d rather reassure and remind him every chance you have. Also, as the end draws near, you don’t want to presume– he has two centuries of life to catch up on, who’s to say he’d like to be tethered to a random Baldurian rogue.

"Naturally," he says, a sigh of relief carrying the word forward.

"Unless you'd rather I find some other snarky vampire to fawn over?" You say, a teasing smile playing on your lips.

"While I know vampires are in no short supply currently, I can't say that any of them have my charms or wits." He flips a lock of hair back, as if to give you a better view of his wits on display.

You click your tongue disapprovingly, before brushing his hair back into place. "I don't know, dear. I heard some of Petras' seduction…" Trailing off to let him extrapolate, you are rewarded by an immediate eye roll. Astarion knows you too well at this point.

"By all means, run off to Petras," he taunts with a smirk, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you toward him. "I'd love to see if he'd survive a night with you."

You laugh, and place your arms around his waist. "So the answer to my question is yes?" Your voice remains lighthearted but the question still lingers in the air and you'd rather discuss it, even if you were the one who started the teasing. Would you rather I leave you be after this?

His face grows serious under your prying eyes. And he slowly, deliberately shakes his head in a silent No. Then, clearing his throat, he follows it with, "You said I was stuck with you. I suppose I should be grateful for such a penance and accept it with grace."

The answer is dramatic, it's pompous and loving in a roundabout way. In short, it's very Astarion. It brings a smile to your face and brings you to your next question. "Good, now that that's settled. Where should we go?"

In past musings, Astarion has mentioned places that might make sense, including the Under Dark, the Undercity, perhaps just adopting a very nocturnal lifestyle and settling in Baldur’s Gate. You haven’t had a strong preference and are eager to see your love exercise his freedom in any way he wishes. Plus, after all of the leading you’ve been subjected to, you rather like the idea of Astarion forging the path forward.

He looks into your eyes now, his red eyes brimming with uncertainty at making a major decision for himself for the first time in 200 years. “Wouldn’t you like a say in this?”

You shake your head, not breaking eye contact with him. “Whatever your choice, I’m sure it will suit me just fine.”

Astarion stills, silently staring into your eyes for some time. All the while, you stroke calming circles on his back, soothing your own stormy thoughts with each repeated motion. You wait patiently for him to consider his options as if you have all of the time in the world. Even if you didn’t, you know you’d find a way to stop time for him somehow.

When he finally speaks after a few minutes, you jolt a bit at the sudden noise. “I would like to start in the Under Dark, I think. Make sure that the spawn are settling in properly.”

You beam at him, pride swelling in your heart. “Fantastic idea, love. I should think they need someone with more experience to help them figure it all out.”

He nods, drinking in your expression, your compliment like a man who’s gone without for far too long. “Yes, it is a brilliant idea.” He smiles, and, like always, his toothy grin never fails to make your heart flutter. “Though, my brilliance doesn’t stop there.”

“Oh? Pray tell.”

“I was thinking,” he starts, cupping your face with a cold hand. “What do you say to… staying in touch with everyone? Assuming we don’t all die, of course.”

“Of course,” you repeat, knowing that this entire conversation is under that assumption. You have a questioning look in your eye when you continue, “What are you saying, Astarion? Are you saying that you might miss Gale?”

If Astarion had just fed, you’re certain he’d be blushing right now. As it is, he just grips your face tightly and with deeply furrowed brows replies, “I am not saying that. He can turn Illithid for all I care.” Despite his posturing, you know he cares about your companions. It took him quite a while, especially with the aforementioned wizard, but you could tell by the way his banter lost its edge, the way he checked on them after a tough fight, and shared even the best items that you stole.

Regardless, you sense that that wasn’t the point of his brilliant idea. “Alright then, what are you saying?”

He releases some of his hold on you, placing the hand on your neck now. You lean into it as he says, “I’m saying that I know how much you– ugh– worry about them. Though why exactly is beyond me–”

“Astarion.”

“Right. Well, sunlight permitting, perhaps you would enjoy visiting them? Besides, they’re incredibly powerful allies, who are we to deny those connections.” He scoffs, tilts his head nonchalantly, makes light of it, but the truth of it isn’t hard to see. Of course, he’ll miss them despite himself, but this is for you above all else.

“Love,” you say, a warm smile lighting up your face. “That is a phenomenal idea.”

“Only the best for my sweet.” His responding smile is genuine, loving, utterly unguarded. It prompts you to be honest again.

“I know this entire situation is… well, shit. But, despite it all, I feel oddly lucky.” You smirk at him, but your eyes stay soft. “Because, even if the world crumbles around us, I found you.”

The adoration in your eyes proves too much for him to bear. He pulls your face in for a kiss, his lips devouring yours in a hungry frenzy, as if he’s been without for years not mere hours. You respond in kind, your own desperation matching his. If this could be your last kiss, your last night together, you don’t want to leave this plane of existence with any regrets.

Astarion’s hand drifts into your hair, angling your face for a deeper kiss, his other pulling your hips as flush to him as he can manage. You feel that same need, to just be closer, impossibly close. So your arms hold him firmly, drawing him as close as you can, wishing beyond reason that this embrace, this kiss, this love would never end.

You kiss each other senselessly, desperate to get lost in each other before this all ends. You stand next to each other on the precipice to the end of the world, but in his arms, the chaos is quiet.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #rogue + rogue #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion fluff #astarion masterlist #hugs for a vampire #hfav #gn reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion

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