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imakemywings · 3 years

Note

Btw, if you're still taking fic requests i wanna request Fëanor/Nerdanel courting (no pressure obviously)

I HAVE IT

Thank u again for giving me an excuse/nudge to write something for these two...it's short but it was fun <3

(Here on AO3)

***

Mahtan was busy that week, and so thanks to his inconvenience, Nerdanel was honored with taking his place on the Council of High Artisans. When her father, strapped for time on a commission he had promised to have done two days from then, had asked if she would be willing, Nerdanel had leaped at the offer. Given her dedication to her craft, no one was much surprised, and it was expected that someday, Nerdanel would have a seat on the council herself. She was even attempting to take notes, though she wasn’t sure her judgement on what was worth noting for her father would match up with what Mahtan thought was necessary to know.

Then again, he was likely to hear it all again from his friends on the council anyway; Nerdanel was only expediting the process.

But that would not take away from her efforts!

That was why, when movement outside the window caught her eye, she determinedly kept her eyes on Hróva, who was speaking, even when the motion continued, and sounded quite a lot like small stones being tossed at the window.

Whatever it was, it was surely no business of hers. Most likely just some immature little Elflings playing a game while Ammë or Atar were at work. It went on for several minutes, disrupting Nerdanel’s ability to note-take with the amount of effort she was putting into not noticing it.

When it finally stopped, she let out a silent breath of relief, and listened appreciatively to Róne discussing a new vein of marble her studio had discovered beyond the hills outside the city and they discussed plans for distributing it evenly. Nerdanel’s peace was short-lived enough, as a courier entered not fifteen minutes later. It did not even occur to her that the message could possibly be for her, until the Elf was bending over by her ear.

“A gentleman to see you,” they said.

“Is it my father?” she asked, although she assumed if it was, the courier would have said so. “Because if it is not, you may tell him I am busy.” The courier hesitated. “Is there some emergency at hand?” she demanded, her cheeks starting to flush as the others fell silent, waiting for Nerdanel’s disruption to end.

“He did not say so.”

“Well, then, let us have our meeting in peace!” Nerdanel hated being made to blush; it clashed abominably with her hair and it was such a terrible betrayal of her ability to appear composed. Hardly the image to present to Elves she hoped would someday vote her onto this council herself!

The courier vanished, and discussion among the council turned to the upcoming “New Beginnings” festival, which was meant to showcase works from all applicants symbolizing the titular theme. There was much work still to be done in preparing the town square where they planned to hold the month-long event, and the amount of coordination for what Nerdanel had regarded as a rather minor event turned out to be staggering. She had never considered there needed to be a discussion on who was going to label each of the works, or take care that none of them were damaged by weather over the time they were on display, if they still intended to hold the event outdoors (and this was also a topic of discussion), and that was to say nothing at allof the catering discussion.

“Lady Nerdanel.” The courier was back, and Nerdanel almost choked.

“The matter is urgent.”

“And who,” Nerdanel hissed, feeling her flush spread down her neck, “is gripped by a terrible emergency which now my aid requires?” The courier hesitated again, and then said:

“Prince Curufinwë Fëanáro.”

Fëanor. Of course it was Fëanor. If every eye in the council had not been on Nerdanel before, they were now.

“Please, excuse me,” she breathed, rising to her feet with a half-bow to the council. She hurried out of the room, passing by the courier on her way to the front entrance of the ostentatious building that served as home for their chapter of the artisans’ guild.

Fëanor was waiting there by the door, impatient, as he usually was. That day, his glossy black hair was pulled back into a truly impressive series of braids, gems dangling from the clasps buried therein, and the close cut of his dark red robes flattered his figure more than Nerdanel wanted to acknowledge. He must have had plans, or been attending his father—most often when she saw Fëanor, he looked like he had only just been dragged out of the forge, fingers still poised to grip a hammer. He was looking not down the hall for her arrival, but up at the sconces on the ceiling, into which later construction artists had carved imitations of the stars.

“Fëanáro,” she said, to draw his attention as she came near. Fëanor’s attentions had only recently begun to cease baffling her, though not so with the rest of the Noldor. Fëanor was not known to have an overabundance of friends, nor had he ever opened a serious courtship, to the chagrin of King Finwë. Not that he was courting Nerdanel…not officially, that was…or at least, Nerdanel had not asked, although…she was not empty of reasons to think it could come to that…in any case, there was enough for the gossip-mill to be running full tilt, and the Noldor to be speculating on what, exactly, their crown prince wanted with one such as Nerdanel.

She tried not to take offense at that.

“Nerdanel! Good. I had begun to wonder what more it would take to pry you from that room.” He turned his attention promptly to her, with no indication he would have simply given up on this task, or, Eru forbid, come back later.

“What calls so urgently for my attention?” she asked.

“Come with me,” Fëanor said simply, pushing open the door and looking back only for the sake of holding it open for Nerdanel to follow. Thinking he preferred a more private location for this discussion, and wondering with a pang of anxiety what it could be, Nerdanel came along wordlessly, balking only when Fëanor carried around to the stable where his horse was tied.

“Where are we going?” she asked, halting in the courtyard.

“Out,” he answered. “Out of the city.”

“Fëanáro! I was told this was an emergency!” Fëanor, fiddling with the reins of his horse, could not suppress the twitch of a smile on his lips.

“It is,” he said. “I was bored.” Nerdanel snorted a most undignified snort.

“And our esteemed Prince Curufinwë Fëanáro is not capable of entertaining himself?” He turned more fully to look at her, and Nerdanel tried her very best to hold firm fixed with a softer look from Fëanor’s burning brown eyes than most anyone else ever saw.

“Not half as well as with you,” he said.

Shit, Nerdanel thought. Atar would have to hear the rest of the meeting from Hróva. She joined Fëanor in mounting up on her horse, and together they rode out of Tirion. With only a slight gesture of her hand, Nerdanel indicated which path she preferred to take that day, and Fëanor silently agreed. When the city began to disappear behind them, they dismounted, and led their horses along behind them at an ambling pace. The sun overhead was mild, warming Nerdanel’s back without overheating her, and there was a slight breeze that was pleasant on her face.

“I have solved the problem of the silver leafing,” Fëanor had announced without preamble, as he did often, simply assuming Nerdanel could track the source of the conversation. She usually could, although sometimes, out of annoyance with his assumptions, she would feign that she did not.

This time, she was certain he was speaking of a diadem on which he had been working when they last spoke.

“I was not aware there was a problem,” she said.

“It was not thin enough,” he said, which was less likely that it was not serviceable, and more that it did not meet Fëanor’s standards, which he was not above inventing new techniques to meet. It was also possible he had decided this was a problem between their last conversation and the present one. “But I have found a better way of preparing it that I might beat it as thin as I need it without it tearing, so the detail work will not be lost.”

The sun gleamed off his dark hair, and Nerdanel’s eyes drifted to the loose grasp of his hand on his reins. She had felt those calloused fingers on the back of her neck once in the studio, and the memory of it threatened to bring that detestable heat to her cheeks again.

Fëanor was still talking, but Fëanor would often talk quite a while without expecting any response. It was only an issue when she tuned back in and he had changed topics while she was daydreaming, or staring at his jawline, which was most certainly not something she did.

“…have not yet had time to consult with Rumil, although I am sure he will approve of my changes…” Somehow they had gone from the diadem to the—what was he calling his new alphabet, these days? Was it still Tengwar? “The new characters will allow for a far more accurate phonetic translation of certain key diphthongs.”

“Only you, Fëanáro,” she said, “would set yourself to creating a new alphabet when we have a perfectly serviceable one already.”

“Why should it be merely serviceable?” Fëanor asked. “Why should it not be the best one we can create? Would you settle for a sculpture that was merely serviceable?” There was a phenomenal amount of disdain in that single word; Nerdanel was frankly impressed. One never had to second-guess if Fëanor was genuine in expressing himself, and she did appreciate that.

“And from you will come the best of what the Noldor can create?”

“Why not from me?” he asked, lifting his chin, not in the least chastised by Nerdanel’s raised eyebrows. “Perhaps another could do so, but they have not tried!” She doubted Fëanor truly thought someone else could do as well as he could, but he did have a point in that few others had Fëanor’s ceaseless energy for the new and untried, for the improvement of everything around him, for the insistence that they could do better, that there was always more, always something of which they had not yet thought. He was many things, but never complacent.

Queen Miriel named him well indeed, Nerdanel thought, not for the first time.

“I will send you another sample of it,” he said, following without hesitation as Nerdanel meandered off the path to stand below a tree and look to the ocean in the distance. “Then you can see for yourself. I am sure you will see the value in—”

Fëanor did not get to finish his sentence, because Nerdanel leaned down and kissed him first. When she drew back, she caught a glimpse of his wide-eyed look before she started laughing, and at once he drew up like an offended snake.

“What’s funny?” he asked. “I have said nothing to make you laugh.”

“You,” she said. “You’re so…” She shook her head, smiling. “Sure am I there is none else in Eä like you, Fëanáro.” Fëanor clearly could not decide whether she meant that as a compliment or not. She could have taken pity on him and told him she meant it well, and if she had not, that she would not have bothered to come out with him at all, but instead she carried on their original path, her horse following without guidance.

“Nerdanel,” Fëanor began, coming along after a pause.

“Hey,” she interrupted. “See you that tree, there?” She pointed. “I will race you to it.” Fëanor, seldom able to reject a challenge, flashed that crooked half-smile again.

“And what shall I receive when I win?” he asked, rubbing his horse’s neck. Nerdanel snorted.

“When you come down from your delusion and see that I have won,” she said, grasping her saddle to hoist herself back up onto the horse’s back, “you will take me somewhere suitable for dinner.”

“And should lightning strike your horse, and I reach the tree first,” he said, “then you shall admit freely that I am far more amusing than your silly council meeting.”

“You know, most had expected you to be on the council, Fëanáro,” she said. His talent for smithing alone would have bought him a lifetime appointment, and the artisans’ guild was frankly still smarting from the fact that he had never shown the slightest interest in being involved in any of their activities, nor were the alone. All of Tirion’s many crafting-related guilds and councils had eagerly awaited Fëanor’s choices in association as his skill in the forge became known, only to one by one be crushed with the realization he meant to chose none of them.

“For what do I need some idle council?” he asked. “That I could be cajoled into planning festivals and coerced into lecturing for some audience? I have real work to do, Nerdanel.”

“I plan to join that council, Fëanáro.”

“It will suit you better than I,” he said. “You are more…” He waved a hand in some motion Nerdanel did not follow.

“Insipidly social?” she asked, quoting something he had told her before about artist’s councils. He at least had the grace to blush, having his words thrown back at him.

“No! Not…I meant it not that way.”

“Hm. You should be very grateful I have not a thin skin for slights,” she told him. Fëanor could be a powerful speaker when it suited him—she had heard him sway a room to his argument before and was still something in awe of that—but in personal conversation, he was often brusque and not infrequently offended, through carelessness or refusal to withhold for civility’s sake. Nerdanel, to his good fortune, was not easily offended, and had learned not always to take what he said seriously. “Now, be thinking of where you shall take me for dinner,” she instructed him.

“That will not be necessary,” he said, grasping the pommel of his saddle.

“I think it will!” she said, digging her heels into her horse’s flanks to jolt it into movement.

“Nerdanel!” Fëanor’s shout chased after her as she picked up speed, racing across the grass. “I wasn’t ready! Nerdanel!” She could hear the sound of his horse’s hoofbeats behind her, and she laughed into the wind, urging her mount on faster still. “We have to start over!”

“Catch up, Fëanáro!” she called back.

“Nerdanel!” She laughed again, and bent low over the horse, and behind her the peaks of Tirion vanished behind lush green hills, and Fëanor struggled to defeat the insurmountable lead she had, and she decided she that official courtship with Fëanor was probably overrated anyway—they did well enough without it!

#nerdanel and feanor have different takes on whether or not they're ''officially'' courting #feanor #nerdanel #feanel #the silmarillion #tolkien tag #Fëanor #rocky writes #feanor x nerdanel #silm fanfic #silmarillion #fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #h/c there are probably a few THOUSAND guilds and councils in Tirion #there is not an absence of competition between them #nerdanel you dweeb what do you THINK Is going on here #meadowlarkx

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faulty-writes · 4 years

Note

A scenario where Tamaki's been trying to confess to his crush for literal MONTHS but just can't ever get it out. Since his voice doesn't work around reader he decides to write a letter, penning down his innermost passions and it ends up being REALLY long with flowery Helga Pataki-esque descriptions of his feelings. But he ends up EATING the paper to prevent reader from seeing it when yn almost sees it. Later that dayduring training, his quirk manifest forces him to say everything he wrote aloud.

[ Finally your girl posts something after forever. Sorry guys! Life has been a bit crazy, I got obsessed with a couple role play groups, and of course, school. But, I’ll try to be better with my blog. I hope you all enjoy this Tamaki piece, thank you for the request dear anon! I thought this idea was a very unique take on Tamaki’s quirk. ]

There you go again. His eyes locked on your every move as you walked through the hallway, your friends by your side, and you were laughing and smiling. Making his heart accelerate and his cheeks flush as always. It was true, Tamaki Amajiki. One of the members that made up The Big Three, had fallen for you. Unfortunately, despite trying to confess to you countless times.

It did no good. Honestly, he didn’t know what he was thinking. He’d always be nervous when he approached you, cheeks red, and that stutter of his present. Even when he did finally manage to speak, he’d find his tongue felt like it was swollen, then he’d get more embarrassed and panic. Despite the fact, you would always ask him what’s wrong or if he needed help.

The fact is, he was nothing but a coward. He’d turn and run which didn’t help much with his confidence considering he knew that you probably thought he was some kind of a freak. But, he had to tell you how he felt. He couldn’t stand the idea of seeing you with someone else which might sound selfish. He knew it was selfish but, he didn’t care. He wanted you all to himself and for once, maybe he deserved what he wanted.

But, he didn’t know how to tell you. How could he reveal his feelings to you without looking silly or fearing rejection? There was only one person he thought of asking, “Well!” Nejire’s voice was as bright and cheery as ever as they sat outside a cafe. Nejire had insisted because they had good lattes and Tamaki was never one to argue.

She smiled as she reached over to place her hand over his, the warmth and comfort from that gentle touch put him at ease for the moment. But, still, he needed an answer on what to do and eagerly waited to hear what Nejire had to say. “If you ask me, nothing says I love you more than the words of a love letter!” Tamaki’s expression completely dropped, his eyes widened and his eyebrows furrowed.

“W-What?” he questioned, he could already feel his stomach twist. That nauseous feeling of butterflies beginning to bother him, his cheeks grew unusually hot and he shook his head. “I c-can’t d-do that!” he stuttered out as his free hand tightened around the styrofoam cup he held. Nejire looked at him with a cross expression.

“They don’t have to know who it’s from silly!” she half scolded, “Besides maybe it’ll help you sort out what you really want to say to them!” she suggested with a bright smile that made Tamaki groan in response. “I c-can’t! T-That’s so e-embarrassing and w-what if t-they find out the l-letter was f-from me!? W-What am I s-supposed to do?! W-What am I supposed t-to say?” he questioned and Nejire shook her head before slowly getting up from her seat.

“Well duh!” she said before reaching over to lightly knock on Tamaki’s head, something that caught his attention but also made him flinch. He leaned back with a present frown on his face, “D-Duh what?” he asked, growing a little scared as she leaned over. He didn’t exactly like that smile on her face. “Then you have nothing left to hide,” she concluded as she reached up to boop his nose which made him wiggle it in response.

He then looked down, nervous eyes shifting back and forth, “I...I d-don’t know,” he said which had Nejire sighing and she placed her hands on her hips. “Just start with the love letter and see where it goes from there, you may not believe it Amajiki, but you’re pretty brave when you’re determined,” she said before patting his shoulder. “Don’t forget that,” she said, smiling yet again before she walked away.

Leaving him sitting there alone, his body hunched over the table as a gentle breeze came to ruffle his hair. Should he try to write you a love letter? Sure it sounded easy, but what if he got nervous and ended up writing the wrong thing? Was there a right or wrong way to write something as personal as a love letter? Your feelings across paper? Well, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to try.

So he purchased a notebook and pen and began to get to work, at first he found it rather difficult. His words were sloppy and lacking the meaningful nature he wanted them to. But, on occasion, this would change. Especially when he saw you in the hallway or in class, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of inspiration and would always write the words that screamed from his heart when he was near your presence.

He often rewrote the confessions he had, longing for them to be perfect. He was almost finished with what he believed to be the perfect love letter and though he was still unsure how he’d give it to you. He was currently sitting in the library, body hunched over the table as he neared the end of his letter. All that was left were those three big words, the words he was too shy to speak.

But, the ones that he longed to scream from the top of his lungs, the ones that could only be used to summarize how he felt about you. His pen continued to glide across the lined paper, prepared to write ‘I love you’ before he jumped. You had noticed Tamaki around and while you knew he was a member of The Big Three, you had never actually had a full conversation with him.

Though you had class together and on occasion, you got the chance to fight side by side with him. He was amazing and you admired him for the heroism he showed, it was almost silly to think he was the same shy boy you saw roaming through the halls. You had always wanted to try and become friends with him, given you knew from past experience he tended to stutter and honestly couldn’t hold up a conversation.

Still, you were determined to try. Of course, you hadn’t expected him to jump when you spotted him in the library and decided to walk over. You noticed he was writing something and couldn’t help but try and sneak a peek at it, looked pretty serious. You blinked before lowering your mouth to his adorable elf-like ear. “Hi Amajiki-san!” the cry that left his mouth ended up scaring you and without thinking.

You stumbled back and watched as his head turned, those precious indigo-colored eyes wide and fearful and his cheeks dusted over a faint red. “Y-Y/n!?” he exclaimed before pulling the notebook to his chest, fingers securely grasping it. Hiding the written evidence of his feelings for you, despite you having no knowledge of his feelings for you in the first place or how he was trying to convey them through written words.

You did, however, know he was hiding something and couldn’t help but smirk. “Hm?” you raised your hand, pointing a finger at the notebook. “What are you trying to hide there, Amajiki-san?” you questioned as you took a step closer, reaching out to grab his upper arm. You tugged on his sleeve and Tamaki let out a soft whine. “N-Nothing! I-It’s nothing!” he stuttered out, feeling his stomach twist into knots.

He hoped he wouldn’t get nauseous, you were so close. You were touching him! “Oh? If it’s nothing then why are you hiding it?” you questioned in a teasing manner as you took a firmer grip and yanked his arm away. “Show me, I’m curious! Is it a project? Essay?!” the questions left your mouth in an excited manner. “I-It’s not uh, h-hey!” you had reached over and snatched the notebook away.

“Oh boo, let me at least proofread it for you,” Tamaki’s stomach flipped upside down and his hand was clutching his chest, twisting the fabric of the signature red tie of his school uniform. He couldn't let you read it! He’d die! But there you were, holding his notebook with his dedicated words of love scribbled across it. “Now then,” you turned your attention to the notebook, about to read the first line just as the sound of a chair falling came.

You jumped and turned to look but before you could react you felt a strong hand around your wrist. “Amajiki-san!” you exclaimed, prepared to activate your quirk or at least find your way out of his grip. But then, another noise echoed through the air. Your attention shifted back to the notebook and your jaw dropped as you realized he had ripped out the single page you were trying to read.

“Amajiki!” you scolded again, “S-Sorry! B-But you c-can’t see t-this!” he said as he proceeded to crumble the paper into a ball. You looked at him bewildered as he then shoved said ball into his mouth. “Uh…” was the only sound that managed to come out of your mouth as you watched him chew and proceed to swallow the paper. You blinked, lowering the notebook.

Jaw hanging open in absolute awe at what you had just witnessed. Tamaki on the other hand had an itchy throat, and when the crumbled paper reached his stomach. He felt a small ache, which prompted him to place a hand over his stomach. His face was completely red, all the way to the pointy tips of his ears. “G-God, that w-was e-embarrassing u-uh…” he couldn’t even bear to look at you.

He did, however, reach out to snatch his notebook back. The action caused you to gasp and you took a step back, your mind still trying to process what had just occurred. Damn, was it that much of a secret he had to eat it? What sense did that make? Still, you watched as he took the notebook and put everything into his backpack before scurrying away. Strange.

You knew you’d see him in just a few moments, given you had class and hero training together. But, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to see him after he pulled such a strange stunt. “Uh...okay, bye then?” you said, clearly still confused despite the fact he was long gone. You placed your hands on your hips and sighed. “Well, wonder if I’ll see anything stranger than that today,” you shrugged and exited the library.

It was almost a nightmare trying to sit through class, much less pay attention to the lesson. It didn’t help that you sat near Tamaki either, but he seemed to give you the cold shoulder. Not so much as dare to take a glance at you, though you happened to notice his hand was over his stomach. Maybe he had a stomach ache, though after consuming a whole piece of paper splattered with ink.

It didn’t surprise you much, if at all. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder just what he had to hide. When afternoon came, you seemed to have forgotten about the strange incident as soon as you slipped on your hero attire. You grinned as you walked alongside your classmates to Ground Gamma, given you couldn’t help but glance over at Tamaki.

He was currently talking to Nejire, but you noticed his face was twisted in some form of discomfort. “Y/n...Y/n!!!” you snapped out of your thoughts before turning to face one of your classmates. “Huh? What?” it was a little shameful you had zoned out, but even so. The teachers had decided that instead of team exercises, you’d be facing each other one on one.

This disappointed you as you rather enjoyed working with your classmates to form tactical strategies and such, but it was important for heroes to learn how to work on their own as well. The who versus whom opponents were randomized as to assure fairness and the element of surprise, you were hoping you’d be one of the first students to show your skills in combat.

But, unfortunately, you weren’t and much like the other student heroes in training, you had to stand back and observe. Though you found yourself growing bored and decided to take a seat on the ground, pulling your knees up to your chest and sporting a dull expression. You glanced over at Tamaki once more, taking note that he was still holding his stomach and Nejire was patting his shoulder.

You assumed she was telling him he was fine. As the second pair of students finished their training exercise, you leaned back and gave a loud yawn which seemed to catch your teacher’s attention. “Y/n,” they said and you turned to look at them with a raised eyebrow, but answered nonetheless. “Yes?” you replied, “Since you seem so bored, I’ll give you a task. Next match, Suneater verse Y/n!” your eyes widened and you sported a dumbfounded expression.

“W-What?” you questioned and your teacher merely smirked at you, was that even legal? You knew your teachers were also pro heroes and as such, should be respected. But, sometimes you couldn’t help but question their teaching methods. Your classmates seemed rather surprised, whispering how lucky you were to be facing a member of The Big Three and how you’d more than likely get your ass kicked.

Tamaki didn’t seem to take the news very well either, in fact, his face twisted into what you could only describe as pure fear. “Uh, I d-don’t think-” he tried to protest, but the teacher cut him off quickly and ordered you two to start at opposite ends of the training ground. You looked to Tamaki and shrugged, “May the best student win?” once you had taken your position among the twisted landscape of metal piping.

You crouched down, going through strategies that could possibly give you an advantage. You wouldn’t let the fact he was a member of The Big Three bother you, even though this all boiled down to one thing. You had to try your best, with that in mind. You decided to lay low and take a running start, keeping your eyes and ears open for Tamaki.

Carefully avoiding those obnoxious pipes in your way before you heard a noise. It was just a small creek, but you knew better than to believe it was just Ground Gamma settling. You stopped briefly, legs bent and ready to make an escape if you needed to. You stared into the abyss of metal before suddenly a tentacle shot out toward you, but a quick dodge saved you from being captured and you took off.

Slithering between big and small pipes alike before you decide to ricochet between two of them, angling your body so you landed on top of a sturdy pipe. You quickly turned on your feet, glancing over the landscape once more. Your eyes searching for any sight or sign of Tamaki, you also had to be aware those tentacles of his could be trouble. With that idea, you quickly looked down.

Ensuring there was no sight of those powerful octopus arms, you then opted to travel above the pipes. Easily jumping from one to the next, your head turning back and forth despite the fact that wind was ruffling your hair and causing your bangs to sway in your face. But, it was quiet. Everything was so quiet which it shouldn’t be, Tamaki’s steps couldn’t be that silent, unless...he wasn’t on the ground.

Your eyes widened at the realization and from the corner of your eye, you saw a single brown feather. “Oh no,” you turned your head as a shadow cast over you. Instantly, your jaw dropped as you saw him. Tamaki, Suneater, the best of the best. Right above you, brown wings spread to their span. His right hand was morphed into long tentacles and his left shaped into a clamshell.

Before you could blink, those wings flapped and the next thing you recalled was a hard hit to your stomach. It threw you off balance and you fell a good few feet before reaching the ground. Pain surged through your person and a long groan escaped you. Every fiber of your being was screaming for you to get back up, but you were too slow. You heard Tamaki land behind you, but he said nothing as he approached you.

Which at the moment, was scary even though he was normally a quiet and reserved person. However, you yelped when you felt those tentacles proceed to wrap around you, binding your arms by your sides. Your quirk was useless without the movement of your hands and knowing that simple fact, you couldn’t help but clench your jaw. It seemed Tamaki had to add insult to injury as you felt the pressure of his enlarged chicken foot against your back.

“I think...y-you’re...done…” came his words, seems he was always a tad braver when he was Suneater which made sense. You turned your head as much as you could, sending a glare toward him. You were usually better than this, but to get bested this quickly. It only reminded you of how much further you had to go before you could truly call yourself a hero.

“Suneater…” you hissed out, flexing your arms as you attempted to get out of his grip. Tamaki however, felt his stomach twist again and his face once more showed discomfort. Maybe eating that letter was a bad idea. It certainly wasn’t settling in his stomach right, and his heart was racing at an unusual speed. But, he felt a strange sense of happiness course through his body as well.

“Y/n, I think you’re my love,” a gasp left his mouth and you felt those tentacles retract. You pressed your hand to the ground, now looking at Tamaki with a wide-eyed expression. “W-What?” you questioned, wondering if you heard him correctly. But, judging by the way he was holding his hands over his mouth and how red his face was turning.

You assumed you had indeed heard the words he had spoken correctly. He took a step back and you noticed his wings were disappearing, was his quirk so consciously controlled that when he was distracted by overwhelming emotions it became faulty? You were more than certain that if the teachers and fellow hero students were still watching, they would be confused as to why Tamaki had let you go.

You slowly rose to your feet, though your body. Mostly your ribs coursed with a dull ache which had you grasping your side. Your eyes were locked on Tamaki as he shook his head and took a step back, his hands tightened around his mouth to prevent it from opening again. But, it was no good. His jaw ached and he couldn’t stop himself, painfully he opened his mouth and more confusing words spilled.

“I...have...been watching you...for so long! I see...you in the...h-halls...and I…” his body went tense as he forced his jaw closed once more, teeth pressing tightly together. What was happening? He had no idea, but he needed to be quiet or else. Oh God, was this because he had eaten the confession he wrote? Your jaw was hanging open, unsure of how to process the words he was speaking.

First, he ate a piece of paper, now this? You took a step back when Tamaki stepped forward, “Uh, T-Tamaki, are you okay?” you questioned before he opened his mouth once more, his eyes watering over which concerned you all the more. “I...f-freeze! You’re the one...p-plaguing...my t-thoughts, my desires…I,” Tamaki’s jaw clenched once more and he leaned over, his hands curling into fists.

“I w-want you...my l-love,” your heart began to pound in your chest, being called ‘my love’ by Tamaki of all people. Well, it was sweet. But, you couldn’t ignore the fact this was clearly not a willing confession. Something was making him speak against his will, maybe his quirk? His voice was strained and breathless which only furthered your assumption he was truly fighting with himself.

“I...long...t-to hold…y-you! My darling...and b-be your hero, to c-cradle and protect...y-you!” his body was trembling as he raised his hand, fingers spread out and palm facing toward you. Your eyes shifted to that hand, eyebrows furrowing together. “Uh...Tamaki,” you said, though you were tempted to take that hand. “I long...t-to be yours!” he stumbled forward, his face was hot and he could feel droplets of sweat fall from his person.

The fact his cheeks were completely red was a good indication he was embarrassed by what he was saying which caused you to frown. You planted your feet on the ground, knowing that you couldn’t exactly run away or restrain him in his current state in order to win. That wasn’t a fair fight and in addition, you knew heroes don’t run from those in need.

However, it seemed even in his...current abnormal state. He was still in control of some of the aspects of his quirk, in fact, before you could properly react. Those tentacles were around one of your arms, the suction cups digging into your skin and taking firm grip. “Amajiki!” you took a step back, trying to pull your arm out of his grip. But, it was no use as you just got pulled forward again.

“AMAJIKI,” you warned again, going as far as to reach over and begin to claw at those tentacles. The sound of your shoes scraping against the metal ground wasn’t exactly comforting, neither was the fact you knew you were going to lose this small struggle. “I w-want to be your husband...one day! Scream your name...f-from the rooftops! My love...my one and o-only!” you shook your head, now growing afraid of the shy reserved boy.

Especially when he finally pulled you forward, causing you to shriek. Your hand was out as you collided with his chest and you immediately felt the pressure of his arm against your lower back. His nails digging into your hip which made you hiss. But he continued to speak, “Just let me h-hold you and soak y-your body in! M-Melt together in a beautiful...ember of love and j-joy,” you blinked, trying to jerk your body out of his grip.

But, it was of little use. He leaned over and you shivered when you felt the soft skin of his face bury itself into your hair. “You are...my w-whole world…” he sucked in a breath, still fighting but it was beginning to hurt. His stomach felt heavy, too weighed down. He needed to say everything, “Fear and c-courage, the one...s-sole purpose in my life...i-is you,” the words were mumbled slightly and he lifted his head.

“I won’t g-give up. I’ll f-fight the army that holds m-my love hostage, I want you to be...m-mine,” your eyes widened and you wanted to tilt your head up and look at him, but you were almost afraid to. “My l-love and my heart, the one...I w-wish to worship. D-Drop to my knees...a-and kiss your skin,” he choked out and you could feel those tentacles loosen around you.

“Tamaki…?” his name came out of your mouth in a soft whisper and you finally lifted your head to look at him. His face was still twisted, a painful expression spread across it and you gasped as he leaned close. You were taken back by the intense expression that danced in his eyes and your face began to grow red. “I want t-to set up a s-shrine...pray to your p-powerful aura,” this was just getting weird, but somehow you knew it was the truth which made it even scarier.

You were tempted to run when those tentacles finally retracted, but you didn’t have time to even think about such as Tamaki’s hand now gently took hold of your chin. You felt a lump form in your throat as you found yourself staring into Tamaki’s eyes. “Forever...m-more...until the end of my...d-days...I...” he suddenly stopped and his breath hitched.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. However, you let out another shriek when Tamaki suddenly dropped to the ground. You stumbled back, not having expected such a thing. The sound of his panting filled the air and you watched as he reached up and ran his hand through his hair. Such didn’t help the sweat that covered his person and your eyebrows furrowed once more.

“I...Amajiki, are you...I mean...everything you said...was it…” you were almost afraid to ask and took a sharp breath which caused a shooting pain to course through your ribs. You latched onto your lip to prevent yourself from hissing and Tamaki slowly lifted his head to look at you. His eyes full of horror and regret, “I...I…” he wasn’t sure what to say, what could he say?

He wasn’t entirely sure what made him say what he did, every word he spoke was in his letter. Did eating it make an effect on his quirk? He groaned and covered his face, saying no more before he took off running in the opposite direction. It took you a moment to fully realize the Big Three member was indeed making a run for it, “Amajiki, wait!” you called out, your hand outstretched in his direction.

Your teachers and fellow students who witnessed this odd interaction were currently scratching their heads, trying to piece together what could have possibly happened to cause one of the top students to run with his tail between his legs. But, the fact you were being watched through this whole exercise was the last thing on your mind.

You couldn’t help but run after Amajiki, your feet pounding against the metal flooring of Ground Gamma. While you had lost sight of him, you knew there was only one place he could have gone. To the end of the training ground where the exit was located, though you weren’t as fast as Tamaki which caused some anxiety as you hoped he’d be where you thought he was.

When you reached the location of the exit, you leaned over with your hands on your knees. The sound of your soft panting filled the air before you wiped your brow. Your jaw then clenched as you tried your best to ignore the pain in your ribs, the exit to Ground Gamma was a large hallway with very dim lighting. In a way, it made you uneasy seeing Tamaki there.

Despite being dressed in his hero attire, he was facing the wall. His forehead pressed against it and you could tell he was trembling, you had known Tamaki to do this exact thing. Given the fact he was rather shy and suffered from anxiety, you frowned and slowly approached him. “Amajiki,” you said, your voice was soft. But, that didn’t stop the fact that Tamaki ducked his head.

You reached your hand out, wanting to touch him but you decided against it for now. You took a deep breath, “Um, so…” you reached up, scratching the side of your temple. Where would you even begin? “I’m not sure...what that was but...did you mean it? Everything you said?” Tamaki wanted to smack his head against the wall, your question left his stomach twisting with butterflies.

Honestly, part of him wished his heart would stop as opposed to continue to pound inside his chest. Of course, everything he said was the truth as terribly spoken and previously written down as it was. He honestly didn’t know what he was doing. In fact, he had never written a love letter before and though he had made countless drafts. It seemed he just wasn’t talented enough to write such romantic words on paper.

“Mm…” is the only way he managed to respond to you. “Mm? Amajiki…” you paused and decided to finally reach out, placing your hand on his shoulder. However, he seemed to shy away from your touch. Shuffling to the side, you let out a sigh and lowered your hand. A friendly touch wouldn’t do anything in this case and you didn’t know the other Big Three members well enough to ask them how to properly handle Tamaki when he got like this.

You’d feel bad if you left him all alone, but it didn’t seem as though he wanted your company at the current moment. You glanced down, hearing the sound of wind echo through the open exit way. You turned your head to look around, you knew you couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

Else your teacher would begin to look for you or another verse competition would start. “Amajiki…” you said yet again, allowing your hands to rest by your sides. “Regardless if...what you said was true or not, I think we need to leave an-” before you could say anything more.

Tamaki had turned and began to sprint away and it honestly made your heart sink. You watched him disappear from view again and let out a sigh, maybe you’d confront him about it later. But, if what he said was true. Well, you’d need to figure out how you felt about it.

#tamaki x reader #amajiki x reader #bnha reader insert

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unreluctantone · 3 years

Text

Encounter - Raked over the Coals

A Dungeons and Dragons encounter for 4 characters of levels 1-3.

While I've got more ideas for @catbatart's Encountober (the Dragon Turtle Tavern at the very least!), it is no longer October so I thought I'd try something different. I saw this beautiful one-page dungeon recently, and while I loved the art and the concepts, the random distribution of the encounters both baffled me and sparked my imagination. So, here's the first in a series (hopefully!) of encounters...

As you enter the shabby inn, you are greeted by a broad-shouldered human man, with long ragged scars across his otherwise handsome face. His shirt is open across his chest, showing a well-honed physique and more scars, and his dark beard belies his advancing age. He calls over his shoulder to a slim, sullen-faced half-elven adolescent. "Fish, you knife-eared layabout, we've weary travellers here! Let's make them welcome, fetch them some wine. The good stuff."

A lonely and isolated wayfarer's inn on the rugged Martello Fells, the Black Crow has a dark secret: It has recently become the home of a small cult dedicated to an infernal spirit of flame known as Carthax. They have built a temple in the caverns underneath the inn and have been kidnapping travellers to sacrifice them to their burning lord. The outward face of this is a pair of cultists who have taken over the day-to-day operations of the inn: Bandit-turned-warlock Drann Hearth-ash and Ishreen Ithaniel, commonly called "Fish", a young half-elf who knows how to brew up a range of alchemical concoctions, including the sleeping draught the cult uses to capture its victims.

While the inn has seen better days and suffers from a lack of cleaning, the common room is kept warm by a large fire kept stoked in the stone fireplace at all hours. One table is usually occupied by three more cultists (MM pg. 345), who Drann will identify as local hunters if pushed (DC 14 Insight check to discern his lack of truthfulness). They are closed-mouthed and stand-offish, and will curtly direct inquisitive characters to talk to Drann rather than bother them.

Food and drink is available; a thin stew of unidentifiable meat with stale bread, Fish's home-brewed ale, and an impressive assortment of wine, which Drann stole in his last raid as a bandit. Everything is cheap, and everything is laced with a dilute form of Torpor (DMG pg. 258) brewed up by Fish. In this form, the poison doesn't render those that ingest it incapacitated, at least not straight away. Rather it induces a deep sleep that is hard to wake up from (disadvantage of Perception checks made while asleep) and hard to resist (DC 11 Constitution save at the end of the day to resist falling asleep; ancestries that trance have to roll as well, but have advantage on the save).

The usual plan is to ply travellers with food and drink, wait for them to fall asleep due to the dilute Torpor, and then capture them and offer them as sacrifices to Carthax. Naturally, unless you're planning an exciting jail-break from the cult's prison (definitely an option!), the players should become aware that something is off before they retire for the evening. Successful DC 12 Insight checks will notice Drann and Fish's overly solicitous attitudes, and the gloating enthusiasm of the other cultists, while successful DC 14 Perception checks will detect Fish adding the same unusually coloured liquid to the food and drink. Finally, a successful DC 12 Perception or Investigation check will detect a faint sour metallic taste in everything.

If challenged about what they are doing, Fish will briefly dissemble but be interrupted by the eager-for-violence Drann. Drann lifts up an ornate warhammer from under the bar and proclaims "So we're doing this the fun way!". He then attacks, supported by the three cultists. Fish sighs and grabs up a conveniently placed barrel lid to use as a shield.

Drann will waded into melee, using his burning hands if a cluster of enemies presents itself, while Fish hangs back and attacks at range, beginning by throwing a glass flask full of grain spirits with a burning strip of cloth stuffed in the spout. The cultists spread out to threaten any spell casters or to provide flanking for Drann. They will fight to the death, as will Drann, except if Fish is injured. If that happens, Fish will retreat to the kitchen and out through the kitchen door in an attempt to flee, with Drann following and fighting to provide cover for their retreat; Fish will retreat if Drann is slain as well. If Fish is slain, Drann will switch targets to attack whoever killed Fish.

In the aftermath of the fight, a search of the inn will uncover three things fairly easily: there is a trapdoor hidden underneath a heavy rug in the common room, secured with a heavy iron lock; there is a small wooden chest, stashed under the bar, that contains 14 silver pieces, 11 copper, 6 gold, and a heavy iron key; and there is a set of alchemist's supplies and enough food to make sixteen days worth of rations in the kitchen. A successful DC 13 Investigation check will reveal a concealed stash in the kitchen, behind a barrel of weevil-infested flour, that contains two potions of healing.

Fish: "Any time I had a problem, and I threw a flame flask, boom! Right away, I had a different problem."

(Art Source 1, YamaOrce at DeviantArt)

(Art Source 2, Adele Loríenne at Meadowhaven)

#encounter #dungeons and dragons #tabletop roleplaying games #elemental knights #the martello fells #d&d homebrew #d&d monsters

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spookyhalloweennights · 4 years

Text

Birds of a Feather (Syro: SFW)

Your first day on the job was nothing less than breathtaking. Having just graduated and finding a position in the rehabilitation field, you were over the moon when you had started. Although the manager couldn’t be more than displeased at the fact that a human was working in their facility, and a human female nonetheless so straight away they had assigned you to the most difficult patient in the facility.

The patient? A male harpy whose plumage reminded you of a raptor. His talons had clacked against the floor, the noise only stopping once every few moments as he had paused and stared out the window wistfully. A sigh that sounded more like a whistle had come from him, however as you had begun to move closer his gaze snapped to yours. Piercing yellow eyes met yours in an intense stare before he let out a screech of hatred.

“A human! They dare insult me like this?” He screamed and you had backed away hastily, tripping over the tray you had been rolling with you and falling. Landing hard on your back with the wind knocked out of you. The only saving grace you had was an elf who had heard the commotion and came rushing over to help you clean up the mess and make sure you were okay. The petite elf had turned her attention to the harpy who was making such a fuss with his feathers all ruffled up.

“Syro! It is rather impolite of you to behave so badly, she is just as good of a nurse as any one of us here. Otherwise she wouldn’t be here.” The elf, who you’d later come to know as Gweyir, scolded. The harpy had shrunk back as the lecture continued for another minute or so before she was finally done.

With a grumble, the harpy had reluctantly allowed you into his room to do your job. You had taken notice of the scrapes and bruises that he had once you had gotten closer to him. Feathers were missing and the biggest thing that you had missed before was that his right wing was broken. He didn’t talk to you, at least not at first. He’d merely stand stock still while you tended to the wounds and left him food, which continued for nearly a year after you had started.

It wasn’t that Syro wasn’t ready to go after he had fully healed, he had nowhere to go so he dragged it out for as long as possible. He attended multiple sessions with various therapists to talk about what had happened to him, you never knew the details of his case until Gweyir had told you as the pair of you were making your usual rounds.

“He was exiled from his flock, a bad hunter and they didn’t want him dragging them down so… The only logical punishment they could think of was bodily harm and forcing him to leave. Without a flock, most harpies don’t make it on their own.” She explained, the manager had given you both a quick nod as you brushed past. In the past few months they had come to warm up to the idea of having a human female around, plus you were the most dedicated worker alongside Gweyir that they had.

“That’s… Rough.” Was all you could think of to say as you processed the information. Gweyir nodded in agreement.

However, the ruffling of feathers had caught your attention and you glanced to your left. Seeing Syro all puffed up and a low squawk of sorts came from him at the mention of what had happened. You awkwardly waved Gweyir goodbye as she wished you luck. Putting on your best smile, you walked inside as Syro merely eyed you and turned away with a huff.

“Bad day?” You asked the harpy, he would occasionally humor you with short answers in response to your questions.

“That elf has no idea what happened.” He grumbled in response. “It wasn’t exactly like that. It was… Way different than what they had thought it was.”

You set to work, he was a lot more compliant in letting you do your job than he was when you had first met him. You kept the surprise that rose up in you at the idea of him telling you what had happened under check as you didn’t want to discourage him from talking.

“My flock was… Ruthless. Took whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. There wasn’t anything they wouldn’t slaughter if it got in their way. And considering that our species isn’t… Too common, it wasn’t a surprise when my flock had climbed its way to the top of being the most feared.” He began to pace back and forth again, the talons clicking against the floor in an ominous manner. “I was not like them. I couldn’t take or kill just for the thrill of it. And when it came time for the ‘coming of age’ ceremony… I failed, and that resulted in me being harmed the way I was. And then those humans... It was worse before you had come here. I was exiled. I’m not allowed to go to any other flock or that puts them in danger. I’m… Stuck in a way.” His voice had grown softer as a forlorn look overcame his features.

You had listened intently to him, the story tugging at your heart in a way that was unexpected. “Syro…” Your mouth had run dry and you found yourself unable to say anything to him.

“You needn’t say anything to me. I realize now that not all humans are bad. You being amongst the few who are genuinely good.” He complimented, though he pointedly kept his gaze away from you as you stared up at him.

You weren’t quite sure what to say in response to the compliment, mumbling out a quick thanks and hurrying out of the room once you had finished your duties. You walked back into the nurse’s station and sank into a chair, your face the color of a cherry. Gweyir had come in not too long after you and had mistaken the blush on your face for you crying and anger seemed to run through the elf.

“Was he mean to you? Did he hurt you? I swear I’ll pluck him like a chicken if…” You interrupted her before she could continue on any further.

“Nothing like that Gweyir. He complimented me.” The shock on her face mimicked your own. “I know, he told me that I was one of the few good humans, and… He opened up more about his past.” You finished, Gweyir slumping in the seat next to you.

“Geez, I didn’t expect that.” She murmured before glancing at you. “He only has two weeks left here before they force him to leave. I overheard the manager talking to one of the higher ups.”

“Oh.” Was all that came as the news came as a second surprise to you today. “I have to go, I have to at least warn him.” You said as you slid the half eaten bag of chips over to Gweyir before getting up and heading out the break room doors.

Syro had taken the news exactly as you had expected him to, with a lot of anger and feather ruffling as he paced the room. Stretching his wings in annoyance before his gaze settled on you again, any amount of trust he had put into you earlier was gone with this new information.

“Get out.” He hissed at you, and you merely blinked in response. The statement took a moment to fully process but by that time, he was in your face.

“Get out!” He screeched, stretching out his wings and looking more intimidating than you had ever seen him. You scrambled out of the room and narrowly avoided the metal tray being thrown at your head by said harpy.

It was after that incident that your manager had decided to transfer you to another patient. They had declared that you had finished your duties with Syro, but you knew that wasn’t the case. Nevertheless you didn’t have the energy to argue with your manager, and while your new patient was lovely and a breath of fresh air. You missed Syro. The mermaid you had been assigned to was oftentimes a bit too chatty for your taste.

You had only briefly seen the harpy once or twice after the incident, each time you had turned before his gaze could find yours. The new nurse that was taking care of him seemed to be doing better than what you had been anyway. A bitter taste seemed to rise in the back of your throat when you had caught the pair enjoying a conversation together, a smile was present on his features.

What did it matter anyway? You were no longer assigned to him. You should just go back to your job, at least that’s what you told yourself until you found yourself cornered by the large harpy. His hands placed on either side of your head as he stared down at you with a frown on his features.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He stated, and you couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from you. It confused Syro more than anything in the world, just enough that you could slip away.

“I’ve been assigned to another patient Syro. It’s my job… Besides, they figured your new nurse would suit your needs better anyway.” You stated calmly as you made your way down the hallway, the clicking of his talons on the tiled floor gave way to him following you.

“I preferred you as my nurse. And I had tried to tell that manager otherwise but they weren’t hearing it.” He huffed in annoyance. You paused, the familiar feeling of shock spreading through you before you merely shook your head.

“You smile a lot more around that nurse, and you’ve become well enough to come out of your room now and join the others in the mess hall rather than taking your meals in your room. I’d say she’s doing her job right.” You hummed thoughtfully, heading to the small cubicle where the cabinets were. You placed the tray and other equipment back in their right places.

“I miss you.” He said simply. “And I wanted to apologize for how I reacted, it was wrong of me to take it out on you like I did. I know I can’t go back but… I want you to know that much.” Syro shifted as though he was uncomfortable admitting he was wrong. “The other nurse helped me realize that.”

“It’s alright Syro, I know stuff like that can be shocking. The important thing is that you realized it.” You responded, turning to face the massive creature in front of you.

A relieved smile spread across his face at the apology acceptance. He sighed softly before glancing around to see if any others were near you. “Can I visit you? Once I’m out of here I mean…”

“Of course you can!” You responded eagerly. “You can come by here or I’ll show you where my house is if you wait once you’re out of here.”

He merely nodded in acknowledgement before the pair of you heard the other nurse calling his name, a grimace came across his features before he looked down at you one more time. It seemed as though he was debating something in his mind before he finally leaned down and nuzzled against you with a quiet chirp of appreciation. The action left you stunned, but before you could say anything else to him, he had turned and walked down the hallway.

In the following week, you had made an effort to stop by Syro’s room more than usual, each time you were greeted with him nuzzling against you before he listened to you chat about your day. Only occasionally chiming in with a thought, other times you’d listen to him talk about what his life was like before he had come here. It was dark, more so than what anyone had actually expected of the creature. When the day came that he had to leave, he had asked to leave at the same time you had got off your shift.

“Are you ready?” You asked Syro as you adjusted the strap on your bag that you took to work with you every day. The harpy hummed in thought before merely nodding in response to the question.

“Let’s get this over with.” His voice was rough, to others it may have sounded like he was excited to be leaving but you knew underneath that he was terrified.

The walk to your home was silent, save for the occasional comment that you made to keep his nerves down. It wasn’t until you had arrived at your front door steps that you could see the genuine fear in Syro’s eyes. He really did have nowhere to go, and in the moment you had made a rash decision.

“Why don’t you stay here with me for a while? At least until you get on your feet.” You offered, and it seemed as though the idea shocked Syro. It took him a moment to respond to the proposal.

“I won’t get in your way. I appreciate you doing this for me.” He said as he walked up the steps right as you opened the door, you stepped aside to let him in first.

“I’ll have to get the guest room set up properly for you but otherwise you can help yourself to anything in here.” You said.

“Thank you.” Came the response as he looked around your house. “Your home is lovely.”

Two years had passed since that day, and you really couldn’t imagine your life any other way. Your relationship with Syro had developed into something more as time had progressed and you showed him the basics to surviving on his own. Except he never left, and you never had a complaint about it. In fact you had begun to look forward to going home after a long day at the rehabilitation center, knowing that your harpy would no doubt have prepared something for you to eat or a relaxing bath.

After a particularly stressful day with a new patient, you had dragged yourself up the front steps and into your home. The clicking of Syro’s talons on the floorboards brought a smile to your face, you kicked your shoes off and plopped down on the couch. Golden eyes came into sight as Syro had kneeled down in front of you with a faint smile.

“Rough day?” He asked and you merely nodded in response to the question, sighing as he chuckled in response.

“The new patient is a lot worse than anything I’ve ever dealt with. I don’t know if I can handle this one, they’re just… unreceptive to everything we’ve tried so far.” You vented while Syro had listened to you intently.

“Give them time, they’ll come around. I know that you can do it, you dealt with me.” He responded with a faint smile. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest, I’ll take care of dinner.”

When you had come home a few weeks later with a grin on your face, Syro knew that you had gotten the patient to finally open up and he couldn’t be more proud of you than what he was in that moment.

#exophilia #monster lover #monster #monster x reader #male harpy #female reader #male harpy x reader #harpy x reader #Spooky'sWriting #sfw #spookyhalloweennights

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captainkurosolaire · 3 years

Text

Faith X

Shortly after a beam of light dawned onto the vessel, connected by aetheryte waypoints and also diverged aetheric insignia’s imbued into the Crew’s signets. A tremendous stoic Wildwood Elezen surveyed the sea-vessel in complete chaos. Bodies, sheep, a gory bloodbath all surrounding. A back-holstered staff carrying a bell rang signalling his undeniable presence. Which, to the polymorphed sheep, they drew thinking they were being herded and began munching at his majestic lock’s that flowed to his ankles, but to the sheep, it looked like golden hay. “Halt that!” He winced with irritation, and tugged and resisted before drumming his bottom hilted staff to put them asleep. Closing powerful almighty rich emerald’s hues. He commenced with invoking a spell that asked for nature to tend to them. Arteries nicked were being temporarily channeled through a new stream of branches to flow them again for replicate function. <Light-of-before>, allowed injuries to be timely rejuvenated gradually, each progressiveness to their well being sprouting a petal until a full bloom was made. He could not physically or surgically realign bone fragments only reinforce them with temporary temperance, they would still need the Surgeon. Which meant a lot of the Crew was in for a strict recovery before they saw consciousness. The worst offenders would require him to rechange the shroud plywood and planks into a temporal cutesy sentient little ent who would see to conjuring and keeping their vitals maintained alongside fluids and pumping aetheric compounds into them, the entire sea-vessel, was life support. Scenery didn’t convey emotion from him, despite the Crew being broken by havoc, among the entire roster, he was only here for a divine purpose. Only fulfilling his side of an unlikely pact. The ancient wildwood Elezen was a disciple of the Twelve and in faith aside oath, swore to never use his boundless magical prowess in an offensive manner or inflict severe harm. Despite knowing rituals, seals, wonders of all cultures from somehow, early eons. He carried the languages and teachings of many dwellers of Eorzea. How quite possibly could such a polarizing indifferent person find himself upon the sail of a pirate? As evident that particular treasure hunter had defiled and attained all the Voidal series relics, before they were transferred between him to Shiro, cause, Captain couldn’t maintain their safety. Whilst the Noble had a perfect defense… This outcome was unforeseeable with a lecherous Father using and witnessing all his vaulted secrets, memories to only fulfill, even further levels of resurrecting through accursed blood. If however there was a series of collective occult relic’s of predated times, than of course there remained more, from Sacred Items hidden in Desert Seas, to Beast Tribe heirlooms, but as well the most difficulty dangerous to attain, Relic’s of the Twelve, of his dedicated deities they were owed them returned to their rightful places. Captain had acquired one of them, only to lose it, right after the battle with Shiro who found it. Many left remaining, each hidden, surrounded with mysteries and drawn by varied forces. These journey’s were only catalyst’s to reacquire the belongings of the gods, a sworn duty, only an ancient disciple could undertake. As did the pact between Captain and this Historian. His interest’s and allegiance to the Captain, if there was ever a direct requirement or being led astray from divine purpose, then Zieton would always choose god over mere man. Oldest of fashion he carried all the forebears of his sacred and the eldest ancient race’s burdens. Also, though, inside Captain lay’s strangely a half-soul of Amdapori origins, which also, was his major study, he after-all created the binding rune that allowed Captain to not only contain another soul, but interact with it and bond with it, to contain control, to make a forged pact or find understanding of conflicted halves or possessed farers. To have such staggering wisdom was the crown of the Goldbrand’s crest. With a brief salving of days Captain recuperated before asking for a transported warp to the showdown, under Zieton’s specialty to nearly on touching contact could take others around effortlessly as long met the criteria of the Twelve resting stone’s nearby. A channeled veil of holiest light was placed upon the crucible of certain demise by Zieton when reaching the Elune Estate’s exterior. This not only prevented escape of a portaling dark sorcerer, but also prevented whatever evil intentions he concocted from spilling out to the innocent denizens. They knew Silv’a possessed a majority of the Voidal Relics, with one being already used against wickedest intent; there was no-telling if they’d all be used. “I shall remain and erect this field. You’ll have little less than Three Bells, pirate. Afterwards, I cannot sustain it. I can choose what to let in, but nothing may leave once you tread forth. The Crew injured, and scattered in the Retrieval mission, were all foretold our destination prehanded. From my detection of quantifiable influx aether being drawn here, it’s imminent and likely, you will die.” Giving a realistic callus assessment. Cheeky the rogue mockingly pitched, “Fantastic pep-talk, ye really know how t’ sell it. Listen, I’ll let ye enjoy your erection. All this that transpired is my fault, so I’ve to see through this storm... even disregarding, I’m most certainly going t’ die” Nonchalant soft leather began marching to the entrance of devastating oblivion. A scowling golden skin elf sighed with an exhale. “Captain. One last imparted wisdom, regarding your forearm. You may feel that ‘half’ is empty but with death comes a new ushering of life, it’s a cycle which we live. Now whether what forecomes from that, is decisively up to your nurturing. Should you act upon irrational rage or selfish-serving goals, a carnivorous beast will consume you, aside all others, worse than heretofore. -- Action’s of care will have the opposite effect and give birth to a beast that mirrors… Beyond this veil is a Trial that’ll decide your outcome and judgement of everything.” The Seeker halted and searched his inked forearm which became transparent from the runic binding nearly obsolete. “Just admit ye will miss me. Otherwise got t’ find someone else to undergo your endeavors. Which won’t work or compare, cause I'm th’ stupidest to traverse any wave... And oi’…. When I come back, we’re getting you laid.” So much seriousness wasn't always needed. Truthfully the Elezen could use it, being underground from the current society of things, so his education was limited beyond anything primordial. All the advanced changes were beyond his comprehension. Leaving the Elezen flabbergasted aside a shaken head. He followed and began levitating in meditation with purest concentration to his mighty glamoring shell. The Immortal Age (Previous) << (Voidal Relics) >> (Next)

#The Immortal Age Saga #Zieton Luiard XII #Wildwood Elezen #FFXIV #Tales of the Goldbrand #Seeker of the Sun #Final Fantasy XIV #oc write #Dark Fantasy #creative writing

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bard-llama · 3 years

Text

WiP Wednesday: Love Breeds Love Isendain Edition

So, I have a porny universe called Love Breeds Love where the premise is that settlements across the Northern Kingdoms are being founded with the intent to save the elven race from extinction.

Now, for Iorveth and Roche, we discover that the settlement they're living in (Aiseirigh meaning rebirth/resurrection) is dedicated to doing this through accepting half-elves and creating more half-elves, because humans are very good at breeding. This means adjusting their culture as they share it, because half-elves and humans have their own experiences they're bringing to the settlement.

For some elves, that is simply not acceptable. They don't want human blood to taint their 'purity'. So they commit to working with elven couples to make babies. Their birth rate is much lower, but they argue that their product is better. (For the record: when you hear this kind of rhetoric, run. It's VERY eugenicist and suuuuuper racist).

Isengrim and Eldain both find themselves at one of the latter settlements (which I haven't named yet oops). They don't arrive together, though. In fact, they hadn't expected to see each other at all, though it's nice to see that rumors of each other's deaths were greatly exaggerated.

Because of the way I've made elven biology work, it's really important for the volunteers at this pure elven settlement choose a partner and really get to know them, get comfortable with them. This increases their chances of conception actually happening. I haven't actually decided if only one or both get pregnant, but they did decide to have some 'practice sex', to ensure their comfort. XD

I'll stick a bit of the WiP under a cut, but the really fun thing about this 'verse (aside from literally just being an excuse for breeding kink) is that the two settlements have to actually MEET at some point. At which point, rorveth and isendain discover each other and have a variety of reactions.

'cause see, Eldain doesn't like humans and he doesn't trust humans. He's made that mistake before and he refuses to do it again. So he is perfectly happy with the idea of living amongst elves and never having contact with a filthy human again.

But life isn't that easy and Isengrim and Iorveth are still old friends, though it's definitely awkward at first. But over time, Roche becomes the first human that Eldain actually feels comfortable around and they become bros. They most definitely bond over being feral raccoon disasters while their partners are fancy shmancy proper and polished types lmao. Oh, also, Iorveth and Eldain may both be musicians, but they despise each other's genres XD

I mentioned that this universe was just an excuse to write porn, right? So I've got a whole arc planned for isendain to meet up and bond with rorveth, but first, they all gotta get bred, 'cause that's the premise of the 'vese lmao. So this first isendain fic is the set up - establishing the settlement, getting them together, going through the breeding ceremony, etc. The sex is unfortunately fighting me during the 'practice sex' stage, but eventually, this will be a nice, long smutty piece. For now, though, here's them actually meeting again.

He’d arrived at the settlement alone, responding to a notice on saving the elven race, and he’d been astonished at how many people had actually shown up to do this. Of course, out of the thirty elves that had come to be bred, only a small portion would actually be able to conceive.

Eldain swallowed, wondering if he’d be one. He wasn’t sure if he was hoping that he would or that he wouldn’t, honestly, but hell, he was already here. He couldn’t back out now.

Which meant he had to find himself a partner. The notice had specified that single volunteers were welcome along with couples that were willing to conceive, but the first thing the elf who greeted him when he’d arrived had said was, “pick someone and get to know them. The actual breeding will not begin until this evening, but it’s important that you spend some time with your partner and become comfortable with them.”

Eldain had nodded, aware that feeling safe and comfortable was essential for elves to produce viable eggs and for them to be able to conceive. But he hadn’t realized just how many people there were and how daunting trying to choose one stranger out of two dozen would be.

So when he spotted the scarred man with dark hair that stood about two inches above everyone else, Eldain’s first emotion was relief. In more than one way, because this was someone he actually knew, but also, he’d heard that the other elf was dead. Of course, they’d likely heard the same about him, so Eldain shook himself and strode towards the famed Iron Wolf.

When he got closer, it became apparent that he was not the only one who had recognized Isengrim Faoiltiarna, because several other elves were circled around him, trying to persuade him to pick them.

The feeling in Eldain’s stomach was not jealousy, nor was it disappointment. It wasn’t like Isengrim was likely to choose him amongst all these choices. Hell, when they’d met in the past, he’d gotten the impression that Isengrim tolerated him at best.

Nodding to himself, he spun on his heels to find someone else to partner with when Isengrim apparently spotted him and called his name, a little bit desperately.

He couldn’t exactly walk away now, so Eldain turned back and walked up to Isengrim and his pursuers, forcing a friendly smirk onto his face. “Hey,” he started to say when Isengrim grabbed his shoulders and pulled him close in an overly familiar hug. Before he could say anything, Isengrim murmured in his ear.

“If you pick me, I swear I will owe you a favour of your choosing,” Isengrim’s low voice growled and Eldain shivered, Isengrim’s breath tickling over his exposed skin.

Pick Isengrim? Sure, twist his arm. That had, after all, been his initial intent. But he wasn’t sure why Isengrim was asking when Isengrim was the one with the pick of the place.

“Yeah, all right,” Eldain shrugged, trying to exude casualness. He was obviously just doing this for the favour. No other reason. “Shall we find somewhere to chat, then? Apparently we’re supposed to get to know each other.”

The look of sheer relief on the Iron Wolf’s face was strange to be on the receiving end of. But Isengrim slipped his arm through Eldain’s, immediately pulling them away and guiding the pair towards the garden.

Eldain looked around, mildly impressed. For a new settlement, these organizers were doing a pretty good job and getting it up and running.

Which made sense, given they were hoping that this event would culminate with many pregnant elves.

“So,” Eldain drawled, surprised by how much he liked the feeling of Isengrim’s fingers against the crook of his arm. “Seems like you’re a big hit.”

Isengrim’s nose wrinkled in a strangely adorable expression and Eldain bit his lip against a smile. “Apparently there is potential acclaim in having the Iron Wolf’s child. Even though, as I understand it, the point of this event is not about genetics as much as just…”

“Conception?” Eldain offered, and Isengrim nodded, frowning. “So why choose me? Do I not get the same acclaim?”

Isengrim snorted, “you have your own acclaim. Though, speaking of, I’d heard you were dead?”

“Likewise. It was a close ‘almost’,” Eldain shrugged, trying not to let the memories flood through him. He cleared his throat instead. “And you?”

Isengrim made a face, “believe it or not, I owe my survival to a human.”

“You’re kidding.”

The Iron Wolf shook his head, looking every bit as imposing now standing in an early-stage gardener’s plot as he had commanding Scoia’tael into battle.

Eldain licked his lips. Sure, he may have his own ‘acclaim’ in the form of a brutal reputation that was based mostly on real events, but there would always be something majestic about the Iron Wolf that people like Eldain could never match.

“Well, I doubt either of us want to talk more about that,” he said, jerking his gaze away from Isengrim’s face and continuing their walk through the garden. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know,” Isengrim shrugged casually, “fighting, assassinating kings, that kind of thing.”

Eldain blinked, gaze landing on Isengrim again. Isengrim had a little smirk on his face, like he was enjoying Eldain’s reaction, but there was no sign that he wasn’t telling the truth.

“Wow, and here I thought I was doing well with my best kill being a duke,” Eldain joked, smiling back at Isengrim.

Isengrim tossed back his head and laughed, deep, rumbling sounds that felt at home settling in Eldain’s chest. Weird.

“What about you?” Isengrim asked after his laughter had passed. “What’s keeping you busy these days?”

“Eh, I’ve been working as a merc,” Eldain said, wondering if Isengrim would judge him. It was always hard to predict with Scoia’tael – some thought fighting for money was horrific and some thought it was sensible. He didn’t know what Isengrim thought.

“Oh? Around Aedirn?”

“All over,” Eldain shrugged. It had taken him about a year to be ready to return to Aedirn after everything with fucking Queen Meve. She was a perfect example of why humans could never be trusted. Ever.

He swallowed hard. “So, what do you think about this event?”

Isengrim huffed a soft laugh. “At my age, I kinda figured my chances of having a child were pretty slim. But…”

“Yeah,” Eldain nodded, understanding the unspoken reason. How could they not, when the very fate of their species lay in peril?

“But you’re pretty young, aren’t you?” Isengrim asked him. “Is this your first time doing this?”

Eldain hummed, pondering exactly how much older Isengrim was. The Iron Wolf had lived pre-humanity, Eldain knew that much. Most of the Scoia’tael commanders had been older elves that had been born before the Conjunction of the Spheres. Eldain had been unusual in gaining his command, but none of the elder elves ever had the balls to take on the Moulderwoods, so it had fallen to Eldain and all the younger elves who had been born there. Not that there were many of them left anymore, not after...

Eldain shook himself. If he kept thinking about his old command and his old home, he was either going to scream or cry, so he very pointedly redirected his thoughts to his companion.

Isengrim looked – pretty great, actually, for someone who was supposed to be dead. But then, Eldain wasn’t entirely sure it was possible for the Iron Wolf to look anything but gorgeous and commanding and in control.

“So, Isengrim,” he enunciated Isengrim’s name clearly and Isengrim cocked an eyebrow, one that was split by the scar that spanned across his nose. It was kind of beautiful. “What do we need to know about each other to be able to comfortably fuck?”

Isengrim choked slightly at him being so blatant about it, but seriously, they were at a breeding event. There was nothing un-crass about this whole thing.

“Well,” Isengrim cleared his throat. “Um, I guess… I have no idea,” he said after a long moment. “Um, maybe preferences, I guess?”

Eldain snorted, “feels like an icebreaker question. ‘Hi, I’m Eldain and I prefer men.’”

“Any man?” Isengrim’s eyebrow arched again. “Or specifically one who can put a brat like you in their place?”

Eldain’s breathing hitched and his exhale was shaky. “That helps,” he managed to say, and Isengrim’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “And what does the Iron Wolf prefer?”

Isengrim’s nose wrinkled again, clearly uncomfortable with his moniker in this context. Eldain made a note of that. “Apparently,” Isengrim said slowly, “my type is bratty musicians.”

Blinking, Eldain took a moment to process that, then grinned widely, bowing and flourishing his hand in front of him. “At your service.”

Isengrim laughed again, shaking his head. “What kind of music do you play, anyway? All the rumors said was ‘former musician’.”

Eldain tsked, “really, Isengrim, don’t you know better than to believe rumors?” Isengrim rolled his eyes and Eldain laughed. “Mostly, I play the lute and the fiddle, though I know several other instruments. I’m a modern musician, none of that classical shit.” He shut his mouth, abruptly realizing that Isengrim had been alive when those ‘classics’ were new, and may have been attached to them.

Fortunately, Isengrim just chuckled. “You’d probably get along terribly with my ex. He’s very much a classicist.”

“Oh?

“Played with symphonies and stuff, way back,” Isengrim said, a soft smile on his face that Eldain knew wasn’t for him.

He cleared his throat, looking away from Isengrim’s face. It wasn’t as if he was in love with Isengrim or anything, but it still hurt a little bit to be reminded that this was all to save their species. Isengrim had chosen him, sure, and that was an honor. But it was nothing more than sex. He needed to remember that.

Swallowing hard, Eldain forced a smile on his face. “Bet I’m a better musician,” he taunted, and Isengrim laughed again.

“You might be,” Isengrim conceded. “Would you play for me?”

Blinking in surprise, Eldain looked back at Isengrim. The smile on his face was different now, not like he was thinking of a past love, but like it was intended for Eldain.

This time, he swallowed down an entirely different emotion. “Yeah,” he managed to say. “Um, lemme–” he cleared his throat again, cursing himself for leaving his lute with his stuff in the room the organizers had given him.

Isengrim licked his lips and suggested, “I could come with you.”

“Uh, sure,” Eldain shrugged, wondering why he felt like a teenager bringing a boy home for the first time.

Isengrim’s smile widened, and he stepped up to curl his hand around Eldain’s elbow again. Eldain bit his lip against his own smile, leading them towards the rooms for volunteers.

#isendain #isengrim x eldain #past isengrim x iorveth #rorveth #mentioned #the witcher #wip wednesday #my fics #love breeds love #i should really be consistent about if each 'verse gets its own tag honestly

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hag-rambling-on · 4 years

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Boys hc’s feats Diaspro

Riven

Riven Cassios was born to two Omega prisoners. What surprised everyone, because staying healthy enough to carry out a pregnancy on a planet that sucks your magic is... Obviously the Rocalucce Council keeps an eye on the planet, they took him out of there because no child would pay because his parents, and he has been in foster homes, although it doesn't last long since the requirements for his adoption were more strict than most -which in the long run the Council would realize was COUNTERPRODUCTIVE for his character-. That is what Darcy detects and why the high spheres are somewhat "permissive" with him.

His mother died giving birth, it was already miraculous that she lived so long and ‘bout his father I think I'm going to kill him too, maybe. The father I assure you would be love him (he called Riven to himself Daru, his gift) thought was not his initial idea, the mother always saw him as an experiment (she was a witch who followed the Ancenstresses). Ohm, also in his blood there are dark elves and giants.

Riven surname is actually the name of the galaxy where he was born or a derivation of it, as is common for orphans. So the boy knows NOTHING about the above.

Timmy and Riven are the only specialists who have passed the full course at Fonterossa, without skips. In the end they bond about it. Timmy gives him a recommendation to work as a part-time mechanic at Magix (good boy face, he knows how to use it)

Timmy

Timeus “tshhhh, it’s Timmy.... i’m not my grandfather” fulfills the physique requisits as much as any other specialist, but it is true that his physique and abilities, adapted to the distance, give him a more "feline" air.

He is also the one who wakes up at night and moves silently, scaringthe rest of the squad if they wake up unexpectedly.

His glasses are for both sight and Aura Vision. His parents are rich enough to pay for an operation, but since he would have to wear glasses for his ability anyway, why? Practical guy.

And the glasses make people look down on him, something that when his self-esteem is high and he’s being rational and cunning he knows it’s wonderful, although many others times may hurt. He is mostly leprechaum with something human.

Nex

Nex is still a Paladin born in Lymphea and with blood of literally ALL races. He adapts well to any planet, although not its people at first. His race mix makes his face “charismatic”, like always draw attention even if people don’t know very well why they are draw.

His ability is Delay Sleep. It allows him to hold over his need to sleep for days without going crazy or losing physical capacity or needing many days to recover (he can stay awake for 5 or more days, sleep 8-10 hours and go back to being his usual self). Sometimes he does not control this well and has plenty of energy in need of drop but he is the one who has the most control of his ability.

One of his parents spent time in Rocalucce Fortress as a "guest" so at times he feels like he has something to prove.

Roy

Coming from Andros, most of the population are merpeople with a few elves and humans. which avoids the 100% aquatic population. Roy, unlike Aisha is mostly human-elf with a bit of merpeople in a grandgrandgrand level. One of his parents comes from one of the colonies on the moons of Andros and he was born there although they moved almost immediately.

Roy’s paladin ability being the canon “Triton Aura” used to breathe underwater. That and learning to swim and drive all kinds of water vehicles was what made him feel "adapted" to Andros. But he always try to be useful.

He only became a Paladin at the beginning of season 6, and it was visiting him that the season began. He’s bi but he thinks of himself as straight.

Nabu

I plead guilty to liking Nabu even though I shipped Aisha with Flora and Nex. So I have a hard time thinking about him. Except, EVERY time I try to think of something. EVERY TIME. Rapunzel. So, he will never cut his hair.

But with an island instead of a tower and a babysitter (male and wizard) more dumbledoor (not, actually more like Newt Scamander mentor like).

Sometimes he misses out on some "social customs/things/normalcies" whatever is called due to his little dealing with people. He may seem naive or that don't understand sarcasm. He understands and learns quickly, but people were very respectful to him and there are things he is not used to. 1/2 merpeople 1/4 half elf 1/4 human as both of his parents are half merpeople.

He likes to swim as much as any merpeople, but they didn't let him do it much because they were afraid he would go away or lost, so he usually went off "to the heights", going up to the rooftops and things like that.

Helia

Helia is trans but keeps his first name as chosen name which I don’t understand. Also he has formally tried study practically everything he wanted. Specialist, Paladin, Wizard (of Threads). Painter.

He can't make up his mind, his family hurries him just to STOP making them dizzy and spend a few years with everything -and actually end a single “major” choice- he wants to experience, that he has a very long life and can dedicate a few decades to Everything and they can support them. Well, more or less, but he was vip pass to all these options because family connections.

Long story about Sky, Brandon and Dia.

Sky, Brandon and Diaspro's first meeting was a show. Has it all. Costumes, lies. Confusion. Kidnapping. And that is why Diaspro insists on the wedding (I would like to mention that although I don’t know her romantic orientation yet surely bi or lesbian, here, Dia is asexual. And Sky is non-binary but his parents do not approve so go for he/him to avoid problem with them. And here our story begins)

A bit of background. Brandon actually hails from Isis, the son of the military and was chosen by the whimsical chibi!Diaspro as a playmate and future personal guard (because then she believed that touching children gave "lice" and her character and age did not have the 18like wall of royal education, then in a random encounter he called her among many things what Dia's mind translated in a strange way "uncracked geode", which is a double-edged compliment in Isis that many would not accept from strangers but she liked it). Rarely they would end up becoming friends in the end. When the series begins, Brandon and Diaspro keep up with calls, which will prevent Dia's reaction with Bloom on the one hand.

On a visit (officially only from the kings of Erakyon to to the kings of Isis) for the children to get to know each other, somehow, they all ended up happily dressing up, with Sky and Dia looking like two pretty princesses and Brandon assessing whether his dress would be green or yellow because Diaspro insisted that she and Sky had already taken the blue and red and so it would be more "thematic".

Here began the first of many attacks on Sky's head, because before it had begun to be rumored (true) that Erendor had fertility problems (btw his race dwarf-high elf and Samara is leprechaum-high elf, Sky gots mostly high elf part). When they came in and saw two girls and a boy, Brandon, not the highest IQ, but one of the wisest of his team and definitely the best fighter, played along so he ended up pretending to be Sky (also helps that his hair colors looks like Erendor) Everything worked out well in the end, although Brandon ended up as Sky's squire (better for him, worse for Diaspro), and Diaspro made Sky promise that he owed her a big favor. Anyway they grew up over the years in friendship and they both knew they were not of each other's true love interest, but, they could put up with each other (because that's what royalty does).

Sky and Diaspro have a sonorous (affectionate) war over Sky's hair to annoy/exasperate Brandon. Diaspro always complains that he doesn't grow it and it would look great then. Sky says that he is fine as with his hair at it is (it's actually Erendor's thing). The soft part of Diaspro that she doesn't usually show off has taught Sky many ways to style his hair and subtly put on makeup to look more feminine if he wants to.

How I am amused by that image from wikipedia and that Diaspro entered Sky's guard so quickly. Another headcanon is that Diaspro would sometimes change her appearance a bit and go into Sky's guard to be with Brandon to annoy him and Sky, when Brandon has to talk about her without giving details, she is simply "his sister Charbonne" (she hates that alias). They were discovered when she was 15 years old but she had already trained and the royal families considered it a sign to formalize the engagement since “they search each other” (people only sees what they wants).

The Diaspro family is not good, first Brandon was a shield (emotional) because as a child they were not “that” bad and then Sky joined him (physically and politically), handling things with Bloom so like that was not a good idea when the floor was full of cracked bottles.

... omg i’m sorry you three i’m sorry what I did to you

Also, Brandon's ability as a green user is very interesting and helps with this a lot. I temporally call it “Keypoint Warning” and I like it a lot, it's like a "tic" that tells him "be careful, what you say, what you do now, even the smallest thing could change everything for youself (for better or for worse)”. He actually has a scar on his forehead (not a lightning bolt) that his hairstyle hides after “that” day but a little less fine on the words and the kidnappers might have broken his mouth so... His parents have been cured (spoiler: no) of heart attack since then.

#winx #winx club #rewinxing #winx rewrite #winx specialists #winx paladins #winx timmy #winx brandon #winx riven #rambling about winx #winx helia #winx sky #winx roy #winx nabu #winx nex #winx diaspro

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darkhymns-fic · 3 years

Text

saints

On the night of Lloyd’s fall, everything changes.

Or maybe, it just all shifted to where it should have been to begin with.

[Based off Lloyd's Side Story]

Fandom: Tales of Crestoria/Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel, Lutesse, Raine Sage, Genis Sage Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: I loved the potential of this side story (even if it's messy) and might write more for it, but for now this is what I was able to get out with my first impressions of it.

He woke up to the sound of crying.

Opening his eyes was a struggle, the throbbing in his head so persistent, like someone forever knocking on a locked door. At first, he wanted to keep them closed, hoping the darkness would help somewhat. But it still came to him in even rhythms, still knocked and knocked, until finally Lloyd had to let the light inside.

The house he was in… he didn’t recognize. The ceiling covered in crossing wooden beams, the oak finely polished to a near shine. Yet still, the knocking wouldn't cease. If only he could stop thinking…

Near the ceiling were the tips of bookcases, and of course, they were filled with books, their bindings ranging from pristine to frayed. Sometimes there were figurines on the shelves, of tiny animals mostly, seeming to have been designed by a careful hand.

They weren’t important.

Instead he looked to his left, to a girl that was seated at his bedside – and only then did he realize he was lying in a bed, the covers tucked up to his chin. Something was also wrapped around his forehead, though he could barely see what.

She saw he was awake, blinking the tears from her eyes. “Lloyd?” she called, moving closer. Oh. It was her hand on his head, so soft. He could feel the gentle pressure of her fingers, how they helped make the throbbing lessen, even if just for a little bit. “Does it hurt? Are you okay?”

Maybe just then, he was still too hurt to say anything. Or maybe he did, and he’d forgotten.

But he remembered looking at her, watching her cry, and thinking, I’m sorry.

He didn’t know why he thought that, but still, he knew he was the reason for her tears. He must have fallen asleep right after, lulled by the warmth of her hand. Never had he known what it was like to be safe like this.

That had been Lloyd’s very first memory.

When Lutesse had been told of Lloyd’s fall, she hadn’t moved from her study. Not right away, at least.

“Is the wound serious?” she had asked of the messenger, eyes still focused on her work – a great tome that she penned into, words carefully scribed, leaving no blots of ink in their travel. Raine had always admired the woman for her studiousness, her dedication to her people, to keeping their isolated village intact, and for accepting both her and her little brother in.

Still, she had thought the elven matriarch would have raised her head up at the news.

“It very well may be,” she said, hand clutching at her staff. She remembered how light Lloyd had felt when she carried him, how different his face looked from before… “His fall was a long one, but he must have grabbed onto the cliff side at one point. It looks like he’s suffered from a concussion. I have him at my home currently, if that is alright.”

Lutesse continued to write in her book, her robes barely making a wrinkle as she sat at her chair.

“I’ve given him as much healing as I can,” Raine continued.

Lutesse finally placed down her pen on the desk, turned her gaze to the half-elf. “Then all there is left is time. I trust your talents, such as when the Chosen had been injured.” The praise she would give her was always wonderful, yet right now, it was hard to appreciate, remembering the shaking of a small boy in her arms, how the blood fell from the gash on his head… It had been harder than usual to close it up with First Aid…

“Speaking of the Chosen, I have not seen her today.” There was no question being asked, yet Raine heard it in her tone.

“She is also at my home, with Lloyd.” Another grip on her staff. “She feels…responsible for his fall.”

Lutesse raised an eyebrow. “Ah, now it all makes sense. Perhaps this is karmic retribution for what he has done to the Chosen.”

Raine held back any expression from her face. She had…said something similar when Genis and Colette had called to her. Of the gods and their ways of punishment. Only now did she taste the bitterness of it. “Perhaps,” she repeated, yet could not resist adding, “But he is only a child still.”

“And our ways during childhood shapes us. Maybe even more so for humans.”

Then why…? Raine was quick enough to hold her tongue. “Yes, of course.”

She half-expected orders from Lutesse to bring Lloyd to her home, or to a healing place within the village. She fully expected her to order the Chosen to return to her home for certain.

But instead Lutesse simply nodded and went back to her work in runic transcription. “Thank you for all that you have done for this village, Raine.”

Followed by the thoughtful scratching of pen against paper, the gentle creak of the oak chair she sat on.

Seeing that as her cue to leave, Raine bowed, then headed out the door. At least, this would be the first time her and Genis would have company staying over for the night…

Colette had always been told that she was meant for much more, that she had been created in their image, her power so great that it could even rival that of a god’s, for only the elves could make something so divine.

Yet, try as she much, she couldn’t remember her very first day of being alive. Wouldn’t a god-like creation recall something so simple?

It had never been made a secret to Colette just what she was. It was clear to her when she went to the Great Pasca Tree as a child, hearing its whispers in the rustling of its leaves. No elf or human could read the mana as well underneath their senses, not like she could. It was in the way everyone surrounded her, a respectful distance away, wherever she went, and always following Chief Lutesse.

It was the respect one gave to a holy structure, to a sacred altar – not to a living, breathing person. But then again, she was not a person. Once, long ago, she did not mind. She couldn’t mind at all. A Chosen like her did not need feelings.

Though she could not remember her first day of living, she could remember something else – of when she had first lied.

As she stood before the Tree, the warm bark underneath her hand, Lutesse had asked her, “Do you hear its lament?” The elven woman was regal in her bearing, but her eyes holding so much less. Colette could feel it, like ice pricking her skin. “Do you hear its cries, Chosen?”

She did not tell Lutesse about how the Great Pasca Tree was enjoying the sunshine, how it thought Colette’s hand tickled at its trunk. She did not speak of how the Tree could feel the skitters of squirrels over its boughs, and only hoped that the birds making their nests on it could do so with a bit more gentleness.

So instead, she nodded to Lutesse, and said, “Yes, of course.” She knew, somehow, that was the only acceptable answer.

But hearing the thoughts of trees on the wind was not useful to her now, not their musings of the world at large, or their eagerness of the storm they could feel brewing in the currents, giving them much coveted rain.

The Great Tree could not tell her if Lloyd would be alright.

“Colette, you’re still here?” Genis had asked of her, staying a few feet away from the bed that Lloyd laid in. It happened to be Genis’, one that Raine had said would be better for his size. The boy had been huffy on that but didn’t voice any obvious complaints. “Sis said she would take care of him.”

Colette, seated in a small chair that Raine provided, said nothing, just squeezing Lloyd’s very still hand. “I want to make sure that… he’s…”

“But… but he tried to kill you!” Genis shouted suddenly. She could hear the strangled gasp in his throat. “I…I mean…”

No, because that was true, wasn’t it? Until she had tripped instead.

“Sorry… I can go and make us some food and just…” Genis said little else. He couldn’t, and so walked away, leaving the room quietly, until his footsteps were followed by the soft clicking of the door.

Colette wondered what was wrong with her.

She gripped Lloyd’s hand so tightly, her thoughts feeling so fuzzy and weak. What could she have said to Genis? How could she tell him what she saw as Lloyd fell? It was my fault. If only I wasn’t clumsy…

And did it even make sense for a divine creation to do something so simple as tripping over a root, to barely miss the hands that just brushed her shoulders before falling over the edge? No, it could only mean that she had done so on purpose. That she had wanted to make Lloyd fall after all that he had done to her; pulling at her hair, calling her names… getting closer to her than anyone ever had.

The fear she saw in his eyes as he fell changed her then. And suddenly, she was crying for the very first time. It was strangely so very relieving.

She kept crying, even as she saw his eyes open for a brief moment, saw the way he looked at her then before he fell right back to sleep.

How the glaze in them, along with that fear, was gone.

When Lloyd had been found, he had been curled up underneath the Great Pasca Tree, his shirt frayed, his brown hair dirty with mud and twigs.

Humans were not allowed near the Village of Keepers, but Lutesse had halted the guard’s swords, drawn to silence the yelling of a child who looked to be no older than eight years, who scurried back until his back hit the trunk of the giant Tree. One guard noted he held no vision orb around his neck, which was an oddity all on its own.

It irked her, for a human to taint something so holy and sacred with their presence, but she held herself back as well. As she looked into Lloyd’s eyes, she saw something hollow, something very painful… and so very useful.

“Have him cleaned up and deliver him to my home,” she had instructed, looking down at the boy for just a moment longer before turning away. “Do not harm him.”

She had heard the echoes of protests, saw it in her retinue’s faces before biting it away. Oh, how she understood, but they could not see the possibilities of the future such as she. They could not fathom that even a worthless human could be a key for their own glorious destinies.

In short time, Lloyd was placed within a room, complete with the comforts one needed, but when she went to him, he was merely seated on the floor, knees tugged into his chest. His clothes were clean and well-presented, but his hair was still unruly, making her frown. Whether the blame could be assigned to her people tasked on cleaning him up, or the boy himself, she couldn’t really determine just yet.

She went to retrieve a comb on a nearby dresser, then walked towards him, deftly grabbing him by the arm to lift him to his feet. “On the bed. We will get those tangles out.”

“L-Let go!” the child shouted. But her appearance belied her strength, and so the boy was unable to break free. She pulled him to a seat beside her on the carefully arranged bedsheets, then went to run the comb’s teeth through a forest of russet knots and twists. A whimper left his throat, followed by a glare at her.

“Move your head,” she ordered, one hand on his chin to make him face forward. But she had seen the look in those eyes; more filled with pain than hatred, something that the boy had been taught.

Humans always did breed ugliness in their own kin.

“Your name,” she demanded as she continued to brush, seeing tears pinprick at his eyes as she did so. “You must have one.”

Small hands clenched at his knees, fingers pulling at the fabric of his shorts, but he didn’t try to struggle. He bit his lip, looking pointedly away. “Lloyd.”

She nodded. “Suits you,” she said. Another tug at the brush, but Lloyd tried his best not to whine. “We found no one else nearby. Do you know of where your parents may be?”

Nothing from Lloyd, again just looking forward, letting her continue with her small torture of hair detangling.

Or did they send you here? she questioned, but not aloud. Of course, it all made sense to her that the Order would be involved in this. But the barbaric ways of humans were always so plainly obvious – the latest being about their fascination with exterminating so-called Transgressors. Such self-destructive beings, like a snake eating its very own tail.

“If you can’t remember your parents, or your home, then it seems you have no other place.” She gave a smile, small and barely imperceptible. “You will stay here.”

She saw a conflict within Lloyd’s expression; a mixture of relief, of dread, of pain once more. If her suspicions were correct, this would be the best outcome for him and those who raised him. But also… the ugliness of humanity all residing in this one child. What better way than to show the Chosen what meaning her sacred duty had?

A sword must weather fire and tension before becoming strong. This would be for her own good – if she survived this lesson.

“Then it is settled,” she announced, finished with her brushing. The boy’s hair was still not perfect, for it curled in peculiar waves, but she decided it was for the best. Another sign of the chaotic nature of humans. “The hour is late, so be sure to rest up for tomorrow.”

She made to leave, but then saw his eyes flick to her, for a moment, different once more.

“Why… are you being nice to me?”

Again, that confusion and pain within him. He seemed to struggle to get the words out, as if something held him back, something unnatural. Perhaps there were healing artes that could rectify such a thing… but no, this was to her advantage. Besides, it would be educational to see the effects of whatever Lloyd had been through to see played out before her.

“It is our duty to extend aid to those in need,” she said, intoning an old elven adage, albeit an adage that was only meant for elves. And with that thought, she decided to ask Lloyd a question of her own. “And you know what I am, do you not?”

Lloyd hesitated, hands gripping the mattress beneath him. “An elf.” He paused. “You’re all elves.”

Ah, was the venom in his voice natural? Or another of the vile lessons bestowed on him? It didn’t matter. He would be useful either way.

“We are,” she confirmed for him, brushing back a lock of his brown hair from his forehead, only to have it spring back to the front again. She shrugged. “And you will learn to live with that reality, Lloyd.”

But that was then, barely a year ago. Now, Lloyd was not here. He was staying at Raine’s, sleeping away an injury, with the Chosen by his side.

Lutesse had gone to his room, seeing his unkempt bed (despite how much she had told him to keep it fixed) the wooden swords laying against the bedside, the figure of a woodland bird on his desk, one that he had silently asked Lutesse to purchase from an elven merchant in a rare moment of quietude.

Either way, there was no real loss. They would continue with their plans, teaching the Chosen to manipulate the Trees correctly. She had already seen the worst of what humanity could be, all through the actions of Lloyd. She did not deny for a moment that his fall was an attempt on the Chosen’s life.

If the Chosen had died this night through his actions, it would simply be a hinderance. They would make another creation, this time with steadier feet. And if Lloyd died this night-

If he died… it would not matter.

Still, Lutesse stayed at the doorway to his room, remembering the feel of his hair underneath his fingers. Sometimes, the boy would have nightmares while he slept, and she would simply stay at his side, bidding him to sleep so that she could finally rest herself.

She would only know in the morning what his fate was. It’s karmic retribution, she had thought firmly.

Yet, throughout the night, she could not sleep.

Genis had been the only one besides Colette to have seen Lloyd’s fall.

It was hard to be close to the sullen child, to one who would barely say a word and keep to himself. Genis had heard the other elven children talk about humans, and with the only human he had ever seen acting just as the stories said; bitter and withdrawn, with a rashness to his actions that made him seek out Colette, Genis had thought he had known all there was to Lloyd’s nature.

But he didn’t understand what Colette had seen in him.

The Chosen had always been different herself, always pointedly separated from the other children. Lutesee, who retrieved the girl from her classes for her own lessons, kept that separation intact. But where the Chief would appear, the boy named Lloyd would soon follow.

Lloyd didn’t seem to care about the sacred distance, always crossing over a line and getting too close, reaching for anything of the Chosen to grab or push.

And Colette would never pull away, eyes drawn to him instantly over everything else.

It was at the Great Pasca Tree where he had found them both. Genis had gone searching for the Chosen, an inquiry from his sister as the hour was getting late. Colette almost always hung around the Tree, even after her lessons on the tuning of the Great Trees had been completed for the day. He didn’t talk with her much, half-worried he would be in the way, half-concerned that the human part of him would infect her somehow.

But not only Colette was there. Lloyd was too, standing beneath the tree, craning his head up to see the branches. Colette had been standing right behind him, the wind ruffling her hair, showing off her pointed ears.

Genis could not hear what they were saying to each other, or if they were saying anything at all. The sunlight was in his eyes, colored pink from being so close to the horizon. Colette was moving closer to Lloyd, and when Lloyd turned, the shadows of the leaves above him seemed to cover his face. But Genis remembered how often the boy would hassle Colette, how he’d push her down, or reach for her hair to pull roughly. Sometimes, it would take an elven guard to slap the boy’s hands away.

Colette was too close to him, and in his fear, Genis shouted, “Look out!”

Lutesse had taught them that humans couldn’t be trusted. It didn’t make Lloyd any different, even if she took him in. Even if she…

Colette turned towards him, and suddenly Lloyd shook his head, something painful in his eyes that could now be seen. His hands, as if they were being pulled from him, reached out to Colette to grasp her by her hair once more.

And then Colette slipped out of his grasp and ran. Lloyd followed, and soon Genis followed too, the incantations to fire spells hovering on his tongue. But he was still learning his magic artes and couldn’t remember just how it went…

All three ran down through the forest, past the glades and meadows, until they reached the edges of cliffs, until Genis had to brush away large grass stalks to finally get to them both.

It must have been a miracle from the gods, to have Colette suddenly dodge from Lloyd’s hands, to have him fall from where he had meant to push her into instead. Genis had at least thought so, seeing their work at play just then, as if a hand had pushed Lloyd over instead, while nudging Colette out of the way.

But Colette, the Chosen, didn’t seem to think so. It made Genis question so much more than he was comfortable with at his age.

Once Raine was home, he had seated himself at the kitchen table with her, kicking his feet against the chair legs, pushing away a lump of a mashed potato in his plate with the air quiet around them.

“Don’t play with your food, Genis,” Raine had said, though her tone was light, barely reprimanding at all.

“I made the food…” he argued, just as weakly back. Still, neither wanted to speak on what was unsaid, of the sacred Chosen staying with them, watching over a boy who they knew had jus tried to murder her.

He had seen it. And yet, he felt conflicted. Isn’t this what humans were like?

“Raine,” he said, his voice soft compared to the night wind blowing outside. “Was this supposed to happen?”

His sister took a long time to respond, that at first, he thought she hadn’t heard. But when he raised his head, she had a pensive look on her face, eyes occasionally glancing back towards the door that led to the room where…

“It just happened,” she told him. “We’ve healed him, and now all we can do is wait.” Raine reached out to stroke her brother’s hair, eyes gentle. “Nothing more.”

Genis wasn’t satisfied with the answer, but he would have to accept it. Raine didn’t like it when he went against her too often.

He wondered why the gods could be cruel sometimes.

When Lloyd slept, all he had dreamed of was something so dark. Not like the way the moonlight would shine through his bedroom window, making him feel slightly calm, or the way the shadows of that giant tree near the village would fall over his face when he looked up at it. This was the darkness of a cramped room, the shadows of hands keeping him still, all while his head continued to ache and ache.

And then suddenly, the headache was gone.

Lloyd woke up once more, this time to that darkness that was much more comforting than the other. He could see the moonlight peeking outside through the branches of nearby trees, but noted how much smaller this window was. He blinked again, wondering at this room, at this place with all its unfamiliarity.

He turned, and found Colette next to him, seated on a small chair, head laying on the bed. Her hand was still against his forehead, still so soft and warm. It shifted the linen bandage wrapped around him, its knot tied to the left side.

“Colette?” he whispered, feeling so weak, remembering when she had cried earlier.

She woke up easily, telling him that she must not have fallen deeply into sleep at all. “L-Lloyd?” she stuttered, all while her hand kept steady on him. “Lloyd…”

He wondered just then how he knew her name, how he recognized his own. But, he had to be sure. “You mean…me?”

At that, Colette blinked. Her other hand reached for his blanket, gripping it tight. “Yeah… you’re Lloyd,” she said. In the moonlight, he could see the pointed tips of her ears poking out from her golden hair. It was fascinating, making him wish he could reach out and touch them. “You had an accident, and it was… Don’t you remember?”

Lloyd furrowed his brows, tried to think about it – and was then met with a wave of pain thudding in his head. He winced. “Agh… it hurts…to think…”

Colette (a name he knows, that he keeps) continued to stroke his head, the rhythm of it already brushing away the dull pain he had been feeling. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have…” He saw her struggle once again to speak, swallowing hard. “What about Genis… or Lutesse?” Her eyes were such a wide and bright blue that he didn’t want to look away. “What about them?”

Lloyd thought on those names she said, felt something tug, but then – nothing. He shook his head. “I don’t know...”

Colette bowed her head, looking away. “It’s my fault…”

But there was one thing Lloyd knew for sure, beyond his own name and hers. He didn’t want to make her cry again.

So he sat up, doing his best to push away the heavy blanket off his shoulders and reached for both of her hands. “Hey! Why are you so sad?”

Colette raised her eyes to him, bright with tears about to form again. That gaze flicked from their interlocked hands back to his face. He saw confusion in them, which only heightened his own.

“Because…I messed up,” she admitted softly. “And you don’t remember anything.”

On some level, Lloyd knew she was right. He didn’t remember this house he was in, or the glade that lay outside of the windows. He didn’t know why he was even here at all, sleeping to the warmth of her hand on his head.

“But I remember you,” he said, feeling more confident in that than in anything else. “At least, I think I do. Is that weird?”

Colette looked conflicted, back again to their hands and to his face. She seemed to struggle with something, and it only made Lloyd want to keep reaching out to her

“You live with Lutesse… and I live with the other Keepers.” She pressed her fingers into his palm, carefully, as if this was a new sensation. “If there’s anyone you should remember, it should be her…”

“Why should it be?” he asked, almost bluntly.

Maybe it was too much, because suddenly, the tears she held back fell down her cheeks, dripped onto the backs of their linked hands.

“But it’s my fault! If I made you this way…” A sniffle, all as she tried to blink away her tears. “I didn’t mean to change you.”

Lloyd blinked, understanding – at least slightly. It was that word she used: changed.

But was change that bad?

He looked to their hands again, at the way they fitted against each other, at how tightly hers clung to his. “Maybe I don’t totally get it… but, I just know that I feel happy right now,” he said, and felt a smile on his face. Somehow, he knew that it had been a very long time since he’d done something like this. “Yeah, I feel happy. Isn’t that good enough?”

Or maybe, he was just being really dumb…

Colette stopped her tears, unable to wipe them away as they kept holding hands. But she never let go or try to slip away her fingers from his. So he saw those tears fall within this quiet room, as the wind continued to rustle the trees outside.

“You’re happy because…why?” she asked him.

Lloyd had to think on that answer carefully, because all he knew was that the fuzzy warmth in his chest didn’t leave, that it had started ever since he woke to her stroking his head. “Because you were here for me, weren’t you?” he asked her in turn. He squeezed her hands. “I don’t remember what happened before. Maybe I don’t want to… But whatever I did to make you cry, I promise to never do that again!”

He grinned then, feeling so sure of himself, more freeing than ever before. It was like something had been lifted off him, like a fog that he had never known he was living inside of in the first place.

He knew he had Colette to thank for that. He knew that so deeply in his heart, even if she didn’t believe it herself.

She cried a bit less, and Lloyd would have waited with her so patiently to wait for her to finish – until he felt a sneeze sneak up on him and had to turn his head away to the side. “Ah-choo!”

The sound was so sudden it made Colette gasp, staring at him.

“Er, sorry… Guess I got a cold or something…” Maybe that was why he was in this bed?

And something about what he said made Colette’s lips twitch, made the shine in her eyes sparkle just a little differently. Until she was finally giggling.

“You’re…really silly…”

There was that smile that he wanted, that he hadn’t known he wanted so much until right now.

“If you think a sneeze is funny, maybe you’re the silly one here!”

As he expected, it made her laugh more. Even if most of his memory was a blank, he knew he had never liked a sound so much before.

She’s such a dork, he thought, rubbing his thumbs against her hands.

Another gust of wind made him remember that it was still nighttime, that the hour was probably very late. He did have some questions on what exactly happened, on where he was, but he was also very sleepy and slightly cold. Maybe he shouldn’t have thrown off that blanket…

“Aren’t you sleepy?” Colette asked, maybe seeing the question on his face. She yawned then, and it made him wonder… How long had she been up tonight?

“I think you’re the sleepy one!” And so he scurried back just a bit on the bed, all while still holding her hands. “You can sleep here if you want.”

It only made sense to him. He didn’t want to let her go.

If Colette had any protests to it, she didn’t say it. Even as she stared at him, head tilting just a bit to the side. It showed off more of her pointed ears that he knew was different from his own. He liked those differences, wanted to know more about them.

“I should be…” she started to say, but she paused, and Lloyd used that pause to gently nudge her towards him.

“It’s okay. We can worry about stuff in the morning, right?”

Little did Lloyd know was that each word he was saying, each gentle squeeze of his hands against Colette’s was like a sun peeking through dark clouds that had covered the sky for so long. And who wouldn’t be drawn to such a sight and feel its warmth on their skin?

“Yeah!” she agreed, the lightness in her voice so new and refreshing. She practically stumbled onto the bed, nearly hitting Lloyd’s chin with her head. “S-sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it!” And Lloyd really didn’t want to worry about anything anymore. He wondered if he even could, with the smile continuing to stretch his cheeks.

It took a while but soon they both settled underneath thick blankets, in a home that wasn’t their own, in a bed that didn’t belong to either of them. Something about that made Lloyd eager and excited. When Colette laid down next to him, seeing her eyes and ears so up close, she asked him, “Does your head still hurt?”

The bandage around his head shifted again, felt a bit tender, but that was it. “Not really,” he said. “But, can you stroke my head like you did before anyway?” It had felt really nice.

Colette didn’t hesitate, already reaching out to dig her fingers in his hair, petting him so gently that it already made him so sleepy. “This is nice,” he heard her say.

Lloyd knew he never wanted to let this feeling go.

It was only in the morning that Raine and Genis went inside to see the child that was the Chosen, and the boy that had once held such hurt in his eyes, cuddled against each other in bed, both looking so small. Yet they slept peacefully, even as the sun streamed in through the window, illuminating their faces.

All throughout the night, they still held hands.

The Great Pasca Tree had been the one to find him first.

Lloyd had woken up to cold and darkness, but the branches that stretched out over him shielded him from the rain, their shivering leaves settling down the sharpness in his head. Back then, his head had always hurt, no matter what he did. Even afterwards, when Lutesse would comb his hair, when he’d be in classes, when he’d try to practice with his new swords, trying to drive out the ache that would continually dull and throb.

Except, sometimes, it would hurt less when he came to the Tree, craning his neck until he could see to the very top of it, so far back that he would have fallen backwards if not careful.

“Do you hear them too?” a voice had asked him once. The Chosen was next to him, the girl that was so distant from everyone else, the one that he was always drawn to.

But she always knew where to find him first. Behind the schoolhouse where he escaped to be alone, to the training grounds where he’d practice with the swords by himself, even to the gates of his home with Lutesse, when he’d see her searching for him…

She was clasping her hands in front of her, eyes flicking from the branches to him – seeing him, or wanting to. “Pasca says they hope you will feel better today.”

The tips of her ears poked through her hair, wishing he could just touch them instead of tugging at them, wishing he could just hold her hands instead of pulling at them both. But something about the girl made him want to know her, even through the awful pounding in his head, through the shouting that told him to do awful things.

All this time, he had felt so broken. So broken that he didn’t know what to say.

A shout from far-off made him panicked, made Colette run off, and Lloyd had only wanted to follow her. And as he left the shade of Pasca’s branches, his headache grew worse, until he felt that his very skull would shatter from the intensity.

He had rushed after her, (to push, to grab, to beg) and then he had tripped, or maybe he had meant to jump off all along to get rid of the pain that wouldn’t leave, and as he fell and fell into a chasm that seemed to stretch on forever, that made him see her face last as he went and-

He woke up to the sound of crying.

He looked to his left, to the same girl that was seated at his bedside – and only then did he realize he was lying in a bed, the covers tucked up to his chin. Something was also wrapped around his forehead, though he could barely see what.

Never had he known what it was like to be safe like this.

Never had he known what it was like to be this happy.

That had been Lloyd’s first and precious memory.

#tales of symphonia #tales of crestoria #colloyd #lloyd irving #colette brunel #genis sage #raine sage #lutesse crestoria #fanfiction #one shot

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vodoriga-art · 3 years

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Hi I just wanted to say your art style is really beautiful, and I just bought your character sheet and it's lovely! Also I love seeing the art you make of your cleric of Kelemvor and was wondering what his backstory is (if you feel like sharing it)? I hope you have a great day!

Hi anon, first of all thank you so much for the message, it means a lot to hear that people enjoy my original stuff, even if it's just one person. It seriously means more than thousands of notes on fanart or schoolwork. Thank you 🥺 Enjoy the sheets and have a nice day yourself! I'll put the backstory below a readmore because I can never keep it brief. CW for death and cannibalism.

Gašper/Kaspar lived in a small village with his parents and younger siblings. When he was ~19-20, he and one other person headed out to a nearby city to get supplies for the village, but they got caught in a storm and had to take shelter in a small cave, inside which they got snowed in. The other guy froze to death after a day or so. Not knowing when and if he could get out of there, hungry, and by now panicking, Kaspar took out a knife and ate some flesh from the corpse's leg (had no other food because it should have been a short trip). To his horror he weirdly liked the experience (three hours ago this was a person, but now it's just meat like any other. How bizzarre, terrible, and almost magical). Of course when someone finally came looking for them and found Kaspar and the cut up body, it wasn't long before word got around and not a single person in a wide area wanted anything to do with the cannibal. His attempts at defending himself were half-hearted at best, since he felt extremely guilty anyway (not guilty for doing it, but for liking it). Lucky for him, a priestess of Kelemvor (Esther, an elf) was in the area, heard what happened, found Kaspar, and asked if he would like to come along to a temple far from this place and help out there until he figures out what he was going to do. He ended up loving work at the temple, tending the graveyard and crypt, studying scriptures and all that, being useful and encouraged, and soon became a priest. He also read some of Van Richten's guides from cover to cover several times (ask him about these and he'll perk up immediately). In the same city was a physician dedicated to exploring ways to effectively heal injuries and illnesses without magic. Kaspar asked the man to teach him medicine (he was always invested in helping and taking care of other people) and not only did he get his medicine proficiency and interest in surgery while helping at the clinic (when he could afford to be away from the temple), he also ended up having an affair with the doctor (who was already married... yikes). They were very much in love but both knew it couldn't last. He was ~28 when Kelemvor blessed him with cleric abilities. Now a Doomguide, he left the temple not long after that and has been traveling from place to place where his new abilities may be needed, slowly figuring out his skills along the way. Our campaign starts about a year after he became a cleric and left the temple. He hasn't committed any acts of cannibalism since that first time, and besides struggling with guilt from time to time, he kept busy and was happy enough that he didn't think about it much. Nobody except Esther knows about what he did. However, now that he's in Barovia and things are going from bad to worse, he doesn't really get to do things that he's good at, he feels like he can't help as much as he should, AND feels like he's seen like nothing more than a Healing Word dispenser, he's anxious and a bit bitter... and he's starting to crave the feeling he got when he bit into that piece of raw bloody meat, for comfort. If Strahd finds out he will never let him live it down I think 💀 Sorry if this was too long. I love him. My poor little meow meow. My mold loving 10 charisma goth. He's trying so hard.

#not art #asks #cos

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elliemarchetti · 3 years

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The Most Beautiful and Golden of the Cages

Nobody cares, but I like it, so bear with me and accept this fourth chapter of my Haldir x half-elf fem!OC fic.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Words: 2677

For the first time since they had left Rivendell, her rest wasn’t disturbed by dreams or noises, and she opened her eyes again only the next morning, when Gimli knocked on the door to make sure she was okay. The days passed almost all the same, each moment illuminated by a clear sun, except when a drizzle fell, leaving everything fresh and clean. The air was sweet and mild, as if it was tender spring, yet everyone felt around them the deep and thoughtful stillness of winter. Even the attentions of Haldir, who at the behest of the Lady hadn’t returned to his usual task, gave her the same feeling: his smile was mild and his actions sweet, but his deep eyes let it be seen that something was troubling the quiet in his thoughts, and even while they ate and drank there was no lightheartedness in his gestures, as if only among the trees and the constant danger he really felt at home. Elva decided it was time to face the conversation in the only moment they had alone, that was before going to rest.

“If you wish to go back to your brothers and mansion, we can sleep with the rest of the Fellowship, there is no need for you to stay any longer in a house you certainly don’t love.”

Her words seemed to take him by surprise, and for a moment she feared he would take refuge in his room without giving any answer.

“To be your guide, even now we’re within the city walls, is a great honour, especially when your mission is so noble,” he replied, always with tender courtesy. He had praise and beautiful words to dedicate to her, but his gaze never rested too long on her figure, nor did their hands touched after they entered the gates.

“Yet you don’t seem satisfied,” she insisted, hoping not to be too intrusive, even though her mere presence within the talan told another story.

“Maybe I'm just unaccustomed to city life: I’ve lived in the woods for a long time now, and although I’m the only one in the family who travels to distant lands, I don’t like to sleep in a soft bed when my brothers face great risks every day,” he admitted, finally, and the subject was no longer brought up, but the next evening, as they were walking together in the cool twilight, silence fell again. They had both felt restless for the whole afternoon, unable to face the shadow of parting, but Elva knew it was something they had to address, mostly because they were going to give up each other’s reassurance for probably a violent fate.

“It’s wonderfully quiet here,” she commented, determined not to start too brutally. “Nothing seems to be going on, and nobody seems to want it to.”

“It’s the Lady’s magic,” he explained, in a neutral tone. “You can’t touch it, but I’m sure you can see and feel it everywhere.”

He was right, but the thing that struck her most was the latent intolerance he expressed toward the land he swore to protect, for which he could also have died at the hands of an Orc while patrolling, or perhaps it was directed to those who commanded it, but Elva didn’t dare to ask, mindful of Legolas’ words about Mirkwood. It’s the most beautiful and golden of the cages, but in the end, it still remains a cage, he said, during a full moon night, to explain to her what drove him to continually piss off his father and get away from his duties as heir to the throne. Even the excessive beauty of Lothlorien reminded her of home, where the benevolence shown hid the trap of a cunning king.

“I don’t think you can do much more to help us, magic or not,” she finally admitted, for the first time aloud. Until that moment, she had kept it in her thoughts, fearing it might become real, but now she knew she must accept it and go on.

“Before you go, you’ll have to see the Lady one more time,” he explained, and as if she had heard him, Galadriel appeared from a lawn, tall, white and fair, silently beckoning them to follow her toward the southern slopes of Caras Galadhon’s hill, where, crossing a green hedge, they entered a garden without trees, which opened to the clear sky where the first stars, glowing with white fire on the western woods, could be seen. The Lady descended a long staircase that led into a deep hollow, crossed by the murmuring stream that gushed from the fountain on the hill, creating a low and shallow silver basin, next to which was a silver jug. With water from the stream, Galadriel filled to the brim a tub with a pedestal carved like a leafy tree.

“This is my Mirror,” she said, in that distant, ancient voice. “I brought you here so you can look at yourself, if you wish.”

“What do I have to look for?” Elva asked, watching full of wonder the pale elf. She wasn’t deluded, probably that place would be or had already been shown to all the other travellers, but at the moment she felt important, as if the Mirror could reveal to her something it had kept silent even to its owner.

“What you wish to see, if that’s what you desire,” replied the Lady. “But the Mirror can also spontaneously show images of things that were, are and still must be, which are often strange and useful. Do you want to watch?”

The half-elf didn’t answer right away: she would’ve liked to know what was happening at home, to her friends and her king, but she was afraid she would only see the reflection of the stars, or something she wouldn’t be able to understand.

“Remember, the Mirror is a dangerous guide, as it shows many things and not all of them have already occurred, while some will never happen, if only who saw didn’t abandon their way to prevent them,” Galadriel warned her.

“I don’t think you’re advising me to look, but rather to see something,” Elva replied. No one in Mirkwood spoke in riddles, but Haldir’s ignorance about the High Elves harbours and all the ceremoniousness of their meeting with the Lord and the Lady led her to assume those elves were no more like them than the dwarves for the hobbits.

“Seeing is at the same time good and dangerous, yet I believe you have guts and wisdom enough to take the risk, otherwise you wouldn’t have revealed to your guide what my spouse and I have been hiding from our people for a long time,” replied the woman, but without any trace of the annoyance or anger she might’ve expected facing the topic. Of course it wasn’t necessary to ask her how she knew, but was she telling that her words had a positive influence on Haldir? She didn’t have the courage to turn to look at her companion’s face to find out, yet, she felt like she needed to dodge even the powerful woman’s gaze, who didn’t need to read her mind anyway to know what she was thinking.

“So, do you wish to look?” she insisted, when faced only with silence.

The marchwarden hadn’t spoke a word for the whole time, and although Elva would’ve preferred for him, who knew the Lady more thoroughly, to advise her, she decided on her own to have a peep, even if it seemed unsafe to be too close to Galadriel’s magic. Without touching the dark water, she leaned over the basin, and as if a veil had been instantly withdrawn, the Mirror grew grey and then clear, to show her the sun shining and trees branches waving and tossing in the wind, golden leaf falling way sooner than the spring buds blossom. Before she could make up her mind, the autumn light faded, and she saw Haldir, dying in her arms with many of his race around him. They were both covered in red and black blood, and she almost thought she could smell the stench of death in her nostrils, mixed with something that reminded her of wet soil, sweat and leather. His lips barely moved, but he told her to go ahead, and take care of his brothers. Without thinking, she looked away to meet his blue eyes, full of concern but at the same time as attractive as a clear sea on a hot summer day. As in a dream, she returned to his side, but everything was too strange and unreal to resist the urge she felt of touching him, a light peck on his hand just to be sure what was happening wasn’t yet another one of Galadriel’s mental games. His skin was warm, not dry with sweat as in the Mirror’s vision, but as soon as she reached out, he held her tightly, as if afraid she might fly away in the stagnant air and never come back. Obviously, the Lady hadn’t missed the whole scene, and when she asked her subject if he wanted to look too, the tone of her words had changed slightly, although Elva couldn’t understand if for the better or the worse.

“Do you advise me to do so?” he asked, but the woman answered with the umpteenth riddle, and the decision became only his. Very slowly, she felt the grip on her hand loosen, and for a moment, everything was suspended, superfluous, their barely touching fingers the only important thing. The separation was almost painful, and it seemed to Elva that between her and the elf, gazing so skilfully into the Mirror’s depth she supposed he had already done it, there were whole kingdoms and not just a dozen steps. If Lorien was apparently frozen in time, that place, like everything surrounding the Lady, seemed suspended above the laws of nature, beautiful and at the same time terrifying. Over time, she had learned that under too much perfection there was always something corrupt, something rotten, a secret to hide, perhaps in the shape of a chain mail sneaked under a tunic, or a ring delicately mixed with other shiny jewellery, slipped on a pale, slender finger. No description could ever match the wonder of seeing Nenya in person. The Ring of Adamant glittered like polished gold overlaid with silver light, and its white stone twinkled as if Earendil, the Evening Star, most beloved of the Elves, had come down to rest upon the bearer’s hand, making her suspicions therefore correct: the Galadhrim had deliberately and conveniently avoided mentioning that Galadriel was the keeper of one of the three elven rings, hence they couldn’t be trusted.

“Let what has to happen, happen,” the Lady murmured when Haldir finished his dose of horrors too, so softly that Elva almost feared she had imagined it. “You’re not responsible for Lorien’s fate, but only for the fulfilment of your mission.”

“You’re wise and fearless and fair, Lady Galadriel,” he answered, but before Elva could turn to look at her, and inquire what she meant by those words, she found only the marchwarden, the lights dying quickly and the magic of that place drained by the elf’s absence. Unable to confront with someone, for fear that the woman and her spouse might find out, she decided to remain silent and act as if nothing had happened, even though she was dying to pester Haldir with questions about both Lothlorien’s ruler and his attitude towards them, reverential and accommodating but far from the spell the couple seemed to cast on the rest of their subject, and what he had seen in the Mirror. The Lady hadn’t in itself forbidden them to tell each other what the Mirror had decided to reveal, but even just touching the question would’ve led her guest to ask her what she had glimpsed in its depths, and she wasn’t sure she could admit that he, and his death, were the backbone of the longest, and simplest to interpret, if it could be said, of the two narratives, of which there would be no time to speak anyway, as the Fellowship was again summoned to the chamber of Celeborn, where the Lord and Lady greeted them with kind words. At length they spoke of the departure and Galadriel confirmed that they all intended to continue, providing them with boats, which would allow the crossing of the Great River.

"Even if you haven't decided your path yet, Haldir will take you wherever you want, as he’s a skilled captain and we can do nothing more to help," the woman concluded, casting a long look at Elva, weighing her reaction. For she was a good diplomat, the half-elf tried to keep her expression neutral, but Gimli’s curiosity about that silent exchange was of no help, while Aragorn was luckily too distracted by the gift to care.

“All shall be prepared at the haven before noon tomorrow,” added Celeborn. “I’ll send my people in the morning to help you make ready for the journey, but now we’ll wish you all a fair night and untroubled sleep.”

The whole Fellowship, plus its temporary new member, took their leave and returned to the pavilion to take counsel together; for a long time they debated what they should do, and how it would be best to attempt the fulfilling of their purpose with the Ring, but they came to no decision, even if it was plain that most of them desired to go first to Minas Tirith, and to escape at least for a while from the terror of the Enemy. Some would’ve been willing to follow a leader over the River and into the shadow of Mordor, but Frodo spoke no word, and Aragorn was still divided in his mind, therefore Elva remained neutral, as she seemed to understand Gandalf wished before his early death. Admitting that he would never return still gave a strange feeling, above all because an inestimable number of mysteries would remain unsolved, and so many questions would remain unanswered, but by now she believed she had accepted it, the emptiness in her heart slowly filling up with a new and different feeling, which she had neither the time nor the energy to analyze, mostly because it would’ve been of no use, since, although she couldn’t yet know when, Haldir would still have to turn his back on them to return to the patrols in the woods with his brothers.

“I shall go to Minas Tirith, alone if need be, for it is my duty,” said Boromir, and after that he was silent for a while, sitting with his eyes fixed on Frodo, as if he was trying to read the Halfling’s thoughts like the Lady had done in their first meeting. Only at length he spoke again, so softly he was probably debating with himself: “If you wish only to destroy the Ring, then there’s little use in war and weapons, and the Men of Minas Tirith cannot help, but if you wish to destroy the armed might of the Dark Lord, then it is folly to go without force into his domain, and folly to throw away,” he said, before pausing suddenly, as if he had become aware that he was speaking his thoughts aloud.

“It would be folly to throw lives away, I mean,” he added. “It’s a choice between defending a strong place and walking openly into the arms of death, or at least, that’s how I see it.”

Elva hardly heard the last justification, too busy reliving a memory of the council, during which he had already expressed a thought of that kind. She looked at Haldir, but the elf seemed deep in his own thought and made no sign that he had heeded Boromir’s words, so their debate ended and those who would have slept in the talan took their leave for the last time, while the night grew old and dark on Caras Galadhon, maybe darker than ever.

#haldir x fem oc #lotr fic #haldir of lothlorien #galadriel #gimli son of gloin #celeborn #aragorn #legolas greenleaf #gandalf the grey #boromir #frodo baggins #half elf oc

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