#dwc

[altherei]

DWC May 2025 - Cruel/Beauty

There was a quiet stillness in Silverpine. Always was. Even the wind seemed muted here, no matter how it howled against the manor walls. The phrase silent as the grave was as perfect a moniker as any.

He found a beauty in it, though. Death's chill kept the wanderers away, and adventurers always had more exciting places to be- Undermine this, Siren Isle that. He could conduct his research in peace, and Ilvisar did precisely that.

The old elf sat in his study- a large room lined with stacked bookshelves and littered with curious artifacts. His face was wizened with age, but far from elderly in his complexion. None knew his face, or even of his existence- not yet- and that was how he intended to keep it... for now.

"So he's dead, then?" He spoke into the dimly-lit room, where to an untrained eye, only pools of shadow would answer. His voice was deep and robust, graveled slightly from the passage of time. A beat passed, and an answer came.

"So it would seem." This voice was guttural, betraying a Forsaken by its timbre alone.

"How?"

"Lingering effects from his... random worgen attack.. some years ago," The Forsaken voice replied, and the spacing of words and slight uptick in tone did little to hide the smirk it was spoken with. Everyone had believed it such- truly, a perfectly-executed plan.

Ilvisar sighed thoughtfully. "I see. Unexpected.. and.. saddening. A part of me had hoped we could reconcile- that he would come to see things as I have seen them for so many centuries. But I suppose if even my own son wouldn't see me.. my grandson probably never knew I existed." He lifted a lock of ash-blonde hair- more ash than blonde now- idling twirling it between his fingers. A mildly cruel twist of fate- his family was swiftly dwindling, and thus far his plans to return them to the fold hadn't borne fruit. At worst, he found it somewhat inconvenient and frustrating. But Darsamane had never been his primary aim, anyway.

"What of his children- how many still live?"

"Two, of that I'm certain."

"Why are you uncertain of the third- which is it?"

The Forsaken grumbled, stepping into the light some more. He was a ghastly thing- face half rotted to the bone, one eye socket empty, the other glowing that eerie yellow of undeath.

"Salaras hasn't been seen or heard from since Dalaran's destruction. It's not clear if he escaped- but he isn't treated as deceased, so.. perhaps someone knows something I don't." A thought that seemed to perturb him.

"Hm. Find that person, then. I know you have your ways, Marne." He gave no time for argument or assent to his order, continuing. "What of Altherei?"

"Alive and well- finally out of her shell again, and running a new operation to 'reunite elvenkind under its shared history'." Marne remarked with a snark and a scoff. "Because uniting opposing sides has worked out so well for her in the past," He muttered.

"She has ambition still. Good." Ilvisar replied. "How does she seem?"

"I haven't exactly kept close tabs on her, per your instructions. What I've learned has been from at-a-distance observation or whatever I can find in papers." Marne replied dryly.

Ilvisar hummed once more. "Is she still practicing her astromancy?"

"As far as I'm aware- I doubt she'd be traversing Khaz Algar by herself if she hadn't kept up with it." Marne shrugged.

"But still no shadow magic?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"You know as well as I do that the power of the shadow- the Void- grows stronger by the day. I've known it for some time, but now the rest of the world is coming to the same realization. It's a power one can either accept and wield, or run from and be summarily crushed under." A false dichotomy, but it didn't matter. To him, those were the only valid choices.

"I do not wish to see her in the latter camp."

"So what then?" Marne drolled.

"You will continue to keep tabs on her- get closer, if you can, without alerting her. As for me..." Ilvisar pushed himself back from his plush chair, closing the large tome he'd been perusing- a self-researched history and lineage of the Darkwind line. He smiled.

"I think perhaps it's time I introduce myself to my great-granddaughter."

@daily-writing-challenge

[thehopelessyouth]

DWC February 2025 - Day 5 - Holiday (And likely Annoy)

This was the day. The day. The day of love.

It came but once a year, yet it was the pinnacle of yearning whispers, poetic musings, and carefully scripted declarations designed to set hearts aflame. Selithar twirled around his chamber, giddy with delight, his own heart swelling with anticipation as his mind danced between the many beauties who had captured his eye. But whom would he choose? Who, among them, would he name his greatest desire?

He sank into his chair, quill poised in one hand while the other absently ran through his raven-drenched locks. He reached for a sheet of parchment. Then another. And another. How could he confine his affections to just one?

No—he would not. He could not.

He would write to them all.

And thus the letters were sent and received as such: @themadamelioness - My lovely Lioness. The object of my endless desires... how I crave your touch, your words that flux between harsh need and softening despair. You opened my eyes to a path I did not believe existed and thus, I am yours. Yours to mould and shape to your will. Do you know you haunt my dreams? I see nothing but shapely legs, white silks and golden tresses that frame a face more pure than any religion. And like any religion, I fall to my knees for thee! I long to await our next physical encounter... let me be the Lion and let us start our own pride. @nahisummerhold - To the Singer. The Temptress. I have seen your dark skin. Your violet eyes. Your beauty knows no bounds. No limits. When I saw you I was spellbound. Silvermoon holds true to many beautiful things but none can compare to thee. Hearing your voice wafting through the air brought a stillness to me that none other can replicate. I pray that the binder collection of my photographs spurred a sense of need within you as well. Perhaps we shall meet. Perhaps we shall kindle this spark that clearly both of us feel... @kelzthalasbandtherion - I called you something terrible. For that, I apologize. I was blinded by the light you shine so brightly upon me. Were it to be different, I would have you're lips against mine instead of your fist - which, given the broken jaw I sustained, tells me you are laden with need just as I am. Let me placate that. Let me show you the whims and wonderment of desire that no other man can. @safrona-shadowsun - My beloved Courier. I would have you deliver your desires unto my doorstep so that we may imbibe upon them in a heated exchange of the physical nature. You are oft hooded but I would say let fly your facial beauty and allow Azeroth to gaze freely upon perfection. If you do, then I will apologize ahead of time as I will not stop myself from singing my praises unto your porcelain perfection. @serenas-dawnsinger - Strange. The address is the same as the Courier. Ah well. We do not know each other but I have seen your golden eyes blaze like the sun from afar. Your hair... dark like the night just like mine. We look almost as siblings would... only we don't because I am attracted to you intimately. I would like to know you more. To hear your voice speak longingly to me just as mine would to you. ...Also are you kidnapped or something? @sanguinesorceress - You are... scary. However, there is something ethereally beautiful about you. The way you're ghost-like apparition floats eloquently across the ground. I wonder what lies behind that crimson cowl? Perhaps you might savour me the opportunity to find out? @duraxxor - Even the month of love somehow has me penning a missive to you, foul knave. This is not a note of affection but an underlining statement: you and I shall do battle and I shall mete out your evil from this realm. Your pointy, scary teeth do not scare me. Nor does that sausage face! I will cast you asunder like the knave you are. Then all the maidens shall flock to my side in reverence and joy as I have dispatched a monster most foul. Until then! @kharrisdawndancer - We don't know each other but I was transfixed upon your visage when I saw you from afar. I could you dance as you stepped so lightly across the stones as if music was embedded within your very soul. I profess to you: I am an able dancer. The two-step and I are very familiar with one another and I offer my hand to thee. Dance with me and let our loins coagulate in splendour. @lostofwyrmrest - Beautiful one. You do not know me. I do not know you. But I have seen you and I crave to know more of you. Soft skin atop pale-laden eyes of pure milken joy is but a small sampling of how my own eyes devour you with need. So remove yourself from that smelly companion of yours the undead are unsavoury after all. Then come to me and I will show you what a -living- man can do. ...wait you're not undead as well are you?

@susan-gampre - A Madam of a brothel. My elegance demands I dismiss you for your choice of profession but my eyes drink in your form all the same. Run away with me. Run away from your whores and your "Sisters of Sin" and come with me to a world of pleasure that you have not experienced. I would bed you for an unyielding time of 3 to 4 minutes and leave you breathless for an eternity. @eluviannaa - Kissed by the Void! No... made love to by the Void! How transfixed was I when I lay eyes upon your soft, pale, skin. Skin that I long to caress with my slender digits and thin lips. And your purple-infused eyes. I lose myself in them like the void. So I beg of you... let me dive into your nightmare. Let our loins become as one as our planes of existence come crashing together in love for one to two minutes. ---------- Each letter was signed with the initials "SD" and a photograph was also enclosed:

@daily-writing-challenge

[geronimomo-spd]

and there we go! the full Confidential Archive!

here are all the episodes, according to tardis wiki list, including all of the mini specials and chrismas specials and most if not all in good quality! the full list of everything is under the cut because yeah, its a longgg list!

all in order, including some youtube videos and dvd rips hehe, all according the the tardis wiki list

SERIES 1 -

1x00 - A New Dimension (a prolog to season one, narrated by David Tennant)

1x01 - (rose)

1x03 - (the unquiet dead)

1x04 - (aliens of london)

1x05 - (world war 3)

1x06 - (dalek)

1x07 - (the long game)

1x08 - (father's day)

1x09 - (the empty child)

1x10 - (the doctor dances)

1x11 - (boom town)

1x12 - (bad wolf)

1x13.1 - The Ultimate Guide (another little documentary right before

parting of the ways, about key aspects about filming the season)

1x13.2 - (parting of the ways)

1x14 - Backstage at Christmas (the nine minutes they gave us from some of behind the scenes of The Christmas Invasion)

SEIRES 2 -

2x00 - One Year On (a general preview for season 2, including the series 2 press launch, a lot more behind the scenes of The Christmas Invasion and some Torchwood stuff)

2x01 - (new earth)

2x02 - (tooth and claw)

2x03 - (school reunion)

2x04 - (the girl in the fireplace)

2x05 - (rise of the cyberman)

2x06 - (the age of steel)

2x07 - (the idiot's lantern)

2x08 - (the impossible planet)

2x09 - (the satan pit)

2x10 - (love & monsters) - (featuring the winning of the contest of designing a monster)

2x11 - (fear her)

2x12 - (army of ghosts)

2x13 - (doomsday)

2x14 - Music and Monsters (the behind the scenes of doctor who's first music show, including some behind the scenes stuff of The Runaway Bride)

SERIES 3 -

3x01 - (smith and jones)

3x02 - (the shakespear code)

3x03 - (gridlock)

3x04 - (daleks in manhattan)

3x05 - (evolution of the daleks)

3x06 - (the lazarus experiment)

3x05 - (42)

3x06 - (human nature)

3x07 - (the family of blood)

3x08 - (blink)

3x11 - (utopia)

3x12 - (the sound of drums)

3x13.1 - (last of the time lords)

3x13.2 - Children in Need Special (the behind the scenes of the special where 10 meets 5, really cute stuff)

3x14.1 - Kylie Special (series 3 christmas special. version 1 - the full version in less of a good quality i found on youtube, bless this youtube channel honestly)

3x14.2 - Kylie Special (series 3 christmas special. version 2 - the shorter version that was up on iplayer)

3x14.3 - Kylie Special (series 3 christmas special. version 3 - the version i edited to include the low quality parts that were missing with the good quality shorter version)

SERIES 4 (INCLUDING THE SPECIALS) -

4x01 - (partners in crime)

4x02 - (the fiers of pompaii)

4x03 - (planet of the ood)

4x04 - (the sontaran stratagem)

4x05 - (the doctor's daughter)

4x06 - (the posion sky)

4x07 - (the unicorn and the wasp)

4x08 - (silence in the library)

4x09 - (forest of the dead)

4x10 - (midnight)

4x11 - (turn left)

4x12 - (the stolen earth)

4x13 - (journey's end)

4x14.1 - The Journey (So Far) (a documentary about the entire show so far)

4x14.2 - Confidential Christmas 2008 (behind the scenes of The Next Doctor christmas special)

4x14.3 - Doctor Who: Top 5 Christmas Moments (a sort of confidential behind the scenes clip show of all of the episodes set at christmas)

4x15.1 - At the Proms 2008 (behind the scenes of doctor who at the proms 2008)

4x15.2 - The Eleventh Doctor (the special they used to announce Matt Smith as the new doctor who)

4x15.3 - Desert Storm (behind the scenes of Planet Of The Dead)

4x16 - Is There Life on Mars? (behind the scenes of The Waters Of Mars)

4x17 - Lords and Masters (behind the scenes of The End Of Time, Part One)

4x18 - Allons-y! (behind the scenes of The End Of Time, Part Two. version 1 - full dvd version)

4x18 - Allons-y! (behind the scenes of The End Of Time, Part Two. version 2 - shortend higher quality version from iplayer, this version has a song in the soundtrack that is diffrent from the dvd version, this is the most accurate version to what aired on tv at the time)

SERIES 5-

5x01 - (the eleventh hour)

5x02 - (the beast below)

5x03 - (victory of the daleks)

5x04 - (the time of angels)

5x05 - (flesh and stone)

5x06 - (the vampires of venice)

5x07 - (amy's choice)

5x08 - (the hungry earth)

5x09 - (cold blood)

5x10.1 - (vincent and the doctor)

5x10.2 Monster Files: The Daleks (a little documentary about victory of the daleks/daleks in general)

5x11 - (the lodger)

5x12 - (the pandorica opens)

5x13 - (the big bang)

5x14.1 - Monster Files: The Weeping Angels (a little documentary about the weeping angels episodes this season)

5x14.2 - Monster Files: The Silurians (a little documentary about the silurian episodes)

5x14.3.1 - Monster Files: The Alliance (a little documentary about the alliance of monsters from the pandoica opens)

5x14.3.2 - Backstage at the Doctor Who Prom 2010 (behind the scenes of doctor who at the proms 2010)

5x14.4.1 - Charlie McDonnell - Runner (the first Charlle behind the scenes videos, pretty quiet - Currently not up on the archives as Charlie has expressed the need to remove her old videos)

5.14.4.2 - Charlie McDonnell - TARDIS (another Charlie video, she explores the tardis set this time -Currently not up on the archives as Charlie has expressed the need to remove her old videos)

5x14.4.3 - Charlie McDonnell - Decorating Bus (another Charlie video, she decorates the food place with christmas decorations, i liked them Charlie - Currently not up on the archives as Charlie has expressed the need to remove her old videos)

5x14.4.4 - Charlie McDonnell - Christmas Presents (badger) (the famus Charlie video where she brings the cast and crew presents! this is where Matt gets his badger puppet - Currently not up on the archives as Charlie has expressed the need to remove her old videos)

5x14.5 - Christmas Special 2010 (behind the scenes of A Christmas Carol)

SERIES 6 -

6x01.1 - (the impossible astronaut)

6x01.2 - My Sarah Jane: A Tribute to Elisabeth Sladen (a special memorial for the late Elisabth Sladen 😭😭)

6x02 - (day of the moon)

6x03 - (the curse of the black spot)

6x04 - (the doctor's wife)

6x05 - (the rebel flesh)

6x06 - (the almost people)

6x07.1 - Charlie McDonnell interviews Neil Gaiman (Charlie interviews Neil Gaiman, appewrently causing some ruckes on Charlie's blog at the time hehe - Currently not up on the archives as Charlie has expressed the need to remove her old videos)

6x07.2 - (a good man goes to war)

6x07.3 - The Monster Files: The Silence (a little documentary on the silence, thank god because i needed that)

6x07.4 - The Monster Files: The Gangers (a little documentary on the gangers, my beloveds)

6x07.5 - Charlie McDonnell Becomes A Dalek (the last Charlie video, released late because it had the 1-4 tardis set, also she gets to ride a dalek in this one - Currently not up on the archives as Charlie has expressed the need to remove her old videos)

6x08 - (lets kill hitler)

6x09 - (night terrors)

6x10 - (the girl who waited)

6x11 - (the god complex)

6x12 - (closing time)

6x13.1 - (the wedding of river song)

6x13.2 - The Monster Files: The Antibodies (a little documentary on the antibodies from lets kill hitler)

6x13.3 - The Monster Files: The Cybermats (a little documentary on the little adorable cybermates because awww)

6x14 - The Nights' Tale (a little documentary on on the nights mini episodes! the last confidential stuff ever made rip)

[noonmutter]

Reaching

DWC May 2025 Day 4: Dangerous/Tremendous

Cay's workshop in Mereldar wasn't particularly large, but it was serviceable. The Arathi had plenty of equipment that they'd been able to start from, and what the Arathi didn't have, the Earthen did. What the Earthen didn't have, Cay had been able to make and set up for themself with the borrowed and scavenged pieces they'd already gathered. They'd only just finished setting up a laser cutter yesterday, which they'd planned on using to cut the pieces for their new arm.

They wondered, briefly, if finishing the new arm might have been the wiser course as their beaten up old one continued to frantically tap out messages in morse code against the counter. Initially, it'd just been 'I need a voice,' but as soon as Cay had acknowledged that request, it devolved into simpler things like "Hurry," "Faster," and the occasional swear word.

As Cay took apart a comms device and popped off the outer paneling of the old arm to get to work, they wondered whether they ought to start watching their language around their prosthetics from now on. Obscenities aside, the constant tapping and grabbing was making things difficult.

"I'm trying to do surgery, here. If you can't stop fidgeting I'm going to put you in the vice."

Suitably chastised, the arm settled down, and Cay mentally filed away what a sulking arm looked like as they worked. It was a matter of minutes before the speaker was set up, and of moments after they'd hooked it up to power before it crackled to life.

Cay noted the fidelity was rather lower than it should've been, but the speech was at least audible. "If this isn't working, I'm going to be very upset."

"No, sorry, it's broken, I can't hear you."

"God DAMN i--"

There was a brief silence, broken after a few seconds by a barely stifled giggle from Cay.

"God damn it."

"Sorry, I couldn't help it." Cay set their elbow on the countertop, and their chin in their hand. "You don't even have nerves in the traditional sense and- and I can feel the tension coming off you."

"Funny. But don't do that again. I've had a very long … eight days and thirty-six minutes, give or take."

"Given that's how long it's been since Fate got kidnapped, I'm sure this is about her." They paused, and the other set of dots they hadn't quite connected yet slotted into place. "She ran headfirst into danger again, didn't she?"

"As is our wont, yes."

Cay couldn't help but notice the pronoun use there, but it mattered rather less than the problem their arm had just presented. Of course they'd been worried about the dracthyr ever since she'd disappeared into the earth, but this was... rather different than how they'd expected to end up hearing news of her. Truthfully, they'd expected her to either come sauntering into Mereldar herself with a trophy or two over one shoulder, or just been brought news that she'd died, maybe. If it wasn't either of those, then... oh, Leon was going to be upset.

They sighed. "I'll go get my Meddler gear."

"I would much prefer to have my own body to work with, but I realize that would take entirely too long. Thank you for not wasting time." The arm drummed its fingers on the countertop, unable to properly pace with all the extra wiring hooked up to it. "You will need weapons. Or good cloaking. Ideally both."

"I am the weapon. Also--" Cay dropped a pile of Stealthman devices on the table. "Do you think this is enough, or should I bring more?"

How a speaker that sounded like it was playing a recording of a recording of a recording managed to convey both exhaustion and amusement, Caythaes wasn't really sure, but they figured they ought to be proud of their work because of it. "I suppose I should be pleased with my manipulation of this prosthetic's sensory array that you think I can see whatever you just set down."

"Oh, good point!"

It took longer to install the camera than the speaker, but they had to fabricate a few of those parts on the spot first. Once done, their arm rose up taller on its fingers and then promptly wobbled. "Ohhhh, it is a very good thing I can't get nauseous. Disoriented, but not nauseous. Fascinating. What is the maximum duration on these devices?"

"Half an hour as long as I'm sneaking, and don't kill anyone or touch things I'm not supposed to!" They flashed a bright smile to their arm, now that it could see it. "I will probably stop to touch things I'm not supposed to. That's why I bring extras."

"I will advise very strongly that you curb that impulse. Fatalion is currently a guest in a laboratory, and most of it appeared to be alchemical in nature. I was able to help her contrive an explosive, but that went as well as you can expect, given my presence now."

The words "labratory" and "alchemy" made Cay's ears perk even higher than normal, and the gremlin giggle returned with a vengeance. "Ohhhhh, I'm gonna touch so many things." With that giddy declaration, they picked up a heavy pack and swept the pile of Stealthmans into it, then started tossing in even more.

After a moment, they stopped, raising a finger and shaking it authoritatively at the arm on the table.

"I should bring help."

The arm had about a nanosecond of time where it allowed itself to be relieved. "I am admittedly uncertain whether more bodies would be better or worse, but--"

And then Cay leaned their head out the door of the workshop and shouted, "LEON, I NEED SUPERVISION WHILE I'M RESCUING FATE AGAIN."

If mechanical limbs could flinch.

---

"...Listen, I know yer gonna go no matter wot I say so obviously I'm goin', but I 'ave t' at least be th' one t' say tha' this feels very much like a trap."

Cay's ears tipped down just slightly, only to stand back up with a hopeful offering of, "…We can have the Meddlers on standby?"

Leon and Cay's arm both sighed at the same time. Leon had the presence of mind to be discomfited by that, but opted not to comment on it. He'd spent the first five minutes of his interactions with the talking limb pointing out how bloody strange the entire scenario was already and beating a dead horse didn't make the horse any less dead. "Yeah...yeah."

"I mean, we can't not go, Leon. I'll- I'll bring lots of explosives, and- I mean, I have lockpicks, an auxiliary grappling hook, I can't die in a meaningful way..."

"You should be more concerned with capture than death."

"You should--yeah, wot h- sh- ... wot tha' said. An' fer th' record it's def'nitely toppin' th' charts o' th' bizarre tha' we're takin' tactical suggestions from yer hand!"

"Yeah, but one of the Fates is piloting it! Isn't that cool?!"

Leon had the look of a man considering one of a thousand questions, or possibly just debating pretending he didn't actually hear anything and going back to baking. He'd gotten that look a few times already. Eventually, he settled on, "If we're gonna go, we oughta get movin'."

"Agreed. I cannot lead the way back, but once we are in the main caverns, I should be able to locate the laboratory."

"Yay! I'm gonna touch so much stuff!"

( @daily-writing-challenge @mekandawn )

[randommemestouse]

Post-DWC Blues Asks

Another DWC has wrapped up and I know we're all feeling it, so now is a good time for all those questions we had while reading the stories!

Ask IC or OoC questions about my stories or OCs! Tell me what your favorite story is and why! Tell me what you liked best about a particular story! Tell me what you'd love to see in future DWCs! Ask or say anything!

ANON IS ON!

*Remember to practice good ask/reblog karma! **Be sure to post a list of your stories below!

[naijtlight]

DWC: Day I

HYPNOTIC & STAR @daily-writing-challenge

It was the only time he ever shut up.

She tried not to fault him for it; Naijt had always been a social butterfly from the day they woke. Outgoing and bold in ways that contrasted her quiet concern, impulsive and sexual where she was cautious and romantic, energetic and flighty in opposition to her calm settlement—in every way, they were twins in appearance but reversed in personality.

Sometimes that fueled arguments. Sometimes it brought them closer. Sometimes they were what each other needed to refuel in the company of and sometimes they wanted nothing to do with one another. Siblings were simply like that, she'd discovered, no matter how much she tried to understand and learn from the experiences of others' familial connections. Thankfully, today contained an evening of hypnotic bonding via the giving and receiving of henna wherein she was the artist and he was the canvas, so no bickering arose.

He called upon her for this more and more, lately, and she was not sure she would ever refuse; it relaxed them both.

"You fall asleep and smudge any of this and I'll cry," Dej jabbed after her brother nearly nodded off where he sat. He blamed whatever new incense she chose to burn while drawing as the cause of his meditative heaviness.

A four-pointed star decorating each elbow was the last shape she added to the designs that crawled from all ten fingertips up along both forearms. Naijt obediently sat as still as he was quiet; if it meant coming out of a long wait feeling newly spruced up with dye or make-up, he'd tolerate almost anything, it seemed.

"Want me to give you some after this dries?"

"...No, thank you; your artwork is crude. Stick to your stage stuff."

[wwemcumuscleslover]

My Fantastic Four of The Dick Wolf Universe

[v-e-g-n]

DWC: Day II

CAGE & POWER @daily-writing-challenge

Sri-La Village only started to feel like home after his parents were out of the equation; before then, it had been a cage. It had been the reason he learned how to polymorph into an escaping black cat that he let his inner circle know him for. It had been the reason he dabbled with the taboo of smoking fel during particularly dire outlooks he wanted to escape at any cost. It had even been the reason he got into too much, too soon—the reason, perhaps, that he couldn't settle into his marriage. Another house with another man that sought... routine.

Now he had nobody to keep imprisoning his power. Better late than never, right?

Now, he could practice what he'd only been able to study for years without the risk of coming back to that shack and having experimentation found out because he 'smelled like arcane'—without being abused as repercussion. He could keep his magic tomes displayed on a shelf in his room and not hidden under his floorboards. He recognized what it felt like to attain a sense of security. A sense of self. A sense of some actual confidence that was not feigned beneath a disguise of scoffs and smirks. Understanding. Freedom.

The draconic attributes that came with this newfound emergence, however, were a new, different battle to contain altogether.

He wondered if the renowned bastard that jeered at him for being a half-breed while passing by in Silvermoon even recognized what those halves were. For the first time, though, something about that belittlement clicked.

Yes. Yes, he was only half sin'dorei. Yes, that came with many struggles—an entire malformation in his head, even, thanks to a brain that wanted to befit a dragon squeezing into a skull befit for an elf. But he was stronger for it than they were. He had more of a link to the arcane than his own haughty, long-eared bloodline thought themselves to, and that was worthy of a sadistic chuckle.

No more shame.

He did not really want the horns, wings, and tail that tried to sprout after his surgery to be a part of his everyday image, but they were easy enough to contain for now. One thing at a time.

Still, no more shame.

[shouldaspunastory]

Thank you @broodsys! @dadrunkwriting

This might be wildly out OOC once we get more details or the game drops, but Emmrich Volkarian has bewitched me body and soul, and I love and have already drawn and begun collecting headcanons and lore for my Rook that is going to woo/be wooed and marry the gentleman necromancer. Hope you enjoy.

Emmrich Volkarin x Tobias Rook (SFW, Pre-relationship, pining. 1192 words) ------------------

The thing of it is, Emmrich is far more accustomed to dealing with the dead, isn’t he? Skeletons, in particular. Nevarra may be a warm enough clime, but the necromancer knows the cool, stale air of the Necropolis and his study filled with bones, old tomes, parchment, ink, and the scent of his favorite teas far better than that of the sun and bustling markets miles above. What he knows of the living- aside from that of a few colleagues- is primarily of their connections to and beliefs surrounding death and what rites should follow. Anything outside of that, well, it is largely theoretical. That’s never troubled him before. That it should do so now, so late in life, is… unexpected, to say the least.

And Tobias Rook is… warm, bright, and more alive than anyone Emmrich has even known. A series of utterly baffling and delightful contradictions Emmrich could spend the rest of his life puzzling over and never entirely figure out. Exactly the kind of challenge, the sort of puzzle, he adores. He adores them, a realization that had shaken him to his very core. They make Emmrich feel more alive than he has in years, and, somehow, both younger and older at the same time, makes their heart stop and race. It’s probably a lucky thing he’s already gone gray, or some of their more reckless antics would almost certainly inspire some new ones. They’ve come away from today’s battle on a little more bruised and worse for wear, but the mage is well aware how easily it might have been otherwise.

“Do you ever think about it,” Emmrich asks when he and Rook are finishing an evening cup of tea, the rest of their companions having already turned in for the night. Given his area of expertise, and the odds of what they’re up against it seems prudent to ask. Truthfully, it seems almost shamefully neglectful he’s not done so before now.

“What’s that?”

“Death. What comes after. What rites you would like others to perform for you,” the necromancer prompts, but Rook shakes their head.

“Not as often as you, I suspect,” Rook replies with a soft, amused chuckle, then, sobering a little, mulls the question over in order to give him a more serious response.

Rook does that a lot. They are playful- albeit sometimes a bit irreverent soul. But they never shame or discourage Emmrich when he spirals into an impromptu lecture about his latest studies or curiosities, even when they don’t entirely understand them, they ask him questions and do their best to provide him both with humor, and thoughtful responses in equal measure.

Emmrich is used to being the butt of a fair number of jokes over the years, not that he’s ever paid those much mind, but Rook is inexplicably far more interested in making him laugh than laughter at his expense. Where some of his colleagues and acquaintances over the years deemed him peculiar, even somehow vaguely off-putting for being so committed and interested in his grim work, Rook consistently seeks out his company, praises and seems to admire his passion, even if they don’t share it for the same things.

“I don’t want or need any pomp or circumstance, and I’d hate to think the last thing I ever did was inconvenience my friends. I don’t know for certain what comes after, but I don’t believe I’ll be needing my body for it. Whatever is easiest, does the least damage- to your purses- that’s what I want.”

Emmrich frowns thoughtfully. It’s not that he expects Rook to share his exact views on death, their answer is a pragmatic one, but hearing them speak with so little reverence for their body and its care after death- a body he’s come to… appreciate since first they met- is difficult for him to reconcile.

“I never-“ but Rook cuts themselves short, biting their tongue, and taking a sip of their tea to give them a moment’s pause. “I’ve never cared if anyone knew my name,” they continue finally, refining the thought as they set their cup of tea back on its saucer. “That was never why I joined up with the Shadow Dragons, and it’s not why I’m doing this now.” Emmrich nods as they continue.

“I don’t care if the world knows my name. I’ve never needed that. I just want to matter to someone… one person to remember me- even if that memory fades with the two of us. If it was the right one, that would be enough,” Rook concludes. This is a sentiment Emmrich can understand, and one he shares. He sighs softly, a little wistful. Were he a younger man…

“For what it’s worth, Little Bird, I know I’m not the right one, but I could live a thousand lives and never forget you. I don’t know how anyone could.” Rook draws in a shallow breath, pupils blown wide as they try to meet Emmrich’s eyes which are suddenly rigidly fixed upon the floor in front of them.

“Why not,” Rook asks softly. These words catch the necromancer by surprise if the way his head shoots up at their question is any indication.

‘What?”

“Why not you,” Rook repeats, their voice is soft, almost like speaking too loudly will shatter whatever this strange, beautiful, and fragile moment between them is. Perhaps it will. Emmrich’s throat feels dry, despite the tea, tighter than it had a moment before. Were it not for the way it hammers against his ribs, quite as if it wishes to escape the confines of its bone prison to reach them, Emmrich would swear his heart has stopped.

“I wouldn’t mind if it was you,” Rook admits, suddenly uncharacteristically shy. “I, um, I’d really like that, actually,” they confess softly.

Their cheeks are flush, Emmrich thinks, unable to do anything for a moment but to gape at them. Full of blood, of life, warmth, their eyes full of light, of nerves, yes, but also, hope, a tenderness he’s seen before now, but clearly not for all that it was. They bite their lip and Emmrich realizes he’s been silent, lost in his swirling thoughts, for too long. His gloved hand gently clasps one of their hands, his thumb finding Rook’s pulse and caressing the inside of their wrist. Their heartbeat more akin to a hummingbird than their namesake, but precious all the same. I’ve done that, Emmrich marvels, cool fingers of his bare hand reaching out to rescue their bottom lip, bangles on his arm tingling softly, joining the symphony of his quickly beating heart and shallow breaths.

“Are you sure,” Emmrich asks, words scarcely louder than a whisper, but needing to offer them one last out.

“Please,” Rook nods, and Emmrich doesn’t keep them waiting, fingers moving to card through their hair before coming to cradle the back of their head as his lips meet theirs in a kiss of infinite care and patience, as though the pair have all the time in the world, and he, can think of nothing better to do with that time than this. And just now, he can’t.

[k-i-h-u]

DWC: Day III

SUSPICIOUS & SALUTATION @daily-writing-challenge

“Don’t mind them, slick,” the innkeeper chuffed whilst taking the catch of fish Kihu brought in for him—a routine task the siren took to as an unofficial assistant to the business’s chef and for a few extra coin. He had been honored ever since he was assigned to maintain their supply of seafood considering just how easy it would be to find any other experienced local; Boralus was a port teeming with anglers and sailors. Kihu, however, never held back on his ability to literally lure schools of fish in by simply standing there with a net.

He’d begun to undo his long ponytail of inky ebony (hence the ‘slick’ nickname comparing it to an oil spill) now that his hands were freed and that unshakeable feeling of still having eyes on him forced a wondrous stare to aim over his shoulder at a few bystanders peeking in at him. Some he even recognized as having trailed him from the shores.

Wesley Rockhold dumped Kihu’s haul into a prepared barrel of ice and plopped its wooden lid on top once everything was mixed into the cold for storage. “You know how this place is; word gets around fast and they’re all a bit superstitious. The fact that you say you are not affiliated with the tidesages yet able to do what you do has them now wondering if you are a mermaid with legs.” The brunette guffawed at that and reached over to jokingly swat the back of a hand against Kihu’s bared chest that was very much so a pair of pectorals and not a pair of breasts within seashells. Male mermaids were an impossible anomaly to them but the accusation persisted regardless.

All Kihu could do was awkwardly rub behind an ear and smile down at the bar—an expression that was actually detectable for once since he did not wear his veil when working a task like this. They weren’t far off with their guess, after all... and that was exactly why he chose this location to settle down. If he ever was found out, at least the people here would already have a semblance of his make to compare him to without panic.

What Kihu himself did not know was that he did have far more ties to the tidesages than he realized and that his draw to this area held deeply-rooted meanings beyond the guise of being able to blend in at the bustling docks.

A hefty handful of silver was pocketed into the little pouch on his pant belt still damp from sea spray before thanking Wesley for the umpteenth time with a formal bow of the head. The inn was then exited and the handful of Kul Tiran people that quizzically pondered his existence right by its doorway bickered after him about why he had the draw that he did. Some visits were worse than others; skeptics and fans of all makes would create a small crowd that watched over him one hour and then the next, only one or two brave souls would actually approach with salutations and questions. They’d then leave his company in confusion. Kihu was just... a ren’dorei; plain from a distance but, yes, rather pretty the longer you looked at him. Even for an elf among humans, though, he did not exactly stand out or incite drooling when he bore no tattoos, no runes, no storytelling scars, no unique haircut, and no bright colors. Even his vaguely tall height and healthy musculature were as average as his wardrobe choices. It must all have been in those damn eyes and his communicative charm...

Still, how did that warrant groups of onlookers?

The beckon of a siren did not always require vocalization and that left Kihu just as stumped as they were as to why his allure so drastically changed from one day to the next. He'd yet to pinpoint the cause. At least there was never a dull moment...

[calsper]

DWC: Day III

MOROSE & STRENGTH @daily-writing-challenge

“Bwah!” Clang. “Don’t! Go away!”

The blade had missed the rat swung for and only hit stone but the message got across to the scavenging animal: go away, indeed. Respect for all of nature’s creatures and the circle of life only went so far when the mind of a child hardly older than a toddler was the one tasking himself to keep the garden safe.

“Calsper,” came the calm warning voice of a behooved mother.

The little elf in question guiltily dragged his makeshift weapon and moccasin-snug feet over to his new parental figures where they sat upon a boulder overlooking Mulgore. “But it was gon’ eat the gr—eat the... the rice!”

“Grain,” Tuari corrected, the hand he’d had at rest upon his wife’s knee moving to instead pat at the top of Cal’s head. Tauren palms were practically helmets when settled on the likes of a sin’dorei youth. “It is alright. Some spills upon the floor, does it not? Perhaps the rat was hungry and cleaning up what was on the ground.”

Lips rounded out into the biggest pout he could manage. “Nuh-uh... nibblin’ on the bag.”

A deeply-rooted chuckle came from Tuari’s chest whilst drawing his hand back in playful release. “Then you did well to scare it away but I know you were not aiming to scare. We can safely trap them for release if it becomes an issue. You understand?”

"...Mm-hmm.” His little weapon was leaned against the boulder so he could scramble up into Wedi’s lap and allow her to pick blades of grass from brunette hair. Before the short pole could fall from its lean, though, Tuari caught it and lifted it towards his scrutinizing gaze for another routine inspection.

He never identified what this dull blade of silver was; he nor any other Tauren had seen anything like it. They had come as a pair in one of the boxes from Calsper’s late folks but only one thus far was attempted to be given purpose. Naturally, neither of them wanted to give in to Cal’s begging for something potentially dangerous, but it was already rusting in places and unable to cut. A practice tool was the best he could come up with, even as a practiced armorsmith. “What kind of blade attaches at this angle to a surface that flat...? And with screws? I have never understood it.”

“I still think you should ask the sin’dorei. If that is who it came from, surely they must know something.”

Her voice was much too sweet to stubbornly try and reason with so this time, Tuari let it win him over with a knowing sigh. Besides, he had exhausted all the other options he wanted to try first.

Tuari Redcreek went about the task alone with the unused blade. He had taken it to Silvermoon’s archeologists to study for a day before returning the next in order to retrieve it along with—hopefully—some answers. And answers he got. The problem was that they only sprouted a hundred questions more.

“It is a figure skating blade.”

Nostrils flared in an exhale after a pause of cluelessness passed over his features.

Elynara, head of the Reliquary, graciously and unknowingly went on to explain in her awe, “I do not believe these have been used for centuries; the art has practically gone extinct as something unnecessary in all these morose times of war.”

A gruff, incredulous huff asked, “Art?”

The blade was returned to his awaiting fingers in a strip of velvet fabric. “The art of ice dancing. I’m afraid there is very little on the subject in our archives but it is either a sport or a hobby depending on how one wishes to see it. Often for competitive show, sometimes for leisure.” Fingers steepled before herself. “The only articles I found I have made copies of for you; it was compared to gymnastics on razors as something requiring an immense amount of strength and perfected balance. These went on the soles of the boots.”

He pried for as much information as he could. Did she believe them to be something Cal’s parents found in one of their treasure-hunting ventures or something passed down in the family? Did she know of any others by name that may know? Was it an art only among the sin’dorei or did it take place in the history of other cultures, too? But she was wary to make any assumptions she did not have definitive answers for; no way of knowing, no names, and too little written history. His explorations into the matter would be starting at the same place as hers.

She wished him luck as he left.

[altherei]

DWC May 2025 - Day 3 Gaze/Linger

She tried to spend more time in Silvermoon, if only to people-watch. There was never a shortage of interesting characters or strange happenings happening in places far too public.. and so long as she had zero intent to engage? Well, what was the harm?

Her blue-white gaze idly scanned over passers-by as she wandered through the city, thoughts wandering alongside her. It was strange, in a way, how the city felt so much the same even after all these decades. Her eyes drifted to one of the many crystal spires dotting the city's skyscape, quietly thinking to herself how much time and effort- magical and otherwise- had truly been needed to build such a city.

And following from a distance, now remaining in the deeper shadows of Murder Row, a single glowing, yellow eye lingered after her movements. Clad in dark leathers and looking not at all out of place in the seedier area of the city Altherei made a point to avoid, Marne could do as he was instructed without raising her suspicion. And even if by some strange turn she did turn to look behind her for anything other than a strange noise or interesting bit of conversation...? Well, he'd be gone as if never there.

"Why is he even having me do this," Marne muttered to himself, voice a rough snarl. "What does he expect me to learn just trailing her?" The city breeze had no answer to his rhetorical question, and as she was on the move again, so was he- this time, to the city's library.

"Of course she'd go there," He rolled his eye, begrudgingly moving after. Marne was no stranger to what he did, and an expert at it, besides- he knew how to follow without appearing as such. And while a Forsaken may not have been a common sight in the city, it was far from unexpected. And any who looked down their noses at his rotted self could expect a glare worthy of one raised from the grave, and shrink back in disgust.

Good. Let them be disgusted, He thought to himself. He knew what he was, and he made no effort to disguise it or make himself palatable to others. Once Altherei was in the library, and himself somewhat shortly after, he took his shadowy shroud upon his shoulders, slipping into visual nothingness.

He watched as Altherei gathered a few books- history and magic, by his layman's knowledge. Perhaps he'd check them after she finished, but something else began to nag at the back of his mind, lingering there.

What had really happened to her brother, Eldwin? He knew the man had been court martialed and executed for treason under Sylvanas' reign. But if he was as sickeningly goody-two-shoes as his youngest sibling, then surely there had to be more to it.

And if there was more to it, then perhaps that "more" would be of use in ... whatever bizarre plan Ilvisar had. He had never asked, in truth- and in truth, he didn't really care. If he got paid, that was that. Let family drama be family drama. But if he could find something that gave him leverage... well, then things got interesting.

And fortunately for him- and unfortunately for her- he knew precisely where to look.

@daily-writing-challenge

[castien-ffxiv]

Joie de Vivre

Mistake/Wild: Day 5 @daily-writing-challenge

It felt as if the past handful of weeks had been eons. She often wondered what Cyrus had been doing in their time apart. More often than not Castien had spent her time on ships when she wasn’t sailing the seas beneath sails and wading surfs she had taken up odd jobs at the Smoking Crow in Black Water Bay or upholding commissions that took full advantage of her skill set.

Crimson eyes traveled across the darkness to her companions whom she had been traveling the past few days with. The Lady Gray hadn’t been someone she was too accustomed to knowing but had been learning little by little during the journey they had been embarking upon within the wilds of Yak T’el malms from Tuliyoyall and the comforts of the seas that she had found peace within.

Wren she knew even less of aside from the fact she had been Ward to the Lady Gray and from what Castien could tell, the two were close but they kept the relationship professional – close friends more than the norm for what an employer and employee would be.

Then there was the Lady Cress, Vahalia. Still, quite the mystery as the woman often kept her private life under lock and key.

Smirking, Castien continued to carve at the curve of the piece in her hand, having worked at it for some hours now, “The lads back home must be quite jealous of our outing.” she mused with some mild jubilant snark while whittling away.

“Nary such for myself,” Wren replied and Cordelia simply remained quiet. The book within the Lady Gray's hand must have kept her attention far better than the conversation, or perhaps, it was simply a pleasant excuse.

“And you?” Castien gazed to Vahalia.

The Lady Cress only afforded Castien the slightest of smirks and a shake of her head, “I’m certain details will have to be shared though to their dismay it might not be as interesting as they play it up to be in their mind.”

“So there is someone within the darkened halls of yours?” Castien asked blowing the slivers of curled wood from the piece, listing forward she handed it off towards Vahalia.

Taking the wooden carving, Vahalia turned it over in her hand as the piece itself seemed to be very much a small gift for her. The slope and shape of the item depicted that of a tulip-shaped bell sans any true detailing but it was quality in and of itself. There was no mistaking that this had been carved with Vahalia in mind, “Yes. Though it matters little.” she finally responded to Castien, remembering something she had been privy to several months prior, “You and Cyrus though, I recall Cyrus asking me for wood of great calibur for you when you both had seized the most recent ship some moons ago.”

A small nod came and Castien pulled another piece from her bag, half-finished but it was easily starting to resemble that of a moth’s wing, “If that is your subtle way of asking if he and I are together, then yes.” the knife continued to work away at the soft wood and a few blows expelled from Castien again to rid the work of debris, “Quite the odd way we happened to meet though it makes for an interesting story. Caught him out hard on his luck and while he was in need for work I directed him to Ishgard. That is where he came upon Eivor, Carrera and eventually you.” she bobbed her head towards Vahalia, “Bit of a wild thing that man if you haven’t noticed.”

“I have but the said could be said of you, Bancroft.” Vahalia swiftly replied, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the tell-tale signs.”

Castien paused and her red eyes pinned across to Vahalia before cutting to Cordeila and Wren nearby. Cordi was still enveloped in her book though Wren looked rather intrigued.

“Worry not.” Vahalia laughed, “To make you an enemy would mean to make one of myself. It seems we all are familiar with the same dark halls. Make no mistake, you’re well within your proper circle here.”

For a brief moment, Castien caught a looming sensation that lingered in the darkness behind Vahalia, the space before her between Wren and Cordelia illuminated well by the fire's light but still, she had felt less of a threat enclosing the space and more at peace with the notion of being somewhere she belonged; darkness included.

Outside of Cyrus – these were her people.

Mention(s): @cyrus-black - @promethea-silk - @vahalia-cress - @song-of-wren

[geronimomo-spd]

finally made my archive of doctor who Confidential able to be shared! here you got the full episodes, the youtube videos, and such! all is here according to the Tardis wiki episode list! (even some of the episodes are in hd, the ones i managed to find in full!

[noonmutter]

Speleobuffoon

DWC May 2025 Day 2: Placate/Graceful

Fate hissed as her leg threatened, for the thousandth time, to buckle underneath her, and forced herself to keep moving. Fire had, as it typically did, solved an immediate problem: the cage lock was destroyed, and one of her apparent captors went with it. As did the cage door, a good portion of the chamber floor, the doorway leading out of the chamber, the door itself, and a fairly large space on the opposite wall in the hallway outside.

And, as solving problems with fire typically did, it caused a few new problems. Firstly, where there'd been at least a small chance of her maintaining some semblance of stealth and maybe getting out without further incident, there was now shouting, weapons clattering, and the clicking skitter of dozens of Nerubian legs pursuing her or scrambling to join said pursuit. Secondly, a lot of them were also pretty pissed off, and she'd left a literal glowing trail leading straight to her. Thirdly, there was still venom running through her body, she had no energy left to purge it, and she wouldn't be able to gather any until she had a moment to stop and breathe.

Fourthly, Cay's sheared-off arm was going ballistic on her. She really wasn't sure what it was trying to tell her anymore; it'd held on for dear life when she'd exploded out of the cage and holding chamber, but as soon as she'd landed, it'd clambered up her back and slapped her over the back of the head. She wasn't completely stupid, she knew it was angry, but they'd escaped, right? Being out was good! One problem at a time!

"If you're gonna complain can you at least be useful? There's gotta be more shit in there than lockpicks."

She wasn't even sure why she still talked to it. It was either ignoring her or responding appropriately by complete coincidence, when it did. Whichever one it was, the arm hopped off her shoulder and scrambled up the hallway on its fingers like the most bizarre insect Fate had ever seen. Which was saying something, given where she was.

It was hard for her to glean very much without anyone to talk to or eavesdrop on, or even any visible signage, aside from that she was in a solidly constructed building and that it was probably made by Nerubians. There wasn't very much light beyond the occasional small torch, and the pale purple glow from her mane; she assumed what orange had remained was probably close to her scalp and nowhere else. That made sense, really; the whispering was getting loud again. Because she needed more problems today.

When the hand ahead of her finally stopped and tapped insistently at a pale protrusion on the wall, Fate looked up and realized it was framing a doorway. She liked to think she would've noticed that on her own, if she hadn't been watching a disembodied hand toddle its way along in front of her like a wierd little metal guide dog.

Though it made her legs threaten mutiny once more, she forced herself to stop and press up close to the wall, leaning over to peek inside as carefully as she could. Thankfully, there was no one waiting in ambush, but the presence of a few long, raised platforms with an absolutely astonishing array of glassware full of liquids and semi-liquids in all colors of the Ugly Rainbow told her immediately where she was: a lab.

Fate had seen a few labs since she'd woken up. Some of them had belonged to new friends, and were full of interesting machinery and curiosity-inducing bottles with ominous labeling.

Most of them had belonged to Neltharion. Those were full of darkness, and the smell of death and decay and burnt shadow. She'd learned what lab experiments looked like in Aberrus. Their father had already deemed the dracthyr a failure a long time ago, and they'd gotten out lucky, compared to everything else they found.

She already knew she didn't want to be a prisoner. She really didn't want to be an experiment again.

With a small shudder, Fate turned to keep walking, but the hand had gotten hold of the end of her tail and was trying to walk into the lab with it. She reflected on the wierdness that was her life for a quarter of a second before she sighed and walked along after it. What else could she do? Either it had a plan or it was trying to kill her, and she had no plans and things were trying to kill her anyway, so it seemed like pretty simple math to her. Wasn't like she couldn't just stomp the damn thing if she had to, it wasn't exactly fast.

A few minutes later, as she was throwing a violently-shaking vial full of frothing neon green liquid at the ceiling, she reflected that 'fast' was relative.

A mechanical arm with what turned out to be a grappling hook embedded in it, for example, could be considered incredibly fast once the hook had found purchase and started reeling itself in so rapidly that she almost lost her grip on it. Her flight was not the most graceful she'd ever made, not by a long shot, but it was damn sure fast. So was the "ohshit!" that tumbled out of her mouth as she brought her free hand up to catch herself before she slammed straight into a stalactite.

Once she'd grabbed hold of the rocky ceiling on her own, the hand once again converted itself back to Just A Normal Mechanical Hand Don't Mind Me, and patted Fate on the head. Add another one to the unique experiences list: condescended to by a disembodied limb. She heaved an immense sigh, then looked down. She took in the absolute enormity of the caverns containing the Nerubian city below her, and the laboratory complex that she'd just exited at mach 2. In particular, she noted the creepy bug-people literally swarming out of the hole she'd made.

Her vision swam, and she had no idea why for a moment. She was a dracthyr, it's not like she was afraid of heights! And then her side twinged, and it was like her tail had been set on fire and gone up like a fuse, and she remembered.

Ah. Right. The poison...maybe I shoulda taken my chances in the lab for a while...

She wasn't sure if she'd actually said "oh no, oh no no no NO NO" out loud or if she was just imagining it as accompaniment to the frantic scrabbling of Cay's hand trying to grab her and the ceiling at the same time. Inevitably, it failed, and as Fate, exhausted, began to fall, the hand trembled in place in what she could only describe as frustrated indecision before it burrowed into the rocks and disappeared.

welp.

( @daily-writing-challenge @mekandawn )

[cellody]

DWC: Day IV

SALTY & EUPHORIA @daily-writing-challenge MENTIONS: @v-e-g-n, @k-i-h-u

“—What the hell are you doing here?”

It was the first time Vegn ever actually caught himself speaking before he could think about his words or tone. How else was he supposed to respond, though, when he heard a knock upon his door and opened it to find the reclusive Lance? The lamb of a young man rarely ever seemed to leave home and never sought the mage out beyond the occasional letter that pertained to friendly matters of business, whether they be requests for an enchantment or something pertaining to their shared artistry with instruments (even though Vegn only specialized in the one).

If the clear folder containing personally-penned sheet music he held up had anything to say about it, the later seemed to be Lance’s reason for appearing.

A few loose waves of ivory hair that fluttered in the salty, seaside breeze were tucked away as he timidly explained, “I’m sorry, I-I know I should have given you a notice… but I had a request I do not trust mail for.” A sheepish yet relieved hum of thanks was given once allowed inside and detail-oriented, spring-green eyes immediately began to take in the minx’s abode since he’d never come to see it before. The kitchen was the immediate room stepped into after walking over the entry mat accompanied by a few commonly-used pairs of black shoes and slippers available for guests that the cultural aspect of was forgotten. Vegn, however, did not point out the matter when he knew how distracted and somewhat foreign Lance must have felt in being here.

“Tea?”

A passing moment of consideration over a fresh cup that he could smell kept him quiet before he reluctantly decided, “No, but thank you. I do not wish to trouble or keep you long so I hope to be brief.” Having said that, he smiled, “But the aroma is as lovely as your place is.”

Vegn chuffed to himself. It was a decent sort of cottage but nothing special in any way so it was only the kindest of folk that complimented its small size and sparse decorating. He thanked Lance regardless and motioned for him to take a seat at the table, himself choosing to occupy the chair across from his guest. “What’s this about, then…?”

Lance opened the folder and fingered through a few of the pages before pulling out the selection desired—something Vegn silently noted with the slow quirk of a brow. This must have been a part of a whole considering how many papers were in there. “I was hoping I could gather a recording of you playing the flute for its part in this piece.”

Stranger, it was titled. “Piece,” Vegn echoed. “I did not know you to dabble in large orchestral arrangements—only solos. What is this for…?”

Lance fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. Oh, he dabbled… he dabbled a lot. More than he painted. More than he sculpted. Orchestral things were as much a part of his life’s consistency as being a luthier was. “Kihu requested a commissioned song.”

Again, Vegn emphasized his wonders by slowly repeating them even as he studied the sheet music before him. “Kihu. A commissioned song.” His forehead went taut whilst rubbing at his left temple. “This is… unexpected. You know he cannot sing to or for others, yes? I was unaware he’d even taken up enough interest in hearing about your expertise to reach out.” The papers were perused for some sort of signature. “And who wrote this?”

Lance’s fidgeting quickened in a way that answered for himself. “Please do not tell…”

The arcanist thumped back into his seat with so much perplexed weight that the legs of his chair nudged a noise out of wooden floors. “Why? How long have you been composing? And when did Kihu approach you for this? What did he say?”

One question too many, it seemed; the artisan didn’t know which one to begin with thus stammered for a second as hands went from his sleeves to the low braid gathered over his chest. “I—well…” He told Kihu everything, so why not Vegn? But was Vegn capable of keeping it to himself? Was this still even a secret worth keeping? (Kihu had been so much easier to open up to.) “He let me know that it was his dream to sing to the people and that, even if he never found a way to, it’d do him good to know that a suitable piece existed at the ready for him to belt. One all his own. One from… my hand.” His throat cleared with the want to have accepted that offer for tea. “He visited under the assumption that I may know someone to direct him to for music writing. He knew of all my previous pieces when I caved enough to list my own out; never knew that they were all by the same person.”

Nor did the rest of the world, it seemed. Vegn blinked in accordance with the population and remained mum in order to force the other to continue elaborating in his own time.

Lance sighed. The only way he could once more expose himself was by first looking down at his knees. “I have been composing all my life under pseudonyms.”

Unsurprisingly, Vegn pieced as such together before the words were spoken, but he lifted his chin anyway when probing, “Why?”

“To preserve my peace. I never wanted to be known as a prodigy; I can barely handle crowds and compliments as it is when my surname is recognized for the family craft. People start to ask for favors and personalized things—start to try and get close as a means ‘in’ rather than for any true… you know… desire for normal friendship. I don’t need infamy.”

Vegn tried to object that Lance put his name on his art but was told that that was because his paintings and sculptures were an imperfected hobby he rarely ever displayed or sold in the first place. His music was freed. Classic. Ridiculously so. When a few of his titles were quietly prattled off, the mage could feel himself paling; these were pieces that children hummed the basic melodies of as unforgettable lullabies. Tunes commonly used in formal advertisements. Ballets. Sound bites in ballad remixes. The impossibility of suddenly having this knowledge dropped on him left him winded.

All of those composers were known by name only; all had backgrounds that had to be speculated upon. A few had indeed theorized that they were all connected to one person not yet unveiled and many of those conspiracists respected that obvious desire for privacy, but… to now know that name and the man that bore it was historic. Lance was historic.

“Please,” Lance pleaded again in a whisper after leaning forward. “I trust you with this because of and for Kihu. I accepted this commission because he just—he… really bore into my heart with his predicament. His longing was infectious a-and I could not say no. Even if anonymous on paper, I’d be honored to bestow upon a siren a song of his very own—even if he can only ever enjoy singing it to himself.”

Vegn had plopped his whole face into a palm at some point, in need of the bewildered privacy its masking shade provided. This wound up being a far more momentous request than he at first realized. To play the flute for a man that wrote music he himself—and practically all musicians of the world—practiced without knowing… Why me was on the tip of his tongue but dissolved when he recognized that Kihu likely insisted on him being the flautist for the instrumental track. How much of this was Kihu’s beloved pleading and how much of it was his power of allure? Did that even matter…? “Lance,” he steadied, hands moving to steeple over the bridge of his own nose. “I want to say that I don’t think you understand how revered you are, but... I know you know. I just don’t believe that you want to remain unknown.” A pressing stare flit directly into a connection with the composer’s lifted own. “You would not otherwise have told Kihu and me.”

It was Lance’s turn to pale. The discoloration, however, was short-lived as he let a wash of silence re-warm his soft face and closed eyelids. Yes, it was an enormously difficult yet tremendous weight to think about lifting; only in recent years when he let his husband in on the enigmatic renown and with never-ending pressure from his aunt did he finally begin to even contemplate stepping into the limelight. He’d grown so impossibly much since having made the decision to use pseudonyms in his youth—physically, mentally, and in budding confidence thanks to the presence of a steadfast romance. Would people really herd him if he so simply put his own name on this page? On all the countless others from years past that he never publicly owned up to?

…Yes. Yes, they would! He knew how the world worked. Most would probably retain respect but the few that did not, well… what if they threatened all of the security he found in the Valdrakken abode he shared with his husband? What if some hatched a parasocial relationship? What if critics came out of the woodwork to nag about the truth? Was he really prepared for the potential negativity and lack of confidentiality? He’d existed, since birth, as a fragile male kept away from the cruelty of the world in clinics, churches, the workshop, apartments—treated all of them like survival bunkers wherein he only left to acquire groceries. To watch Taldormu train. To find a secluded yet scenic area to sketch at. Places with people—events—were rarely ventured to if he could help it. More and more, though, he was requiring less prepping to ease the anxieties of stepping out into the world and he was able to accept words of admiration without rebuttal.

They were very small steps but he noticed them. Taldormu noticed them, too; encouraged them. Vegn’s encouragement was of a completely different flavor but heard nonetheless and impactful in different ways. When the flautist stood to take the seat beside Lance, he did not know, but there he sat with one arm halfway hugging the leucistic male’s shoulders. “I will play the flute for this if you pen your name on it.” The words were as hushed as they were tender in order to keep from spooking Lance from the considerations he so visibly stewed in. They acted as an outstretched hand. Patient and wise.

One such hand actually fluttered before them over the table to teleport a quill and inkwell from the mage’s desk upstairs.

Lance opened his eyes in order to vacantly stare across the dining room corner. “I don’t know,” he whispered. Vegn was turned to with a gutted wilt. “I don’t know…”

“You’re at the peak of your life, Lance. You’ve the safety of your happy marriage and the success of your crafts. Let yourself be recognized for the rest—the best—of your work. You deserve that.” That arm snugly tightened at those last three words to make sure he drilled that home. “I am extending the support Kihu gave to me when I was similarly unwilling to do what he knew would be best. I know what this is like; we’re set in our ways and change is a terror. But you ought to let the world recognize your gift—it is an uproariously divine one tucked within the most humble soul I’ve ever met. Let your name be as monumental as it ought to be for the impact you have in the world of music. Let yourself be an idolized vision to others in similar circumstances of wariness. Prove your worth. If not for the populace, then for your own sake.”

Being consoled by Vegn was just as astonishing as Lance’s arrival in the first place but the more he therapeutically murmured on, the more Lance steeled with surety. What if all of his own inspirations growing up had been just as unreachably fake in name without a history to learn from? He supposed they wouldn’t have been able to be inspirations in the first place and that deeply depressed him to finish the puzzle with. But the end result was now a picture that he wanted to make a reality.

Without a word, a dainty hand reached for the pen, dipped it into the ink, and paused over the first row of measures. A heartfully deep breath helped him to move the rest of the way towards the title… the space beneath which was quickly decorated by his signature that tailed the ‘words and music by’ listing.

Tears of euphoric rapture sprung instantaneously the second he set the quill down and before Vegn could ask how that felt, Lance announced amidst smiling sobs born from the sudden liberation, “I have finally made a pact with myself rather than with a demon.”