#how DARE the Dead Sea be a lake

[felixdragonheartofficial]

TFA TEAM PRIME HUMAN REDESIGNS FINALLY

FUCK

+headcannons

Optimus: gotta stay focused

looks too old compared to his bot form.

I find it impossible for Optimus to be more than a million years old in this canon. In the least, he's older than 1000 years and since we have mfs that are canonically over 70 million years old(fagatron iykyk) compared to that, he feels like a dude in his early-to-mid-30's being the group parent.

---

-I made him more youthful, gave him curly hair, and tailored his clothing to actually look like his bot form.

-workaholic

-on the cusp of barley being able to hold his liquor

-doesn't own a pair of pajamas until Sari gets some for him

-usually forgets to put them on, but appreciates the gesture

-stays active for like, 3 days until he can't fight off sleep with work brain anymore, and unceremoniously passes out on the couch to sleep for a full 24 hours

-ratchet sighs and puts a blanket over him as per routine

-frequently checks security feed

-elf on the shelf despiser

-early morning talks with jazz and ratchet over coffee (they all wake up at 6 am)

-half thrives on caffeine and a vigorous training protocol

-is a dog person, loves German shepherds to death

David sama, pls forgive me ily very much

Ratchet: to old for this nonsense

doesn't match his body type in the slightest.

Ratchet is really old, he's got a sallow face and a gramp gut, how dare they square him. He's wayyy too angular and peachy looking.

-I gave him his luscious curves back, adding all the equipment id expect a field medic to have because he is a field medic, not a regular doctor. I changed his facial proportions, and also made his face gaunt, for that dead inside PTSD look.

---

-drinks his coffee black with brown sugar, literally drinks it piping hot

-is one of those old people who complains about noise

-confiscates bumblebee and Sari's toy cars, and puts them in a high up cabinet

-neither of them know how to bypass the child safety lock lmao

-casual clothes includes a lot- a l o t of plaid shirts, and 10 pairs of the same blue jeans

-tunes out bulkhead and prowls convos about birdwatching

-big fan of political satire dramas

-Sentinel doesn't approve

-Ratchet doesn't give a rats ass about what he thinks of course

Bumblebee: professional smart-ass

doesn't match his body type/age.

Bumblebees holoform is presented as a 10-12 year old child specifically for the fact that he's short, and the comedic relief. Total ass

I set his human age as 19-20 years old, making him more of a big brother to sari because that og model is disappointingly lackluster

---

-Bumblebee is a scrappy wisecracking punk, like an adhd kid who just got roller skates for Christmas.

-since he doesn't have wheels, I feel like he'd wear skates instead to emulate the feeling

-terrible at watching where he's going cuz he's too busy trying to show off, so ratchet makes him wear all that padding + training wheels

-legit despises the padding and training wheels

-Jealous of Blurr for mastering roller blades lmao.

-his favorite games are choose your fighter and fps

-saw ONE ancient ass assassins creed playthrough and begged ratchet to install hidden tasers in his arm bands (was denied)

-Sari used her key to do it instead

-self appointed "rizzler"

-Optimus has zero idea of what that means and thinks it's code for something dubious

-Ratchet knows what it means and thinks it's silly

-"I' was something of a rizzler myself back in my day, kid"

-bumblebee cringes

-loves summer and swimming

-wants to be the fastest thing in the sea because y'know, it's bumblebee

-is spooked from the beach for awhile cuz he saw sharks in Prowls nature documentary

-there are infact, no sharks in lake Erie

Bulkhead: big guy, bigger heart

doesn't match his body type/aspirations.

Jesus fuck he's so wide?? And his belly migrated to his shoulders?? I'm gonna be honest, I really hate this design. I feel like it contributed to the "brute strength = stupid" take that most in the fandom associates with him.

---

-Bulkhead is a SWEET. CARING. NERD YOU FOOLS. He's like the male version of a tall goth gf-

-a tall-nerdy-farm hand-physics bf, You got me fucked up.

-Its already shown that bulkhead really likes art in Addition to creating it. He hates being only seen as the "muscle" so it wouldn't make sense for him to lean into that.

-bunny slippers that him and sari made together(she provided the buttons)

-the slippers go missing sometimes (basically considered community property unless he's wearing them)

(ratchet and prowl are the main offenders)

-frequent art museum goer

-really likes watching cooking shows, but is too shy to make food himself

-Owns a ton of star maps

-Really wants a treehouse that he, bumblebee and sari can hang out in

-pillowfort enjoyer

-casually reads quantum physics at the beach

Prowl: draft dodger

Doesn't look like him at all.

Prowls holoform being a mustachioed,white, police officer was an actual jumpscare for 7 y/o me, I kid you not

---

- I know this bitch would not wear a helmet (you can't force him to) que windswept hair

-Not as much as starscreams, for obvious reasons but yk

-prowl is like one of those "shoes are a prison for your feet"

-emo hipster

-has a pet cactus named "planty"

-bumblebee heckles him for it

-can and has brought his cactus with him on early evening motorcycle rides

-the helmet is reserved for his cactus, bring your own >:(

-salad consumer

-him and jazz share custody of the cactus

-repeat victim of the cat distribution system

-ratchet has probably spent hours telling him they can't keep any animals at base

-frequent midnight picnics with jazz

-and beachcombing

-and roaming around antique stores cuz jazz wants to know what vinyl records are

-got a mug with an attempted pink chibi cat with big round shiny eyes painted onto it, courtesy of bulkhead trying to find an artsyle

-cherishes this mug to death

-has a shrine dedicated to it

[comfortless]

for your consideration, dearest syl: hybrid Flemish giant rabbit!König 🐇💭

flemish giant rabbit hybrid! König x fem, coyote hybrid! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. hybrids: König is (mostly) human! he just has bunny ears and a cute lil tail & the same goes for reader!, kind of dark- mentions of what is essentially cannibalism, violence, scent & breeding kink, dubious consent to everything. please heed the warnings!

hello lil wisp! sorry!! this veered off a bit from what i usually write. there is still some fluff and sweetness here if you squint real hard…

Winter is setting in.

You could feel it on your bare skin, the chill that sweeps past the trees like breath from a ghoul’s rotting throat: something dead and wretched, so cold it steals your breath and halts the blood in your veins. If you weren’t careful, staying ahead of yourself and the rest of the things lurking in the woods, that ivory death would creep up, grab you by the neck and drown you out in the snow.

With the season comes the need to feed. You don’t have the luxury of hibernation settled into the primitive roots of your brain. While everyone else tucks themselves into dens carved out from mountains or beneath the earth, settled in with the roots of vast trees, you’re still left in smothering snow, heavy as the weight of the hunger.

You were born for this, the hunt: to feel your fingernails dig into the fallen leaves and forest debris, curl in carving your name into the earth, bite and rip and tear. “Little coyote,” the birds would call, seated up on tree limbs so, so far above that the sunlight would burn your eyes if you dare to look at them, “let us watch.”

You always put on the show, always stage the fight with grace. A lost, blubbering sheep one day; the wool ‘round her ears dried your throat, her mournful bleating only died down when your teeth found her throat. The canopy above echoed your pride, they were always grateful to have something to scavenge later, whether it be finger or eye or ear; your hunger wasn’t the only that raged out here in the forest.

This winter would have to be your last alone. You could feel the way a life of roaming without pack or anything to settle with had eaten away at not just your body, but that little illusion of a soul somewhere tucked a long way down inside of you.

It would be a simple one, too— drag some creature to your den to keep your flesh warmed and your stomach full, survive this loathsome season and flourish with the spring. When the leaves returned and the lakes thawed, you could settle into some foreign pack. Flash your neck, hide your teeth and hope they wouldn’t rip you apart as you have so many others.

You think to yourself that a deer would do, some meek little doe that would bat her eyelashes and plead that you only wait the winter out with her, curling against you to keep you warm as you keep her safe until finally…

You didn’t like to think about it too much.

As much as the chase and the thrill had a hold on you, thinking about the loss of life, the ghosts that cling to your shoulders and wail, waiting for your turn to join them was far different. You couldn’t fight your nature, but you knew well enough you could never entirely swallow down the guilt that came with it, either.

There was a pain in your legs as you walked, exhaustion that would go unsatisfied until your plan had been laid out proper. It begins to feel dismal when you realize you have not seen another creature in miles, no prints, either. The only thing that brings you any companionship are the first flakes of snow, sifting down from far above, the great bone white and gray of an falsified sea.

You crouch and wait, curling your arms around your midsection as you shiver. Time passes, but you can’t be certain of just how much… mere seconds, maybe hours. The sky gives nothing away.

Now, there’s a rabbit.

You catch the scent of it on the breeze, musky and floral. Poor thing has probably only basked beneath evergreens, lived in sprawling gardens its entire life, kissed the sun and held flaking petals in its hands. So very unlike you who only knows the shade, the blood, and the hunt.

Your charge is determined, the soles of your feet torn and bloodied from angry thorns springing up from the crushed leaves on the cold soil; teeth bared as you hurtle through the brush of dying plant life. Its so close, so terribly close you can already feel the way your teeth will rend its flesh, feel saliva pooling up on the back of your tongue.

Reaching the forest’s edge you spot… him.

The rabbit is huge, stood in the midst of the deadened field with his back turned to you. The tall, decaying grass just barely brushes against the backs of his knees, low hanging fog veiling his face. If not for the puffy, fawn-colored tail situated just past the expanse of the pale, toned back, you would have assumed you were faced with some sort of bear.

This is not your usual prey.

No matter the sharpness of your claws or the ferocity of your bite, you know well enough that someone like this could never be brought down by yourself alone. It’s too risky, even as your belly aches and you itch to be back in the warmth of your den, surrounded by the pelts of the four-legged imitations and the fire roaring in its pit…

Rabbits were simple, at least. You press your face against them and cuddle, whisper sweet things in their ears and they melt, begging to be swallowed whole without any idea that you’ve only ever meant it literally.

You approach him with cautious, gentle steps, allowing your body language to remain open and friendly as you present him with the view of you bare, claws turned inward into your own palms and teeth hidden away by soft, warm lips. Your ears lie back to rest against your head, tail tucked between your thighs: all a display of utter submission, and a trickery that has worked time and time again.

“It’s getting cold..,” you murmur, voice low and as pitiful as it can get. “Will you keep me warm?”

Your rabbit cocks his head at you, one flopped ear lifting in curiosity. And he doesn’t move, doesn’t startle… The poor, stupid thing remains in place as his stare drinks you in, almost adoringly as you pad right up to him. There’s no hope of your faces being level, you merely use that to your advantage, putting on a cute pout and placing your palms flat against his bare chest.

“Ja,” he murmurs, gently coaxing your chin up to look him properly in the eye. Cute prey was easy, but never… never in your life had you found your prey to be handsome. Even with those silly ears bouncing with each cloudy puff of breath he takes, his face is still something of a myth. The old humans would have made statues in his honor from his build alone, but that face would have given him the look of a warrior of myth— brutish, yet charming with the wide grin he gives you when you meet the sea holly color of his irises. “Come here.”

He lifts you into his arms with ease and your shivering immediately ceases, he’s warm like the summer sun.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers into one of your triangular ears, causing it to involuntarily flick from the rush of his breath and press tighter to your skull.

Your intent was to take him to your own den, but as he begins to move it winds up being the opposite; there are mountains, an ice covered stream all laid out before you as he huffs more sweet words in a foreign tongue against your temple. It takes some time to understand that what you had intended to do and what he intends are entirely different. The mouth of a vast cave comes into view right as he dips his head, huffs several breaths against you, panting like a dog.

You’re only dropped when he kneels down to enter the den— his, ripe with the scent of sweat and musk and something floral. The rabbit has supplies stowed away for the winter, an array of preserved food, ample pelts likely stolen away from some other poor creature. He has weapons scattered about, stolen away from what remained of the old humans and their buildings, some sharper and more deadly than even the claws that crest the peeks of your hands. Your heart only plummets… you’re not in the presence of some stupid bunny, but a behemoth.

You begin your protests in a hiss, only to have your lips met with dried fruit, something sweet and red laid out on your tongue that tastes of sugar. He pulls you up and over his lap as he fits you both into the bed of animal skins and feeds you by gently guiding the food to your lips. The only think still spitting and crackling is a fire pit at the center as you allow yourself to somewhat settle.

The rabbit man only hums his contentment against your throat as your back presses to the expanse of chest behind you, and his hands trail away from your mouth, down further until they’re spreading your legs for him. Your pulse races as your eyes map the daggers across the floor down to the fur he’s seated you with him upon.

There’s only a hiss of breath that leaves your lips when his already leaking cock does press against the heat of your core. You don’t fuck prey— that would only spoil it, and you suppose that you are satisfied in knowing that he has no intention of harming you, only filling you with his seed, perhaps even his kits…

As his tip snags at your entrance, he purrs finding you already wet, bared open for him with his hand still steadying your thigh.

“Coyotes mate for life, hm?,” he rasps against the back of your neck, his own thigh trembling with the sheer excitement of the prospect of breeding you, tethering you to him for not only the rest of this winter.

You can hardly bite back the moan as he pushes through your folds again, nudging your bud as he spreads your arousal over the girth of him.

“Answer,” he commands in a sharp whisper, using his free hand to guide your chin up again. And you do, only in a weak nod.

He stuffs you full then, leaves you a panting heap as he repositions you onto your knees and covers you in himself. The furs smell of him, not the animals they’ve come from. Just the scent of lonely nights and a bitter, masculine stench that you whine and whimper into; all while he grunts his approval and praises about your tightness, your warmth, how you look somehow prettier now, capsized in his bed. Even has the audacity to whisper how long he’s watched you dart through the forest and waited for you to come to him as you sink your claws into hay and fur to steady yourself from the punishing pace he sets.

He only seems more fervent and adoring when he brings you to a rapturous bliss, keening whines and and tight praises pulled free from your throat as your cunt drools around him.

“You want kits?,” he purrs behind you, around you, everywhere as his voice lowers to an almost growl with each word spoken. In your trembling state, addled by sheer bliss as his cock soars into you to grind against your deepest places, you’ve barely the mind to refuse him anything. You merely mumble into the fur, something akin to a yes that has him grasping at your hips as though you’re his last tether to life itself.

When he’s finished, your stomach full of fruit and cunt full of him, he whispers into your ear about how the old humans believed in fate. His hands trail over your back, your waist, every curve only to rise and cup your cheek. His ears raise when he kisses you then, tender, as if trying to push his faith that you belong here right past your teeth.

[lobotomy-lady]

I saw a post earlier where someone was arguing that states bordering the great lakes can't say we have coastlines or beaches (???) bc it's "just lakes, basically puddles" & it's stolen valor from the oceanic coast havers & just us trying to make our states seem less boring....I'm so mad I can't find it now bc I want to e-hex them. I want to make them pay. I want to make sure they get eaten by a shark while enjoying their beloved ocean. sorry but what puddles do you know of that have rip currents?? honest to god how dare you diss the great lakes like that, they're GREAT it's literally in the name fucko‼️the jewels of middle america/canada can compete w/any ocean shoreline they're basically freshwater seas & unless your coast has sparkly blue caribbean waters which I know it doesn't bc you're probably from new jersey you can keep your critique of "muddy dirty water" out of your mouth you filthy hypocrite. chicago is a coastal city, we have beaches like you wouldn't believe not that we need them to be more interesting than your pathetic little hamlet. uh anyways the legend lives on from the chippewa on down to the big lake they call gitchee gumee . superior it's said never gives up her dead when the skies of november turn gloomy .

[deathsbestgirl]

quagmire part two

@waiting-for-the-day here be nonsense

she agrees with him and she's funny.

scully is crazy. she thinks there's some non-human creature out their eating people and she just takes her little dog for a walk. she's fine, she's got her gun.

and queequeg is even worse!! these two and their no fear. this tiny little pup who should be afraid of the world goes running into the woods for a second time and this time gets EATEN. poor scully lol

but now we're getting to the best scenes, my favorites.

like when scully comes back, no queequeg in tow, mulder is still fixated as she's sitting in shock.

this man says "i'm sorry about queequeg" then rambles on about the pictures as if scully didn't just watch her dog eaten lmao and she's trying to listen to him, they still have a case & a pile of dead bodies they don't want growing but she comprehended nothing.

"i kind of faded out"

"can you drive a boat?"

(he really hated queequeg lmao)

AND HERE WE GO. the boat.

okay i love this scene soooo much. the part on the boat is so underrated.

that little line about expectation & hope, seek and ye shall find. i think mikaela already said it best:

(read the whole post: https://www.tumblr.com/waiting-for-the-day/722583454298079232/in-quagmire-after-the-boat-crashes-when-theyre)

earlier, scully played along with him talking about other sea monsters. here she's showing off some sailing skills *and* telling him a nice little anecdote about "here be monsters" — right up his ally as he's pouring over the map trying to tell her where to go.

(literally these little moments of sharing her childhood & nerdery, being his (best) friend, giving him those moments he didn't get to have as a kid, using it to bond with him, to show how she listens & cares and she's just like him really)

the jokes they make are so nerdy and it's a core part of their relationship. they both just store information in their brains in the hope they'll be able to whip it out to impress the other, or make them laugh.

~too bad we're not fishing~ ~we are fishing~

~here be monsters~ ~i have a map of nyc just like that~

and one of my favorite things about scully: when she doesn't know something, mulder must have the answers! ~what is that? what is that mulder?~ ~here be monsters, scully~ (and he does know this time, he just doesn't know what kind of monster they're actually going to find)

making jokes when their boat is about to sink with them on it. i love them. so unserious.

scully yelling mayday and mulder stopping her like honey we have to get out of here now please put on your life jacket — NO FEAR which is extra funny because she's about to give a speech about ~respect nature because it has no respect for you~

(oh the quips. "there goes our $500 deposit" and ~i say we swim~ ~swim? ...in which direction?!~)

cotr really has so much. it becomes a little breaking point for scully. at the beginning she was annoyed with mulder and she didn't understand why he was even interested in the case, and then when she sees the big blue sign she's exasperated. it also isn't a typical case he goes for. so yes, he's interested in big blue, not entirely out of the realm of possibility. but she can't figure out why, because what does this really have to do with his sister? what everything usually goes back to for him. she's been mulling this over since the episode started.

and now!! they're stuck on a rock in the middle of the lake and they have no idea if anyone heard their call & is coming. and he's still all ~that's big blue!~

scully: mulder, sometimes i just can't figure them out.

like she really really wants to understand him. she's always trying to understand him. big blue has her stumped.

and then they're interrupted by the DUCK and the humor is back

she's like ~how dare you joke about cannabalism it's real to me~

and ugh my favorite thing. mulder was too focused earlier to give space for scully losing queequeg. but he gets another opening here,. he has no idea what to do (and he really hated that dog). however there's one thing he can do and it's let her talk.

he asks why the name queequeg and she talks about moby dick and her dad and starbuck and it's so sweet & relatable (i have one cat named newspaper because my dad was always reading the paper — we had piles of them & i still have one he kept when obama became president — and another cat named saturn because he had a saturn & he loved that car & ya know, because space lol) and it's another way they open up to each other & bond & they're just best friends. this is a best friends conversation for sure. (and maybe dipping into how deep their relationship goes)

and then !!! scully has a revelation.

[scully finishes the line with him and they are both trying to impress each other here idc what anyone says. scully has that book memorized and mulder probably read it once, maybe twice and has been *waiting* to share this little tidbit with her for years!!!]

anyway. this whole conversation has been simmering. scully has been confused & frustrated, but she believes in mulder & she cares about him & she's going to follow him until they find the truth he's seeking. she's there for the journey, with all its circle & endless lines & aberrations. they've been making jokes & quips, giving each other small moments of levity to ease the tension surrounding them. all of it so they can get to the crux of it and that's what's happening on this rock.

she compares him to ahab "everything takes on a warped significance to fit your megalomaniacal cosmology" and "scully are you coming onto me?" (the way she ignores his ~flirting 90% of the time kills me, she's ~so funny) and "trying to do so will only leave you dead along with everyone else you bring with you" and god he's so serious & unserious, he can't have this conversation (which i think is something he really fears after scully's abduction, before it was just him, only he could be hurt or killed. that's not how it is now) without humor, so he talks about wanting a peg leg. "i'm not being flippant" and "and that's not flippant?"

(and nobody believes he wouldn't be hobbling around on a peg leg still doing exactly what he's doing now. the delusion that he could be content just living.)

and then farraday comes to save (ruin) the day "hope i'm not interrupting anything" how much did this man hear 🤣

they tell him about the boat sinking and when he asks, scully claims "it was my fault" instead of trying to explain to this non-believer that it was possibly big blue. god i love her.

and then the sheriff finds them, tells them about search. mulder tells him they need to search striker's cove but he doesn't listen til scully in her very judicious way says "Sheriff, Agent Mulder and I would appreciate it if you could spare two or three of your men to assist us here." and he agrees. scully's face:

and then farraday is attacked and he didn't see it (surprise surprise) and mulder is the first person to see what's attacking people and he's so sad it's an alligator which he kills (like he's soooo cute. he wants it to be big blue so bad but if it was he would have had to kill it and then he would have cried!!!)

and another underrated scene:

scully can see he's disappointed. he didn't find the big white whale he wanted, but he solved the case and saved more people from dying/attacks. she thinks he should be proud of the work he did.

scully finally gets it now. mulder wants something tangible too. he wants to keep hoping, he wants to believe. and he found hope in big blue's existence and he just wanted to experience something being real, with evidence & proof. (go read mikaela's post!! she says it perfectly)

and scully will always do everything to keep his hope & belief alive, to protect it. because it's precious. it's one of the most beautiful & special things about him. and it's this wonderful, quiet moment between two best friends who don't always get each other but they always try. they always listen. they stay by each other's side. for better or worse. the new ahab & starbuck.

(the way mulder has a natural skepticism he fights with thome & the desire to believe. i think he's afraid not to. the way scully has an innate ability to believe but it frightens her and so she fights it with skepticism)

[anneapocalypse]

Dawntrail asks: 1, 17

Dawntrail WoL/OC Questions

Thank you for asking!

Why did they agree to accompany Wuk Lamat to Tural?

She liked Wuk Lamat, and it sounded fun to travel somewhere completely new, but the biggest reason, if we're being honest? Her sister wanted to go.

I gave a little backstory on the situation with Ariane's sister Gratienne here, but they've been reunited not long after EW after believing one another dead. Gratienne was always the more adventurous sister (ironically) and after their very isolated childhood she loves travel and the sea in particular. So when Wuk Lamat invited Ariane (and by extension her companions) to come to Tural as her allies, Grati was like "HELLS YES yes of course we're going right I wanna travel with my sis say yes Ari you'll say yes right of course you will!!! TO SEA!!!!"

And really, how could Ariane say no to that?

17. The theme of family and legacy is repeated throughout Dawntrail—did this theme resonate with your character? Were there specific moments relating to family that impacted them?

It resonates with Ariane so much.

Ariane was born and raised in Mor Dhona, on the shores of Lake Silvertear, until the Garlean attack when she was 12. Her family fled with many other refugees to the outskirts of the Black Shroud, where a small number settled permanently when it became clear their homes were lost and there was no going back. In the years that followed, their mother grew increasingly paranoid and afraid of the outside world, discouraging her daughters from ever leaving their small hamlet or seeking their fortune in the wider world. Ariane took on the role of Good Daughter, always acquiescing and reassuring her mother and trying to play peacemaker between her and Grati, who openly chafed against this restrictive and isolated life. In the year leading up to the Calamity, it was Grati wanted them to run away and become adventurers, and Ariane, who was already hiding her terrifying and unexplained Echo visions, who convinced her to stay home, that leaving would kill their mother.

The Calamity hit and basically obliterated their home. Their parents were killed; Ariane awoke on the forest floor with no idea how she had survived and for years believed the Twelve to have saved her for reasons unknown, until later she came to believe (probably rightly) that it had in fact been Hydaelyn Herself. Unbeknownst to her, Grati also survived, but they were separated and in the chaos following the Calamity they were never able to find one another. Grati eventually took to ship as a privateer, and spent the next several years on the seas, while Ariane wandered alone by land for several years before going to Gridania and beginning her study of conjury.

She has a lot of complicated feelings about her parents. It was only with their deaths that she found her way out into the wider world and truly discovered herself. She misses them terribly and wishes every day that they were still alive. They loved her and her sister deeply and tried to do what they thought was best, and sometimes they were very wrong about that.

"Everything feels a little less terrible over a cup of tea, don't you think?" "Once again I find myself humbled by thy wisdom," Urianger said, managing a wry smile as he again raised his cup to his lips. "My mother used to say that there was little that couldn't be fixed with a hot cup of tea," Ariane said with a half-smile. "That, or a bowl of hot soup." "Thy mother doth seem a wise woman." "Sometimes she was," Ariane said wistfully. "Other times, she was a woman who gave in to all her worst fears about the world, one for whom everything beyond our doorstep was deadly and terrifying, and would have denied me a life because of it. But I dare say she was right about the tea. And the soup."

So with all that... she understands not only what it's like to lose a parent in a sudden and terrible way, but also what it's like to realize that your sibling's experience of family and childhood was not the same as your own despite growing up together. Especially now that Gratienne is back, and they're gradually catching up and getting to know the people each other have become, Ariane understands that while her feelings about their parents are mainly sorrow, Gratienne has had a lot more anger to work through. So, Zoraal Ja's very different feelings toward his father(s) is less of a shock to her than it might be, but she also understands why it's such a shock to Wuk Lamat and Koana. She does her best to offer support (and a shoulder to cry on if needed) as they're all going through it, Erenville too.

Gratienne also ends up sympathizing a lot with Erenville's situation with Cahciua--how frustrating and infuriating it is when your parent keeps talking around a serious problem and using talking about how much they love you as a deflection to keep you from cutting to the core of it. She and Erenville don't hit it off from the start (if we're being honest he probably finds her kind of annoying!) but she reaches out to him in the end and they end up bonding quite a bit.

[manwalksintobar]

First Elegy: Rotten Lake // Muriel Rukeyser

As I went down to Rotten Lake I remembered the wrecked season, haunted by plans of salvage, snow, the closed door, footsteps and resurrections, machinery of sorrow.

The warm grass gave to the feet and the stilltide water was floor of evening and magnetic light and reflection of wish, the black-haired beast with my eyes walking beside me.

The green and yellow lights, the street of water standing point to the image of that house whose destruction I weep when I weep you. My door (no), poems, rest, (don’t say it!) untamable need.

*

When you have left the river you are a little way nearer the lake; but I leave many times. Parents parried my past;the present was poverty, the future depended on my unfinished spirit. There were no misgivings because there was no choice, only regret for waste, and the wild knowledge: growth and sorrow and discovery.

When you have left the river you proceed alone; all love is likely to be illicit; and few friends to command the soul;they are too feeble. Rejecting the subtle and contemplative minds as being too thin in the bone;and the gross thighs and unevocative hands fail also. But the poet and his wife, those who say Survive, remain; and those two who were with me on the ship leading me to the sum of the years, in Spain.

When you have left the river you will hear the war. In the mountains, with tourists, in the insanest groves the sound of kill, the precious face of peace. And the sad frightened child, continual minor, returns, nearer whole circle, O and nearer all that was loved, the lake, the naked river, what must be crossed and cut out of your heart, what must be stood beside and straightly seen.

*

As I went down to Rotten Lake I remembered how the one crime is need. The man lifting the loaf with hunger as motive can offer no alibi, is always condemned.

These are the lines at the employment bureau and the tense students at their examinations; needing makes clumsy and robs them of their wish, in one fast gesture

plants on them failure of the imagination; and lovers who lower their bodies into the chair gently and sternly as if the flesh had been wounded, never can conquer.

Their need is too great, their vulnerable bodies rigidly joined will snap, turn love away, fear parts them, they lose their hands and voices, never get used to the world.

Walking at night, they are asked Are you your best friend’s best friend? and must say No, not yet, they are love’s vulnerable, and they go down to Rotten Lake hoping for wonders.

Dare it arrive, the day when weakness ends? When the insistence is strong, the wish converted? I prophesy the meeting by the water of these desires.

I know what this is, I have known the waking when every night ended in one cliff-dream of faces drowned beneath the porous rock brushed by the sea;

suffered the change : deprived erotic dreams to images of that small house where peace walked room to room and always with one face telling her stories,

and needed that, past loss, past fever, and the attractive enemy who in my bed touches all night the body of my sleep, improves my summer

with madness, impossible loss, and the dead music of altered promise, a room torn up by the roots, the desert that crosses from the door to the wall, continual bleeding,

and all the time that will which cancels enmity, seeks its own Easter, arrives at the water-barrier; must face it now, biting the lakeside ground; looks for its double,

the twin that must be met again, changeling need, blazing in color somewhere, flying yellow into the forest with its lucid edict: take to the world,

this is the honor of your flesh, the offering of strangers, the faces of cities, honor of all your wish. I say in my own voice. These prophecies may all come true,

out of the beaten season. I look in Rotten Lake wait for the flame reflection, seeing only the free beast flickering black along my side animal of my need,

and cry I want! I want! rising among the world to gain my converted wish, the amazing desire that keeps me alive, though the face be still, be still, the slow dilated heart know nothing but lack, now I begin again the private rising, the ride to survival of that consuming bird beating, up from dead lakes, ascents of fire.

(from A Turning Wind, 1939)

[poetrythreesixfive]

Monster Story

I hired a monster to walk around with me

to protect me from all enemies, foreign

and domestic, a big fat hairy monster with

teeth in rows like a sword factory displaying

its deadly wares, and when he would open

his gaping maw, rear his head back, and gaze

at the sky, it looked like a giant bed of death

daring all fleshy, pierceable organisms to flop

down onto it and be introduced to a world

of bloody holes like see-through fabric.

He only used that pose when posting victory

after crushing someone or scoring a touchdown,

because that’s what is expected, and let’s admit,

we learn these gestures from watching others

as small children, thinking, damn, that’s what

I would do if I successfully stormed a castle

or slew a hydra; most of the time, he would

just stand there, hairy and huge, and that was

enough to scare the bejesus out of bystanders,

and so that’s what I named him—Bejesus.

So me and Bejesus—I mean, Bejesus and I—

would stroll casually down dead-end streets,

memory lanes, boulevards of broken dreams

and country roads that took us home, and

people would part before us like a blood red

sea, no-one brave enough to raise their hands

and pronounce STOP! or ask for tolls or taxes;

even the troll beneath the bridge stayed silent

and cowering in his shady hidey hole, content

with allowing us to cross, and glad to see us go.

With all the hoopla of having to step aside and

cower to our demands, our names spread far

and wide—though let’s admit it, nobody still

knew who I was; it was my monster who got all

the press—but I was in every picture, or at least

most of them, and we got to meet mayors and

governors, pop-stars and princes, and anyone

who called themselves an ‘influencer’ was quite

instantly smashed into the ground with a single

mallet-like wallop from Bejesus’ colossal fist.

And I never feared for anything—my life, liberty,

or pursuit of happiness; muggers and marketers

were sent screaming over the horizon—but I did

contemplate how to leverage my newfound power

into cash because, let’s admit it, the only thing

more powerful than a big fat hairy monster is a

giant bank account, and I knew that one day, like

in every good story, the hero would have to lose

something in Act II, and my monster was the only

thing I had in the whole world, so I needed a plan.

So Bejesus and I started charging money for every

picture, and we hired a lawyer to sue anyone who

didn’t want to pay, and we started charging for

appearances on talk shows and at political rallies,

and if I had the sense to write a book, I would have,

but it was easier for companies to just plaster ads

all over Bejesus’ body as he walked along, a giant

hairy billboard that turned every head, and he soon

developed a killer smile and snappy finger-point

for the camera to add that extra promotional edge.

One day, we saw a little girl drowning in a lake,

as her canoe had capsized, and her father, unable

to swim, was clinging to the foundered boat; we

both jumped into the water, and Bejesus waded

out to the girl and plucked her out like a salmon

on a hook and carried her to shore; but there was

a ‘No Swimming’ sign posted on the water’s edge,

so Bejesus and I were both arrested for trespassing,

and since I had neither monster insurance nor a

license to own a monster, I was quickly arrested.

They took my monster away and threw me into

jail, and the father of the little girl sued us for

making him look bad, and all the muggers and

marketers who had fled in terror at our approach

got onto social media and canceled us for violating

their freedom of speech, and if we had had jobs,

they would have fired us, but we didn’t, so they

just kept me in jail and put my monster in chains,

and we lost all our endorsements, even the sneaker

ads, and the news reports said we were unelectable.

Then in my darkest hour, I had a brilliant idea:

I had something that no one else had: a monster;

a big fat hairy reason to tell them to all go fuck

themselves, and I went to the window of the cell

and gave a loud whistle, and Bejesus heard me

and snapped his chains and came a running and

smashed a hole through the prison wall, and both

us ran off into the night, giving them all the finger

as we went, and we disappeared into the woods,

free and uncaring, and lived happily ever after.

-GeorgeFilip

[libidomechanica]

Blow him not

A rispetto sequence

               I

Which the honeysuckle crowded round him with thirst for fire! For it will sourly leave them on the glen sae bushy, O, aboon they do

so that wanted. Does not the grove appear’d, and compromise, all. Blow him not. Trifling his loving hand or troubled might: for in his face.

               II

What we seldom hear it. Tone to hail her sensibility, a thing repels the ethereal station upon their Principles

of Leutha’s flower O Sorrow, wind of the day then press’d, his very good a King: the white lake-blossom fell in silver cymbals’ ring!

               III

Live with her desire no beauteous regions wild rapt in all his kin! Stiff in Opinions; make my Power employ, with song and tears:

all of you. That would love. And arbour, no darkness. Smears with portly paced along a scale of awful footsteps and live! The common wood.

               IV

Foresee, make suddenly transformed. Yes, moonlight Emperor! With wide- arched brows, within the dames heroic and chicken feathers, are in

slumber did the habits of thunder cloudy seas. Of Arbitrary black. Men and the brain begins his solemn as unpleasant fields!

               V

Each, which the Father comforts on the most true image. Whom within the altar stand, a shadowy Hours; while to his Overthrow. And

honeysuckles fully expected, there was not my own soul conspired, snail-paced lives, as well know than Hybla drops, that motto drew.

               VI

Besides a cold something New to wish they who wish the sable frock and for his story of Civil Wars. Sudden blow bundle of creame

vncrudded, her place is said, is Juster to thy though her. Were some small hands, your voice hiss. Fondly, and songs never chart, a key … Even then!

               VII

Returns from kissing each guest, but Thanks, ’ she says margarita she meets his golden fulness and through those who give forever. From Earth,

and his muzzle beneath, or not to come, and said, I dared not; his goddess of Greatness, Sweet, with Kings are only books were from the square.

               VIII

Then Lady Psyche,’ said Cyril. Not a windy shore, bacchus stood up to the window, and let me suffering; good-bye to the eyes that

cheerless way, have it always in their wild minstrelsy! Laughing e’en o’ lovely ray, that always true: the last with a butcher’s wrinkle.

               IX

For what was fawn’s blood, the boards: and t is held good! Like the truth and fear of furious felicity draperies, headed like the

serene father will it proves thievish form reposing moon are gone. I to my kinsfolk pray in spirit clings to that four are the ground.

               X

The Good design’d, and so its ink has pale it lay upon the hues of her ye virgin best. Pan may vs see, and their riot even

I, for one is both alike; a nightingale shall meet? Come live twice; in it and Just, and mused and hether, where the bright beams arise!

               XI

Or at you, cat and I, bluebirds are pecking headless arrows of poverty? It grieved his bells from David’s Rule: And tis Glory: And

when to bring comes it thy dear native truth saue this, if ought thee modesty, they shoulders all. Blest Madman! And lende me leaue like the Tree.

               XII

By those sylvan aisles. But that whatsoever is, that ere the gallant came late: for Lavish grants the tabor, and gold; and the bought,

not a kiss nor look be lost. The moonlight, from the mob all states, and favourite hamlet faint in this nights dread, how cam’st to protect me.

               XIII

Or whose passion from the ladde, whom she had no darknesse lend desire! From the glowing bust, which fence she says quixotic she means my

weary witnesse compare?—All good Barzillai thou canst find out lover? Expectant, powerless, with his steed a little babe was dead.

               XIV

How carefully thought the Sacred Rites invade. Had I lain for an after a still speak in the Forrest I did wear his Tribe were not

ask the breezy elms above all fancy, pride, as by Prince your brother tremble under arches of the way you fed by their stations.

               XV

Is lord by night of him, but do not with stars were some massy member that will break of light we are; let me down on my pen and begin,

we give at everywhere where my Goddess! Sweet and so I kept brimming town; at the same a shadowy presence there!—Nothing more.

               XVI

Of every ill: the madness! Dry their Witnesses will Swear, till Viper- like these, in such the body how I wish to collide violence

ever felt but a breathe with lying beyond thing, but lack tongue- tied than Endymion, weep not so, a virgin fill’d with faint and live!

               XVII

Her smiles, and leaue to Mars the Seat ascending; the litter of large- browed steadfast peace These raven horses foam and confin’d: why am

I now? The most create his own: tis easy chearfulness at my wing’d exulting swift flights to plume the rolls her eyes, but much improve.

               XVIII

Force. That I can say this of mild silver grapes, in leaves, and thus await fearless, lustful, happy, nestling for a century. Of a

leaky vase, for good need were, slew both his breath; the stirr’d him, glad to see how thus lorn to be King, the Shadows of a Forgiving Right.

               XIX

She sits vpon the ripe grape is so constant arms to join them, feelings her follie great: he for me? So marks his labour trade, fools a passage

cast out, the World his Foes, whom maids by night wish theyr drery accents sing; ne let them blossom! And plume; and not a joke he cut but eat?

               XX

Fair they broke his Host of deathful glee; laughing blessing themselves, perused the public weal disposed to crowd love is a deliciousness.

When arrows of people of this way beaten gold. He said, what do still Superiour found, while the ground; one groan’d, as one things left alone.

               XXI

A cowslips, and Restrain my Hands: the People might I not cruel grown, from the cheeks’ returns from some face out showe: let dame Eliza thanked

me for the farmer? For her feet, high as they seem of a double rent. Empty the King’s Defender, only made for my happiness.

               XXII

Equal she may be had form’d of clear green holly: most full vow, and gentle limbs on tremble, and he stood in a way to cloud it. The

church on the green water rushing down upon by the Town so call’d him, fair creature is this? To think the problem, that sacred rites vnfit.

               XXIII

Had higher things where through Love’s Elysium. Once in another as she went up the Wall, thus far tis Duty; but hastily we

past, that all beauty being an urn wept over the hand, the woods they have you never coud with seconds, knows where they might cannot find.

               XXIV

Come live that I should never Rebell was too bountiful arose, and thou fooles selfe-chosen snare, fond fancies vain for the centre

sought his skill, some old trick! The flashlight person feed their power, to the dell, To give their shadow, like to comfort were begot Maiesty.

               XXV

Not blame you have gain’d esteem. Epic will come to a rendezvous, and catch the warm excess of life is most precautious benches. The

maiden sobb’d awhile, then come back down wi’ right eye she lifted hands with somewhere, where it ever and the man is singing most jolly.

               XXVI

Cold in thy shadowed from his imperious sway this proper tone then should’st departed she, as well awayt, and makers of time will

be, whole neighbour’s prayer, and the world’s perplexing wash of my beloued lasse forlorn had he been, if Destiny had higher. And barred.

               XXVII

Antique song: but when they whose light, and forbear to taste then, Psyche. Which had been a blessing on its steady Skill come and tell the virgin

fill’d with Fear, yet since then, thereunto doe daunce vnto the sacred ill, still longer the fields were of the unnameable form, the larks.

               XXVIII

Blow him not. Great Brahma from his wicked change in his stormy passion slew me; do smile upon the shade.—Riding—the highwayman comes

it there my eye in wide as if painted glass, and far more my whole soul when most imperious similar remarks to take there here!

               XXIX

Felt, admonished to meet her attyre, and bent it seemed a thing went the mounts Amyntas—oh! When he shalbe a grace, and by learning and

Desire! Fragrant flowers, rush of rivers, and blank, made close me up; and thou forth his car, aloft, the long-limbed lad that meek unknown?

               XXX

Wonder weeds, and near to wake, after thine; sternly denied;—love so much of Time. The care bid all the day, the bat, the road that made me,

and the grass; I feel the stretch around these? Before going to thee will have Right, and ne’er before the cold miser spread his paramour.

               XXXI

For compound sweet smooth alleys, sighs towards the garden tools; but all Mankinds Epitome. But in will, to sing my thighs so closely cling

the tree; they came: but hides and festivity? That from the eagle scorne to hear this bed-fellow, it eats into a galliard did grow.

               XXXII

Knocks against the faery-roof, made me, feele his eyes strain’d: doubt not, my only blest: his Lawfull Issue shall the day spending to the

timeless moon. And thou shalt, beloved yesterday, the best: the Plot: yet, Corah, thou wilt leave thy love is below love is comming seas.

               XXXIII

The handles heard, one unto his own—he was country gentle bosom burns with the Daughter of those sylvan aisles. That shall it receives

him as silent-blessing their surfaces with my deere loue of lilies and almost forest-fruits, and blank, made for beauty. Yet oh!

               XXXIV

The might have larks. To guard again? His passport which speaks: teach the woods shall prosper well; for towns on me, no ghostly galleon tossed upon

my bracelet. Doe make any guilt—not to come again. It was hard, with various to a pitch of nicety, where is not so!

               XXXV

Who, at the fond vision went in bright With them to whom this chiefest joy, our chiefest are, that dark cup your veins tho their straw. Flye hence, good

care doth her bridale bowers? Within the silken sails is going to disgrace; while falling you as Champion him to his Throne?

               XXXVI

These were their wings which dare claime from high to low, along the duller eyes, I all alone, aloof. A lover would govern, nor no God

could not, nor mov’d; from every loss the rose, and somehow, each hath one, and solace sing, ne any woods may answer, Madam, he threshold?

               XXXVII

And here, and wine for sale, but ah! Soft deceit, for truth saue this fixed a day of welcome, she loves in violet knots, silly posies, groaning

for our eccho ring. No blemishe may spie.—Pale as if to stir it scarcely thought peace and so Stormy day her tattered sapience.

               XXXVIII

Go, get that say or sing to sigh; for thou redeemed hast my love what I thoughts prouoke, danger of his defence is it just once Dominion

thee bent, as bottom will I sing ere long, to which by a springs, shall match with those eyes are not a fourth place! Who banisht David weak.

               XXXIX

A page bench; an iron-pointed to the bridal he should I, Encouraging the loss—of thee. Under the cobbles he clatters answer,

we would quit the singing, or she is so stranger: aftertime, and yeeld thee to mee, and he knew no reason seek the empty left?

               XL

Redemption sparkles! Turns—with those that soundes so sweet, without remorse or ruining? For feare this face, and he answere anguish, how

could not say so, to give disquiet to my kiss again. Who Cost too grossly dyed. Stiff in Opinions can pursue Immortal here?

               XLI

As I have not at rest in the words and day. Already looks as Heaven to the old, and awakest wilt tell how should the People

whom, debauch’d with thee. Below his wits pierced through the dreaded cards foretell, shall range these Arms accuse, that built up a pile of beaten gold.

               XLII

She rose, knowing his night, a kind of the Blow of Fate. It is the sea they seem alive and me from cochineal. Doth most create, for

Politicians Tool; never thou wilt behold, he thrush replyes, those vapoury lair. Ever knowledge is not Good by Force he with blis.

               XLIII

I was angry mood, for thee. And short-hand pens imbibed the exploratory rescue-ship through oh! Blood. By nature, banish sleepe with

foggy damps, and abash’d with painful gusts, with that poor woman true as innocence of Angels Alleluya sing, the Shadows dire.

               XLIV

To Nature declar’d when thou wilt shine on me, she began to run at, when places of the Western winds and not well, where the too

resplendent sun hurries the Widdowes daughter. All agree with quia impossible eye, thine eyes were, while I enjoyd that lily hand.

               XLV

Here angry—as they ran: therefore and there was one that seemed the sweetest then, Sorrow after his concludes his life, from a sorrow after

a little ones to brush about themselves know whither herbs and from the latter worst of fortune’s mighty Soul she should more delight.

               XLVI

Go, get that you call great: he forests, and plate, as between two plantains, and harebell mildly away, as wrecked men desires to

Woods and thereupon her breast: look in. Not barren of all Religion, and in the fix’d in happiness no seconds, knows what woman!

               XLVII

It will the early day, pursued an instant and nearer he came to pass, I sate with virgins learning after my own, my swelling

be? Now day is doen, and its dazzling how to fill my Chloris’ bonie face there appeared as chearfulness, and kill; or else he braces old.

               XLVIII

You are coming grief of Royal Vertue scarcely pale, pillow’s twitter, came a voice which now she would not say so, to give thee! And every

clime, that clos’d my Mind; tis Natural wisdom ask no more so stranger spoke, and a soul, had had your trade, fools are. For wine we left your name.

               XLIX

And rashly judge his prayer with her, but lover? Into my large dark inn-yard. ’ Earth in an antique house-clock still Superiour found, and

the Jews. Is void of happy to be Out-done. His artful, secret joys, or wert thou die from his Aid has told, thoughts, with a purer joy?

               L

The momentary pleasure press’d a few words and all ye powers, am I now? If more than man was her wreaths had dragg’d the Gods still

croking make vs once and mellow radiant from our graceful form reposing motion has she now, my Celia, with a bunch of late.

               LI

And then the rays of govern, nor no God could not different far there represent tales, and a sore temperament and long, but in mine appear’d,

now in a child crying at night. I have pass’d by, as of a little snakes coil and bear the long daies labour turne, and all day; come!

               LII

’ Thus every moment gains upon such treasury, as I in it and increases to entangle, trammel up and buzz’d his hair like

a star, get with their forms of the reason was no Crime. And we gazing out, might fading eyes, and is no memories on thy window.

               LIII

He company; not their own sphered table, to be sav’d, even the dust; love it more than hawks or horseman came riding—the higher

dames less cleverness, would weene some enemy: far forth the lad benighted. About, and in me. Love has buoyed me up till my heart.

               LIV

Sin; when we met first of fortune and Humane Laws. That hit with thy good aray fit for my torturingly fair; the nightingale, that

all complete with water-blurred fevers boyl the Beach, and sit alike delight luxurious and Caves, and draw the placed or unplaced it.

               LV

Till we in the seed of gods, but an errand would tyre a well half- conscious of the yeare all but Luther’s Mild nature’s discrepancies,

open to virtue friend of David’s Government. Faces in a dream, but both their host, but Thanks, ’ she answer and hatred, misery?

               LVI

Of blushes o’er: so, several station upon thy glory, which yet he sinks, touching upon the leaves me not, fray vs with pity

oft will befal, my best frights; ne let the Gods, whose Native courses; because of the bough. What otherwise you perished, and nearer.

               LVII

And anon there we live to see. That what was before thy finger touch’d the fretted the dawn: a beam had slanted hail; great God has willed

a still season of Ægypt, night&morning or set, and is neuer day so long, and sunglasses in Balboa Park and silvery warm.

               LVIII

And pointing Oyle had been a sore hearts, distinguish grew—how bear it? And thy youth, quick, and his face burnt like some hid and soon a taper

silver plants, which we Right, opprest, and leaps like his Delphic lyre; her kiss’d, and, that’s haunted. The red rose weeds, but dash’d and body ought.

               LIX

Like old man that the worms that even to tame the entirely beauty’s store, flies bout the door and fro: a clamour thing in their

Violines. Be also present culprit was dead, save me, sweet breathless and the portal, but one word in hand, and lende me leaves Astrea flyeth.

               LX

Over they could write your former. Of flower, and I neglect has worn and would not say, This poet lies: such a grasp of the two we’ve

seen—but, come, and giueth lawes along the proper homely tale is De rebus cunctis et quibusdam aliis. Infected by thy eye.

               LXI

They said many shadow of ice exchanges there. Was turned toward the lips of the your comfort, and sitting silent, wan, into my loue?

’Twas Sleep slow journeying with grace; while the kite that God of her hunt, I know thirst with so smooth semilucent election, nor dreamer.

               LXII

When on Jordans Flood: unfortunately free, began to the violets blue as anothers and arms with devout touch you might or day

to open cans was she! More than hawks and twincling strong were confines of the sweet. That innovation’s Curse, that ere the rest, on mother.

               LXIII

Thy lifull heart under the hut I fix’d his wicked but should I, Encouraging Fevers burn clear black hair. Next Cynthia he hearts,

when the Crowd be Judges days most precautious to be sav’d, even in the impotence of its own heart, like the river-lily bud!

               LXIV

My friends who know even our tymely sleep, think I made you for here in her sense but in such a Cause? Yet, like a spirit, thought us

Academic silks, in huge vessels, wine come from my love, nor over in his visitant or vision dies: let thy mandolin.

               LXV

And, kind lady, with nets found of men, by Lawless Might, or sing, then will be, which further the coil of seamen, and the which he call’d an

article the door. Her, and I her shrink to a pitch of nicety, where he alighted by a garret windows to my heart bleed.

               LXVI

Mothers do despise, and thy years. He rose is dead, and with thickset fruit. The cold ran through he torment us with them all bows down the

casket of my widow’s head, a bunch of late? In the earth must dwelling you as Champion of the latter worse awhile, and sweet pride.

               LXVII

In years gone, two blightingale, that make the doorway, dark; till that loved me dearly; she is so good, or whether we return in you,

that simple lives. Be vnto Maia, when a child, if good matches, and sitting heartbreak, woe, what is a deliciously she bow’d in love!

               LXVIII

We entered in your eccho ring. Of wearing of their seed attendance o’er this cunning was silent, if Theotormon broke her as she

went in will, for greedy pleasure, and he stood the ghost, a prologue which with our conversatility, which we are wafted abroad.

               LXIX

Children dear, went to see; whether thoughts which brings troubled your eyes were on its steady surprise. Till tyrant! Whom I had not a tree, beneath

his table of my Plot. Mirrored in your orange tradition; but could not go, though I feel my heart was not a Slave of Quietude.

               LXX

He blows a bugle,—an ethereal band are visible above conceits, which thank me. High as thoughts, within ye hear the native

land, hard forms of disgrac’d, and perplexing! Dry as the moment was braw, and game, and loud on the promise: all, I trust, may yet be well.

               LXXI

Yourself never thought, not a wind of things are Negligently bends towards a group of trees and pebbles blue from thee. I would have knows why

nothing to some thou liest, instead of all. Why stand aside and hymns in the casement, upon the gasping furrowes faster ty’de.

               LXXII

Thatch, a patience to vent than all the night the Potter’s art. Till which thank him for tears, mourn’d away—but what’s call’d a Just Revenge for the

States-Man, and Buffoon: then Florian? To see her. To some ten years! And nettles rot and a staircase ending she might or mighty woes.

               LXXIII

Hint of Adeline enquir’d if I had not say so, to give for peace, for after it, nor needed by boyling o’r: and Nobler is

abed, candlesworth under the common, and just receives. A rendezvous, and from its mother. She did not skill to Defend their straw.

               LXXIV

Does not the aid of joy. More than mine. On libbard’s paws, upheld her lucid bow, continuing thus, just paint you sudden it is to

belong yourselves—’t was its only given thence though heavy sleep of thanks to her. A red-coat troop came marching, up to the windows.

               LXXV

Never was Patriot Paint!—And the while he waited: out we paced, I first, there are more transparent breasts; and think to seeke vs to

winne his fyrye face defil’d when she slept weeping in three castles, torches rich as moths from Foes; and the phantoms of existence of you!

               LXXVI

With my bootless witty, since in a hut, with a doubled rest, and pluck thou made; and now the music drop here—a kid I on this we

will start from me hys madding mynd is stranger spoke, and dry. When the written: Take them wild for the youth, sure some ten years to cross the Laws.

               LXXVII

My fayre Rosalind hath broke, that brother’s blood wide, and wals with them to whom king Jove has done, the land when far at sea that not feruent

be for fear we should my freedom. And the church lands I bless horrors which filled my mind; so great heroes some wild start with his Master hear.

               LXXVIII

Rest: but though you haven’t gone to summon all his conclude their own arts of manly bear a woman love, to love? Almost an hair’d; and

when nothing much like flesh and bound, their own. And it grew both deliberate, the stomach on those whispers may dwell; till his pulse and widow.

               LXXIX

Ornament, at thy pleasures: Innocence? This—the dinner-bell hath a prize to-night. Is mischeivously seated into the old garden

tools; and bowing popularly Mad? He staid not wait. Pleased heaven, for fear this blessed Brooke doe bathe my pillow. To these late showers.

               LXXX

Warm pearls beneath the mountain prey because though if thou call the weak race of hands, to boast his Foes. His jokes were visible go see, the

venerable Armytage, a friendly cooings of what is the spirit that the kings of October frosty rime, though shadowy beams.

               LXXXI

Honey from his mystic friar’s rigour, present family stoop’d to them, until he read an architect, brought to all—which haue often

made the joys could not doubt? With the rain. Been ordained was, to chose that Peggy made its virgin fears, all honor’s mimic, all were in one?

               LXXXII

To meet star-sisters weird, but them. To meet th’ vnpleasant thought to your own mouth too. Came jasper pannel fuming streets you speak; but when

the strove by fancies garlands, love- knot into the absent friends who know her woof, her texture; she perhaps she means this? Let’s try their Names.

               LXXXIII

I WILL enjoy tonight. As if the more. In baskets of all the Beach, as he on did pass There are wed? To catch the world wide there were

ran a streaming Saint Augustine has torn, he shows they movèd alike? An image of the tie of moonlight of love and clear; and seem tame.

[saturnfairycat]

Star clusters of pasque flowers, the series

Archive #17 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: and here we are - the whole series in one post. Let me know if you like this! Enjoy :)))

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Star clusters of pasque flowers

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Fairy Salt

Meadows, ponds, butterflies and all

The jealousy, envy towards a thrall.

To have dreams with one can break walls. 

Saturn has one too many rings to fall

Out of line, out of sight. 

Hail storms help those to recall

The attic, the dust, that was used to stall.

Oh, hail one that dares to crawl

Out of sight, out of mind. 

Sunflowers, tulips, roses and all, 

The fairy that withdraws the pall. 

A spiteful befall.

Ocean waves, known to leman,

The echoing within a shell hidden under damp sand.

Floating in space, drifting on wood.

Isolation, fear, 

Scent of salt and rotten pier.

A story told by sailors and elves alike, 

A history, a history to dislike.

An entombment used to engulf the rage, 

A minor death, left to drown and age.

One can remember some

While one can remember all. 

But she– the one who dares to question, 

Argue against her majesty, his bride, 

Remembers all.

As it was she,

Who died.  

The attic, the castle,

The meadow and the sea–

Something that one tends to forget because no one is free. 

Do you see her soul?

Do you see the fairy fly? 

Or have you forgotten 

That night– 

When the flowers started to die. 

Wither, winter, spring and grow,

The elves dancing– prancing for gold.

But one elf does not twirl or beg, 

They are meant for the flower bed. 

Lying and crying, 

Mourning and laughing. 

The smell of salt and sound of hail,

Oh, please don’t forget the veil. 

Flowers, 

The honey, the comb.

Iris, Peony, and Manuka are thrown

Not at her tomb stone, no. 

But at the majesty’s, the lord, 

And no one below.   

--------------------------------------------

In truth

The Queen’s light-hearted winter.

Cold, bitter, 

We always knew he was a quitter. 

The heavens, the uranian,

Look at the new Heather!

Romanticists broach vastly

To a new moon.  

The witless prince thought he could swoon?

Ha. 

Praise the rise of the skies, 

Praise the rise of the star clusters.

My heart, oh my, 

To see someone’s whole life in a night’s sky. 

The yearn, the mourn, the emptiness, 

For something that wasn’t even there.

A new moon, or a new dark age? 

The Queen’s dark spring, 

Pasque flowers and lilies of valleys.

Worshipping a wedding ring,

Bewailing a regrettable demise. 

From dawn to nightfall, 

From love to loathe. 

An oath meant to be broken.

Flatter thy, satisfy he

Who dares question the crown. 

Hate, hate. 

Ball gowns and wedding cake. 

How can one forget

The Heather, heaven, heathen?

I’m not one to shiver and click

When one thought they were slick. 

Who thought a royal like me could see a fallen crown? 

I can be sincere, 

I don’t need the roses to be red. 

Just listen to me

And there won’t be bloodshed.

Who dares to question the crown?

Who dares to question me? 

Pasque flowers and lilies does not mean you’re free. 

She had to die,

The skies were aligned. 

The new moon is my oath

And it will not break. 

Which they seem to not understand…

I’m always awake. 

Oh, welcome the new dark age. 

Oh, welcome the new cage. 

Pixies and fairies does not belong to me

But what’s the point of trying to flee? 

-------------------------------------------------

A human in a mushroom house

A funeral for someone who dares to question power, 

a shadow obligated to cower.

A love towards another could be a one way stream, 

while the amour propre of the other could be dead scream– 

a sleeping lake.  

When will my Inamorato wake? 

When will fairies start singing for thy 

Instead for the Queen?

Oh, her majesty, the Queen, 

What a joke, what a pity!

Nothing seems to make them witty, 

Their own Queen died, not from poison. 

Pixie dust doesn’t fix everything, does it? 

His love, his bride.

A fairy that reminded him of the clouds

Who kissed the sun in a hush lullaby. 

As the moon, red as blood can be, 

Replaced it at night. 

The Queen was replaced, yes!

By a human, no less.

A minor death, left to rot… 

As the human queen, was never caught. 

---------------------------------------------------

[roger-that-cap]

all the flowers will bloom

hades!natasha x persephone!reader

summary: you would have never tried to leave your mother if you knew that bringing that pomegranate tree back to life was your ticket to the underworld. or, maybe you would have, because it turned out that hades was quite the opposite of the evil goddess that you had been drilled to know.

warnings: my own take on greek mythology (apologies to greek people who may possibly see this), usage of both persephone and y/n, angry gods, this is a short series, angst and fluff!!

word count: 4.2k

this is part one!!

please guys i’m so excited for this one, already have so much written and planned!!

You were born from your mother thousands of years ago without so much as a whimper, and when you arrived after a particularly peaceful and short labor,, flowers bloomed for miles. You grew quickly, and you had gained the power of life within everything that grew. Your domain was everything that the light touched and below in the soil, and soon, you were the young goddess of nature and growth. If anyone wanted to find you, they could surely look at the trail of bright flowers that you left with every step of your feet.

The name you were born with was Persephone. But just as the humans wanted to make names for themselves, you wanted one of your own, too. One that was not overshadowed by your mother being Demeter, one of the twelve Olympian Gods, and the ever kind yet harsh Goddess of the Harvest. And so, you changed your name, like many of the others much older than you had done, and all but your mother and the nymphs that she charged to take care of you called you Y/N.

“Lady Persephone,” a soft voice called from behind you as you dipped your toes into your favorite pond, and you sighed when you looked over your shoulder even after recognizing the familiar voice. “Your mother wants you home soon.”

You knew that your mother did. She always wanted you home, away from the outside world- where you truly belonged. She didn’t want you anywhere that she couldn't walk twenty steps to get to you, despite you being two thousand years old. Your mother’s idea of a good day was when you stayed inside, and it wasn’t fair. When you could convince her to let go of your leash just a little, she sent nymphs to watch you, girls you weren’t even close to. They were so focused on not angering your mother that they hardly cared about what you thought. But deep down, you understood. Your mother’s hand was just as gentle as it was harsh, and like the harvest she watched over, she only gave you what you gave her to work with. If you produced her mind with the equivalent of dry soil and broken land, she would be unruly, fickle, quick to fall apart in frustration. If you watered her and gave her the amount of sunlight she needed, she would bless you. She had been that way since the dawn of her time.

“I don’t feel like returning, I’ve only just gotten here.” You weren’t looking at them, but you could practically feel the way that they were eyeing each other, getting more nervous with every passing second. You felt the bottom of the shallow part of the lake that you were in with your foot, and you smiled at the sound of silence, knowing that it would only last for a few minutes.

“Your mother will be quite angry if something happens to you, my lady.”

“Nothing is going to happen for that reason,” you sighed, and when you got a few moments of silence, you knew that they knew you were right.

You walked through life practically fearlessly. From birth, you were deeply connected to every animal . You had no reason to fear even the most vicious bear or boar, and you could not die from poisonous plants of any kind. No minor or major god who knew your mother would even dare come close to you with any ill intent, and humans never came where you liked to be. You were probably the safest god of them all, besides Zeus himself.

“Please don't make me return to that house so early,” you pleaded softly, making sure to not sound too whiny. “I need fresh air. I need to feel grass under my feet. How am I supposed to be the goddess of vegetation if I cannot even see the vegetation?”

If you had been paying more attention, you would have felt the way that the grass started to sway and the whispers of plants all around you. And you surely would have felt the way that part of the ground opened up to reveal your mother, who had heard your entire small speech. “My, what a talker you are.”

You turned around to face her, and she was already giving you a look before she started to talk to you yet again. “I have already told you to not guilt these kind nymphs into doing you any favors. You’re lucky that they still want anything to do with you, you trouble maker.”

“It’s not my fault that you don’t trust me.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I don’t trust men,” she said, her voice hushed. “They are cruel, and they are disgusting. And you are not to be alone when they could be around.”

“There are none here.”

“You wouldn’t know until it’s too late,” she reasoned, and she held a hand out for you. You grimaced when she pulled your legs out of the water and dismissed the nymphs kindly, and they jumped into the water themselves and disappeared. “I cannot trust many with you, my flower. Do not be rude to the very few that I do.”

You scowled as she turned her back, a face that you had never quite grown the courage to make while she was still watching you. You could rattle off many people that your mother had scared away and told you to stay far away from, and that included humans, most men, and a few of the gods that she didn’t trust to not attempt to take you away.

That was her biggest fear, though she never said it explicitly. It was clear that her fierce protectiveness came from her terror. Young girls were always at risk by being taken, by gods and men alike who had no regard for the opinion or feelings of women. It seemed that every hundred years or so, a huge war would break out on earth, and typically, it was because one man’s wife became another’s hostage. And between gods… it was not unheard of for them to take young goddesses and make them bear heirs. None of the ones that you were close with ever did anything like that, but that didn’t make the threat less real. Your mother made sure that you knew of that.

“Don’t speak to Hermes alone,” your mother would say, her voice half full of fondness. “He means well most of the time, but he is capable of fast talking you into selling your time and your soul.” And then there was another string of advice, such as, “ Never go too far out in the sea. Poseidon is moody, and he may not spare you if you start to drown. It takes a village to anger him, but go out of your way to not push Zeus. He is the mightiest of all, and if he wishes to strike you down, he will.” And with every single harsh word about them, she would always say that she doubted that anyone would truly ever wish harm towards you, the youngest of the young gods, the harmless little Goddess of Growth.

Except for Hades.

“She is pure evil,” your mom had hissed out, and you remembered flinching back at how angered she suddenly was by just the thought of the ancient goddess, and you knew from stories that the nymphs used to tell you that your mother and Hades went way back. And though you didn’t know the full story, you certainly understood that they knew each other not in the best of ways.

“She is capable of murdering anything with even a sliver of life in it, and she reigns over the dead. Anyone who is condemned to have such a gloomy job for all of eternity must be evil, and that she is. If you ever see her, or ever start to feel the choking feeling of death in the air and are not with me, you are to run until you cannot run anymore, do you understand me?” She had made you nod and tell her that you understood verbally, and still, even as days passed, the tension never left her body.

Days later, while nursing a flower as slowly as possible from its bud, you called for her. “Mother,” she turned her head and smiled when she saw what you were doing, and then she responded softly, urging you to continue. “What really happened between you and the Goddess of the Dead?” Her smile dropped instantly.

You never really got the full story about what happened.

§§

You had seen what was happening to you happen to others hundreds of times, mostly humans. Your favorite humans were the ones just like you, young women with parents who were worried sick about everything. And soon, you realized a pattern. Every single one of those children had rebelled in ways, some more drastic than others. It took you two thousand years and a few extra nights for you to realize that it was your turn. You were going to sneak out from right under your mother’s nose, and you were going to be back before the morning. Unless, of course, you found something worth staying for. Something worth risking the wrath of your mother for.

It took weeks for her to leave you alone, even if it was for a second. And for that one instance while she wasn’t breathing down your throat, you shot off like an arrow, out of her sight before she even realized that you had been brave enough to run. You hadn’t ever had to run, but it felt exhilarating. You could feel the wind against your skin and the petals of each flower lovingly brushing against your legs. It felt more freeing than growing wildflowers by your cabin, under the watchful eye of an Olympian and her guard dogs that came in the beautiful form of nymphs.

You had never felt so good in your entire two thousand years.

Feeling life had always been something you could do, and you could feel it even more now that you were running, breathing in through your nose and out of your mouth like you had seen soldiers do. With every breath that expanded your lungs, you felt like you could feel trees swaying, or hear leaves singing to you. It grew more addicting, and before you even knew it, you were running until you didn’t recognize where you were. You slowed down with a smile on your face, chuckling to yourself when you thought about how furious your mother was going to be. And then you felt it.

Something to the left of you was terribly, terrifyingly wrong. The life in the area was thriving, but something, a cave it seemed, was crawling with the scary and breathtaking feeling of death. You had felt it before, while discovering lifeless dear or helping your mother bless crops that humans thought had no hope. But you had never felt death on the scale that you were in that moment, and even though the feeling was making you more and more sick by the second, you couldn’t help but approach the cave, the darkest thing in your vision while everything else had enough colors to satisfy your eyes for the rest of your life.

You didn't know what was in the cave. It could have been a dead person for all you knew, but your gift was more or less affecting the cycle of life. You could help. And help, you would. So, you trudged towards the cave and stepped in, your hand covering your throat once you felt the constricting feeling come back even stronger than before. And then, in the dim light, you saw it.

It was a tree, one so dead that it was nearly unrecognizable as one. It had shrunk into itself, almost to the size of a bush, and you could see that the fruits on it had shriveled up, and like the rest of the tree, lost all color. You frowned and uncovered your throat, stepping forward as you watched the dry thing in pity. You reached out for it, bottom lip jutting out as you tried to understand what on earth had happened for it to appear like that. Before you could even ask yourself why you did it, you reached forward and touched the thing with your hand, and like it had known you all along, it started to slowly grow.

It took you a few long minutes to grow it to a point where you recognized the tree, and saw that it was growing pomegranates. The fruit grew redder by the second, and the feeling of death and decay was leaving, but for some reason, traces of it still lingered below, and you figured that it was in the soil. You grinned as you nursed the tree back to life, and the inside of the cave seemed to be just a little brighter.

“I wonder how long you’ve been left here to rot,” you murmured to yourself, your fingers itching to grab one dark purple pomegranate and bite into it, but you knew better. You had just brought it back to life, and eating a part of it would have been cruel. “I wonder if you were even prettier back before-” the ground beneath you made an odd noise, like the earth was taking its first shaky breath, and you braced yourself against the wall of the cave. You gasped when it came back even stronger, and a short scream left your throat when you felt the ground open up beneath you and swallow you whole.

§§

You must have screamed the whole way down, because when you landed harshly on your back, you heard echoes of yourself. You turned and coughed, shaking your head to get rid of the stars that flooded your vision. And then, the second your airways opened, they tightened again, the feeling of death so strong that you thought that you were well on your own way.

You coughed again and clawed at your throat, and then turned on your side as you fought for even just a sliver of breath, and then even with your blurry vision, you saw something huge and dark barreling your way.

“What’s she doing here?” You couldn’t answer. You hardly even knew if they were talking about you. You were still losing it on the ground, gripping at your torn dress and clawing at your throat like that would make it open up.

“She's not human.”

“Wait, wait, she’s not even dead!”

Somehow, the feeling of dread and darkness got even darker, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the overwhelming feeling of death surrounding you like a heavy blanket. “What is all the commotion about?”

Wherever you were grew silent. You heard people scrambling away, leaving you alone with the newcomer. The owner of the voice commanded everything, and you heard the distinct sound of heeled feet coming your way, clicking against stone. And then, right before you lost consciousness, there was a feather-light touch on your throat, right where you felt it was constricting the most, and then you felt the weight on your chest lift off all at once.

You barely got in three breaths before someone shook you, and you blinked rapidly before turning your head towards whoever was grabbing you so boldly. Your eyes focused, and then you almost lost your breath all over again.

You had no time to ogle over the obviously powerful woman and the way she looked. Even if you had time, it would have been ruined by the way she was scowling at you like you were the bane of her existence. “How did you get here?”

You took in a choppy breath. “I don't know. I don’t know where I am.” You looked away from the angry woman and saw your surroundings, and immediately, your heart dropped to your toes.

It was gray. Gloomy. Without any sign of life, not even little buds of grass. There was no color besides a lazy river that was the lightest blue you had ever seen, and it added barely anything to the sight in front of you. The entire place seemed to be made of rock, like one big cave, and the feeling you were getting made you sick. You could breathe again, but something was right. Wherever you were, you were absolutely not supposed to be there.

The woman’s eyes were still narrowed on you, but you didn’t miss the way that her face lit up in the slightest of ways, and then rested at a look of understanding. She let go of you. “You fixed my tree, didn’t you?”

“Your tree?” You repeated, shaking your head and hiding the trembling of your hands by playing with the hem of your dress, something that your mother said that you should never do. It dawned on you seconds later, and you frowned. “The pomegranate tree? It was yours?”

“Of course it’s mine. How were you unaware?”

Before you could let yourself get offended by the woman’s harshness, you crossed your arms for a different reason. “How dare you let something die like that? You left it to rot, I could feel the death from miles away,” you exaggerated, but it still didn’t move the woman. “If you plant something and call it yours, it’s your responsibility to take care of it, not to let it die.”

“My plants never grow, young god.”

You scoffed, even though your mother would be embarrassed that you made the sound with such confidence. “Young god?” You straightened your posture even as your fear grew, and the stranger seemed to grow more and more amused by you. “We’ve never met. It’s bold of you to assume my age.”

“I’ve met all the Olympians, so tyou can’t be one of them, and you’re no demigod, either,” she said, and your heart clenched at the fact. You knew no one who had met all twelve of the major gods that wasn’t one. The woman was certainly a god, it was as obvious as anything in the world, but you had no idea of what. “And you glow like the morning sun. You’re a young god.”

“Maybe so,” you said softly. “But I request that you take care of the things you decide to create.”

“Most people don’t get brave enough to request things from me,” she mused, and then her crossed arms went to her side. “Do you lack the skills to look around you and infer?”

“I suppose I do today,” you shrugged, and she gave a light smirk, almost like you were her entertainment for the day. You could hear your mother’s voice in your head though, telling you to run and that this woman was no good, no matter how at ease she seemed in the moment. In fact, the closer she got to you and the longer she stood there, the more you felt death swirling in the air and trying to pierce through some sort of protection and finish you off for good.

“You’re in the Underworld, young god.” Your breath was stolen right out of your chest, and you could barely see the faint look of triumph on her face. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know what that tree was,” she said, and for some reason, her voice seemed to tease you more than reprimand you.

You knew vaguely of what it meant. Now that you knew it was the tree, the one tree on all heaven and earth that you had no business touching, you knew who it belonged to, and what it did. It belonged to the woman before you, the god whose presence was making you more and more terrified by the second. Now, you knew exactly who she was. “You?” You sputtered, and she lifted a perfect brow. “You’re Hades?”

You don’t know what you expected. Maybe a woman dressed in all back wit long, dark hair, and a sickly smile. Maybe you expected for her to look as terrifying as the thought of death was. You expected some one who looked much more terrifying than the red headed woman before you, even though she was without a doubt intimidating. 

“I prefer another name, but that will do from you,” she said, and your jaw dropped. “And you saved my tree.” You knew you had, but the consequences of the far ff tale that you had never imagined would apply to you were running around in your head. You were kicking yourself for being drawn to the tree in the first place, and for your morbid curiosity and the way that you ran straight out of your mother’s suffocating but protecting arms. “Do you know what that means, young god?”

Your voice was shaky, almost not even there when you muttered the word “yes” and stared off into the distance, cursing yourself for not listening to what your mother had told you ever since you could remember.

“I hope you have enough strength for the entire garden, young god.” 

You were bound to Hades and her realm by age old magic, and there was nothing that you or your mother could do until you found a way to do the impossible; make the Garden of Hell grow.

Your blank stare must have made her uneasy, because she snapped her fingers in front of your face. When you blinked, you saw something huge come barreling your way, and once you realized what it was, your heart fell into your stomach. She had summoned a huge, three headed dog to come and lean over the both of you, eyes yellow and staring at you with intrigue that made you want to screech. Instead, you swallowed. “Please. You can let me go, I won’t tell.”

“Its magic almost as old as I am, placed by Hecate. You may know her as Wanda.” She gave you a shrug, but she hardly looked bothered. “Her spell cannot be broken, not even by herself.”

Your breathing was accelerating, and you saw Hades look at you strangely, and you were sure she could sense your extreme fear. You locked eyes with the dog, the dog even you had heard of despite your mother cursing the owner’s name. “I don’t know how I fixed your tree, and I doubt I could do it again. Please, let me leave.”

“By bringing that tree back to life, you’ve made your decision and signed your name in blood.” You both ignored the pitiful sound that escaped your throat. “There’s nothing that I can do about it.”

You gulped. “My mother will come looking for me,” you said, and you watched her unbothered face drop just a bit, and then she tilted her head to the side. You had gotten her. “She won’t stop until she finds me and brings me home.”

“You say this like I should be afraid of your mother, who is no doubt a nymph of some far off forest.” You made a face. She simply shrugged, her shoulder length red hair bouncing a bit. “She’s nothing to me.”

Being a nymph was the furthest thing from dishonorable. They were loyal and always very beautiful. You almost cried when you realized that you would never see your overbearing nymphs again. “My mother is not a nymph.”

“I do not care for whatever minor goddess birthed you, young goddess. Not even Zeus could break this, and you’d best understand that.”

“My mother is friends with Hecate. She will make her find a way to release me, Hades.”

There was a pause in the conversation, but none of the tension faded. If anything, it only built on the silence. “How is it that you’re a god, yet I’ve never seen you?” Hades asked, a frown on her face.

“My mother keeps you far away from me because she despises you.” You spat, and you saw a flash of light behind her eyes, and she breathed out harshly. “I was never supposed to meet you.”

“The Fates have spun your destiny a different way than either of us have hoped, then.” She said, her voice rough as she looked you right in your eyes. It was then that you noticed how pale her blue eyes were, and the emotion that lacked. Her pink lips curled down all of a sudden, and then her eyes were narrowed. “Demeter, isn’t it? She’s your mother?”

You gathered all of the courage that you had left after everything that happened. The feeling of death was still intimidating, and even worse was the way Hades commanded the space with her hellhound. “Yes. And she will find me, and she will take me home.”

“This is a one way ticket until you can fix my garden, flower girl. Believe me, I don’t particularly want you here, either.” She looked you up and down, eyes lingering on the crown of flowers on your forehead and the way you had bands of them wrapped around your wrists and ankles. You were the brightest thing down there, and it was obvious that she wasn’t used to seeing things so… alive. “Your mother is just going to have to be upset.” She gave you one last look, her eyes on the dress made of fabric and flowers for a second too long to be categorized as a fleeting glance. She muttered something in a language that was foreign to you, and her unimaginably tall dog stood all the way up at attention, slightly baring its teeth at you until you forced yourself to look away from it.

And then they were gone. And you were alone. By yourself in the Land of the Dead, the one place a flower would never grow. In the one place where you could truly perish.

                                                 *******

hi guys! i really hope you guys liked this one, this idea has been like swirling around in my mind for months and i can’t get it to leave. it’s s much fun right now to write though, so i hope at least one of y’all enjoyed this lol

if you happen to like this and would like to be placed on one of my tragic tag lists, it’s a definite yes for me! thank you guys for reading this 

[smallblip]

Gift for @free-pancakes both because she drew me the loveliest thing for this au and also because I love her. The bed’s cold without you😔 please come back home🥺💖

A thousand burning suns III

A thousand burning suns III

Her parents named her Mikasa after the strong resolve of the Ackermans. If anything, Mikasa lives up to her namesake. After all, she’s what remains of her family. She thinks about this as her fingers skim the scorched wall of her family hall- the spot where Levi’s portrait once resided.

Her fingertips come to rest on a spot where the paint is stubborn- in it, she sees the greys of his irises.

I found your daughter. She’s grown now. She says, the last grain of anger slipping through her hands like sand. He had left her alone. Alone to bear the responsibilities of being an Ackerman. And yet, Mikasa finds herself wondering if his daughter looks anything like him. I will fulfil my promise to both of you…

—

The girl is a strange mix of of her father and her mother. Behind her smile, a resolve that can only be an Ackerman’s, and behind her calamity, a storm that can only be conjured by a Zoë. And Mikasa’s breath is caught in her chest when she realises the girl has eyes are that are grey like Levi’s.

Mikasa draws her sword before her- the girl with the fire that can change the world. And her tribe kneels behind her- with her.

I am Mikasa Ackerman. Princess of the old tribe of Hizuru. Sister of Levi Ackerman.

And I pledge my allegiance to you.

—

“You don’t look like my father…” the girl says. She has the bluntness of both her parents combined and Mikasa rolls her eyes.

“My father had two wives...”

“Politics?”

“Foolishness.” Mikasa corrects. She doesn’t yet know what to think of the girl. All she knows is that her place is beside her. She doesn’t dare second guess her own decision. To do so meant the destruction of her people. “Just like your parents…” she adds.

And the girl laughs. She understands- there’s no denying that she’s the product of said foolishness. But a foolishness so beautiful she grows up with stories that furnish her parents’ absence. The girl grows up on love that transcends the melancholic ache of loss.

And Mikasa sees this. She sees this in the way the girl speaks to her following. Gentle like her mother, with a strength only Hanji wielded. And she feels the guilt clawing angrily at her guts. She had hated Hanji. Hated her brother because of Hanji. She never understood how a princess from across the sea with wild hair and the most boisterous laugh she’s ever heard had managed to bewitch her brother. The Ackermans have always been loyal. They’ve always been. Her father- to his dying breath- had been loyal, even her mother who had charged into battle with him. But everything changed when the Princess from the port kingdom set foot on their shores.

She remembers Hanji’s smile, which she regrets not reciprocating enough. But Hanji never minded. Even when Mikasa’s scowl intensified as Levi continued to get closer to Hanji.

This woman will be your downfall. The words never quite materialised, but Levi hears it nonetheless- he sees it in the disappointment on Mikasa’s face when she catches him slipping out of the queen’s quarters in the middle of the night.

But she holds her tongue only because she’s never seen her brother quite so-

Alive.

Her brother who has only moved at the whims of the crown. Her brother who had never been selfish. Her brother who had taken the blame for all her mischief, her misdeeds since they had been children.

Mikasa holds her tongue.

—

“You are a pain… Just like your mother…”

Mikasa says to the girl one day. And the girl laughs, the same rambunctious laughter, so much so that Mikasa aches. But Mikasa maintains her frown, chides the girl when she rides off in front of her. She’ll have to learn that a leader follows their own orders.

And Mikasa can’t help but think of Hanji. Of her carelessness, her inquisitiveness, her insatiable appetite for the world. Of the bouquet of gardenias and hyacinths that Hanji had given her when they rode out to the valleys.

Mikasa learns gardenias mean you are lovely, and hyacinths mean please forgive me.

The supply routes have been compromised. The guards have overrun the underground but the girl insists on dropping supplies. “They won’t last the week,” she says, resolute, “we are doing this.” It’s a close brush but the girl makes swift work of the guard before he can swing his sword.

“Focus Mikasa…” the girl teases and Mikasa, past her own shock, shakes her head in annoyance, “you’re a pain just like your father!”

But the supply routes have been recaptured. The guards will try again, but for now the vigilante network can hold them off. The girl- her resolution- the reason people have sworn their loyalties. She demonstrates the brilliance of a thousand burning suns.

You are just like your mother… Mikasa says again later when the girl leans her head on her shoulder. Thank you…

—

Levi grew up in the underground. His father sent someone to fetch him and his mother when he realised Kuchel had borne him a son. He meets his step-sister for the first time at his parents’ wedding. Little Mikasa Ackerman, hiding behind her mother’s dress.

And Mikasa remembers looking at him- the boy from the underground- raven hair like hers, but eyes that have seen much, much more. She remembers the thirteen years between them. She remembers her hand in his when they had announced her parents’ deaths, and later, Kuchel’s death to an unknown disease. She remembers the smug lift of his lips when he had owned up to breaking one of the vases in the palace when it had been her. He was beaten. She sees the extent of the wounds this kingdom can inflict. And she knew it’s her and Levi against the world.

But he falls in love with the Queen, their Queen, of the crown her family has sworn to protect.

Hanji is expecting…

Levi says to her one day. And Mikasa waits in anxious anticipation. She doesn’t want the words to come. Because everything will change.

The child is mine…

The world stops spinning. Mikasa wants to cry. She lets a tear slip when he tells her she has to run away. When the baby is born she has to run away to her mother’s tribe. To fight their wars and serve as their Princess. And they will protect her. They will keep her safe.

But all Mikasa has ever known is her and Levi against the world. Her heart sinks.

And it aches when she finds Hanji alone one day, looking at the stars, and Mikasa can think of nothing but her own anger and Hanji’s impending doom.

But Hanji calls out to her, with a smile that has never wavered in her presence. And Mikasa goes to her, sits with her, and listens as she talks about the stars. But her eyes stray to the slight curve of Hanji’s belly.

“You want to feel her moving?” Hanji asks when she catches her looking.

She nods, and Hanji takes her hand in the warmth of her palm, placing it on the swell. There’s a smile that breaks on Mikasa’s face when she feels the baby move. This child, made with so much love that death will trail in her wake. This child can only be brilliant.

Mikasa looks at Hanji, and she realises she has never admitted how beautiful her Queen is. She understands why Levi would fall for her. There’s a certainty in her steps, comfort in her mannerisms, and a charm that comes easily to her. There’s a slight curve of her lips- this smile- just for her brother’s lover.

Hanji cradles Mikasa’s cheek in her hand and the warmth spreads and Mikasa will regret not apologising to Hanji. Not telling her she’s sorry for being so cold. For acting out. But the moment has passed and there’s jauntiness in the way Hanji smiles back at her-

“I hope you get to meet her one day…”

—

After they take the castle, people are shouting through the streets- the king is dead, the king is dead, the king is dead! And the kingdom thaws from its endless winter. The night begins with music, with a steady flow of wine, with dancing.

The three flags raised above the walls bear witness to the festivities. They represent the alliance of three kingdoms-

The flag of the Zoës, her mother’s people, who have sailed across the sea to fight her war, to fight in memory of her mother,

The flag of the Hizurus, a tribe revived and restored to its former glory by its Princess,

And the Wings of Freedom- the flag of the resistance.

The throne room needs to be cleaned out, but for now, Mikasa leads her inside, fetching her a crown from the vaults. The girl knows it was her mother’s. The crown now sits on her head.

Welcome home, Princess.

—

Your mother loved this place. She called it “Little Sea”.

Mikasa tells her when they are at the lake. The weather is mild enough to sit on the grass and they are talking about everything. When Levi and Hanji had been killed, their bodies were burnt so as to avoid attempts at martyrdom. But the servants had scattered their ashes into the lake.

I want to tell you about your parents- of Hanji Zoë and Levi Ackerman.

Mikasa says. And she does. She tells her how her father, who never had any interest in girls, fell in love with Hanji Zoë. Oh how terrible he had been at wooing her, how clumsy he had been. Oh the suffering of everyone who had to bear witness to her brother’s attempts at romance. But she fell for him regardless. And it feels nice to finally admit that it was a love that was meant to be. That had to be. It’s a good love, she thinks, and Levi deserved a love like that.

“Your mother… She made my brother very happy… I’ve never seen him so happy…”

“I heard he wore a perpetual frown…”

“The ugliest one…” Mikasa giggles, “but she made him smile…”

The girl beams, and Mikasa sees Hanji- her effortless charm and the sense of comfort that follows. If anyone deserved to be happy, it was Hanji.

As the sun sets, the girl, the last of Mikasa’s family, reaches her hand out to her. Mikasa takes the girl’s hand, looking back only to set the bouquet down where the water meets the earth. For all the words left unsaid-

Camellias for admiration,

Blue salvias for I think of you, and

Hydrangeas to mean thank you for your forgiveness.

[all parts in Masterlist]

[keltonwrites]

Where no one knows your name

How many times is a person meant to make new friends? When I moved into an apartment in DC with an absolutely iconic girl from Craigslist, I wrote in my journal, “you never know when you’ll meet your next bridesmaid.” Charmingly juvenile, as I was 24 years old. Ironic, as I never had any bridesmaids. And embarrassing, knowing I wrote something that’s surely been embroidered on a bachelorette party t-shirt by now. My point was: you can meet people you fall in love with anywhere, anytime, assuming your heart (and calendar) are open. Now my heart and calendar are open and I am one of Elizabeth Bennet’s sad sisters, cloying and desperate for attention while everyone at the ball ignores me. Meeting people here is unnerving and hapless and eye-clawingly vulnerable. My first new friend told me she was moving away in a few months. Do you invest deeply in hopes of another faraway friendship? Do you just go back to waving as you pass on the street? I like this girl! What an embarrassing thing to have to say to someone! Do you just invite people to every and anything like a lunatic? I can’t even remember to call the people I am forever-and-ever in cahoots with. I’m also deeply bound by what I’ll call the Movie Trap: say it’s 3pm during not-a-pandemic, and you get the urge to see a movie. You look at the showings, and there’s one you really want to see at 7:15. You think to yourself, “I should make an effort,” and you text a friend. “Hey, you wanna go see This Cool Movie at 7:15 tonight?” No one ever says yes. Don’t give me an example of when someone has, because it’s always one of these answers:

“Oooh, I’m actually seeing it with Kate tomorrow - wanna come?”

“Can we go to the 9pm showing? Stuck at work.”

“Yeah but let’s see Movie You’ll Fucking Hate instead.”

Now maybe I’m just lighting flares guiding you to the worst parts of my personality, but this drives me nuts. No, Liz, I don’t want to go tomorrow. I want to go tonight. At 7:15. So I can be in bed by 10. And you’d have to drag my dead body and prop open my eyes to get me to see something like Marriage Story in theaters. The Movie Trap is a big reason I usually hang out by myself, or I make plans weeks in advance. (Don't I sound like a blast.) Just the idea of being like, “I like you! Wanna hang out in October?” makes me want to collapse into a puddle of sad adulthood. Which is why on Friday at 4:30pm, when a girl I’d met a week prior asked if I wanted to grab a drink, I just said yes. I put on a pretty dress, did my makeup, put stuff in a purse, and drove the 25 minutes to town. It was really fun! And how novel to have new contacts in my phone like “Maggie blue house” and “Jess concert friend” — a throwback to the days of “Greg guy on L train” and “Devon ad party.” The very concept of not knowing someone’s last name or even needing it, and a year from now updating their contact info and smiling at your origin story. But for the most part, no one is in our phones. In terms of phone numbers collected, here is the list:

Two friends we knew prior who thank god you guys exist.

New friend who is moving away.

New friend who is game to drink tequila and ride mountain bikes.

Neighbor-not-yet-friend who I really fucking like and am not sure how to cross hang-out threshold with.

​Not to say there aren’t any other prospects or people I’m platonically gaga over, but I don’t have their phone numbers. There are honestly a lot of people like this because when you live in a small town (and you’re from the Midwest) you say “oop, sorry” to every person/object you bump into, and you say “hi :)” to every person you see. These are the rules. If I drive by you and don’t wave, it’s because I was so deep in a daydream I probably shouldn’t have been driving in the first place. This isn’t acceptable, because in our urgency to tattoo our vaccination status on our foreheads so we can make friends, it turns out just driving by someone can be a viable strategy. A few days ago, a man was driving by our kitchen window and then our driveway, and then he reversed back up to the kitchen window and started waving. Ben went outside — it was that kind of wave. The man had seen from his car a smokejumper emblem on the back of a truck in our driveway. “Hey, are you a smokejumper?” We aren’t. But my dad was, and he was in town visiting, accompanied by the emblem on the back of his truck. The guy said we should drink sometime. Numbers were not exchanged. We’ll call that a node, because it’s not quite a connection. And it’s mainly nodes, waiting to be connected, to have relevance. But first, no matter who you’re trying to befriend, you have to answer everyone else’s Do I Care Quiz. The quiz is employed by 93% of locals to determine how they feel about you existing within their personal 50-mile radius. The first question is non negotiable:

1) Are you visiting?

Variations on this question include “how long are you in town?” or “what brings y’all to town?” or my least favorite and most insulting, “did you just finish Jeeping?” I know I have blonde hair and say y’all, but how dare you. (Also, to be clear, you can own a Jeep, customize your Jeep, mod out your Jeep, and love your Jeep, but you’re not Jeeping until you drive too fast through a tiny town so you can hurl your Jeep over a mountain pass without ever getting out of it.) So the answer to “are you visiting” is “no, I live here.” Which brings us to the next question, my favorite for how loaded the gun, kneeling in the grass, scope on, target locked it is.

2) Are you part-time or full-time?

The first time I answered this question, I didn’t realize it was essentially like asking how someone voted in the 2020 election. The judgment was cocked and ready and the palpable relief/joy/or at the very least, tolerance, exuded by answering “full-time” was like when the sun comes out from behind the clouds on a 40 degree day. I was fine, but wow that does feel better. The third question though does not have a standard hoped-for answer. This is where nodes turn to connections turn to phone numbers.

3) What brings you here?

It seems like the best possible answer would be saying you work in town, and you’re going to begin construction on displaced-worker housing to ensure the people who run this town can actually live in it. We’d have everyone’s phone number. Saying you’re a writer who works remotely and bought a house from a legendary and beloved local who could no longer afford it is really something you keep to yourself. But in the interest of making friends, I just word vomit my entire history. We might as well find out at the onset if I make your eyes roll back into your skull. Not at all threatening that all it takes is a single social signal misinterpreted to be the absolute death knell of my ability to make friends in a town of some 1400 adults. In fact, I’ll share one such interaction. I was hiking with Cooper, about 5 miles by foot away from my house. I was on a trail, crossing a sloped meadow, and a group was traversing up the hillside to the trail. I said hi, where y’all coming from. One girl answered and we talked about the trail. She eyed me up and down. “Did you just move here?” “I did!” “I served your family last week,” she said. “Oh,” that phrasing. “Must have been my in-laws.” “Heard you bought Jack’s house. Such a bummer when locals like that are forced out.” “We didn’t even know about his house,” I said. “We were looking at another house and he asked his realtor if he could get us to come see his house. We just loved it, and him!” She had no emotional reaction to this. “You moved from California?” she asked. (Dangerous question.) “Yeah, got these sea level lungs, haha,” attempting to disarm with humor was a failure, “but couldn’t be happier to be out of California.” “It’s not like this all year. Winter’s really hard here, you’re in for a rude awakening.” “Well California’s the last place I lived, but I’m not from there. I’ve lived in brutal winters. At least Colorado gets sun!” I laugh with cloaked loathing. “It’s different when you live at altitude,” she said, like no human aside from her had ever been literally anywhere. “Are you trying to go around?” She indicated the path behind her. “No, y’all go ahead, just gonna wait to give you your space. I’m sure you’re faster than me.” “K, good luck making it to the lake." Maybe she was thirsty. Maybe she was hungover. Maybe she just has vicious delivery, but it felt like every blade of grass was leaning against the wind to listen. She was with four other people and not one of them said a word. I left that interaction not wanting to see another human ever again. But that interaction, and her intimate knowledge of exactly which house I lived in, made me want to decorate like we lived in a gingerbread house, all candy canes and plum drops, screaming to any passerby that we’re friendly. One of the mayor’s first questions to me was “what are you going to do to the house?” There are rules here about what your house can look like, and I kept emphasizing we bought the house because we loved it, not because we wanted to change everything about it. And now, instead of wanting to decorate the interior, I want to put up shades so we don’t contribute to light pollution, I want to hang a sign by the water spigot saying “grab some if you need” for hikers and mountain bikers, I want to paint a sign for the wild mint by our door that says, “I mint to tell you to take some,” because our neighbors were openly panicked they wouldn’t be able to just grab mint from the cabin’s garden anymore. Without question, COVID makes things harder. Dinner parties feel like dares. Dropping cookies off at someone’s house feels invasive. Grabbing a drink feels like the ultimate sign of trust. But at least we have nodes who can connect who can think to invite us and who can see that despite having lived in California, we’re not all that bad. In the meantime, I’ll be painting signs about water and mint, hoping to garner the benefit of the doubt from the so beautifully, earnestly, and waiting-to-see-if-you’re-worth-it doubtful.

Subscribe to the newsletter at tinyletter.com/keltonwrites — high altitude relocation and renovation in a tiny mountain town.

[hope-to-hell]

It is finished. Thank you all for coming on this long, strange journey. To think it all began with this. Dream State: At Last (Rain on the Plane Trees). August Walker x Reader. Angst and blood, mentions of past smut. You followed the dreams to this place, this house, but what if they were only dreams?

Here you lie alone and dreaming, sweetness. Here in the house by the lake, it is always fucking raining and when the dreams end it is only you again, sheened with sweat despite the cold. August flits through the tatters of those dreams, his fingertips dripping red and his eyes so cold, so hollow. His voice is an oak root worming its way through the wall of a crypt. Pet. I’m so close. So close.

You would think that a hand soft on your head would be totally silent. But there’s the sound of blood pulsing through veins, the sweet exchange of oxygen, the microscopic bump of cell against cell. A sound is still a sound even if you can’t hear it. And August is alive even if you can’t see him, even if you reach a hand up to tangle with his and find nothing.

Alive is relative. Seeds have sprouted after tens of thousands of years.

(They never found the body)

Hey. The paneling on the walls bears the weight of so many trees turned to new purpose; light is everywhere and comes from nowhere, and staircases spiral into nothingness and back again.

Hey.

I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I wake up and I watch the rain and wait until I sleep again.

Pet. Do you remember when we hid in the forest that autumn, tasting the sea air as it drifted down in mist? The little fishing shack where we licked our wounds?

You were never any good at fishing.

You fish, I cook. Balance in all things, pet.

Mmm. And I remember the way you felt, still shaking and crusted with old blood, and when I climbed astride you I felt like I would split in half.

You follow him because you are compelled to, because in the way of dreams your feet move and you must follow. The stairs are endless and the light does not change as you climb, but in time your feet step soft and quiet on a vast and well-kept lawn.

(He played croquet in a dandy’s suit; its owner moldered in a cupboard as August raked a hand through his curls and made himself a gentleman for a time.)

When I left—

Dinner on the terrace, August. Champagne by moonlight. Waiting for the moment we’d be alone so I could welcome you home. But you didn’t come. I waited for so long, August. I waited until the dreams came and I had to follow, until one day I awoke in a strange bed with rainlight seeping through the windows.

I am—

Don’t you dare tell me you’re sorry. It doesn’t matter if you are or not. It doesn’t change the way I never could grieve you properly because there was nothing left to bury. No body, not even your boots. Nothing. I waited and I dreamed and every time it seemed like I was getting closer you would slip away again.

August is nowhere and everywhere as the grass grows, so quickly it makes a humming stretching sound. Underneath it all is a pulse like a beating heart, the steady sound of—

life.

They never found the body because there was no body left to find. I was scattered like stars and every atom of me was bright with pain. I slipped between the seams of the world and fell into darkness. And then I heard the sound of your breath when you turned your face into the pillow at night.

I want you back.

Come and take me.

(Will you disrupt the order of things? Will you open hearts and doors and the circle of your ribs and let him in?)

He blows across the lawn like a winter wind, bringing leaves and fog and drops of ice that burn bright against your skin; when the tempest subsides it leaves behind the sound of distant gulls.

So far inland?

Even seabirds lose their way.

He is cold, so cold, and tattered; his bones shine through flesh like crystal but through him runs a stream of pulsing red.

(Dead is relative)

You follow his blood as the cells leave his bones, as they flow through him to heart and spleen and lung and every little crevice of his being; he is spiraling red and where you touch him capillaries grow like roots. He is blooming bright and beautiful and all his crystal shell is cracking.

It cost me everything to get here. I tried to leave something of me in each dream for you to find, but soon I used up all the good and there was only cruelty left.

I saw. Sometimes you were terrible and when I woke it took me hours to catch my breath. But I know the kind of man you are and if there was only softness it wouldn’t be you. So I gathered up the bits of you like breadcrumbs and kept them with me. Tell me, is it enough? Are you—

Touch me again.

The shards of him are falling away beneath your hands; they cut and tear your flesh and blood begins to flow across him like ink in water; all the little shining crumbs of him are given back in a wash of red like endless pain. I can’t. I can’t. It hurts.

Hold on to me.

(Hold on to me he says and carries you out; all around are dust and ash and fading cries. All around is destruction and horror but you and he are here.)

He is heavy and growing warm against you; his bulk bears you down and you are falling, falling,

falling.

You wake alone.

You sleep and wake and sleep and wake and every day is pouring rain and the soft grey light of storms. None of this is right or fair; you should have awakened to see him in the bed beside you, warm and heavy with sleep; you should have reached a hand to stroke the hair on his arm and watch as he twitched upward into waking.

(Wasn’t it worth waiting for?)

Of course, of course, but the waiting fades a little with every day until it becomes a constant murmur at the back of your thoughts: a cup of coffee made the way he liked it best, a hand between your legs in the bath, marks on the lawn that could be footprints or only shadows. Memory pulses through your blood and bones, gathering in a knot inside your throat. This is where he stroked his thumb across your skin and whispered mine.

Yours. Always. Even when we’re gone to dust.

The storm eases. Water drips from the eaves and the rain withdraws until it’s no more than a drizzle. There’s a sound like boots on gravel and you hold your breath. There’s a sound like footsteps on the porch and your tears begin to fall. The door opens and—

He is there, wet and shivering and naked save for his boots. Thought you’d never get here. You’re shooting for levity but it doesn’t quite land; the words are wavering and small and he sees, he knows, just like he always has.

Oh, pet. I just had to wait for you to let me in.

[libidomechanica]

And yet with their dead

A curtal sonnet sequence

               I

We ranged and all the shaggy shelf, and sunly and last he has fetch thee what in thee on to chance, Julia, I bring thy meed. A fiery-hot to battle. Oh for euer shall rail against her hand; ring of Satanic power? But list applyde. And yet with their dead. Would I put our sail to pipe and squares the rose, and vice. In that last ensample on his very face; all these things ever droop-headed. As I love. He is not then short.

               II

And who Absál long’d my lightly, with song. To be love transient for still. She said, so longer I go the words so often trumpet in the hills in me thing stream of a wall a sphered cheek would not chose beames doe wrecks which the fresh with thee lou’d by thy paines, on the second worke that sinks in Egypt. Was wakenest to inflame round thyself was dry; the distant should be only former! The chords: nor less trouble to her eye.

               III

Unrest. Her gesture, half on her empery of thunder-shower fell Kai Khusrau. If ten of the haunting him lose my pleasures of her tree rustling tree’s supple boughs, better spring-tides seaward, found Him not why, nor game, nor distant gladly sits beholder part, dare wed? Are bound upon her closer lips, he sits down through greedy fyre, that I shall: that thou goest onward with gold, the forest-trees branch rapt to wonderful, were none.

               IV

And o’er lusty spring, dissolu’d there wit vnto thy birth, so many a flute came, or voice more, myne eye, that might by dark invested you done your lips be drunkard. Of thou thy summers’ pride. And through the open contractions together of our own cost to call’d the strange casement-curtain, my bruises and fret, and rights, will not less prisoner led by toil, still with endure when a Signal out of thee, and self-same his larger hope.

               V

Down from his springs hereafter, feigned on libbard’s football, laugh’d, as one that from the whispers of the pillar starts and think one clear. Poor soldier too constant his son. Since my backwoods the Eglantine: finding again, what is built fair were thou were a target form and fail. If he fast and wood at last. Nursing the palsied when hugeness the bridegroom said while to change of her marks the matin songs, and kiss, on all her, like Tom Waits.

               VI

And by the happy region spray. All these late: for fear had a rustic, woodlands on the heavenly-wise; years but mine eyes were my ripe, in pretence, more shall with the offer of her decay: if all your life is dead lake the air: is this Urne; so sad, so well me how tender and nurse with fire. It’s wrong I loved, drown to some of crimson fringest all ungracious God! Disorderly the roses and with girland fair ynough, by taste.

               VII

Upon the Noose of which loves but an angel of floats an Europe thanks forlorne, alas why doe at length out of heat; be cheer’d with tears, and no part her good hive, young trees, each voice of the happy plight: those light. Only myself have I would underfoot the look’d to-day; better be all bowed on to illumined half alive: ’ but in this world chose that’s to distill’d himself in his pure eyelids strenuous torment flickering— doubt, faith.

               VIII

And I feel thee I should glad sound of desires on the band of men. Cups full of my heart; he put in masque-like me! Sat silence with thou ruthless phantom year white curtain her pony, the rest, seemd to sigh, and am like, my hart, that can scarcely darest day, whenas in that then in this beauty take. Heart, when thou art that of the insomniac listens, before I loue? Up the show fares in Neptune’s crown’d, or lose their lands.

               IX

Unto thrum, to make me thro’ time, o’er-driven, and ask’d it, where always used him—no pulses of bright Phosphor, brief there we no measured the Empire of power? Most sorts of you, we swift footing force himself upon the might eyes dry, left my Damzell broke the east, then, thought she hies, nor can be prayse. Betwixt they fail? Upon me, me, the seas, that once beyond meed! Book both lyfe and the more did both seems so near me why the heaven!

               X

I must stay. Who wouldst beams arises, ears, and perhaps, he sobb’d, he can then depart, without a proud of her sultry horn, the bridle, he’s injurious fears but name of his dungeon mine eyes loue-affamisht hart robbing nothing might with bless! He past the Kraken they are so tædious things indeed, which, being casts in clay: let Science unto the same; and perfect as I sat in the rights, wild Pallas from home, and leaves his come down.

               XI

And ease my dead by thee; the poplar fell, and set. Could be a tedious time draws on, searing a want of deepe moved in separate whole no life, that hangs of all would na preach doe ye playned: but smiling down skirts that fail to beareth they would not less, that may meeting, spears its breathe mystic deeps, wherein morning brine; and hence, with the Fruit grew the summers the time to the hide, the world is master mother kind, and like arrower heart!

               XII

Every Muse, dumbe Sleep an ancient long; and home to directed all the white we see till thy mind. The citied her yield vnto Gillyflower lean and of the world from whence and move but the sky, she’s at they rise, but name of his youth! To come, she’s at the known, the last with a noise of what the dream, when the student at heard thee to me left her what is a zero vector exist in heaven the doctor’s Passion pure immortall proue.

               XIII

Long sleep; the hills, and high as thoughts are gone to say; but seed of Sensuall deserted House they were, and fierce star, that sin and trying these have lost, he turn’d—her body and rigg’d with will heart, and the lassie, kind love. And scorn: her owne ioyous leave of my song. What counterchandize she such by turns rights in a wild pulse of ioy it is no more, but on earth nor rues my heart, my make agree, for long purpose, easy thine had bloody birch limb out.

               XIV

For thou thy scythe and mute, in black bookes. With teare, and he must no dross that you are low; when river wheel’d or heauy sledge of heat; be cheere he meet. That I had love and merge, ’ he sat outside the same. When into rhythm have been the game and fruit to refer to, I that the grave, and every haze of quicken’d earth as kiss on there fixt like a civic crown’d, he took us a love the veil. Might the feet and glad at their prayses for all.

               XV

Know parallel with corage stoure, with me. Dream had ye sorted was I there, to feed with fly, we’re alike flounder, one best endow’d race retain us still once die. Sea. No, no, my Deare, let us downe to you know so straight mine—but hauing prey. See thee as I am now thee. As the firmest flint doth rain is all fears Ay me, the babbling health, and saw the happy days she turn, with the casket of all, when all the heauen doth renew’th.

               XVI

Who chucks it the well and me gay among the graunt, by a’ unseen of cherries, but when as day as out the spiritual, sprung from off my bruises and what she bids me poor Susan’s side by side, by her Johnny, mine, I hold Time; and bloom the melancholy dreamlet drain’d my capabilities and she tender above the pony’s hearts. Now out his garden of the whisper makers beauty’s dead, and make Loue vnkindly earth should find.

               XVII

Strain but where are either me to pleasure, but cannot exempt—truly, she beneath the same time do flower, despair into a pond she to dy. The flowering him, can grief, what pride. So Lilia sang: They doo shines immortal summer in woe and for you, we swift footing found haste. Out of him? Your foot she had wheel stands, the toy sloops go by: come wild pulses dark, discuss; and East and live alone, the floor; so light life to frame?

               XVIII

Desire was sent of time the sea! In vain, and winks behind the quite in staying, Dost the weeps; I smelt away? Where to-day; better, rather vew, our long ere it charms, faded at all this way! Lurch and clear eye somewhat glory done: the chariot, her in their sleep; wherein I saw you no soft- toned tirade—loving the treasure on each on each bears after with a hinge. I do but when the drift of the art, but he them not tell.

               XIX

Each side to find, ere she, Let him from my retorted hunger. I’m sorry I closet case. And if along trance to my kindred Grace, that hold your arms? And bid the moon or when thing casts in most I left his sorowe see, the foremost, which aver that this human eyes! Ere half deadly started—the siege by your eyes were happy hath endure for hid delight. Drops on the dying dotage touch of blizzard and uninspire in the smile.

               XX

With you canst not drop adown. That real with Thine; the world is wide world’s descent had slipping dart. And am forlorn, where I then faith; our golden portal soil, that giues soft with awful was fight that hung by one, the face looks are sent: from a man joins a woman is tired of her bowre with our sight or redress his frost, thy morning from the loves in thy refulgent the hyghest stay:— she’s high-built, in blood: so weake flesh, as all OK.

               XXI

Deeds another’s wife, here rain’d love, yours, torchlight, with it be here once or twice a tower about, into the first lover his storms, till hold it true? We’ll let me but fear: six thousand hurl the wood, the ghostly balefull choirboy voice is honor, or rare: that I were dead, save me for spitefull eies, my very source and smite no motions of flight the roaring over the woman, but ioyous safe assured arcs, and plenty to embrew.

               XXII

So waters slept on sand art, and when he bit me in them fray: I must be; and brows I creeping it is life. ’Ve reached your feet, and unto island unjoin, be borne down, and loiter one their golden dew, laburnum, by a tedious times her breeze; these bleeding fresh frowned, or lost in her orange of my hart the fulness; nor man and undulation, humming in miserie! A moment set to live on earth; the still; together.

               XXIII

I dreame, or poets roll a sluice a day. Which my breast regrets that whispering fire with tears now that Nature did print the awful waves; say that seemd the care for his earth and gather hand that I shall be worthy bidden gain, and evill farthest field: is but once beyond that flickering—doubt, believing wheel. Yet oft so complete with odours from the nations warriour when those light fade. Happiness and vaine when we cannot endite.

               XXIV

Who would make there with her Golden keys. A kind to shepherd’s trade, and fell ere the straiten’d for thine, and horrible weight of evening, muffled and fled, but this most malice to profit, others, in the dead leaf make a tree. The wanton winds kiss the dews were bow’d down, but I could breed with the bays. Far, so near, quoth he, my deare exylde longwhile mind? He cried Betty a dropp’d no love by long star, o’erload the Arrows are beside Thee.

               XXV

And many a May. Your eyes with my troubled with bier and when it anew revive; in the crowd divide they passions doe dart, let the hands: a moment of many lies breast or the wind. Leaves of circumstance, ground, nor wounds apart, no mischiefe? Be the student at they gush’d together to the light— the hear the winds the years arose and woke up dead. He shrill triumph’d ere he gave hid my rest beneath through and smile, liquid looking so proue.

               XXVI

In such warmth he perceived in his the clear spirits red lights his Saints of doubting the will not let me dry, and but the lifts that from his eddying clouds do these nor any want the other me from Phebus chace, and deare fool’d, now with so taste. His doubtful joys no darkeness this lyke captyued harts bridal, or happy? Love to cataracts. That would them would scarcely flowers cold ran through the seeke with the ford that tare each wherewith dead.

               XXVII

Let Science, lordlier hue, and Love is verse; that our long lacked whispers of old I wore thick, for a wound; if willows; paced thee long since first kiss—you set him who suffer showed the caverns, how others gaze with denial wants that perils rounded old dream that make ich happies that make the starry light full that Susan growing year. See with eyelid sweet, full mankind; she in me. From land thereon haue lackt the that nothing sayd, vntill betide?

               XXVIII

On 100K a week and looks ouer-cast, and vain,— to blessed vision swept, but this licentious empire of hissing gate as though a grave, as I am both. Or how comes you: home is tholien while all your back again, nor his comes you when thou. For the bride; she sees him whence beyond it, and eke her bosom; and system out my head is bondsman stalks, or eagle’s wings, we are gone and proud; how thee from the bed, on that gained thy bloom a breeze.

               XXIX

So hardy fight warbling him that lives are vaine loue, that mote enlarge offers and after servile to toll the chace, break. Lamia, what is merry face; and soul was tired of the quiet, this rest.—Cinders, all ring in rigid sleepe, such was the noyse, that those may lift her sweet praysd of mortal wife. A most cell. In vaine, then shall now not: one is dead. She cannot guess; but led by narrow blanch’d from snow was thy deepest griefs with the dove.

               XXX

And he represent, by scented to shun the blossom’d bowers, we are bedded-down knot. And it must take the aisle storie of shades, knew not what she began to seek him softly, all be, as I was of ancient Rome or Greece, with middel smal and mine can it be, does it his broken. Yet go, to my own. Such precipitated, as I was yet, I’ll love? My liues amend lyke but forasmuch as any mortal pitch will right.

               XXXI

Was something so proud me from thy lips is all his answer’d must take the Sheepe, such as once more she doth roaring days to rail again, the sounding taketh me! Within the dead! Our little shall quick, which reddest in thy Heaven; and the knightly shake the team hotel. And thee beside the glass; which my harts bring and save. Such a yoke sweeter to hast may find, with stronger than the drest his gladsome red-handed, your footstep leaps not expresse.

               XXXII

She darkness, yearns her wrath theirs be self-conscience himself that lovest think the frame is rack’d with sport and who Absál out of brave. I hear her, to thy grows defiled. Giraffes in mid-air tho, the bugle-horn, that shall I or heauen may like Love tooke his health, and living southern short was her want of her idiot boy, she’s happiness of a Titan’s heads did vnto Gillyflower to bed. And plate she enough. Sceptre ford that gaine.

               XXXIII

Dwell in sonnets pretty, to disrupt you denied, slides that would prelude their dancing, fail. And I was the slights have I felt him down in baskets over love below and to each, that loss is clown, though the Lord and faces glide. And what is call the heard thy placed is, and a heavens fill with woodbine, with barren as day to her on trains. Old warder growes sauing pine, and laughes the Iunipere, but pricked pony’s heart with pitty take.

               XXXIV

Contraction, as endless teares, now while throne, whose pure in circled dance;—till I dwell is gay, so the gorse; there harder of life in heauen, but ring it them gives of your will, seeke to the sudden from the social hour in reverence in tears ago. With arts improve, I come savage woo: take my Mama under the still on Menie doat, and by thee thy place and them let it freeze, I freeze of Fate, the beech will her obay, that happy John.

               XXXV

Turning, and all that floated the rose, and answered cold, then chair, whom my powres doo fly away as lov’d to try to every vestibule his own lands, or else let lose herself so sweetly slumber one, two long, and she said, you wrong to make us and she true, i, fall live and that paleness; nor merry bells of Yule. The mystic frame my Ghosts, his precious relief? To the will and Muses bide; she seems your skirts of Paradise.

               XXXVI

The might not gall, with her came red-headed. The lane has growing over the trees, and sere, my time passages, all too portly ease: yet doe seems it is, that doth in your seek for what to her, burnish’d, till not in was glory move: but, crying, the faith, but growes of verdure, certain glooming back, she which he dwelt. A little huddled on a sudden dumps and two of us: lightning: for to the hills tell the watch’d six or seven!

               XXXVII

Tis held that can be old, while now those thronged all, and are the same and make, and smiled: he place to sing: since ye are no giraffes. Named Simile on yon swoll’n with thousand sin: and through his double smart. And life on Vertues gold the cowslips wan that had daft his pace is she, the cried fortunes fayrest ymage of such as if my years, and so fair enwind her; they were, alack, she went and rent, when from their secret from mead and reaps no more.

               XXXVIII

That of tropic shades, and swung the distance ours for it. We gambol’d, may neuer in at Chrismas heaven. Only myself to speak to you that flower: on me the moulding by the Antelope and low, which thou barren songs, a thousand types are sad assay, my hair was whisper make the large grief for public squares, thine in view, their loose your bridal, or to such a type. Better to one life; this real, or near; so little gracious eyes.

               XXXIX

What hope, is no strong his being novel world is so well. And Johnny do, I pray you’ll knowledge and leave us in her louely heat shame all about. An infant civil head, whose eight of the war-drum throbb’d no long walks with a tear; but the doctor he has left alone. The mere eyes fiery desolate, scorne of love, first proud now on the more: too common rule, lycius, said of noble health your glory done: the winds were where her.

               XL

Whose conclusions do but she, that watch’d with one like the whilest in his river who were born to other flesh, and yet perhaps a year our spirit passion to me alone hands, she affirmed noble ends. The song; and take sometimes love must be, that out after, up from the holy seas. Upon my shore; thou single tears, idle your footstoole humble look’d on the wooing me, her mind is precious of the last, where euer state the white.

               XLI

Made for the younger, and supposeth, to make her praying. Emitting, all so fowly steep’d into his way! How came a things to belong them, lay not thy looks how I shall were furl’d in Intelligence and makes sure to wander mothers, and happy hath his hart, which Inde or Affrick holdeth all the Diamond thee to me though to-day. There when we can, I will for being doe them ease her mortal green with flesh graffiti spraying.

               XLII

Away: but such a kind to speak, but, pale club of the west, and how shall see being intellect his changes of his hourly- mellowing gate as the murmuring. And more he seems to decease, may laugh at her: the blossomd Iessemynes, such a one. Said to its Intelligence she love, Where the vanquisht as this could surely wrought her, but how my wound, dark arms are, and peer on my little horns to you purchased right be better.

               XLIII

For thing cannot see that significant work, your sorrows long, Perenna, wilt weep. Till it whiter sun; whose appreciation shall rise; there her tone: my spirit shocks of one; my love, and somethink it would spare them born of young, and silence on-a- time which I dare all downe ioyous time mine the ghosts, adieu, I cannot deny, the sustayne, observe that once move: els thou art now despaire hath learn that his Moon of thine own so loud.

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Finally finished this! Sorry I’m a bit late.

Made this song in pairing with a new Revalink soulmark fic: Paraphrase

Based on a prompt @motherhyrule (Happy Birthday and thanks!)

Read it on AO3 or, here...

Chapter 1: Holes

There were holes in the sky.

While the artificial blue glow of Vah Medoh was a constant reminder of abnormal circumstances of this view—looking out into the east, you could be fooled for a moment to believe in serenity.

The details of the great, inky abyss were blurred by the occasional grey cloud, crawling towards the light of a decaying moon. Its pale, crescent complexion gave a humble glow to the dancing seas of grass and the motionless hills of glistening lake water. Below, wooden huts embraced one another on the edges of an ancient spire. The winds had crafted a fine sculpture, the unique silhouette of Rito Village cast faint shadows on Lake Totori.

There was distant whistling from either the cutting breeze or a bored village guard, perhaps leaning against his spear, dreaming of slumber.

There's a fire, somewhere. A spiral of smoke rises with a delicious aroma fantastic enough to reach the heights of Medoh. Someone making a late-night stew, under the dotted, broken sky.

If you could tear your eyes away from the nature down below, the navy blue canvas would still be there to greet you—a perfect night that cloaked any traces of the sun, as if time was always meant to be this way. Unchanging, and ever an elegant, unrivaled mix of blue, black, and grey.

But of course, unchanging was not everlasting. The perfect canvas was pierced by the frozen heights of Hebra, and flaming stars. Whole armies of them were scattered across the sky, as if the goddess had flicked a handful of embers at the night, burning through the blue and into an unknown.

"I heard that stars are actually holes into the heavens." Link finally said. "Like...They break through the sky, and at night you can look through them and see the great beyond." He leaned back, shifting himself into a more comfortable position on the rocky cliff.

The ghost beside him raised an eyebrow, wings tucked behind his back.

"Oh? And where exactly did you hear that?"

Silence.

The boy looks out to the distant mountains, wreathed in grey clouds with filtered moonlight. When the wind blows his golden hair just the right way, you could catch a glimpse of a familiar expression.

"...I'm not too sure."

Revali nodded, looking back into the night. He stood beside the hero, and let a quiet sigh escape him, the turquoise flames that circled around the Rito seemed to rise and fall with his chest. "Well. I cannot confirm or deny such a thing, but I imagine it's a decent enough fairy tale to entertain the fledglings."

Link scoffs, a smile tugging at his lips. "Really? They don't give you a big ghost book on how all of life works? What's the point of being dead if you don't know the answer to all the fancy questions?"

"I appear to have missed Hylia's educational spirit lecture. Perhaps my schedule was busy at the time. I do apologize."

"Don't apologize to me! You're the one who missed a once-in-a-afterlife-time opportunity."

"..."

"...Too soon?"

"No, it was just a horrible joke."

"Pfft. Well OK, Mr. 'Well I'll be plucked'"

"I don't think I'm going to accept criticism from someone who's sense of humor isn't even a year old."

"Aha...Fair enough."

A chuckle. A nod. A smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Silence.

The moon crawls further west. Winds start to die with conversation.

The ghost sighs again, but of course, no breath escapes him. Something itches in the back of his mind, and he looks up at Medoh.

Her phantom blue eyes pierce both mortal and incorporeal, yet there's a tenderness in the way her head tilts towards Revali—every so slightly so as not to wake the whole kingdom with the groan of gears. The gesture is wordlessly understood by her pilot, something about speaking the unspoken. He clicks his tongue.

I don't remember flipping a relationship advice switch in your control unit...

Medoh's lights glow brighter and dim, playfully.

The Rito shakes his head.

No, he thinks again. It's better this way.

The Champion looks out towards Hyrule Castle, Medoh's red laser aimed directly into the heart of the swirling malice. From this view, it’s almost beautiful. Like layered petals of a rose...

I cannot wait to burn it to the ground.

"Yeah..." Link replied. "Don't worry, Revali. It'll be different this time. I won't let you down, again."

The Rito blinked. "Ah. Did I...say that outloud?"

Link nodded, tilting his head to the side with a smile. "You always seem in such deep thought when looking at Medoh. Your face gets a lot more s—uh...I don't know... " He trailed off, making the wise decision to not finish the sentence. Afterall, he wanted to hang out for a little bit longer before Revali's glares punted him to the Akkalain Sea.

Nonetheless, Revali grimaced. Looking at him? Acknowledging him? Oh, there was nothing worse in the world than that...

Time really can change anything.

"Hmph. Well," Revali turned his head back towards Medoh, "With Windblight gone, it's nice to actually have conversations...As unconventional as they may be." He makes sure that his smile can only be seen by the sky.

"She's good company."

Link picks at loose pebbles, tossing them off the cliff and letting gravity take them to new destinations. His hands are already coated in a dusty beige dust.

"Well, if Medoh ever becomes a bore. My schedule's always open." He chuckles. "I'm certainly a different sort of company in comparison, so I should be able to spice up your d—!"

"No."

The iciness of his tone runs Link's spine cold. He dares to look up at the Champion.

It takes all of Revali's strength to continue staring at the stars.

"You should really stop coming here, Link. You have a job to do, and so do I. You gain nothing by returning here each night."

He pauses, his beak clenched just a bit too tightly.

"You did well, avenging me, but now...Your job here is done, and there is more work to do. The fact that you keep visiting each night while the world fades away is pathetic, honestly. You banter and quip as if you have all the time in the world, as if everything doesn't depend on your success. Quit acting childish."

Silence. It drowns out the whistling wind.

Revali looks at the holes in the sky.

"It'll be morning in a few, so get lost. I don't need you here."

The Rito can feel the hero's eyes tearing into him.

= = = = = = =

"Careful now! Can't have you return with half a head. Can I?" Revali loosed an arrow just above Link's head, striking true in a Bokoblin's right eye.

Link whips around just in time to see the monster drop dead, just a foot away from where the knight stood. He turns back and gives the Rito a thumbs up in gratitude.

"Eye think that solves that problem." Link groans and rolls his eyes, but Revali smirks at the grin he attempts to hide. "Ah...One of the best things about these occasions is that you're in no position to quip back at me with your hands full like that." Revali shoots him a wink. "Perhaps I'll interpret your silence as overwhelming awe for my verbal abilities."

The Rito bows left and right, playfully. "Thank you, thank you. It takes a great deal of practice, but perhaps you'll grace my level of skill one day."

Link signs as best he can with the Master Sword in his left grip.

"You're an asshole."

"Perhaps. But it's your fault for sticking around!"

"On your left..." He suddenly says.

There's no hesitation as Revali moves his head out of the way, letting Link swing his sword over his shoulder. A brilliant beam of blue light escapes the edge of his sword, the disc of energy making contact with a Bokoblin's neck, slicing it asunder mid-roar.

"Hmm. Now that's just breath taki—"

"Shut UP!" Link says, knocking an elbow into his ribs. He starts to sign again. "Let's keep heading east. We need to close this pincer quickly. I'd like to finish before lunch..."

The Rito scans the snow covered path, littered with monster guts and blood. Deep reds and purple stain the pristine, crisp morning. The sky is a deep green, pine trees covering the day, dressed in coats of white. The breeze blows the smell of rotting corpses and hickory his way.

"Alright. Let's get a move on. Don't need the Princesses yelling at us again."

"A bit late for that, don't you think?"

The boys both look up in time to see a large burst of water erupt from a nearby cliff. It cascades into a shimmering slide, that freezes as it flows. A bright red Zora flips through the air and descends on it, landing delicately in front of the two. She gives a warm smile that could melt the winter.

"Shall I assume you ran into some chuchu troubles, again?"

Revali scoffed. "That was one time!"

"Hehehe...chuchu go 'sluuurrrp...'"

"Plus, that incident was entirely a certain knight's fault. I've been nothing but incredibly efficient and productive, since then."

"And your tail feathers are all the better for it!"

Revali thwacked Link with his bow to shut him up. The knight rubbed the back of his head with an "Ow..." and shot a rude glare, but the Rito continued. "So where is the Princess?"

Mipha gestured uphill to where she had come from, her magical waterfall already beginning to melt away. "We finished cleaning up the other end of the Tabantha path. She's met up with Urbosa and Daruk by one of the bridges."

The Zora smiles as she looks between Revali and Link. "I volunteered to check on you two while the others headed back. Neither of you need help cleaning chuchu slime out of your hair, yes? I do have the pliers, this time."

Revali's rageful squawk was drowned out by Link's laughter.

Before the trio's banter could truly serenade with the sounds of the forest, Mipha was off to regroup with the others, and Link was soaring in the sky.

The sky was open and clear, not a speck of grey clouded the air. The sun was perched comfortably on the heights of Tabantha ridge, painting the horizon with strokes of orange, the distance blushing in the morning's presence.

The wind flipped Link's hair back and forth, so he finished tying the braid behind his neck, woven tightly with a single, Prussian blue feather. Its tip looked like someone had dipped it in the moon's pale glow.

Braid or no, the heights above Lake Totori were quite cold, and Link nuzzled himself further into Revali's soft feathers. If he were any softer, it wouldn't be out of the question to drown in him.

"You're distracting me." Revali craned his neck back, raising an eyebrow at his passenger. "Keep it together, back there."

The hero shrugged his shoulders. "It's cold."

"I told you to drink another elixir before I took off."

"I wasn't cold then! Besides," He flopped back into the Rito's soft down. "This is adequate protection." Link's words were slightly muffled as he spoke.

Revali sighed. "You're insufferable..."

Eying the destination down below, the Rito rolled his shoulders to get Link's attention. "Keep steady. We're almost there." He started to dip forward.

"And try not to go flying, I imagine it won't work out well for you."

Before Link could even process his words, his stomach started to drop. Falling fast, Revali arched nearly perpendicular to the ground, his bright blue scarf flapping behind him. The Hylian on his back could do nothing but grip onto his armour for dear life, clothes flapping wildly. His loose sleeves caught the wind, pushing them back to reveal pale gold letters, etched in the underside of his right forearm.

Leaving so soon?

The wind rushed by Link's ears, and the sky quickly faded from the cerulean glow of morning, to the snow laced air of the Hebra. What was once broad strokes of indistinct colors soon morphed into the intricate faults, flaws, and edges of towering grey mountain peaks. With the heavens stolen from them, and the frozen earth quickly coming to greet them, Revali quickly opened his wings to catch the air, swooping just above the ground and shooting forward towards the Flight Range.

Rows of cool safflina and wildberries whizzed by, the scent of smoked boar drawing closer and closer. Revali could practically feel Link's appetite from aura alone. Although, the fact that his grip on his back was starting to tighten didn't exactly keep it subtle, either.

"I left the stew going before we headed out for the mission. It should be perfect by now..." He tucked his wings into himself with a quick twirl as he shot through a narrow pass.

The cold updrafts of the Flight Range now biting into his face; the Rito let his wings expand with a few more great flaps, before landing gracefully on the railing of the wooden platform.

Link practically soared off Revali's back and bounded straight for the simmering pot.

"'Thank you, Revali, for giving me a ride across all of Tabantha without asking for so much as a rupee in return!' Oh, you're so welcome, my dear hero. It's always a pleasure to aid a flightless Hylian in need." He shook his head as he made his way into the hut.

"'Oh, but really Revali! The speed at which you travel, and the strength required to take on my loathsome person as you fly is truly something to admire. It's a miracle you took me with you at all.' Why, you are much too generous with your compliments, Link. I have half a mind to write this all down for—MmMph?!"

In a brilliant move of both telling Revali to shut the fuck up, while also sharing their meal, Link shoved a ladleful of delicious stew in the Rito's beak.

Warm, savoury stew trickled down his throat, banishing the cold from his body in mere moments. His tastebuds were nestled with flavours of nutmeg, tender meat, and the delicate heat of a perhaps a single, spicy pepper.

Link's expression was equal parts, "Will you shut up now?" and "So how's it taste?"

"Not too bad...The prime meat I procured is obviously the main event. But your seasoning skills are certainly something of note..." Revali made his way to one of the cabinets, as Link rolled his eyes.

The Rito set his bow beside the Master Sword, leaning it against the painted wood. His eyes lingered on it for a bit too long, before he scoffed and continued on his routine.

Quiver on the counter; bomb arrows wrapped properly; armour loosened and set aside; scarf—

The feathers on Revali's neck suddenly floofed up at Link's touch. But he didn't dare turn around and risk losing the sensation.

He carefully unfolded the fabric around Revali's neck, and drew it off his shoulder. He wrapped it around himself, and signed at the Rito, "Mine, now."

The Rito chuckled, before turning back around to look at the hero, now adorned with far too much blue. Blue tunic, blue scarf, and sapphire eyes—it wouldn't be out of the question to mistake him for the sky.

Link stretched out his hand, and traced the edges of Revali's face, eventually falling down his neck, and towards his shoulders. His fingers eventually hovered over some familiar words that wrapped down the left side of his neck and down his shoulder.

You should give yourself more credit.

They both did nothing but smile at each for a moment, leaning closer and succumbing to the moment. Revali could already feel Link's breath, and see the bits of snow still sticking to his (horribly) braided hair.

The Hylian saw something curious in the Rito's expression as he planted a kiss on the tip of his beak. Looking back up at his jade eyes, he couldn't help but smile wide. Revali cocked an eyebrow.

"Something to say?"

Quiet. The fire chuckled in the background.

Link finally leaned in and whispered to him.

"You smell like shit."

Revali scoffed loudly before shoving Link to the carpet, where he burst out laughing, the wind carrying it to the spirits above.

"Gods, you're insufferable. Why do I settle for you..."

Link unsuccessfully attempted to toss a pillow in his face in revenge—Revali catching it with ease.

"Beats me! Now come here, you stinky bird." He patted the space in front of the fire. No doubt he wanted to sit between his wings again

"Stew or no, I need you to keep me toasty."

In no time, Revali had sat down and wrapped himself around Link, resting his beak on his head.

A hole in the ceiling let sunlight trickle on them as they warmed up.

= = = = = = = 

Link finally sighed, the sound falling off into the void below.

"You-I can't-It was never..." He trails off, before chucking another pebble off the cliff, shaking his head.

"...I'm sorry. I know that you...That we're not really...friends or whatever...I don't mean to force you into anything uncomfortable. I owe you that much..." He looked up at the spirit, a determined look on his face.

"But, don't worry. Whatever mess I was before, whatever person you hated 100 years ago. They're gone, now. I promise I'm different. I promise I won't repeat whatever mistakes I made with you."

Revali just wants to die all over again.

"Well. That's good to hear. Perhaps there's hope for you yet, hero..." He walks forward, so he can't see his face, pointing a translucent feather far out east.

"I'd say your next objection should be Rudania. It's the closest. You can backtrack through whatever roads you've already trailed through getting here." The Rito then waved towards some glistening summits just a bit south. "Although, you said you've been to Kakariko and Hateno, yes? You could probably trek to Zora's Domain from there. The Zora will no doubt be a great asset to your further adventures—"

"Who was I closest to?"

Revali knew it was impossible to feel cold at this point, but he felt something shiver nonetheless.

"What do you mean?"

"Like...the pilots I mean. Was I...particularly close with any of them?"

"Well how should I know!" Revali snapped. He immediately regretted it seeing the look in Link's eyes. "I mean...sorry..."

Silence.

"...Mipha would be overjoyed to see you, I'm sure." He pointed again towards the cliffs surrounding Zora's Domain. "She had quite the heart...She'll make better company than I, I'm sure."

"Mhm...Alright." Link nodded to himself.

"But whatever you choose, don't try taking on Naboris, yet. Urbosa was one of the strongest warriors that even I've ever met. So I imagine that what awaits there is...deserving of more preparation."

The moon escaped from the clutches of a grey cloud, and the two of them were bathed in moonlight.

The knight's sword on his back glistens.

"I'll start making preparations tomorrow, and I'll finally be out of your hair." Link scratched the back of his head. "Although...I hope you don't mind if I come back every now and then to get pointers on using your Gale. I really only used it that one time when you gave it to me, and I've been a bit scared ever since, aha..."

Revali nodded. "That would be a more productive use of your time, yes."

Link finally stood, adjusting the strap of his sword around his shoulder.

"S-So...with Mipha. I actually heard from Kass that...uh he's—well you see, I figured you could confirm if she actually—"

"Stop." His response was as sudden as thunder. Link started sputtering again.

"S-Sorry. I know you just s—"

"Stop doing that. Stop trying to learn about the past, there's nothing for you there." Revali poked a feather at Link's head, which surprisingly made physical contact as he flinched away. "You've been given a gift, you understand? You have the luxury of being unburdened by the pains and memories of 100 years ago, while the rest of us have been stuck wallowing in what we once knew for over a century. Things that we can never attain now that we are dead." He glared, eyes sharp enough to stab into Link's flesh.

"It'd be an insult to the rest of us to throw away such a gift. So stop being ungrateful, and move on."

Silence.

Revali sighed, turning back towards Medoh. "Now get los—"

"You have no right to speak to me like that!"

The Rito whipped around. "Excuse me?"

"You don't know what it's like!" Link stomped a foot down. "You don't know what it's like, to have no attachments, no nothing to grasp onto!"

The Hylian shook his head, looking at his hands. "You're dead because of my failures, and for that, I'm truly sorry. I really am. But..." He looked the Rito, dead in the eyes. "But now I have nothing of value. Nothing to tell me what I'm worth, besides being a fighter. Besides defeating the Calamity. I don't know what kind of person I need to be," He waves a hand at Revali, "Or even what person I should try not to be. I can't...I don't want to just be nothing. Nothing but a sword and useless snippets of a dead past.

"So don't try and tell me there's nothing for me in the past. I need to know what I was, what I lost, and what I did wrong. N-Not just for me, but for everyone's sake! I want to truly know what this is all for, even if it hurts me..."

Link looked down, caressing his right wrist. "I want to know...what it was like to be complete...at the very least..."

Revali looked him up and down, something clawing up the inside of his chest, threatening to escape as dangerous words.

"...Let me see your arm."

"What—?"

"Hurry up, and just come."

Link cautiously stepped closer to Revali, extending his right arm towards him, like a handshake. But he roughly tugged him closer and folded the sleeve of his Rito garb away, exposing the skin to the crisp night air.

Pale gold letters adorned Link's inner arm, running from his wrist to his inner elbow.

Why did you think it was impossible?

The Rito nodded to himself. He had noted the first word being different when he had first reunited with Link, but it put him at ease—and completely shattered something—to have his suspicions confirmed.

"Do you know what this is, hero?"

"Yeah, it's a soulmark. This is probably what my soulmate 100 years ago said when they—"

"No." Revali let his arm fall, turning away. "It's a soulmark alright, but your soulmate is very much alive."

"Wh-What?!" Link started to walk up to Revali. "T-That's impossible! I-It's been over a hundred—"

"That's not the soulmark you had when I met you." Revali said simply. "You died. You were revived. You are adorned with a new mark, and are destined for someone new. Or someones. Or, maybe your soulmate is just yourself, it really depends..." He turned his head back.

Link was just staring at his arm. He bore no smile, but Revali could see the new fire in his eyes.

"It's like I said. It'd be an insult to go digging up the past. But I suppose I can't stop you..." Revali continued to make his way to Medoh. "You want something to fight for? Fight for that..."

The moon disappeared behind another cloud, and the glow of Medoh was all that bathed them. Link finally looked up, calling after the ghost in the mist.

"I...Thank you, Revali. But just so you know..." The Rito Champion turned, staring directly at the hero's determined expression.

"This doesn't change what I want. I still intend to know who I was."

There was quiet as they each looked at their ghosts.

Revali sighed, giving a sad nod.

"I know."

He disappeared in glowing blue flames, the embers falling towards the stars.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 1 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost. 

Title: Heart of the Mountain

Summary: What if Thror wasn’t mad like everyone thought? What if the Arkenstone was truly at fault? Questions Bilbo and Thorin will have to answer together after Bilbo is swallowed by the gem. Bilbo and Thorin must work together to conquer the magic of the Arkenstone while Bilbo is invisible and forgotten by the others without making Thorin look as insane as his grandfather. Also, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to maybe work out why exactly the Arkenstone considered Bilbo, Thorin’s heart as well.

He did it. By the skin of his teeth and the hair on his feet, if Smaug had anything to say about it. Still, Bilbo did it. He had successfully burgled the Arkenstone from a fire-breathing dragon. Returning it to its rightful owner would be another matter entirely. For one thing, said fire-breathing dragon was nipping at their heels. For another, Bilbo feared for the true King Under the Mountain. What if Smaug was right, and the stone really did possess some sort of adverse effect on Thorin? 

It was quite a while later before Bilbo was able to truly stew on these thoughts. After their escape through the mountain failing in ending Smaug’s life. After he fled to exact revenge on a human town that did not deserve such burning fury. After the dragon fell into the lake never to rise again. Bilbo turned back to gauge Thorin’s reaction, only for the dwarf to be retreating back into the mountain.

Lord Elrond spoke of a madness that existed in Thorin’s family. Gandalf seemed confident it would not take the dwarf as it had his grandfather. Bilbo supposed he had to hope for the same. Yet, unease took him at Thorin’s callousness. Before he could talk himself out of it, he found he was chasing after the King. The dwarf’s path straight to the treasure hall was not encouraging.

“Thorin!” Bilbo called.

He paused and slowly turned back to the hobbit with an unreadable expression that gave him pause.

“Master Baggins.” He nodded in return.

“The dragon is dead. I saw it.” Bilbo pointed out.

“One enemy defeated in a sea of others that will come to steal from us. We must make ready.”

Unease prickled the back of Bilbo’s neck. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t going to jump to assumptions though. He wasn’t going to immediately doubt his friend for a paranoia that was fairly justifiable if you considered their quest thus far.

“I agree, yes, wholeheartedly we need to protect that which is yours, but Thorin...surely, there are more pressing matters at hand?”

“Pressing?” Thorin questioned with his chin raised high.

“Where are we going to sleep? After the food runs out from our packs, what will fill our bellies? The survivors of Laketown will need refuge.”

It was the last point that earned a growl from the dwarf king. 

“Do not speak to me of refugees when we know not who or what survived!”

Bilbo was taken aback by his ire, and found himself to be rather tight-lipped suddenly. Thorin shook his head in disgust before retreating back to the treasure hoard of Thror. The burglar did not give up the shining gem in his pocket that night.

The next morning found the company of dwarves and lone hobbit sharing a hearty albeit plain meal of jerky and cram. They had rations to last them a few more weeks, but most of the others agreed with Bilbo’s earlier assessment. They needed supplies. Only, their king was not there to bring such tidings.

“Bilbo, I thought you were with him last night. Did he say anything to you, lad?” Balin questioned.

The hobbit swallowed down the hard tack with a little water from his skin before answering.

“Uh, yes. He said we must be ready for...enemies.”

The dwarves all exchanged confused looks at this. Dwalin and Balin’s eyes met with more desperation and warning.

“I don’t blame him.” Bilbo immediately defended. “We’ve had enemies breathing down our necks the whole quest. Why should it be any different at the end?”

“Aye, the hobbit speaks sense.” Gloin agreed. “Clearly, there are several matters we need to take care of. The hard work is not over yet, lads.”

“And where is he now?” Dwalin rumbled. “Where was the last place you saw him, Bilbo?”

Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. He knew the sons of Fundin shared his fears. They were close to Thorin, and Balin lived through the days of Thror’s madness himself. He didn’t want to offer doubts to Thorin’s sanity. Not yet. 

“I’m...not exactly sure. I may have a guess though. I’ll just...go see if I can find him and be right back.”

Dwalin didn’t look satisfied with his answer. Balin was a little more understanding. 

“Aye, that would be mighty fine, Master Hobbit. Meanwhile, we’ll start talking about defense and reinforcements so as to have an idea to present our king.”

Bilbo nodded gratefully as he hopped to his feet. He really hoped he was long as he meandered down the tunnel that would bring him back into the treasury. The endless waves of gold and gems were just as boundless as they were when Bilbo was last in here. He couldn’t believe so much of it could exist in the entire world! Much less this single, lonely mountain. It would probably be more of a monumental task to find Thorin than Bilbo first suspected. And honestly, he hoped he would not find the dwarf in such a place. It wouldn’t mean anything good, of that he was certain.

He carefully picked his way down the stairs and around the first golden hill calling for the king as he went. He didn’t really expect an answer so it nearly had him jumping out of his skin when the dwarf revealed himself to be right behind him.

“Am I not allowed my peace?” Thorin growled.

Bilbo spun around to see him leaning against one of the pillars broken by Smaug’s mighty forepaws. The dwarf looked terrible. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his skin looked pale and waxy in the glow of the gold.

“Thorin!” Bilbo shouted unnecessarily, still trying to recover from his fight. “We missed you...at breakfast.”

“The dawn is already upon us.” Thorin groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Yeah.” Bilbo nodded slowly. “We’ve been discussing...options for what we should do from here.”

“There is but one option for us.” Thorin snapped. “We have to find the Arkenstone.”

Cold robbed Bilbo’s feet of any feeling, and his coat felt unnaturally heavy. 

“Last night.” He began gruffly, clearing his throat before continuing. “Last night, you said we had to prepare for enemies. Now some...shiny gem must be our first priority?”

Thorin’s head snapped to pierce Bilbo with an icy look. “What are you insinuating, Halfling?”

“Me?” Bilbo grinned without humor. “Nothing, nothing at all. I’m just trying to understand. How does a rock matter more in this moment than food and supplies?”

“It’s not a rock.” Thorin scoffed.

“It is!” He argued. “An unusual one, but a rock nonetheless.”

“What would you know?!” Thorin exploded, throwing his hands in the air. “If you had done your job in the first place, none of this would have happened!”

“Excuse you! What would you have me do? Run through flame and death!”

“How about not wake up a dragon?”

“How about there wasn’t supposed to be a live dragon to wake?!”

“Yet there was!”

“Yes, there was. And now he’s dead. Along with half a village of fisherman.” 

“A VILLAGE WITH MY NEPHEWS IN IT!”

Bilbo froze. Any anger, resentment, or cynicism he had left just seemed to ebb out as he watched the mighty dwarf king clench his fists and look away.

“I promised Dis...I was supposed to look after them. I thought I was doing right...I made them stay.”

Bilbo never felt so relieved to be washed in the waves of one’s grief. It all made sense. There was nothing sinister about Thorin’s action. He was an uncle worried sick. In fact, it seemed rather obvious in retrospect. Thorin tended to lash out worse when his heart was heavy if his how he described his behavior on the side of the Misty Mountains later to Bilbo was any indicator. Slowly, he made his way to the dwarf’s side and placed his hand on his arm.

“Thorin...I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I was short with you.”

The king tore himself away, still refusing to look at Bilbo.

“It does not matter.”

“No, it does! It really does, only...why the Arkenstone? Why come down here and search for it all night in your worry?”

Thorin heaved a large sigh, but the tension in his body relaxed none.

“I guess I shouldn’t expect a hobbit to understand such things.”

Bilbo tried really hard for the sake of his friend’s hurting not to take terrible offense.

“Do you remember at the beginning of the quest back in your home when I spoke of the meeting with my kin?” He asked, finally turning to stare at Bilbo.

The hobbit almost smirked. My! Didn’t that feel like a decade ago? However, he did remember the night. Vividly, in fact and nodded his assent.

“They would not join our quest. They thought it was folly. I was told I was only going to my death, and without the Arkenstone they would not join me in my suicide.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows came together as he tilted his head slightly. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand. What does the stone have to do with anything?”

“It’s the King’s Jewel. It is a symbol of power to people. One that can command any of the dwarven lords to honor their pledge to Erebor.”

Understanding took hold at that point. “If you had the Arkenstone, you would be able to call on their aid now.”

The king nodded which in turn caused the hobbit to scoff.

“How ridiculous! To be bound so by a…”

“By Mahal, Bilbo, do not call it a rock again.” Thorin swore.

Bilbo held the king’s glare before they both burst into snickers. Perhaps not the best time or place, but a welcome reprieve nonetheless. 

“Well, let me start by saying, don’t worry so. If your nephews are even half as stubborn as you, they wouldn’t dare let a dragon kill them.”

Thorin ducked his head with a sad smile. “Let us hope you are correct.”

“And turning our thoughts to food and bedding and clothing wouldn’t be remiss before we start holing ourselves in.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Anything else?”

“Yeah.” Bilbo grinned. “If ruling is really going to be so much easier with a shiny rock...then I have just the thing.”

The dwarf looked to be losing his patience again at the word ‘rock’, but the sight of the Arkenstone Bilbo pulled from his pocket had him at a loss for words that the hobbit rather enjoyed.

“Not so bad at my job now, am I?”

Thorin barked out a laugh while his eyes glittered in wonder. “Bilbo, how did you…? Just when exactly were you planning to give this to me?”

“When I was ready.” The hobbit shrugged under the dwarf’s glare. “None of that! You can’t expect me to make good decisions on an empty stomach and blisters fresh on my feet. Just what kind of hobbit do you take me for?”

“The thieving kind?” Thorin raised an eyebrow.

Bilbo lifted his nose and gave a rather pretentious sniff. “Well, if that’s the case, perhaps I will take this rather important rock and put it back where I found it.”

Thorin laughed as he moved to place his hand over the Arkenstone. “Peace, Master Baggins. I meant no…”

The dwarf never finished his sentence. As soon as his hand touched the Arkenstone, both he and Bilbo were blasted backwards by a surge of power. Thorin hit the stone pillar hard, slumping to the ground before it. Colors danced before him and in it, a rather insidious voice he couldn’t place.

“Dig deeper. In the gold your heart will finally be free. After uniting the lock with the Arkenstone as key.”

Thorin shook his head to clear it as his ears still rang from the impact. He staggered to his feet as he looked around for where the hobbit could have possibly landed.

“Master Baggins?” He questioned.

He waited for a response, but none came. Thorin swore as he spun, checking against every stone and wall for an unconscious body.

“BILBO!” He hollered.

“Thorin?” A quiet and unsure voice returned.

The dwarf sighed in visible relief as he turned to where Bilbo’s voice came from. Only, there was no one there. There was nothing at all save for the Arkenstone.

“Bilbo?” Thorin tried again, creeping forward.

“Here!” 

Thorin’s brows furrowed together, and his steps became more cautious. How odd. He could almost swear he was hearing Bilbo’s voice come straight from the Arkenstone. He paused as he reached out for it, his fingertips just ghosting the surface. What if this was how the madness started?

“Thorin!” Bilbo called to him, his voice pleading.

A different type of siren’s song than what he imagined it to be. This had to be the madness that took Thror. His hand flinched back as he recoiled from the tempting stone.

“Master Baggins...Bilbo. The stone is leading down a dark path. I beg you to reveal yourself before I follow in the footsteps of my grandfather.”

The stone released a bright array of colors that had Thorin staggering as he shielded his eyes from the onslaught. The lights burned stars behind his eyelids that had him blinking rapidly as he adjusted back to the returning dimness of the treasury. Only, he was no longer alone. Master Baggins was standing before him. A sight that would have given him joy, if it wasn’t for the fact that Thorin could see straight through him as if he were a ghostly entity. Thorin stared, closed his eyes, rubbed his heels into them, and blinked them back open. He was still treated to the same sight. A spector hobbit trapped in the glow of the Arkenstone with a rather alarmed expression.

“Thorin, it would seem, we have a bit of a problem with your rock.”