#barely writing

[byrdstrolls]

Mysteries Are Like Onions Part One

Somewhere, deep in the western plains, dotted with sparse farms and gas stations, cottonwood and tumbleweed, a young boy steps off a train. He is dressed like a respectable six sweep old in his sunday best, though it was friday. He wears a brown overall dress with a short light red button up. A pair of dark red fingerless gloves and bows in his hair signify his blood color. On his back is one of those tall camping backpacks, nearly the size of the entire kid, yet it had to be lightweight enough, because he navigated the dusty old station with balance and ease, though perhaps a bit of slowness. Clasped in his hands is a yellow lined notepad, the kind where the papers tear off, that he has a pen leaned into at the ready. In his mouth is a tiny gold sunflower necklace he gnaws on absentmindedly, thinking. Anyone who knew him would know it rarely left that place in his mouth. 

Strangely, he is alone. 

Down the way, an older tealblood woman in a long dress and cardigan paces up and down the station's platform. Anxiety radiates off of her even from ten or so feet away, but the child, with a glance around, quickly deduces she is the only other troll at the station. He walks over, red shoes clacking on the grain of the old wood, and, as gently as he can, attempts to interrupt her nervous march. 

“‘xcuse me miss,” He says. “You have a moment?”

“Hmm?” She answers, blinking. “Oh-” She says, glancing at the teenager as if seeing him for the first time. 

“Sure” She says, her gaze softening. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have a map of this area, wouldya? I’m tryin’ to make my way to the umm. Express train station but I might’ve gone the wrong way.” 

The woman pats her pockets, finding them empty. 

“Well- not with me” She says, apologetically. “But it’s not far to my hive. Do you have somebody waitin’ on you?” She continues, hoping the answer is yes. It’s dangerous to travel alone, especially with a caste that low and especially for a troll that young. 

“No m’am” He says, and her heart sinks ever so slightly. “Lead the way.” 

And so the two of them began to walk back towards the direction of the town. 

“I’m Laryan” She offers. 

“Nice to meet ya Miss Laryan” Says the teenager, as polite as ever. 

“What’s your name?” She asks. “What’re you doin’ out here?”

“Barely” He answers, electing to only respond to one of the questions. “I’m Barely Shyeck.” 

“That's… an interesting name” She responds. 

“I’m a detective” He says, as if this somehow justifies something.

“Is that so?” She replies. 

“All detectives” he says, “Have silly names” 

“Can’t say I’ve met enough detectives to know.” 

“Sher-lock. Pie-rot. The silly name” He says. “Came free with my notepad.” 

She snorts, unable to help from laughing at this assertion, and judging by the grin around his necklace on Barely’s face, he had intended it that way. 

“This is me,” She says, pointing to a cozy little one story hive, and unlocking the door. 

“Nice place” Barely says, looking around. 

“Oh- don’t pay attention to anything, it’s so dirty” She sighs, shuffling through piles of papers on a crowded dining room table. Eventually, she pulls out a rail map, sweeping out a place on the table and unfolding it out. Barely inches closer, looking over her shoulder. 

“You and I are right here” She says, circling the town of Baskertop. “Over by the Fleetrail, (but that’s not a passenger train) and the Eastbound. You can take the Eastbound train” she says, hand going further down the map, “Up to Shercattle, and take that up to Creekturn, and the Express to the city is right there” 

He nods along, his brow furrowing, tracing the journey she’s laid out for him several times with a finger. 

“Could I have this?” he asks. “I’ll work to pay you back.” 

“How so?” She asks. 

“I’m a detective” He again asserts, clearly having a lot of pride in referring to himself as such. “Give me a mystery and I’ll solve it- and I’ll not ask for a fee if you let me stay the day and have the map.” 

She had already become endeared to the strange little young man to the point she might have offered him those things freely. But the little rust seems to take himself so seriously it was hard not to play along. 

“Alright,” She says. “I misplaced my wallet this evening- If you can find it, you’ve got yourself a deal.” 

Barely pauses for a second. “Miss Laryan,” he says. “I’d gladly do that for you, but you’re sellin’ me a lil short” he huffs. “I really can handle a mystery more mysterious than that.” 

“If I can think of another one,” She says. “I’ll let you know. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Yes miss, thank you” He says, giving one last look at his map before setting down his notepad. 

“Why were you at the train station, Miss Laryan? Were you waitin’ on someone?” 

She laughs, in the floaty, self deprecatory way some trolls do, putting a kettle on the stove. 

“Not exactly. I was tryin’ to build up the nerve to make a visit to Shercattle myself. But it doesn’t matter- misplaced my wallet. I couldn’t find my train ticket, I’m sure it was in it.” 

“Why were you goin’ there?” He asks. 

“To visit a friend of a friend- if he could be called that, and ask him a favor.” Laryan sighs, tapping her finger on the counter. 

“My moirail” She says. “Is a cowboy out on the plains. A bunch of his cattle, and the other cowpokes too, have been going missin’. All of them are at their wits ends about the whole thing.” 

“Really?” Barely says, perking up, scribbling down on his notepad. Drawn to these kinds of puzzles like a moth to a flame. It’s like trying to fish salt out of water, to separate a detective from their nosiness. 

“All of them” She frowns, exhaling. “Are out there blaming the other cowpokes, or a thief. Think someone takin’ more than their share.”

“Makes sense,” Barely nods. “But what’s that got to do with Shercattle?” 

“Well,” Laryan shrugs. “I figured if somebody was stealing the moobeasts, they’d probably have to be selling em, or the meat, somewhere, right? And the cowboys know most people in Baskertop. It’s a small town. They’d know if somebody was buyin’ em here. Shercattle, though, it’s a little further out- mostly dairy farms. They’d have just as much of a reason to buy cattle as we do.” 

“So you were gonna go there, and ask your friend of a friend if he’s seen anything?” The rustblood extrapolates, thinking, that perhaps, Miss Laryan was a whole lot smarter than she trusted herself to be. The kettle on the stove goes off, it’s screech like a final ding to the end of his sentence. 

She takes the thing off the stove, going to pour the tea.

“Yes,” She confirms. “This friend- well, you didn't hear this from me-" She qualifies, before beginning something like gossiping. "He's a, well- I don’t want to say a fling- of my moirail- Vekeso- Well, maybe he would be if they stopped pussyfootin’ about. I knew him through Vek. He’s a dairy farmer. I probably forgot my wallet someplace, because, well, I was so nervous, I think there’s been some kind of fallin’ out between the two of them these past months. I don’t know if he’s still fond of me, knowin’ how tied up I am with Vekeso. Sugar?” She asks. 

“Yes please!” Says the teenager, swinging his feet under the table. “Honey, if you have it. Are you sure you don’t want me to solve all that mystery instead?” He offers. 

“Trolls can turn nasty about these kinds of things when there’s money involved” She sighs, setting down his teacup. “I’d rather you stay out of it, for my peace of mind.” She continues, sitting down with him. “Don’t you wanna ask me questions about my wallet?” 

The young man picks up the tea, blowing on it, a tiny huffy little frown on his face, as if he still considered this beneath him. 

“Where’d you last have it?” He concedes, starting with the basics. 

“Well,” She says, pausing to sip her tea. “I usually keep it in my coat pocket. I wear this coat everywhere, you see. I’ve never lost it before.” 

“Is there anyplace you hang up your coat? Did you buy anything this evening or last morning?”

“There’s a rack at work and at my hive” She says, touching her cheek with her finger as she thinks. “I don’t think I bought anythin’- but, oh!” She squeaks suddenly, paling. 

“What is it Miss?” Barely inquires, a look of concern flashing across his face, he turns the necklace in his teeth. 

“I shan’t say.” She frowns, her shoulders sinking. 

The young rust stares for a moment, and then reaches across and takes the woman's hand, giving it a gentle pat. 

“My loyalty is to my client, Miss. That’s you. I won’t tell anybody.” 

She frowns, glancing to the side, but the boy really does seem so earnest. 

“Don’t tell a soul” She says, biting her lip. “But… I’m a clerk at Baskertop’s Municipal office. My eyes aren’t as fast as they used to be. Sometimes- I’ll get a little behind.” Laryan sighs. “On the paperwork. And- it’s not supposed to leave the archives. But, some days, I’ll take something and fold it up and stash it away- so I can work on it before opening next evening, and not fall behind.” She groans. “I can see it now. I was probably foldin’ up something frantically, puttin’ it in the wallet, rushing around to close up on time- and I probably left it right there on my desk” She says, with a guilty, sad little smile. 

He nods. “See?” He says. “Too easy.” 

“I work again later tonight, I can check when I clock in then.” She muses. “Thanks anyways, Mr. Detective.” She says fondly. “Want me to show you to the guest room?” 

“No thank you, Miss Laryan.” he says. “I might wanna go around town for a spell.” Barely says, standing up to rinse his empty mug. 

“I told you,” She frowns. “Don’t go pokin’ around that moobeast thief nonsense.” 

“I won’t” he says, with a smile. “I promise” He says, heading out the door to go start pokin’ around that moobeast thief nonsense. 

.

.

.

.

.

He starts, as any reasonable troll would, a ranches, moseying about for cowpokes down the road. It’s not long before he finds one. Barely’s eyes light up, and he walks over to a tall beanpole of a jade sitting up on a wood fence. 

“‘xcuse me sir,” Barely says. “You wouldn’t happen to know a Vekeso, wouldya?”

“Who’s askin’?” The man mutters, lifting the brim of his hat. 

“I’m Barely Shyeck” He says, offering his hand. “Detective”

“Detectin’ what?” The stranger huffs, staring down at the hand but not taking it. “Am I in trouble?” 

“Oh, no, I’m just tryin’ to find some missing moobeasts, mister…?” 

The jade stares down at the still offered hand for a moment, before finally conceding to take and shake it. He releases it, leaning back. 

“Mister Vekeso to you.” He says. 

Barely grins, glad to have found him so quickly. 

“Mister Vekeso” He says, “Could you show me the fields where the cattle are?” 

“You fine with horses, kid?” Vekeso says. “Dunno what you’ll find that the rest of us haven’t.” 

“I’ve been riding horses since I was four, mister.” Barely says, climbing over the fence to where Vekeso kept his stallion. Suddenly, the Jadeblood pauses. 

“The other cowpokes didn’t send you, did they?” He asks.

“Miss Laryan did, in a way.” He answers. 

“Of course” Vekeso sighs, plopping down on the horse, and offering a kid a hand up. But he does seem to relax upon hearing that his moirail was the source of Barely’s investigation. “She’s always meddlin’ in cowpoke business,” He mutters, but in the fond kind of way in which a troll teases someone they’re close to. 

“She means well, Mister.” He replies, leaning into him as the horse begins to trot in earnest. 

The plains were beautiful this time of night, a great rolling ribbon of greens, pinks and blues that stretched out into a star filled sky. The plants were tall and thriving in the moonlight. It’s quiet, and a little serene, but the detective's eyes are not on the view, but on the ground. 

“You graze your herd here often?” Say’s the boy. 

“What’s it to you?” says the jade, as forthcoming on information as ever. 

“It just doesn’t look very grazed, is all” He answers, gesturing at the lush vegetation. 

Vekeso is quiet for a long moment before he decides to answer this question. 

“We used to go further north.” He says. “But since the Fleetrail went in half a sweep ago, all the construction, there just isn’t enough land anymore. I’d have been outta a job if the Mayor hadn’t rented us the Redgrass Ranch he’s been sittin’ on.” 

“I see,” Barely says. “The cows sure must be happy about it.” 

Vekeso snorts. “Yeah, I bet” He says, a tiny half smile appearing on the jade’s face for a moment, before being swallowed, and disappearing into a look of barely withheld bitterness. Barely waits for him to say more, but he doesn’t. 

“Do you like the new lands?” The child prompts, finally. 

“That’s neither here nor there.” Vekeso murmurs under his breath. 

“Any information, really” Says Barely. “Might help with the case.” 

“This’s got nothin’ to do with the cattle” He says, still prickly. 

“Motives” Barely retorts. “For trolls bein’ upset, might have a lot to do with the cattle.” 

“I thought I wasn’t in trouble.” Vekeso replies. 

“You’re not.” The teenager reassures. 

“Well, I’m the only one who’s upset,” Vekeso complains. “And I didn’t steal any damn cattle about it. I’m too grown for that. The mayor was nice and all to rent us these grounds.” He huffs. “But he’s still fleet, so there’s all sorts of stupid regulations on it. How long you can stay, who you sell cattle too, who you gotta answer to. The other cowpokes don’t care, because we’re making more money than we ever have, sellin’ out to factories who want that free range sticker ta put on their packages” Vekeso says, pulling the horses reins, bringing the two of them to a halt, in a little area on the edge of the woods that overlooked the herd. 

“Me I’m not fond of anybody lookin’ over my shoulder.” He exhales, sliding off the horse, and crossing his arms. 

“And there’s the disappearances” Barely adds. 

“Yeah, and there's those.” The cowboy sighs. “Not fond’a those either. But I wouldn’t be stealin’ my own damn moobeasts.” He adds. 

Barely hops off after him, stumbling a little as he lands on the ground. “I understand, Mister Vekeso, really. I don’t think it's you. But that helps, anyway.” He attempts to reassure him, again. The child smooths out his dress, and begins to take a closer look around the property. Turning in circles once or twice with his notepad, biting into that necklace. 

“Mister Vekeso” He says, suddenly. “Do these woods go down the whole property?”

“Pretty much” He answers. “They follow along the river.” 

A contemplative expression rests on the rustbloods face, and he turns and begins walking into the trees. 

“Hello?” Vekeso says, watching with mild confusion, gesturing at the herd. “The cattle are over here, “detective”?” he says, gesturing at the field.

“Don’t airquote me, “cowboy”” Barely bites back. “What kinda animals do you usually get out here, Mister?” 

“Nothin’ bigger than a fox or deer, kid. I mean, nothin’ that’s gonna wanna eat a moobeast.” He says. “What’re you on about?” 

“How far north does the Fleetrail go?” Barely asks, bustling around the forest floor as if looking for something. 

“What?” Says Vekeso with a sigh, before finally following Barely into the woods, not wanting to lose sight of him. 

“You said the new segment was built earlier this sweep” The detective clarifies, wandering around glances under bushes. “Does it go back far?” 

“It’s a train,” Vekeso says, struggling to keep up with the child. “Of course it goes back far.” 

“They probably developed,” Barely says, climbing around some rocks. “A lot more land than just your old ranges, didn’t they?” He continues, his voice muffled by distance. 

“Probably” Vek says, frowning. 

“Well, what kinds of animals live further up north?” Barely says, continuing his strange search. “Their habitats woulda been destroyed. I reckon they’d be upset, and starving, and wandering around further out than they’d ever been havin’ nowhere to go.” 

“I see where you’re goin’ with this” Vekeso says, finally catching up. “But what’d be big enough to take a whole cow?” 

“In my travels” Barely says. “I’ve seen howlbeasts, nearly as big as elk, up north.” 

The cowboy stares, dumbfounded. “They’d be a long way from home” He answers. 

“Couldn’t hurt to look, could it?” Says the rust. 

Vekeso walks over to him. “What’re we lookin’ for?” 

“Tracks, scat, big hole or cave in the earth that might be a lay or den.” The child says. Vekeso stares for a moment, before exhaling, rolling up his sleeves and going to help the detective with his search. 

The two of them cover a lot of ground, in about an hour. With every step he takes further into the property Vekeso starts to feel a little bit more anxious about the whole thing. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the kid to be right. It’d make him feel mighty silly, if he and the other rangers had all been pointin’ fingers everywhere about a problem caused by some displaced wild animals. Just when he opens his mouth to tell the kid maybe they better give up and head back, Barely calls from across the way. 

“I found one, Mister!” He exclaims. 

“A what…?” Says Vekeso, heading over trepidatiously. 

“An old den!” The kid says, peeking out of a large hole in between to big pieces of rocks, holding a tuft of hair triumphantly. 

Vekeso walks over, and takes the coarse chunk of fur from his hands. 

“I’ll be damned.” He huffs. 

“It was wolves.” Barely asserts. 

“Well” Vekeso frowns. “I guess I’ll be removin’ yer air quotes, Detective Barely.” He says. 

The child beams. “Thank you Mister Vekeso.” He says. “Couldya take me back to town?” 

.

.

.

.

.

It was hard to ride the satisfaction of having solved the case for long. Vekeso didn’t even seem too happy about it, and all the lengthy way back to town, Barely was haunted by the feeling it had been too easy. As easy as a misplaced wallet, wrapped up in a single day. Maybe he shouldn’t wish a harder life on himself, but he longed to stretch his legs and mind further than this. He couldn’t help but think there was a shadow of an even bigger mystery enclosed around this place. He couldn’t see its form, couldn’t determine its nature just yet. Too many loose questions and pathways, ends that hadn’t quite been tied. 

Vekeso ran off, presumably to talk to the other cowpokes, to talk strategy. That’s something Barely didn’t like, either. He had given him an answer, but not a solution. The land taken by the Fleetrail wasn’t coming back anytime soon. They might just have to kill the wolves, which was it’s own headache, for both moral and logistical reasons. 

At least, Barely resolved, he could head down to the municipal office, and hopefully share with Miss Laryan the joy of finding her misplaced wallet. 

But it was not so. As Barely approached the office, a tiny frown curved around his necklace as he began to notice the place was swarming with officers. He glanced between them, attempting to determine the intricacies of their rank, before walking over to the youngest, who was putting crime scene tape over the doors. 

“‘xcuse me sir” He says, “What happened here?” 

“There was a robbery.” The man sighs. “Someone broke in last day.”

“I don’t mean to be trouble officer, but what’d they take?” 

“Government papers. A couple old county estate exchange receipts. Stop nosing around.” The officer says, more sternly. 

“I can’t help it, Sir,” Barely answers. “I’m a detective.” 

The man pauses for a moment, and then flat out laughs at him. 

“Go play somewhere else” He says. 

“Can I look inside?” Barely pleads. 

“Of course not” The officer huffs. 

“Can you describe it to me?” He asks. 

“Will that make you leave?” The man says. “It’s a fucking mess, kid. They tore the damn place apart, real desperate for that crusty old paperwork. Piss off.”

Barely’s brows furrow, and he finally takes the hint, walking away. He tries to view the scene from different angles, as best as he could from a distance. He wanders back and forth, before, with a slight frown, pulling out his notepad to write down that none of the doors or windows seem damaged. Besides, he assumes, the sorry state of the office and archives, it was difficult to tell someone had broken in at all. The robber must have been let in, or had a key. He contemplates this for a long moment. Before spotting Miss Laryan down the way, and speedwalking down the road ask fast as his little legs could carry him. 

“Miss Laryan” he says, “could I pull you aside for a moment?”

“Barely, I have work” She chides, as the child drags her off into a nearby alleyway. “What’s going on down there?” 

“I need you to stay calm, and answer some questions for me” Barely says, with as much assertiveness as he can muster. 

“Who else works at the municipal office? Who has a key?” 

“Why-” She frowns, “the security? I’m the only clerk, you see. It’s why I gotta work so hard” 

Barely’s heart sinks. 

“What was the paper,” he says. “That you snuck into your wallet last night?” 

“Oh, it was so late” She frowns, struggling to remember. “It was… messiahs- I think… maybe some old land sale?” 

“Are you sure you left your wallet on the desk?” He says. 

“I mean- not really” She backtracks. “But it wouldn’t hurt to check, right?” She says, flustered by the child's seriousness. “Why do you ask?” 

“You can’t go to work,” Barely says. 

“What? Why?” Laryan says, biting her nails. 

“There’s been a robbery” The rust frowns. “And if the fleet sheriffs got any kind of head on their shoulders, you’re a prime suspect.” 

Miss Laryan pales. “But- I didn’t! I was- I take paperwork home all the time! There just- weren’t enough hours in the night- what’re they saying? What should I say?” The woman panics, starting to hyperventilate. 

“M’am,- m’am it’s okay, just breathe-” Barely tries to assure her to little avail. 

“I can’t go to jail!” The teal squeaks, and then, suddenly, falls to the ground, as if stressed to the point of honest to g-d fainting.

Barely’s eyes widen, and he stares around helplessly. “Miss,” he pleads, on deaf ears, staring at her collapsed form, frozen. A little time passes, as he struggles to figure out what to do. 

Eventually, a shopkeeper walks by, turning and peaking into the alleyway with concern. Barely makes a half effort to step in front and block the view of the unconscious woman, but he’s too small and too slow for it to do any real good.  

“Ah,” The stranger says, not even seeming to notice this attempt “She having one of those again?” 

“‘Xcuse me?” Barely says, shyly. 

“Don’t worry about it son,” the man says, rolling up his sleeves. “You didn’t do nothin’ wrong. Laryan gets this spells every time she gets nervous. Must be havin’ a hell of a night.” He sighs. “Help me carry her back to the mart, and get a cold towel, she’ll be up in no time” he says, grabbing her by the shoulders. 

“Of course” Barely says, shaken up but glad to be of help, the rust hurries to grab Miss Laryan’s legs, following the man in front of him’s lead into a convenience store, it’s neon sign spelling out the word DUNNERMART. They brought her over to a bench, and set her down. The young man catches his breath, shaking out his arms. 

“What’s your name, kid?” The shopkeep asks. 

“I’m Barely, Mister.” He answers. 

“I’m Dunner” The man grins. “You want a milkshake?” 

Barely pauses, as if, caught up in the excitement of it all, he hadn’t realized he didn’t have much to drink or eat today. 

“I don’t have any money” He says. 

“First one’s on the hive” Dunner says, turning around to make one in the machine. 

“Thank you, Mister” Barely says, gnawing furiously on his necklace, leaning on the balls of his feet. He wasn’t used to such graciousness, especially from a highblood. The man hands him the drink. Barely pauses, wondering if it would be safe to question him. 

“What’s going on down the road?” The detective says, baiting him by feigning ignorance. 

“Someone broke into the government office,” Dunner shrugs. 

“Any idea who?” 

“Beats me- I wasn’t here all yesterday. Didn’t see anybody suspicious. I hear the cowpokes are fightin’ over somethin’ or other.” He shrugs.

The kid glanced downwards. None of this information was new to him. 

“You know anything about a land sale in town?” He asks. 

“Nope,” He answers. “What’s it to you?” 

“Nothin’” Barely says, sipping his milkshake. “Just curious.” 

“Stay safe, kid,” Dunner says. “Shouldn’t be messin’ around about things so serious at your age. Be careful” he continues. “Where you put your trust.” 

Does he imagine it, or do the shopkeeps eye’s flicker over to the unconscious Laryan for a moment?

“Of course, I’ll be careful Mister Dunner” Barely says, a guarded expression crossing him. 

The shopkeep heads to the back of the shop, presumably to go work on something or other, and he’s replaced by a bored looking cashier. Barely continues to sip his drink at a snail's pace frowning. He’s nearly an inch from finishing it before Miss Laryan’s eye’s flicker open. The rust’s gaze goes to the cashier glued to her phone, and then back to his friend. 

“Stay calm, Miss,” he whispers. And she freezes. “I think you’re innocent- those officials shouldn’ta been workin’ you to the bone in the firs’ place.” 

“What should I do?” She mutters back in hushed tones. “I can’t return the papers, I still can’t find em” She chokes. 

“I think you and I should go up to Shercattle, and visit your friend of a friend.” Barely says. 

“Barely,” She pleads. “I told you to not go pokin’ around about the cattle.” 

“Not about that” He retorts. “I just think it might be smart for you to skip town a couple a nights” He says. 

The woman pales. “Okay” She squeaks. 

“Someone else,” He says. “Was lookin’ real hard for those papers, and I don’t think they found em. You don’t tear apart an office like that if the papers are right on the desk peakin outta a wallet.” The rust continues, thinking out loud. 

“You think so?” Miss Laryan whispers. 

“Yes, Miss, I do.” Barely whispers, determined. “I wanna know who wanted em that bad and why.” He asserts, offering a hand to the woman. 

“So how about on that long train ride, you tell me-” He says, pulling the woman to her feet, picking up his notepad. “In as much detail as you can- every single thing that happened from when you closed last morning til you met me at the station this evening” He says, his sunflower necklace making slow circles in his mouth as he and Miss Laryan walked outside, as the detective concedes that just maybe, just maybe, 

This wallet thing might be a mystery of the scale he was interested in after all. 

[valtsv]

being someone who's passionate about their interests when you're a horror fan really is a special layer of hell because every interaction you have with another person where the conversation turns to your hobbies and personal entertainments is a trial where if you show too much unrepentant glee at getting an opportunity to talk about your preferred subject you get to watch them mentally move you onto their list of untrustworthy individuals to avoid in the future in real time

[proxycrit]

Day 26- Lanayru Mountain

Perhaps dragon song sounds familiar. No matter; it’s time to get to business.

On that note, magnesis is reacquired! Purah’s still working on the other glyphs.

(“We’ll find a cure by the end of this year, I promise.”

“I hope we do, Mimi. I really, really hope we do.”)

((This is a totk au called familiar familiar! Zelda doesn’t go back in time, history is forever changed, and link is beset by ghost memories from his magic arm as per usual.))

(Want to throw a coin to an exhausted art hermit? Check out my patreon!)

[umblrspectrum]

i love learning cursive just to write text for exactly one character

[ceilidho]

Ghost going to masseuse!reader because his back is beyond destroyed from years of manual labour, and not bothering to muffle his groans and grunts at all during the massage. full on groaning like he's balls deep in pussy. like even reader, who's used to people making involuntary sounds when they've never gotten a massage before, is uncomfortable not even twenty minutes into their session. and god forbid she try to move on after finding a spot that really makes him light up, he'll snatch her wrist and glare up at her until she gets back to it.

[mischievous-thunder]

It's a special skill set, Logan. Wade wants you to make good use of it over and over again!

[awearywritersworld]

megumi's teacher — gojo satoru x reader

tags/warnings: fluff. fem!reader. gojo beefing with an eight year old. 700 words.

ever since megumi started the second grade, it's been (l/n)-sensei this. (l/n)-sensei that.

gojo picks up megumi's favorite ice cream, only to be scolded by the young boy. "(l/n)-sensei's favorite flavor is strawberry, so that's my favorite now!"

gojo tries to help him with his math homework, and it's "(l/n)-sensei did it this way. that means you should too!"

gojo reaches down to tie megumi's shoes for him, before his hand is promptly smacked away. "(l/n)-sensei said big boys tie their own shoes!"

honestly, gojo is starting to feel a little jealous. megumi's known you for what? two months?

he's been raising megumi for the past few years, but does that earn him an ounce of the adoration the young boy seems to have for you?

apparently not, though he perseveres nonetheless.

he and megumi are spending the afternoon out in the city and they stop at a small bakery for lunch.

while megumi is distracted looking at all the sweets behind the glass counter, the bell on the door draws gojo's attention.

his eyes fall upon a pretty young woman. actually, you might just be the prettiest woman he's ever seen.

and of course, a smirk forms on his lips when he catches you looking his way. he's puffing out his chest, running a hand through his hair.

he's always had a certain effect on the ladies, and he's never been more happy about that until this very moment—

"megumi?" you call from a few feet away. the wide smile adorning your face makes you look even more radiant.

while gojo visibly deflates, megumi's head whips around at the speed of light. "(l/n)-sensei!"

oh.

gojo very quickly comes to understand why the boy is so enamored by you.

megumi launches himself at you, while you crouch to meet him with open arms.

"i'm so happy to see you!" he practically sings, clinging to your neck.

you chuckle at his enthusiasm. "i'm happy to see you too, 'gumi."

gojo clears his throat, hoping that megumi will take the chance to introduce you two, but he is completely ignored.

"what are you going to get? i'll buy it for you," he states proudly, despite having zero money of his own.

your gaze shifts to gojo for the first time, and having your attention even just for a brief moment takes his breath away.

"that's very sweet megumi, but that's alright." you ruffle his hair when he pouts at your words, standing back up. "who's this?"

"oh that's just gojo. don't worry about him," he states with a wave of his hand.

the white haired man gawks at him in response. the nerve on that kid! he silently decides megumi will be losing dessert privileges for a week. no, two.

you stifle a giggle before offering your hand to him and introducing yourself as megumi's teacher.

he repeats your name, taking satisfaction in the way it sounds rolling off his tongue.

"that's a pretty name," he compliments, trying to recover from megumi's dismissal. "heard a lot about you. in fact, the kid never shuts up about you."

this earns him a glare from megumi, but gojo is too preoccupied with the shy look that crosses your features to notice.

gojo insists on paying for your order, a show of appreciation for taking such good care of megumi in class. you chat with the pair of them for a little while longer before eventually excusing yourself.

"thank you again, gojo-san. i'll see you on monday, megumi!"

just as you're turning on your heel, gojo calls your name and you look back at him expectantly.

"when, uh," he struggles, scratching the back of his neck. "when do i get to see you?"

nice.

"oh! well, parent-teacher conferences are only a few weeks away! i'll look forward to seeing you then," you answer sweetly, misunderstanding the meaning behind his words.

you bid them goodbye once more and they both watch your figure disappear down the street.

megumi turns to look at gojo smugly. "weeks? that sounds like a really long time—"

"shut it, kid."

[cybersunnie]

having coryxkenshin in the background while writing is not a good combination

[luvlyycy]

you're sat in sukuna's lap, bum seated on his right leg, legs dangling off his left. his right arm is wrapped around your waist, letting you play with his hand.

"kuna."

"yeah?"

"why do you wear rings?" you ask, hands fiddling with sukuna's right-hand, tips of your fingers tapping on the rings on his fingers. he looks at you, yawning before staring— "iunno. i like 'em i guess. it's like askin' ya why you wear bracelets—"

you perk your head up to his, legs wiggling in his lap. "i wear them 'cause they cute." you smile, and he just stares— blinks twice, then grins, his hand reaching on the table to set down the blunt in his hand (after taking one last hit), he then grabs onto the pink robe he had gotten for you.

"so why ya think i wear rings?" you giggle as he slids his hand up your thigh, tickling you.

" 'cause theyyyy,, cute?—" you pout when he rolls his eyes, shaking his head then licking at his lip piercing— " nah, it's cause you like 'em."

[puppetslooselystrung]

little comic i made bc i found out abt the fact that molting is a thing.. bugs are so cool

[byrdstrolls]

Mysteries Are Like Onions Part Two

Barely sits in a curled little perch by the train window. The wrappings of two sandwiches on the table that separates him from Miss Laryan. The woman seems to have calmed down a whole lot, spending time idly working on a crossword. His eye’s not leaving the landscape rolling by, Barely says,

“Tell me one more time, Miss Laryan.” 

“Barely,” She sighs. “I keep sayin’, that’s really all I remember.” 

“Please Miss,” He pleads. “I’m just thinkin’”

“Alright” She huffs. “I was rushin’ out of work, late on papers again. I put the land exchange receipt in my wallet. I might’a left it there, might’a not. I locked up. I headed home, put my coat on the rank, and went straight to bed. Next evenin’, I woke up, and went to the station.”

“And you’re absolutely sure, no one else was there?” The rust interjects. 

“Yes, Barely” She sighs. “Not a soul.” 

The child's stare hardens. 

“And I had worked myself into a tizzy” She says, “About Vekeso and Damial fallin’ out, and visitin’ Shercattle.” 

“And you fainted.” Barely says.

“Well” She huffs. “I must’ve. I woke up on the ground.” 

“Are you sure no one could’a attacked you? From behind?” He questions. 

“Barely” She chuckles. “If I got whacked up the head I think I’d have a whole lot more of’a headache than I do now. I’ve fallen off horses when I was a pupa- that stuff hurts!” 

“And no one was there, when you woke up?” He says. Wishing longingly he’d checked the footprints around the train station before the two of them left. 

“Not a soul.” She says. “I dusted myself off, and started pacin’ and that's when I saw you.”

The detective sighs. 

“What’s a ten letter word,” Miss Laryan begins, starting her own line of questioning. “Fourth letter ‘R’ seventh letter ‘T’- for the bendin’ of light as it passes through somethin?” 

Barely seems crabby, frustrated with the change of topic and also perhaps being stuck on a train all day. But in all his politeness, and perhaps, his teacher's pet-like quality of always wanting to seem intelligent, he gives her crossword honest thought. He scribes down a few possible words, frowning, before he lands on one.

“Try Refraction, Miss.” He says. “Maybe we should think harder about motive. Why’d someone wanna hide a land receipt? Do you think…” He trails off, wishing he got to question more people in Baskertop. “Maybe a cowpoke was lookin’ to stop rentin’ from the mayor..?”

“It was older than that” She huffs. “I can’t remember the exact date- But. Musta been at least a half a sweep ago. Nothin’ recent.” 

Barely sighs, biting so forcefully at his necklace Miss Laryan grimaces, worried he’ll break the pretty little thing.  

“Don’t worry ur little pan too hard, Barely” She reassures. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out together.” 

“...Thank you, Miss” He says. But doesn’t sound altogether convinced. Loose, scrambled thoughts tangle in knots in his head, his leg bouncing on the train's floor and tail twitching idly conveying his restlessness, like a cow swatting flies on a field. He’s trying to distract himself, watching the world go by. He’s seen the distance turn from slow rolling plains to hills dotted with farms, the green lushness of the river peaking in and out by the tracks. Shercattle seems a bit more populous than Baskertop, but not by much. Neither town could have more than 200 trolls. Something was hiding here, in plain sight. Desperate to keep a hold of a grip of control that was fragile enough to be toppled by a single paper. 

“Three letter word” Miss Laryan says, “For a conscious thinkin’ subject in philosophy, last letter ‘O’”

Barely blinks, watching the landscape slow as the train pulls into the Shercattle station. He doesn’t need to write down test words this time. He knows this one. 

“Ego” The Detective says. 

.

.

.

.

.

A farmhive sits on the edge of the road. The lawn seems to have been trimmed and weeded almost obsessively. It looks to have been recently painted, a uniform alternian black, but if the moonlight hit it just right, Barely notes, you could see the traces of the original purple coat. He doesn’t think too hard or too long on what the reason for the remodeling could be. Because, well, it’s obvious. On the edge of the path leading up to the door, a sign on a small pole reads- “OPEN HIVE! YOUR NEIGHBOR REALITY”. They must’ve spruced it up to be sold.

Miss Laryan is taking in the sight of this a great deal less calmly than Barely seems to be. 

“Why would Damial move??” She says, having started a frantic pacing, again. “Was he in some kinda money trouble, why, we coulda helped him! Why didn’t I hear about this!”

“Miss Laryan,” Barely says. “Didn’t you say him and Vekeso had a fallin’ out?”

“You think maybe that was because of this?” She stumbles. “You think that receipt has anythin’ to do with it?”

“Well” Barely says. “Half a sweep seems a frightful long time to wait to putta hive on the market” he says, gesturing. “And this is an open hive.” He thinks. “Don’t work yourself up, Miss, he coulda bought ‘imself a nicer farm, right?”

“Right” She says, her shoulders losing a little bit of their tension. “But… where will we stay today? He coulda moved all the way to the city for all we know.”

“Why don’t we head downtown?” The teenager shrugs. “And ask around about what happened here” He says. 

She pauses. “...Alright” She says. So the two of them begin a trek back towards the heart of Shercattle. 

“Everythin’s been so strange lately” She mutters. “I can’t help but think somethin’ awful’s happened. Messiahs put a curse on these towns.” 

The rustblood pauses, something incomprehensible passing through his expression. One might’ve thought he was a touch too smart for superstition. But on a world like Alternia, well, sometimes the smart thing to do is to pay folktales some mind. 

“There are many kinds’a curses, Miss Laryan” He says. “Some Messiahs, some witches, some good ol’ fashioned chance.” He lists. Sure acting like he knows a lot on the matter, curiously. “And some,” he says. “Just a regular troll movin’ his hands so fast and so quiet when your money disappears it feels like magic.” 

“Not much a detective can do about the first three.” She sighs. “Maybe i shoulda found a lil’ priest.” She jokes, ruffling his hair. 

Barely huffs, allowing this fond action on her part only because he really did like Miss Laryan, even though trolls treating him his age often made him feel kinda silly.

“You’d be surprised-” he says, and then pauses. “-Hey!” he says. “That's the same store that was in Baskertop” the child says, hurrying over to peek into the window of another DUNNERMART. “And the same guy” he says, glancing at Dunner, who waves.

“Oh,” Laryan says, rushing to keep up. “That fish is everywhere” She surmises. The bell dings as Barely enters the shop, both eager to integrate Dunner again now that it seemed he could have eyes on so many places, and a little hungry. 

“Fancy seein’ you here,” Barely grins. 

“I’m the CEO, son. I check in at a lot of the locations.” The fushia chuckles, pausing his restocking of a wiener rack. 

“Interestin’” The kid says, gnawing on his necklace as he walks over to look at the candy. 

“What’re you doin’ up in Shercattle?” The man asks. Barely pauses, suddenly acutely aware Miss Laryan had not followed him into the store. A quick glance out the window confirms that she, just as Barely had, had recalled her possible fugitive status, and decided not to enter. 

“Just passin’ through” Barely says, picking up a bag of those gummy sharks. “On my way to the express line.” 

“Lil’ guy like you headin’ all the way to the city alone?” Dunner frowns. 

“I’m somethin’ of a wiz kid, Mister Dunner.” he says. “I can handle myself” 

“If ya say so” Dunner shrugs, adjusting his employee ‘hi my name is dunner’ tag on his white uniform. 

“You see the open hive down the road?” Barely asks. 

“Yeah, I seen it” Dunner sighs. “A damn shame. Damial used to be an upstandin’ gentleman, back in the day”

The detective exhales. This did not seem to bode well for Miss Laryan’s friend, and he didn’t look forward to telling her. 

“What happened?” The rust asks.

“There was a big illness” Dunner sighs. “Tore through the milkcows a season ago. Lotta farms went outta business.” 

Barely frowns.”I didn’t hear about that from any of the cowpokes down south” He inquires. 

“Well, thank the messiahs, we quarantined,” Dunner shrugs. “I shut down my dairy factory as soon as I heard- it didn’t make it in any cows there either. Baskertop was fine. But all the same. Damial’s farm didn’t make it. Cows died. Ran outta business. I offered him a job at my factory, but he didn’t take it. Had too much pride in ‘em. He-” The shopkeep pauses. “I dunno if I should tell you til you’re grown, son.” he sighs. 

“I can handle it” The teenager insists, standing up as tall as he can over the counter, notebook clenched in his hand, hangin on every word. Dunner looks to the side, breathes out, and then turns back again. 

“Let’s just say he started goin’ down to Lar’s a bit too often” The clerk says, delicately, mentioning Shercattle’s only bar. “Musta kept her in business, a guy that big. Musta took a lot to make ‘em drunk but he managed. Started lashin’ out at everynight people who didn’t do nothin’ wrong. Always groanin’ about his jadeblood sweetheart down the way who did ‘em wrong. And well you didn’t hear it here, but the two of them never even dated. Probably smart of Vekeso to walk away from that one. Damial, he’s well, mostly just a sad sight and general nuisance to the folks in town now.” 

“I see…” Barely says, pausing his scribbling. 

“I’d stay away from that one, if I were you son. You know what they say about purples.” Dunner warns. Dunner seems to be full of these kinds of warnings. Maybe he was paranoid, maybe he was on to something, it was yet to be seen. 

Barely, the end of Dunner’s sentence echoing in his mind, grips the candy in his hand. 

“Is the first candy also on the hive…?” he asks, hopefully. 

“No,” Dunner says. “You gotta pay for that one.” 

The rust checks his pockets, and sighs, before pausing. 

“Mister Dunner” He begins. “You may not know this, but I’m a high class detective. You wouldn’t happen to have a mystery that needs crackin’ I could solve in exchange for this, wouldya?” 

The seadweller’s eyebrows raise.

“Well…” he pauses. “Matter of fact, I do.” He says. “I’ve been tallyin’ up the math overday, and it seems like sometrolls been takin’ money outta the register when I’m not around. It’d save me a pretty dollar from havin’ to buy a camera if you could find out who” 

“Gladly, Mister.” Barely says, perking up. “When do you switch shifts?” 

“In two hours” he says, a tiny frown appearing on his face as Barely pulls open the bag, despite what he had just agreed. 

“I’ll be back then” Barely says. 

“You’re gonna just walk outta here” Dunner says slowly, “And never come back, Detective Barely? I might have t’call the sheriff if you did such a thing, and I don’t wanna do that.” 

The rustbloods ears flatten, he pops his necklace out of his mouth and pops a gummy into it. This bag couldn’t cost more than three bucks. 

“I won’t Mister Dunner, I promise” He says, flipping to a new page on his notepad and scribbling down the words 

‘DUNNER TRUSTS NO ONE’.

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.

.

In the two hours before he had to go keep an eye on the DunnerMart, Barely decides to head down to Lar’s Bar. He had found some kind of errand with which to distract Miss Laryan, who he both didn’t want to break the news about Damial too, and worried she wouldn’t let him go in a bar because he’s six. He had asked for ten caegars for lunch. He contemplated just going back and paying Mister Dunner, who he wasn’t sure was serious or not about the sheriff thing, but in the end decided he was too much of a cheapskate. And the register case would probably be easy. 

So there he stood in front of the dingy lil’ place. The parking lot was sparse, it was still early in the night, at the time Barely hoped that it would be easy to talk with a resident alcoholic without being overheard. LARS BAR reads the neon sign, but the R has gone out, making it LA S BAR. Which, Barely briefly thought, was almost spanish for ‘the bar’. He shakes his head, trying to get himself back on track. Dunner’s warning still rings in his ears. He knew well enough not to bother most highbloods. But the store clerk had given a similar ominous statement regarding Miss Laryan, who wouldn’t hurt a fly. And Barely had often found that trolls that have something bad to say about everyone often had not much of substance to say at all. Easy to look down on a man out of hive, the rust had reckoned, when you are CEO of a chain company.

Barely entered the bar, the squeaking door announcing his presence. There are a few trolls, but most had the good sense to raise an eyebrow at him. The bartender, and two women at a table stare. The only troll that doesn’t even seem to notice is a hulking mass in a plaid shirt in the corner. Faint music is playing. The teenager swallows, straightening his back, and with all the courage he could muster, walks over to the bar, close up to that huge troll, pulling up a seat. 

“Shirley Temple” Barely says, pointing at the table, in the lowest voice he could muster. “On the rocks. One extra cherry.” He says, sliding a five caegar bill to the bartender. The woman just stares at it. The kid might have imagined it, but he thinks he might have heard the troll in the corner snort. 

“Are ya serious?” Says the bartender plainly. 

“Virgin Shirley Temple” Barely adds, with extra emphasis. “On the rocks. One extra cherry.” he repeats, adding another five caegar bill on top of the first one. “Missus bartender.” 

The heap in the corner laughs. 

“I know how to make a shirley” She huffs. “Mister Grown Up. You wouldn’t happen to have an ID? You know you’re supposedta find two other pupas and a trenchcoat at least, right?” 

The purpleblood in the corner rises from his slumber. 

“Oh, let him have it, Gon.” He laughs. “Kid’s thirsty.” 

Gon stares at Damial, as if, for good reason, her patience with the man was already rather thin. But then looks at the ten caesars, and sighs. She takes the money. 

There goes my lunch, Barely thinks. 

“Woulda thought your name was Lar’s” He enquires, having honestly mistaken the bartender for the owner, simply due to the commanding presence she had over the room. 

“HA!” She laughs, self righteous. “Lars is my moirial. Lazy ass. I do all the work around here. We should change the sign, ya hear? Little man knows it's my bar.” She grins, as if speaking to some imaginary audience. 

Barely smiles in return, only to see the expression fall from Gonnae’s face, as if she had just recalled he wasn’t supposed to be here. 

“But that don’t earn ya no points, oliver twist. I see a single pinky over the counter” She threatens. “You lose the finger. Ya hear me kid?” 

“Loud and clear, Missus Gon,” Says Barely. 

“Uh Oh” The drunk muses, idly stirring a plastic straw in his bourbon. 

“You too, basket case” Gon threatens, flicking the man upside the head. “I see Tiny Tim sneakin’ sips of your four roses I’m kickin’ you out and I MEAN IT I mean it this time” She growls, walking of to go make a shirley. 

“Sureeeeeeeeee” Damial slurs, and then says, to Barely, aside, “She don’t mean it. She loves me. She bought a new horse last week.” He whispers. 

“Some service” Barely jokes, glancing at the prices on the menu board, “For a generous tip.” Perhaps purposefully playing along with Damial to endear himself to the man. The purple cracks up again. Gon re-enters with a Shirley done up all fancy with a squiggly straw and everythin’, and a single extra cherry on a napkin. Barely is glad at the inclusion of the silly straw- it means he doesn’t have to take the necklace out of his mouth. She frowns.

“He’s funny before 2,” The bartender warns, of Damial, setting down Barely’s drink.  “But wait ‘bout three more glasses he gets nasty. Best be outta here by then.” 

She turns to the highblood, “Don’t be messin’ with that kid, Damial. I’m not playin’” She says, before exiting to go help the ladies down the way. 

“I pay your morgageeeeeee Gon” Damial drags out the word as Gon walks away. “You’re compliciiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit” He grins, stupid smile not leaving his face as he raises his glass to Barely. 

“L'Chaim” He says, to the rustblood. 

“L’chaim” Barely echos, clinking his shirley with the bourbon. 

The Detective briefly wonders where Damial gets the money, being outta a hive and job and all.

“What’s your name, kid?” 

“Barely Shyeck, Mister” He begins, “I’m a detective-” but the purpleblood is laughing at him again. 

“What on Alternia is a Shyeck” He stumbles. “‘N how can somebody be more er less of it?”

“You’d have to ask my lusus” Barely huffs, having had to have had this conversation about his name with more trolls than he’d prefer. 

“Lemme guess” Damial says, poking the boy’s forehead. “Cowwwwwwww” He says, in a remarkable observation of the kid’s ears, horns and tail. 

Barely swipes at his hand. 

“Wow” he says sarcastically. “Are you sure you’re not the detective Mister Damial?” 

“Soda’s a lot cheaper” Damial says, seeming to have either not heard or ignored the childs sarcasm, glancing at his fruity little drink. “An’ less hassle. Gon’s got a sharp eye, kid. Ya just wasted ten caegers. You ain’t gonna get nothin’ past her.” 

“Well, I didn’t come here for the alcohol” The detective admits. “Actually, Mister Damial, I came here to speak with you.” 

The man frowns. 

“If yer lil’ friends dared ya to pour a drink on me or somethin’, run back out before I change yer name to Barely Alive” He dismisses. 

“That’s not it,” Barely says softly, his tail twitching nervously. Thinking on the best way to approach this. All the best lies have a little bit of truth in them. 

“I was just talkin’ to the clerk down the road, Mister Damial, and he spun me a long yarn about you that didn’t regard you very kindly.” He pauses, made anxious by Damial’s silence. 

“Bein’ an educated young man” He says. “I don’t like formin’ an opinion on a troll til i’ve heard both sides of the story. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear yours.” 

Damial stares at the little guy, as if at a complete loss as to whether to take him seriously. If this was some kind of scheme the neighborhood pupas had fashioned to make fun of him it was a great deal more complicated and psychologically taxing than usual. 

“Ain’t nobody who wants to hear me monologue” He huffs. “Everyone in town knows.” 

“I wanna hear” Barely asserts, scooting his stool closer, attempting to sound confident. “I’m new in town, Mister Damial.” 

“You cared enough to waste ten caesars on it?” He slurs. 

“It’s not like I didn’t get soda and cherries outta the thing.” 

“For one cherry,” Damial jokes. “You can hear the whole thing” 

Barely frowns, gnawing on his necklace, frustrated, having asked for that extra cherry specifically and had been looking forward to it. Begrudgingly, he hands it to the ex dairy farmer, who promptly drops it in his bourbon, which must taste completely awful. 

The older troll sighs. For as much as he had insistantly told this tale to many a more hesitant audience, he felt strangely on the spot having been asked so nicely and by a child no less. There was enough decency left in him that recalled he liked to behave respectfully around pupa’s, if given the chance.  

“I used to know this cowboy down in Baskertop” He says quietly, looking to the side. “Mosta the dairy farmers up hereeeee… hav’a deal with one of the cowpokes for spring. We’ve got all cows- on account of bein’ dairy farms. They’ll ask one of the herders to lend them a bull for a spell, to breed a cow and get her producing more milk, and then come fall either give the too old mama to the ranchers or the bab, usually dependin’ on their gender. Partnership as old as time.” 

“Most farmers and cowpokes also argue and hassle and switch around and bargain and shit. But me and Vekeso didn’t really consider wandering about between traders worth our time and had a good deal of trust in each other and decided we would only ever trade amongst ourselves. Easy to grow fond of a man you only see once a season. We started makin’ a whole thing of it. We’d be havin’ each other over for dinners and drinks and just enjoyin’ each other's company even after business was done. I’ve never been one for quadrants” He says, pausing, and finishing his drink, struggling to articulate. 

“...Made a damn fool of myself a couple times when I was young, and got… scared to try again. Vekeso’s no… socialite in his own right. But eventually I realized I harbored some kind of feelin’s fer him. And most other people in our lives noticed how close we were as well and really seemed ta think I had an honest chance… But I was a coward” Damial stops, his voice cracking, he runs his hand through his hair. He stays still for a moment, before flagging down Gon. “Another one” he calls. “Put it on my tab.” 

The woman walks over, already pulling the bottle off the shelf to refill his drink. 

“What’s the magic word?” She mocks. 

“Ffdsssss…” he stumbles. “I have more caegars.” he jokes.

“Please” she huffs. 

“Please” He repeats, mockingly, sipping his new drink.

“What happened then?” Barely asks quietly. 

The purpleblood shuts his eyes for a moment, and then opens them again. 

“Every season” He says softly, but with a voice layered over with disdain that could only be for himself. “Every season I’d wake up and promise myself this’ll be the sweep I tell ‘em. Easy thing to say. Damn harder to do. I kept playin’ chicken.” He says, hand trembling as it grips that glass. 

“Then the illness came through.” he says. “Wiped out everythin’ in a single perigee. Poof.” He gestures. “Gone. I was fucked. I was panickin’. I started puttin’ all my hopes in that meetin’ coming up with Vekeso. Hoped he’d take pity on me enough to at least lend me a moobeast to get back on my feet…And if not that, at least have a piece of advice. I had never needed a hand to pull me outta a ditch more in my entire life” He says. The regret and moroseness of his previous statement solidifying into a harder anger. 

“What does he do…?” Damial slurs, lifting the glass and downing the rest of it, cherry and all. 

“He never shows.” The man growls. “Not even a warnin’. Not a word. Not an apology. Not an explanation. Just gone. And I’m left here wonderin’, what on heaven and alternia did I do wrong?”

“The townfolk already figured me a little messed in the head, fer turnin’ down a fancy job at Dunner’s damn factory. I don’t wanna supervise nobody. Treatin’ employees and cattle like machines ain’t the way I’ve done dairy, or my ancestor before me, or his ancestor before that. I But I really believed Vekeso smarter than to pay townspeoples muttering any mind. So I wrote him a letter. And maybe it was angry and hurt but so was I. I said everythin’ I wanted to say,” He cursed. 

“And he never deigned this worthy of a reply neither.” He growls, staring daggers at the bar wall. “One more, Gon” he calls. 

The young detective pauses his scribbling, flipping over a few pages of his notepad, back to the night he’d spoken with Vekeso, and stared. He turns his necklace against his teeth. He looks at his writing, and then back at the highblood, who looked ready to throw something. Trying to remember just how many glasses Damial had had now and what was his ratio of funny to nasty according to Gon’s metric. Barely wasn’t above a well placed lie, even a quiet one by omission, but sometimes, it just feels like the truth is owed to somebody, and it seems long, long overdue for Damial. 

“If you’d hear me out, Mister Damial” The child says. “I think I know why.”

The man turns his head to the kid, staring, not with much curiosity but more annoyance as if he could not imagine this to be true. Barely swallows.

“I talked with him just yesterday, Mister.” He says. “Did you know that after the Fleetrail went in, Vekeso and the other cowpokes had been grazin’ on that Redgrass Ranch, the mayor lent to em?” He says, pausing for an answer, and upon getting none, continues. 

“He told me offhand,” Barely says. “That since it was the Mayor’s land, there were all kinds of rules and restrictions on it” he says. “One of them bein’ rules on who you could sell cattle too” He stumbles. 

Damial stares blank eyed at the wall, and Barely begins to ponder if he was even sober enough to comprehend what was being said to him. Suddenly, his face lights up and he throws his glass at the wall with full force. 

“motherFUCKER” the purple raises his voice, “I HOPE HE DIES IN HIS STUPID SHIRT.”and Barely flinches. Gon’s eye’s widen with rage, and she sets down the bottle she’s holding. 

“Out” The woman insists, pointing at the door.

“Fuck off, Gon” The man curses. 

“You have ten seconds” She hisses. “To get out of my bar” 

“Or what?” The purple mocks. 

Slowly, the woman pulls a pistol from her pocket, aiming it squarely at Damial’s head. 

“Ten” She says. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He hisses. 

“Nine” She says.

“I didn’t even throw it AT somebody” says Damial, as if this makes it better somehow. 

“Eight” She growls. 

“Bitch” 

“Seven” the bartender insists. 

Damial stares into her eyes for a moment, and then slowly, raises to his feet, tossing his stool over. 

“FIne” He hisses, storming out of the building. Gon watches to make sure he’s really gone for a moment before lowering her gun. 

“You okay kid?” She asks. 

“Yes Missus Gon” Says Barely, dropping his necklace temporarily and downing the last of his shirley and walking out to follow the highblood.

“Kid!” Gon pleads. “Don’t be an idiot!” She says, but the young man is already gone. 

Damial is sitting on the curb outside. “I fucking hate that bitch” The man is muttering to himself. “He thinks he’s so much better than everyone. If I could kill him, I would.” 

“Vekeso…?” Barely asks slowly. 

“THE MAYOR” Damial snaps back. 

“Don’t Shercattle have a different Mayor than Baskertop?” The kid asks timidly. 

“It’s a fuckin’, muni-cip-pall-ity” Damial slurs. “The three towns are too small, fleet gave us one bastard for all of em. BUT WHO CARES. I’ll kill him. Vekeso too. Who gives a fuck.” 

The child stares, before sitting down next to the much larger man. 

“I’m not sayin’ you did nothin’ wrong, Mister Damial.” He starts. “But did you mention how dire things were up in Shercattle in your letter?”

“No. It wasn’t ‘bout that” The man says, hands gripping his sides, as if restless with the lack of drink in his hand. 

“I’m just tryin’” Barely says. “Too look at this from another pointa view. I didn’t talk with Vekeso for long, but… From what I saw, he really seemed to be a very private person, the kinda troll who thinks long an’ hard on what they’re sayin’ before sayin’ it.” He dares. 

Damial holds himself close. With the tired look in his eyes of a troll who had given a great deal of thought to Vekeso, and all his mannerisms for a long while, and couldn’t argue.

“And somethin’ like some regulation tearin’ apart a friendship he’d had for sweeps, really seems like somethin’ to toil about. I ain’t sayin’ it was right of him to not tell you nothin’. But…” Barely exhales. “You didn’t really give him a lotta chance to give ya any grace, not mentionin’ yer situation in yer letter. He’d have no idea how dire things were. All he’d know is you’re suddenly very very angry with him, and that could easily put a troll off a conversation he mighta already been scared and guilty to be havin’.” 

Damial seems to ponder this for a long while. Staring up at the pinks and greens of the night sky, where, in the distance, impressive storm clouds had started to gather, cutting off the view of the moons with color tinted stripes and clumps that danced across the horizon like a painting. Even a troll as big as he was, could feel small under a view like that. 

“It don’t matter” he says finally, his voice cracking. 

“Vekeso could hand me a hive an’ a cow and farm back on a silver platter. I don’t even know if I could work it” He says, struggling to keep his voice even. 

“Even if he wanted me then- big IF. I’m not the troll I was a sweep ago. What could I even offer a lover, or a friend, even if everythin’ smoothed out with a bow on top. No farm, no hive, no job. Jus’ layin’ in the hole I dug wishin’ I could feel somethin’ again. If there was anything to love about me, it’s long gone.” The purpleblood chokes, staring at his shaking hands. “I’m hardly a troll anymore.” He whispers.

Perhaps this was too much for a troll as young as Barely to handle. But he was nothing if not ambitious. And nothing if not committed to his deep desire to help others. A childlike desperate want for the world to be more fair than it was. A trait Alternia works hard to steal from his children. 

“It’s one thing” Barely says, “To be true to your values when the going is easy, Mister. It’s another when things are hard. A lotta highbloods would jump at an offer like Mister Dunner’s, morals be damned. But you stuck yer feet inta the ground when you had anythin’ and everythin’ to lose. That’s not somethin’ somebody who’s nobody does. I can’t speak for Vekeso” He pauses, standing and offering a hand to the purple who was crouched over the side of the road, blinking back tears. 

“But I think you’re a great deal more offa troll than a lot of people are.” 

Damial shuts his eyes for a moment, and wipes his face, but then slowly, takes the young man's hand and stands up. He struggles to pull himself together for a bit, at a complete loss for what to say, before changing the subject. 

“Where’d you say you were from again, Barely?” He asks. 

“Well, you never asked” The rustblood pauses. “I’ve been makin’ my way up from from Umbra” He admits. 

“Umbra?” The purple repeats. “Are ya serious? How’d a proper little gentleman like you spring from a sinkhole like that.” He retorts. 

“Hey!” Barely says, playfully punching the older man’s side, which probably hurt him less than a mosquito bite. “Be careful how ya talk about my sinkhole.” He warns. 

Damial laughs. “Right. Right. Sorry.” He says, raising his hands in surrender. 

“Me n’ my brother owned the place” Barely threatens with extensive hyperbole. “We were cleanin’ it right up.” 

“Sorry. My bad.” He  grins. “Didn’t even ask you what case yer workin’, detective.” Damial realizes. “But thank you kindly for speaking with me. Yer a good kid” He says, his gaze softening as he stares at the child, who beams. 

“I owe you anythin’ for figurin’ that all out?” He asks, referring to the situation with Vekeso, and the reason why he hadn’t showed. 

“Well,” Barely pauses. “Usually, but I know how your money is, Mister Damial” He dismisses. 

“It’s no thing” Damial says, touching his cheek. “One of the cashiers down the road takes pity on me. She keeps sneakin’ me twenties while her boss ain’t around. I could get one for you.” 

Barely freezes, staring down at his notepad, and back at the purple. Processing what Damial has just told him. 

“Really- you don’t have to do that, Mister” he stutters. 

He was a great deal good at solving cases, maybe even too good. But he hadn’t been a detective long, and had not yet run into the conundrum of solving a case that every moral bone in his body did not want to tell his client was solved. His pan tosses and turns over this problem, before he glances at a clock in a shop window, and quickly replaces it with another problem. 

“I’m late” Barely says, paling. 

“What?” Damial frowns, as the kid starts speedwalking down the road. 

“I gotta be at the DunnerMart ten minutes ago, Mister Damial, I’m sorry!” He squeaks. 

“Here” Damial says, picking up the kid and hurrying him along with his own legs, which were longer and faster. They must have made it back to the main street by the train station at no later than 3:13. But as the DunnerMart gets closer,

“Wait!” The boy pleads suddenly to the purpleblood, and he stops. In the distance, he can see Mr. Dunner himself conversing with the fleet sheriff.

“Why, it was two hours ago, I really thought he’d show” Dunner says. “I guess the thief played me like a fiddle, officer. He couldn’t have been older than six. I’m too soft for children.” 

No, Barely thinks. Come on! He wasn’t even fifteen minutes late! He looks further down the way, to where Miss Laryan is sitting at the station working on her crossword. But there was no getting to her without going past DunnerMart. In the distance, a train horn blows. Here was the crossroads. He could turn Damial in right now, and set everything right with the shopkeep. Or… or… what?? What could he do? He could not even think of a second option.

“His red looked rust enough, but honestly, he had a unique set of ears and tail. He coulda been a mutant, but you know, it’s never polite to ask” Dunner grins. 

Barely hears his heart beating in his chest as he stays frozen in Damial’s arms. His ears are pulled flat and back as the child panics. 

“They talkin’ ‘bout you, kid?” Damial frowns, looking at the sheriff, and then the train. 

“The train!” Barely stumbles. “We gotta get on the train! Mister Damial,” He says, gripping his new friend. “Come with me and Miss Laryan to Creekturn” 

“It stops to load for like ten minutes, kid. They’ll just follow you on.” Damial deduces.

“Why” Dunner says, suddenly turning directly to face them in the distance. “That’s him right there” He says to the fleet trolls, who also turn. 

The purpleblood sets him down. “Listen kid” He stumbles. “I’ll distract them, okay? I’ll keep them off the train” He says. “You run to Laryan,” he orders. 

“No!” Barely squeaks. “Come with us, Damial, you’ll get in trouble!” 

“They’ll just follow you on the train!” Damial snaps, raising his voice. “Can’t you piece that together, detective? I gotta distract them, GO!!!” He shouts, and Barely stumbles backwards as the giant purple charges towards the sheriff. He remains dazed for a moment, before, tears leaking from his eyes, Barely sprints off to Laryan.

“Barely-” She stutters. 

“We have to GO” He begs, choking on the words, pulling her towards the train. She seems to catch on quick, and the two of them run and run, not looking back, they go from cabin to cabin to cabin down the train til they must be right next to the engine. Barely curls up in a ball, shutting his eyes and burying his face in his hands, sure that the fleet officials had gotten past Damial and would be barging in after them at any moment. That necklace must be made of something sturdy, the way it doesn’t dent even when his jaw is that clenched. Come on, he pleads, come on, and finally, after what feels like ages, the vehicle lurches into motion. Only then does he open his eyes, catching his breath, scooting close to the window and looking back at Shercattle. 

Damial is still visible at the station, fighting off all three other trolls. They didn’t make it on the train. For a moment, the purpleblood keeps his upper hand, maybe just due to his size, but… he is still drunk. And thus slow, and clumsy, and eventually, he is tackled to the ground, and Barely blinks, hand pressed to the window, as Damial gets smaller and smaller in the distance until he can’t make out the troll at all. 

.

.

.

.

.

A couple hours later, he has calmed down, but not by much. The Detective is frantically sorting through his notes, organizing them on the train by some logic that could not be easily deduced. Miss Laryan is watching the rain throw itself at the window, distant flashes of lightning illuminating the night, thunder echoing over the sound of the train. 

“Barely” She says softly, having been frantically explained the situation, with Dunner, and Damial, and everything, by the frantic child hours prior. 

“Remember when we talked earlier?” She says. “About curses, and you said some of them were plain ol’ chance?” 

“It all fits together somehow!” The child insists, raising his voice. “I know it! I'M SO CLOSE!” he snaps. 

“A cow illness, darling?” She says, resting a hand on the teenager's shoulder. “What else could that be but an act of the Messiahs?”

Barely opens his mouth, and then closes it. 

“I understand,” She says quietly. “How badly you wanna solve this, find the reason for it all, but can it really be worth it to put yourself in so much danger, for somethin’ that might not have an answer at all? Howsa ‘bout we go up to Creekturn, and just send you on your way to the city, baby. I can sort out the mess with people suspectin’ me and Damial myself” 

“Miss-” Barely chokes, “Don’t say that” He stumbles, and doesn’t make it further, burying his head in her shoulder and starting to cry. Laryan wraps her arms around him, rocking him back and forth as she holds him close. 

“Sometimes” She says. “There is no mystery, love. There is no conspiracy. There is no one troll to point at and blame no matter how badly you wish there was. Sometimes bad things happen to good people without any rhyme or reason at all. And there's no point to tearin’ it all apart” She says, rubbing his back. “And this might just be one of those”

Barely does not answer for a moment, his nails dig into Miss Laryan unconsciously as he stares out the window at the violence of the ongoing storm, eyes tight with enough fury to crack glass. He spits out his necklace.

“Not this time” he growls.

[xiranjayzhao]

Addressing a recent accusation I got hit with that was co-signed by a decently well-known author! Not sure if their path to success was way smoother than mine or something, but I've never spoken any lies when it comes to my personal experiences in publishing, and the paths of the majority of authors I know have not been smooth either. I think most people will find both job-hunting and querying agents to be absolutely soul-crushing and not easy at all. It personally took me 7 years to find my first agent, and the book she signed didn't even sell.

I'm sorry if anyone feels discouraged by hearing what I say, but I think it's better to go in grounded in the reality that a business will act like a business than to be disappointed and crushed and left wondering if *you're* just not good enough, which is often not the case. I have so many friends whose amazing, very readable books get rejected left and right not for reasons to do with quality, but marketing. "We don't know how to market this." "We don't know whether to shelf this in YA or Adult." "We already have something too similar." All of these kinds of rejections are not about the writing, yet they are SO common, and they're proof that it's not a meritocracy. Therefore, you really shouldn't tie your self-worth into how many rejections or offers you get. (Like I did at one point. It took me to a dark, DARK place and it's a miracle that I'm still here.)

I do struggle to actively encourage aspiring writers nowadays, but that's because I struggle to convince even myself to keep going. I'm still not technically a full-time author, and I'm glad to have other options, so I'm not left scrambling to push out book after book no matter the quality or the detriment to my health to keep relevant. I'm someone who had an overly rosy view of publishing while trying to break in, and there are many decisions I would not make again if I were to start over. I have no intention of stopping anyone from chasing their dreams (and seriously COULDN'T), but people deserve to know what they're getting into. It's always worth having a backup plan, because sometimes even IF you achieve your dreams, you'll find that it's not what you imagined.

[ovegakart]

Fun piece of twilight princess lore i realized tends to get glazed over a lot. Zelda gave her entire spirit to save Midna about halfway thru the game so Midna wouldnt die to Light Exposure. Midna and Link assume Zelda just Died but whats actually going on is Zeldas spirit is just, Hanging out inside Midna, totally aware the whole time. And she even says after going back to her own body towards the end of the game that her and Midna were One and she KNOWS. Everything.

So while Link doesnt know Zelda well, Zelda has been unintentionally spying on him and Midna for months through Midnas eyes. Unable to talk or interact.

And I think that could be a fun dynamic to explore with them. I would like to write one day how their journey back to castle town would be like together after Midna left them stranded on top of a temple that has no easy way down. That door inside the boss room that leads back into the temple is LOCKED, I checked.

[r-aindr0p]

✨The shroud brothers (and yuu) wish you a happy pride month ✨

[puptrefied]

　I personally think vander got used to having quiet, gentle sex and by that I mean grinding through clothes late at night.

doesn't matter the position, he's gonna rub against you and groan into your neck until he cums fully clothed because he doesn't want to risk waking up the kids.

yeah, his underwear and pants end up a mess and so do yours but he can't help it ! if he were to actually fuck you he knows he's gonna be so loud :< like come on, this man is 200cm tall, he is big everywhere which makes having regular sex in secret a bit ( really ) hard.

he's heavy and his movements—as controlled as they can get—are going to make the bed creak anyways; he has tried most positions to help with that issue. doggy? self explanatory, he goes feral. missionary is nice, he gets a full view of how your pussy stretches out to accommodate the thickness of his cock but that makes him lose his mind. sideways will always make the bed move. riding him has an issue similar to missionary, he gets to see and feel you taking him deeper so he can't help but moan loud. ( he's just a man, okay? )

surprisingly it started in a nonsexual situation.

you sitting on his lap, playing with the hair on the back of his head as he stroked your back, nails mindlessly scratching over the fabric of the shirt. comfortable silence in the bedroom as you two cuddled half asleep. he wasn't turned on to begin with, he really planned on holding you close until his mind decided to shut down, but after weeks of no intimacy—both too fucking tired to do more than kisses in bed—a long day at the bar and the kids already asleep leaving you alone… he couldn't resist.

free hand grabbing the plush of your hip to veeeery slowly move you back and forth against his lap, slow enough that it wouldn't ruin the gentle moment. he was a bit worried you'd get mad or something for thinking with his dick in the middle of lovey-dovey time but that quiet hum on his neck and the feeling of you also moving on your own told him enough.

strong arms wrapping around your waist as soon as you take care of the grinding part, holding tight onto you while lazily pressing kisses on the top of your head and whatever place he can reach. he is so clingy he needs to hold you even while fucking. I mean, he has a pretty girl all to himself being a sweetheart, how could he resist?

sure, he wants to feel you wrapped around him all wet and warm for hours but he's more than satisfied with just this for now. ( even if the cum on his boxers isn't so satisfying and pleasurable the next morning once it's dry… )

doesn't matter if now, years later, the kids moved out and powder spends the nights at her hideout more than her own room meaning you both got the house to yourselves. he still needs a little grinding while cuddling every now and then.

“you don't have to stay quiet,” the breathless giggle you let out going straight to his lower belly as he peppers kisses all over your neck and jaw, his hands running up and down your thighs. his own breath arrhythmic at the feeling of you pressing down and moving against his clothed cock, literally makes him throb. the way your body feels even without being naked is heavenly.

“I know,” he groaned into your skin, palm sliding under your shirt to tug you closer. god, how he loves having the love of his life on his lap anytime he wants to. every night, every morning, every evening with no complains. “just...let me enjoy it some more.”

he must have been a damn saint in his previous life to live such a wonderful one today.

masterlist

[baeshijima]

— spoils of war

as heir to the throne, you were more than prepared to face the consequences of losing a war. your duty will forever remain for as long as you breathe, and if that meant bearing the weight of countless sacrificed souls and carrying it with you for the rest of your life, or even being forced to watch your land burn before your eyes was the price you had to pay, then so be it.

the last consequence you could have ever expected and were the least prepared for, however, was an offer of marriage from the ruler of the victorious nation.

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 3.5k wc, fluff, slightly suggestive ending, royalty!au, marriage of convenience (kind of), vague mentions of war & blood, mentioned assassination attempt, mentions of having children (very vague and in the "heir to the throne" kind of way), use of "mydeimos" and "mydei", reader is having an existential crisis; mydei is, um, mydei-ing, written pre-3.0

A/N : is this ooc? um... we will find out haha !! (the moment i saw this man i was wondering how i could royal au-ifiy him (outside of him already being a crown prince, that is). i thought of him being a mercenary or personal guard, but @sfznyxio ty for putting the words 'king' and 'mydei' in the same sentence when u showed his drip in the server bc this idea was born and now i am terminally unwell for him 🙏 but also how did this turn into an actual fic when it was literally a 2 para brainrot in discord... where did this plot come from...)

King Mydeimos, present ruler of Kremnos Kingdom, is infamous across the lands. He is a rumoured tyrant thought to have killed his bloodline in order to obtain this position, whose name alone strikes fear into many, and the very same being who just won the war against your own kingdom.

When marching through the capital to reach the steps of the palace after seizing victory and bathed in the lights of glory, his troops following close behind, you thought he would demand for the materialistic spoils such as the kingdom’s trove, maybe choose to seize control over the defeated land and its troops, or perhaps even wreak further havoc within the castle walls. Given the name he has built for himself, it certainly wouldn't surprise you if he decided to forgo all formality and instead brandish his sword like a blood-bathed barbarian.

And so when he appears in the palace entrance, the setting sun giving his rugged appearance a far more... put together look than expected (you refuse to admit the enemy's ruler to be... handsome, of all things), a recitation of prayers hammered into your head throughout the years of etiquette training spring to mind. If you're destined to fall here, you at least wish to perish with thankful thoughts!

...At least, that was the original plan.

So why is it now you're hearing him ask your father and mother, the king and queen of this now defeated kingdom, for your hand in marriage? Where did this sudden formality come from? No, why is he suddenly bowing to his defeated enemies? And— lord almighty above, did he really have to do this here and now? In front of your nation's high council and his own men, no less!

It is safe to assume every jaw except for Mydeimos' dropped into the nether realm, all eyes gawking at his tall, unperturbed figure bowing in respect towards your parents in the centre.

Having probably sensed the rather awkward air bubbling amidst the dumbfounded troops, your parents turn to you in wait for your decision. Despite the apparent pleas in their eyes for you to not agree to such a ludicrous turn of events, what choice do you really have other than to accept? Who knows what this so-called tyrant could do should you refuse this offer when he is being so lenient!

An audible gulp escapes the base of your throat the moment his scalding gaze locks onto you after your hesitant words of approval, searing a trail of where his eyes trails onto your skin.

Seriously, you haven't been on the receiving end of many — if any — wars, but you're almost positive they don't end this... pleasantly, for a lack of better words.

(Who would've thought you would be a spoils of war, as opposed to the national treasure trove...)

Set to depart when the sun rises, there is little time to gather your bearings and your belongings. Servants are bustling while your parents crowd around you, asking if you're really going to go through with this and, “You can say no! If they don't take your rejection well, we can smite them with our army!”

To that, all you have to say is, “...What army? They're all dead.”

They didn't take that very well, if their concerning increase in flowing tears have anything to say about it.

The send-off is nothing too grandiose, save for the entire palace standing at the gates shouting farewells through tear-streaked wails and blowing handkerchiefs. Your parents are at the forefront of it all. Your mother holds your hands as she tells you to return promptly if it gets too much regardless of the consequences (you appreciate the sentiment, but you don't want to burden your family nor your nation because of a dislike), while your father stands before Mydeimos with an order for him to treat you well and respectfully and, “If you damage even a mere hair on my beloved child's head, I will have your head on display!”

...Perhaps that would have been more threatening if not for the slight tremble of his legs and waver in his voice but, again, you appreciate the sentiment. Mydeimos, if anything, takes it in stride with a calm nod of his head and a promise to take care of you. Really, does anything other than the battlefield phase him...?

Soon you're in the carriage and settled opposite your soon-to-be husband, on your way to your new life with a heavy heart. Is this what all your training to take over the throne has surmounted to? Have all your efforts and dedication spent on being the perfect heir for your kingdom simply come down to being wed to an enemy nation's ruler?

Well, perhaps “enemy” is not the right term anymore; not when both your kingdom's are now in a mutually beneficial alliance, along with the promise for one of your heirs becoming next in line for your kingdom's throne.

Ha! What makes him so sure you will have more than one between you?

...Was what you had asked back when he first made the declaration to your parents, only for him to respond in kind with, “If you'd rather adopt, then we can do so.”

(Bastard. Can't he break composure at least a little?)

As the ride drags on, silence permeates. Whether it is the lingering nerves you hid from your parents or this suffocating intimidation confined within the small carriage space, one question still remains at the forefront of your mind: why did he decide to marry you? Truly, it miffs you. He could have just left you to suffer in the downfall of your nation if he wished to do so, or even let you stay as the heir to the now-allianced kingdom.

Upon questioning his motives for your hand in marriage, his response was merely a slow blink before uttering, "The council wouldn't stop pestering me about getting married."

Oh. Was it really that simple of a reason?

Lips pursed, you press a little more. “Then why did you add benefits, such as an alliance with my kingdom? Even if you, King Mydeimos, were to just—”

“Mydei.”

“—just cut down…” trailing off at the sudden interruption, you blink at his cross-armed figure seated across from you. “Oh, um, what?”

“Mydei,” he repeats once more, attention solely focused on you. “No need to bother with formalities. Just refer to me as such.”

“Oh, well, alright... Mydei?” At your uncertain tone, he nods, as though urging for you to carry on. “Right, well, as I was saying... What was I saying...?”

Without missing a beat, he responds, “You were asking why I offered your kingdom a mutually beneficial alliance when I have the means to cut down the nation with brute force and take what I want through violence.”

“Oh, right…” Huh. Did you say all of that? Well, you certainly were thinking of it, but were you that harsh in your wording? Considering how he recited it all without hesitation, you probably did say all of that, with him being a pretty good listener and you perhaps needing to think over your words before you speak them. “So what is your answer to my curiosity?”

“I simply thought you would be happier if I spared your land and made an offer both of us would benefit from.”

“...I see. Well, thank you for your consideration.”

“Think nothing of it.”

And so the ride continues in silence once more, though this time you find yourself more at ease compared to the prior situation. You, however, still have your doubts about the benefits he gave with the alliance proposal, amongst the absurdity of this entire situation.

...Is the man sitting before you really the feared tyrannical ruler people made him out to be? Surely he is being far too merciful for someone of such reputation. There has been no threats, no coercion (well, if you don’t count the whole marriage fiasco as such, but you did willingly agree to it…), no usage of violence — did people perhaps badmouth the wrong monarch?

Then again, the majority of his prowess and achievements stem from the battlefield. Was all this information just mere hearsay from those jealous of his noteworthy feats, or do their words truly hold some merit in their claim? And really, what do you know about Mydei? From his thoughts, to his motives, to the reasoning behind each action… you know nothing.

Well, considering how he has entertained each of your whims thus far, he has the ability to entertain one more, right?

“Mydei, if I may,” you start, looking to him for approval to continue. When he nods encouragingly, you continue. “You said you made an offer we would both benefit from. While I acknowledge the military and protection we receive from you, what benefit do you reap from us?”

Had you not been eyeing him so intently, perhaps the subtle stiffening of his muscles or twitch of his fingers would have remained unnoticed. 

“Apart from the high quality agricultural and material trade, I have obtained one more thing. Rather than a benefit, however,” he trails off, gaze shifting to the carriage floor. His voice tapers slightly, subtleties of fondness seeping into his tone. When his eyes move to meet your own once more, your mouth runs dry at the undeniable warmth which swirls within his gaze, the rapid pounding of your heart betraying your thoughts. “I consider meeting and having the privilege of marrying you to be the most priceless of rewards I could have obtained.”

(...Who knew a subtle smile could be so beautiful.)

Settling into your new role as the co-ruler of Kremnos was a far easier transition than you’d anticipated. Despite some initial apprehension at your sudden intrusion into the citizen’s lives and you being from another nation, the reactions you were greeted with upon arrival were well-within your expectations.

Apprehension? Sure. Skepticism? Great. Concern over your abilities? Fantastic! Immediate, wholehearted acceptance with preparations already made for your arrival? Um… Come again?

Yes. Compared to the civilian’s very normal, completely expected doubt and uncertainty about you being thrust into the role of their new co-ruler, the same cannot be said about the palace staff. The moment Mydei helped you out of the carriage, a line of servants were at the ready, lined up with the necessary preparations already made to look after you. Your dumbfoundedness must have been quite obvious for Mydei to take note, squeezing your hand with enough pressure and warmth to anchor you down and fill you with comfort before guiding you through the tunnel of awaiting servants ready to receive his orders.

While a little unnerving the palace staff’s ready acceptance and preparation for your arrival may have been, you cannot deny the flicker of warmth which surges when spotting something that reminds you of home.

That particular fruit you enjoy only found in your homeland? An abundance has been procured with the palace gardener equipped with all the necessities used to grow it, alongside a bed of your favourite assortment of flowers already beginning to show signs of blooming.

There was a certain dessert you enjoyed partaking in? Look no further, for the palace patissier has already mastered all the techniques needed to make it the most delicious version you have ever tasted!

Oh, you’re used to having a certain textile in each of your fabrics and certain colours are more to your preference? Don’t worry, the temporary bedroom used until your wedding is made to your liking, and once the wedding is complete your shared bedroom will have all the necessary arrangements!

Truly, the experience of having practically everything needed for your stay to be comfortable already prepared was an… interesting one, to say the least.

It doesn’t escape you, however, the manner in which everyone is rigid in demeanour and stiff with etiquette when in the presence of Mydei. Ducking their heads to avoid eye contact, tensing their bodies as though afraid one subtle movement will trigger his wrath, rushing away as quickly as possible once given their respective orders.

He doesn’t appear bothered; if anything, matters outside of you and battle don’t seem to move him at all. He merely regards everything as a duty to be carried out, an honour to uphold and see through so long as he bears the weight of his title. 

Despite his admitted nonchalance for most matters, you have seen him be expressive on several accounts.

Like that time you were both strolling through the extensive garden holding pleasant conversation about each other’s day, stopping to admire the roses and ready to sing the gardener’s praises, only to catch the smile and unfairly soft expression directed towards you. (Seriously, the difference a smile and relaxed expression can make on his features should be criminal.)

Or the days you choose to visit the training ground and catch the battle-hardened fervour of a warrior which radiate so starkly within his typically stoic demeanour, easily parrying and holding his own against even a large number of his knights rushing to best him, only to hastily avert your eyes when he takes note of your presence and amble his way towards you with a towel in hand. (Well, his torso is practically on full-display all day, but somehow seeing him entirely shirtless after a particularly gruelling training is a little… different.)

Not to mention that one night during your third month in Kremnos wherein an assassin managed to slip through surveillance and sneak into your room, only to be thwarted mere moments before the fatal strike as a sword pierced their torso, their cries of agony quickly silencing and the flecks of warmth clinging to your skin promptly discarded as the deafening hammering of your heart drowned out everything in the vicinity. You weren’t sure how long you were out of it for, but the image of Mydei’s distraught expression and uncharacteristic loss of composure is a sight you’re certain will never leave, much like the rare vulnerability found in his fragile, broken whispers of, “Not again... I thought I’d lost you again. Why must fate be so cruel? Please… Just this once, stay with me until the end.”

(You never really questioned how Mydei caught wind of the attempt or what he meant by his whispered words, too caught up in your near-death experience to properly process anything, but the immeasurable relief upon being embraced within his familiarity was undeniable as you melted into him, allowing him to stay by your side for the night and then the following nights soon after as his attentiveness only grew.)

The time from your first arrival has flown, and now, five months later, the long-awaited wedding is finally being held.

The ceremony itself was nothing too grand. Despite Mydei asking for your thoughts and preferences on how the ceremony should be held, the ideas he’d suggested aligned perfectly with your own preferences: a simple ceremony with the necessary guests in attendance for privacy, a ceremonial carriage ride through the capital to honour the matrimonial bond between you alongside quelling any uncertainties the citizens may have, and to end it all off with a banquet to diminish the doubt brewing from within the nobility of high society.

Thankfully, everything went off without a hitch. Your parents attended the ceremony and greeted you with a tearful embrace upon seeing you in your wedding attire. As it turns out, they will be staying as guests within the palace for about a week, all thanks to Mydei’s preparations. Apparently.

(Upon asking your parents who is taking care of the kingdom’s affairs in their place, you probably should have suspected it to be the trusted, overworked aide who has been by your father’s side since young. Despite his already cushy salary, he should get a raise for having to deal with all this.)

And as you stand here now, chatting idly with some of the knights in attendance who were present in the whole proposal fiasco, you find yourself believing that perhaps your new life here will not be as bad as you feared.

You have to admit, letting loose every now and then is rather rewarding. After all those mental and passive aggressive battles with some of the nobles before eventually gaining their respect and approval (you didn’t have strict heir training just to have nothing to show for it!), you can now relax and let the night pass by. With the knights talking joyfully amongst themselves, you’re sure the night will fly by.

Their topic of conversation shifts constantly, ranging from battle tactics to which is the best amongst savoury, sweet, or spicy to debates about whether that one maid and apprentice chef are secretly dating.

Eventually, the topic of conversation loops back around to your newly sealed marriage; you know, the whole premise for the current celebration. One of the knights, tickled a light pink in the face from the warmth of the venue and the drink half-emptied in hand, turns to you with a jovial grin.

“Y’know, until you came into the picture, I’ve never seen our king so happy and expressive. It’s a nice change.”

Another chimes, “Yeah! I’ve definitely seen him smile a few times when you visit the training grounds! Though he still glares daggers into my soul when we spar…”

“That’s because you suck and His Majesty gets a migraine just from the sight of your sloppy footwork.”

“Wha— hey! You’re the one with a weak swing and can’t even break the training dummy in one strike!”

“I’m telling you the material is tougher on the ones I’m given!”

A breathy laugh escapes you at their back and forth. Sometimes you forget how playful the knights can be outside of their intimidating demeanour, though you suppose their leader is similar in his own right.

Taking a light sip from your drink, the chatter of the knights slowly die down. Just as you’re about to ask if everything is alright, a warmth you have become able to identify looms over your back. It doesn’t take a genius to know why they stopped their bickering.

“What were you all discussing?” Mydei asks, moving to stand beside you with a drink of his own in hand. You weren’t expecting to see him until later, what with how swamped he appeared with greetings and talks of his own.

His knights seemed to have thought the same as you, if their apparent dumbfounded reactions were anything to go by.

“Oh, um, well…”

“We were, uh…”

“We were just chatting like good ole pals, haha…”

Stifling a laugh at their poor attempts, you decide it would be best to give them a helping hand. Mydei’s curious gaze certainly isn’t helping their case.

With an amused sigh you begin, “Nothing much. Just how much they admire and look up to you—”

“We were discussing how your dear spouse thoroughly enjoys the sight of your body at the training grounds!”

A deafening silence.

…You take back every nice thing you said about them. You hope Mydei exchanges all the training dummies except for his own for super-ultra-mega tough ones, just so they can feel the embarrassment you currently do when they are unable to break a mere training dummy.

First off, how did they even know this highly confidential information?! You most certainly were not openly ogling at your now-husband! (At least, you hope you weren’t…)

Second of all, here you were trying to help them save face from all their bickering, and what do you get in return? A loss of your own!

And third of all, that is blatant slander! In front Mydei, their king and commander, and your spouse, no less!

Ha ha. You don't know whether to laugh or cry at this turn of events.

In hopes of salvaging what remains of your thoroughly battered and bruised image, And there it appears, you quickly turn towards Mydei, a myriad of retorts ready to fire on the tip of your tongue. It fizzles out just as quickly as it appears upon what you find yourself gazing at. Though barely noticeable, the lingering remnants of his laughter which spill from that wretched curve of his lips never fails to speed up this traitorous heart of yours. And when his unabashedly amused gaze meets your own mortified one, your mind regains its former desperation.

Before you can think up a retort in a last-ditch effort to save face, he swiftly leans into your ear and whispers, “I would like to hear more about this. Perhaps you can enlighten me when we return to our quarters later.”

…Nevermind. Perhaps it is Mydei who should be getting the super-ultra-mega tough training dummy so he can taste humiliation for the first time in his life.

(However, despite the horrendously dizzying flush you are currently victim to, if it meant seeing his warm gaze and heart-melting smile more often then, perhaps, you wouldn’t mind embarrassing yourself in front of him every now and then.)

(Not too often, of course. That would be too much.)

if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33

trivia !!

wanted to add this section in case some might be wondering why i went with the timeloop trope yet again (if u did not figure that out from the bits and pieces throughout the fic + mainly the assassination attempt scene then, um, oops. haha.) BUT !! i actually decided to do a spin of his lore for it.

so in his drip market post, it says:

Kremnos, swallowed by mist! City riven between chaos and war! The blood of patricide flows through its royal line, and its god bears the title of calamity.

The undying Mydeimos, the lion apart from the rest. O Chrysos Heir that seeks the Coreflame of Strife, you must suffer a thousand deaths, be bathed in blood on the path home, and bear the madness of fate alone, for one was must slay a god to become one. Iron-hooves pound across the wilderness for the campaign, and must eventually soak in the blood of their homeland.

and mydei is also known by the following aliases "the last prince" and "the undying". now all of this info is more than likely referring to his ability to survive torturous pain, as opposed to dying and and resurrecting a thousand times (or maybe i am right... who knows...), but my first thoughts went to how he had the ability to come back to a certain point in this past after the so-called fate drove him to madness which he alone must bear.

in this context, i wanted for him to be a king who suffered a thousand deaths, but lived through a thousand lives of the same never-ending fate, doomed to watch the fall and bear the madness and watch as you in each and every lifetime suffer at the hands of a fate he cannot save you from. and that is why he marries you because he knows you even if you do not know him and will always choose to lead the same path if it means he has you by his side once more.

...does this make sense? maybe it does, maybe it does not, but what matters is it made sense to me ;w;

oops got a little carried away there with lore and theories um !! haha !! anywho that is enough from me ,,, if u read this trivia then hi !! ty for sitting through and reading my deep dive into the crumbs of lore and how i put my own spin on it :'D