#like imagine if body hair was dense but not coarse

[sabertoothwalrus]

I NEED to know what Nico looks like while Finn is in his Bear Arc. Did Nico become more kittie? Is he fluffier now? Saber I need answers

I promise I’m already drafting a drawing in my head but for the record I’ve always envisioned that Finn is the hairier of the two by FAR and that’s saying something because Nico is a Literal Catboy

[lavenderrmidnightss]

Safe and Sound - Billy the Kid

Billy the Kid (tom blyth) x fem!reader 

Summary: While walking home one evening from the inn, a man comes across you and attempts to attack you. You are saved by Billy and he begins to grow very protective over you, right from the start.

Warnings: Attempted SA (not successful), cursing

Word Count: 1.9k

PART 2 IS HERE

The walk home felt like a near impossible task despite the reality of it being less than a mile walk. Working at the local inn was not lightwork as some may think. Taking care of others can be exhausting when you have so little to pour out of your cup. The sky’s hues were transitioning from its cerulean blue into shades of purples and pinks. Your eyes were trained on the varying colors that dared to come out as the day shifted into evening. The sunset resembled a masterpiece brushed on a canvas by a renowned artist. With each step, your eyes never failed to tear away from the beauty above you. Each step you took filled the air with echoes of crunching due to the diminutive pieces of gravel hidden in the dirt. Hard to see, but easy to feel through the sole of your shoe. Your commute home seemed to be working as a medium of decompressing until sudden movement out of your peripheral vision stole your attention. You caught a glimpse of a man stumbling towards you. Your instinct to move quickly kicked in, but you knew better. Acting afraid would only entice the man more. ‘Just keep your eyes forward. Just make it home,’ you thought to yourself. 

“Where’s a pretty lady like yourself headed?” a coarse voice entered the atmosphere, demanding your focus. You looked over my shoulder, looking at him. Just a couple inches above your own height, he held a gaze on you to imply his superiority. 

“And that’s your business, how?” you inquire, daring to stop in your tracks and face him. His complexion smeared with ash and hair slicked with sweat, your wonderings of who he was and why he was approaching you intensified. 

The man’s eyebrow’s furrowed, accentuating dense lines and creases in his forehead. He made his way up to you, closing you in. “Well ya sure do got a lot of nerve, don’t ya?” He diabolically chuckled. You began to internally squirm as he noticeably began to eye you.

 “Look at you. Exhausted. Looks like you’ve been on your feet for quite some time, haven’t ya?” He interrogated, allowing himself to continue looking you over. You could only imagine what he was envisioning as his eyes fixated on your chest.

 “Look like a hardworkin’ woman. I admire that. Ya know, everybody has to earn their keep in these parts..” his voice trailed off just as his body began waltzing closer to yours, entrapping you. Your back soon crashed against a raggedy, abandoned building you weren’t even aware you were passing. It’s astonishing how much your mind evaporates when your main focus is survival. You knew where this was leading. You’ve seen so many women be taken, raped. Even some of your own friends. Men don’t view women as a treasure, but rather an accessory designed to bring them pleasure. It had become an intrusive thought; when would it happen to you? Looks like reality finally caught up with your nightmares.

His calloused hand toyed with the hem of your dress before slipping under. The rough texture of his skin clashed with the silkiness of your own. You were frozen in fear. His face now hovered in front of yours. “Bet you could be a real good worker for me, couldn’t ya?” A condescending smirk decorated his face. 

Your stomach churned. “Get off of me. Right now.” The short demands came out urgently. Your hands moved to defend yourself, preparing to shove his stocky body off yours. However, you underestimated his strength and build. He grabbed your wrists and shoved your arms above your head, pinning them there. 

“Fiesty too? They say that manifests well in the bed,” his growl echoed in your ear, his face grazing yours. “Mm, you’ll fit right in. Just be good for me, would ya? Listen to what I say and do as you're told, and you’ll be treated well.”

“Fuck off,” you spat in his face, jabbing your knee up to jolt his gut. He stumbled back, releasing you. You took the opportunity to sprint away. The world moved in slow motion. Your feet couldn’t carry you fast enough. Time resumed when you felt two hands snatching your waist, slamming you to the ground. The husky body which entrapped you before immediately went for it again, but this time, pinning you into the dirt and gravel mixture where your feet once stood. The pain you once felt radiating from the sole of your shoe, walking on the road, now pierced deeply into your back. You squirmed, trying to loosen yourself from him. It was no use. 

“Gonna be a bitch? Then I’ll take you right here for free, show you what you’re missing,” he grumbled, beginning to unbuckle his pants. Continuously trying to make your way out, no amount of thrashing would free you. Looking around you, you tried to decide if screaming for help was even worth it. Who would hear you? You were alone with this man. Your eyes darted up to the sky only to find the pastel colors which once delicately danced above you had descended into darkness. 

“P-Please, no, I’ll go with you. I’ll listen. Just, please don’t. Not here, I-” you were a stuttering mess, hoping your pleads would be enough to convince him to get off you. You squeezed your eyes shut. If you didn’t see it, maybe it would be quick and over with? Maybe it would sting less? As soon as your eyes shut, the weight of his body completely lifted off of you. You thought you were dreaming it, that it wasn’t reality. However, the sound of a heavy thud crashing to the ground, along with groaning and pounding, you were assured you were safe. 

You open your eyes to find a significantly taller man had swept in. His messy, brunette ringlets dangled in front of his sculpted face as his feet consistently and harshly came in contact with the enemy’s stomach. You weren’t one for violence, but you admitted that seeing this mystery lifesaver relentlessly pounding into this bastard was a joy. You sat up, finding a pair of sapphire eyes lighting the darkness, striking you. 

“What’re you waiting for? Go, run,” he called out to you, before putting all his attention back on the attacker. You stumbled to your feet, backing up to guard your body behind a railing. However, your eyes stayed on the match. Really, just the one who swept in to save the day. You studied him closely. 

The stocky man who had attempted to pull at the one hovering over him. You were taken aback when in quick response, zero wait time, blue eyes drew out a gun, aiming it at him. “Try that again, and it’ll be the last damn thing you do,” he growled, cocking the gun. The man on the ground shrunk by tenfold. You watched as fear washed over him, the metal rim dangling in his face. Holy shit. 

“Get up,” blue eyes demanded him, watching as he slowly stood. The demand in his voice was filled with such hatred. The man who was once so confident now trembled in fear for his life, his hands going in the air. Blue eyes kept his aim on the man before him. “Get out of this town. Far away. Let me so far as see a glimpse of you around these parts, and you’re a dead man. Got it?” The trembling man nodded shakily and quickly, sprinting off without another word.

 Suddenly, the world got quiet. Finally. You emerged from your temporary hiding place just as the man who saved your life turned to face you. “Thank you,” you managed to get out. “I-I don’t know what I would’ve done, what would’ve happened if-” A drawn out, thick accent cut you off. 

“I’m sure of what would’ve happened, and it would’ve been awful. What’re you doin’ anyway, walking around here this time of evenin’ all by yourself?” He secured his gun into its holster as he made his way over to me. His demeanor was entirely different. He radiated protection, genuinity. Minutes prior, you were trying to escape a nightmare. Now, you were being drawn in by a stranger’s kind act and handsome features. You felt safe. How refreshing. 

“I was just heading home from the inn. What’s your name?” you asked, desperate to know the name of the one who guarded you. 

“Name’s Billy. And you?” Billy. His name etched into your mind, knowing it would now hold a priority in the forefront of your thoughts. You told him your name, to which he nodded. “How about I get you home?”

With that, Billy guided you on the path back home. The gravel didn’t seem so daunting against your soles now. Under the pitch black sky adorned with stars, you had Billy to protect you. The walk to your place wasn’t filled with much conversation, but when it was, you were fascinated by his thoughts and the sound of his voice. 

Once he had successfully guided you to your destination, you noted that his eyes scanned over the place almost as if he were attempting to memorize its design and build. Billy didn’t want to leave you. He couldn’t invite himself in, couldn’t insist you to leave with him. Not after what he had just saved you from. He knew if there was a shot in hell he was going to gain your trust, he had to demonstrate he was worthy of it. 

“He didn’t hurt you, right, darlin’?” Billy’s tone was now hushed, almost as if it solidified his authenticity. Billy’s eyes were a shade you had never seen before, but a shade you would quickly find filling your dreams. Your heart admittedly flipped at the sound of the pet name rolling off his tongue so effortlessly. 

“No, he didn’t. You got there just in time. Thank you, Billy. Again. Don’t know how I could ever return the favor for what you’ve done for me.” Billy’s smile lit up the night sky, melting you from head to toe. He shook his head, shrugging. 

“No greater pleasure than protecting ya. Now, get in and get some rest.” Billy watched you disappear into your house, the screen door creaking behind you. It felt wrong to leave you so abruptly. Never before had he felt a desire to stay up long hours of the night getting to know another before, but for you, he ached to. Billy couldn’t leave you. As you went in and laid down, wondering where Billy was headed off to and if you would ever even see him again, Billy sat down on the steps of your porch. Adjusting himself, his back aligned with the post. Leaning his head back, he pushed the strands of hair out of his face. He basked in the breeze of the night, listening to the harmony of varying late night insects. He also intently listened for any potential danger, looking to protect you at all costs. Maybe it was the innocence in your voice that enticed him. Maybe it was the way your hair flowed down, the way you were unafraid to fight that enthralled him. Regardless of how it happened, Billy had an instantaneous desire to keep you out of harm’s way, no matter what it cost. As you laid in bed, you thought of Billy. As he leaned against your porch that night, he knew he was doing his job. He was keeping you safe and sound.

______________________________________________________________

[caretaker-au]

CHAPTER 10

Bright light spilled into Chara’s vision as the world manifested around them. Their body—heavy and fragile—struggled and dropped them to their knees.

As they fell forward Chara caught themselves with their hands. They stared out at their small, feeble fingers that were splayed on the lavender colored floor, each digit tipped with a dull, flat fingernail. Where were they? And what was that awful pounding sensation? They pulled a hand to their chest. That’s right. Their heart. No longer made from monster magic, Chara’s human flesh felt comparatively sluggish and dense. The body they were never supposed to return to. Chara crossed their arms and gripped themself tight. Fierce emotion flooded through their body: a touch of grief for their own death, relief for their survival, and most of all, rage.

“Asriel…” they breathed, their voice a shaking whisper, “How could you?”

After everything they had done, after all that they sacrificed for him, Asriel had betrayed them. Again. As he always had. It didn’t matter how hard Chara worked or how many timelines they chased, their wretched partner threw away everything they had to protect accursed humans. This time was the worst, however. Asriel’s betrayal ended in orchestrating a shared execution.

“You really hate me that much?” Chara’s voice was little more than a shaking growl. They wanted to scream, to declare that they wouldn’t allow it, that they would find someone else who would respect them and carry out their plan. But they didn’t believe it.

“Chara?”

A small voice broke through the fury. Chara looked up and saw them. A child hesitating in a stone doorway just ahead of them: Frisk.

The child’s expression relaxed into a smile, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Anger flashed across Chara’s face. They pulled themselves to their feet, wavering slightly. They staggered towards Frisk with heavy steps, increasing their speed into a run. Frisk’s eyes widened for a moment before they scowled. The child braced themself and held out their arms, “Chara, stop!”

The caretaker grabbed Frisk by the collar and wrenched them up against the doorframe. The kid’s teeth chattered as their skull thudded against the stone behind them.

“Why?!” Chara barked, hatred seeping from their every pore, “You took everything from us! Our lives, our future, the salvation of all monsters!” Frisk turned their head away, clenching their eyes tight as Chara berated them. “Nothing was stopping you from leaving. So why?” Chara demanded, “Why did you return? To mock me? To torment me?”

“No…” Frisk answered quietly, “To save you.”

Their answer didn’t make any sense. Chara stared back, unable to even articulate a response. Instead, they slammed Frisk against the wall again. “Liar!” Chara cried out, “You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth!” Frisk squirmed and pulled on Chara’s hands to no avail, “Escape isn’t worth anyone’s life. Not even yours, Chara!”

Chara’s fists clenched tighter around the slack of Frisk’s sweater. With a heave, they tossed the child to the side. Frisk splayed across the floor with a grunt.

“You are wrong,” Chara huffed, “And you… are a fool. Did you not learn the first time? I don’t care about your mercy.”

Frisk pulled themself to their feet. They straightened and returned Chara’s frenzied glare with a quiet gaze.

Chara continued, “I will not stop. This time I’ll take the souls, ignore you, and escape to the Surface. There, Asriel and I… we’ll…” Chara trailed off as Asriel’s face crossed their mind again. They sank to the floor, the air feeling heavier and heavier. “That traitor… he will never… he will never cooperate.”

The realization was like a knife twisting in their gut. Even with his betrayal, Asriel was always the most devoted. No one would be able to replace him. Despair crept into their heart as Chara realized they needed him more than Asriel needed them back. Chara had considered Frisk their greatest opponent, but it was Asriel who truly stood in their way.

Chara’s vision swam, so they turned their head away from Frisk, their hair falling in front of their face. Knowing the human was seeing them like this made their skin crawl, and they wished the ground would swallow them up. As Chara spoke, they held their breath to keep their voice from shaking. “Leave.”

Frisk hesitated, surely coming up with a response. Mockery? Pity? Chara wouldn’t bear it.

“Out of my sight! Now!” Chara shouted; their roar made the air tremble. Frisk didn’t wait to be told again. The sound of scuffling footsteps faded from earshot, and soon Chara was alone in the silence once more.

Finally, Chara let the tears fall from their eyes. They were disgusted with the way their breath hitched and sobbed no matter how much they tried to stifle it. Asriel did this to them. Asriel would have to pay.

Chara indulged in several minutes of sickening self pity before they finally wiped their face. Looking around, it took Chara a moment before they registered just where they were. They were deep within the Ruins, just outside the chamber Frisk had fallen into. But that didn’t make sense. From Chara’s experience, time could only be turned back to the most recently fixed point. Frisk should have been returned to just before their battle, perhaps in the jail. Instead, here they were, back to the moment they first met. Was Frisk not confined to the same limits of time travel?

Chara shook their head. They couldn't think about this now. Only one thing mattered: Asriel’s punishment. Drawing the will to stand, Chara pushed themselves upright to follow the child.

In one way or another, Frisk had made it past all the traps, through the house, and—presumably—out the exit. It was for the best; Chara couldn’t stand to cross paths with the child again. Inside the house, they paused to collect a large padlock they had stored in a table drawer. It was heavy and nearly the size of a text book with ornate designs engraved across it. The lock was imbued with abjuration magic, made specifically to lock the Ruins after Asriel was nearly killed by the human years ago. The lock would render any door unbreachable by human or monster, and Chara held the only key.

Chara carried the device with them into the basement, down the hall, and to the large exterior doors that lead to the snow draped forests beyond. The doors were slightly ajar, revealing a set of footprints that dotted the snow off into the distance.

Chara sighed, taking one last look at the snowy view, before pulling the doors shut. For decades, the lock had only been placed on the outside, removed only when Chara came through to patrol the ruins or escort monsters between Home and Snowdin. Today, for the first time, the doors would be locked from the inside with Chara within. They looped the padlock through the handles of the door, and when they snapped it into place, the doors shuddered and clamped together with a jolt. Chara traced a fingernail down the seam of the two doors. No one would be passing through without their permission.

Confronting Asriel directly was not an option. After all, any progress made with Asriel could be undone by Frisk. Not to mention they weren’t even sure what they could tell him. Asriel’s traitorous inclinations were buried deep into his core, waiting until Chara was at their most desperate to stab them in the back.

But there was one tactic that Frisk would be unable to interfere with. Silence. If Chara withdrew to the Ruins without a word, Asriel would surely blame himself for Chara’s sudden absence. Chara knew Asriel well: he’d beg for Chara’s return and apologize for things he didn’t do, all the while ignorant of his traitorous compulsions. Cruel, perhaps, but nothing was as cruel as what he had done in those erased timelines.

Chara checked their phone. They already had one message from Asriel inquiring as to when they’d return home. The caretaker marked it as read before slipping it back into their pocket.

---

As predicted, Asriel came to the door and stayed all night long. Knocking, calling, pleading-- Chara relished each pathetic attempt at reconciliation. He deserved to be confused, heartbroken, and alone, just as Chara was. Over the course of the day Chara received messages from Asgore, Toriel, and many other monsters. They all asked the same thing: Are you okay? Do you want to talk? We found this human named Frisk, do you know them? Even Muffet demanded an explanation. Chara would have to deal with her later.

Leaving everyone wondering and begging for answers was the only power Chara had left. Word was getting to the monsters in Home as well, evidenced by the additional messages piling up on their phone. Chara ignored them too. Eventually they would realize they were trapped on this side of the door as well, unwilling hostages in Chara’s scheme.

No matter. The monsters deserved to be trapped. Every one of them was just like Asriel: eager to please and sentimental to a fault. Chara had devoted their entire life to serving them and in return they never offered to help collect the souls that would free them. In fact, Chara had to resort to time travel to push them in the right direction for just an ounce of support. They all deserve to rot in this dark, claustrophobic hell.

---

“So you just let a human walk on by?” Muffet inquired in a sing-song voice, “That doesn’t seem much like the great caretaker at all!”

The two of them were sitting in her parlor, each on a lavish chair. A full tea set complete with baked goods sat on a low table between them, though Chara knew better than to partake in it. Spider legs stuck out of the scones like coarse hairs, and they couldn’t even imagine what the tea had been steeped with.

“Yes. Well.” Chara said, looking down at their lap, “There is not much I can do about it now.”

“Oh yes, I imagine the sweet thing is the new royal favorite, aren’t they?” Muffet’s fanged smile turned up in a mocking grin, “The queen has always had a soft spot for filthy little strays. You know that better than anyone, right, dearie?”

Chara bit back a retort. With time no longer under their control, they had to be careful while inside of her lair. It had been a week since they sealed the Ruins, and Muffet was the only person they had spoken to since. The crime lord wasn’t their first choice of confidant, of course, but she had been insisting on meeting and they knew better than to reject her invitation.

“I suppose so,” they responded softly.

Muffet giggled to herself, then suddenly reached for the plate of cookies between them. It was only after she grabbed a couple treats that Chara realized they had flinched when she moved. They tried to relax but the attempt only made them more tense.

“So, is that why you locked the exit? Had a bit of a falling out with the in-laws?”

“Something like that.” Chara frowned, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Oh of course, a lady like me wouldn’t dream of indulging in distasteful gossip! Instead, I have a business proposition~”

Chara straightened. In their current circumstance, they didn’t have much in the way of influence or leverage.

“How can I be of service?” they asked.

“I want to relocate,” Muffet paused to bite into one of her cookies. It sounded... crunchy. “You see, the Ruins are awfully drafty, and the cold isn’t good for my constitution. I was thinking about moving in the next year or so, but now that you’ve so... graciously sealed us all in here, I predict the traffic in my shop will be slowing down considerably.”

“Understood.” Chara nodded, “I will make an exception for you and open the d—”

“I wasn’t finished, Chara.” Muffet said, her voice lowering. There was a tense pause before she smiled again, “I want a limousine~”

“A—A what?” Chara asked, incredulous.

“A heated limousine that will chauffer my employees and I all the way to Hotland,” she gestured to the spiders that skittered between the tea cups, “A necessary luxury to ensure we make it safely through the biting cold of Snowdin. Should be a simple task for a monarch, correct?”

“Of course. Leave it to me.” Chara smiled, “Is that all?”

“Not much for business, are you, Chara?” Muffet smirked, “This is where you negotiate the terms of the agreement~”

“No need. I am happy to do this as a gesture of goodwill.” Chara outstretched their hand—it wasn’t trembling anymore, thankfully—and Muffet gave it a dainty shake.

Once Chara was safely out of Muffet’s lair, they heaved a sigh of relief. Somehow they had managed to leave in one piece despite Muffet’s attempts to bait them. Now they just had to figure out how to serve her outrageous demands. Chara fished their phone out of their pocket, dismissed several dozen missed calls and text notifications, and opened their address book. They were going to need to call in some discreet favors.

---

One month had passed since they sealed the Ruins. It wasn’t easy, but Chara managed to arrange for Muffet’s departure without alerting the Dreemurrs. Eventually, the royals found out the Ruins door had been briefly opened which led to a fresh barrage of calls, messages, and knocking on the resealed door, all of which Chara ignored, of course.

Chara walked the streets of Home late at night, the crystals in the ceiling sparkling above. They could feel the eyes of the monsters on them, but after weeks of Chara ignoring and scowling in return, the monsters had given up on approaching them. Wordlessly, they did their weekly shopping at the local market. As a member of the royal family, Chara had never needed to pay for any necessities, and it seemed the benefits even extended here. It was only fair compensation, of course. After all, Chara was still serving the undeserving monsters by patrolling the Ruins every day for human threats.

---

“Ugh, really?” Chara muttered. They were nearly done with their patrol, having reached the large trap of spikes that was circled with a moat. Chara pushed down on the edge of the spike panel’s pressure plate with their foot, but the spikes failed to retract completely, the deadly points standing out by a few inches. It wasn’t a good sign: the springs inside were starting to give out. And if the springs snapped while Chara was standing above it…

Chara shuddered. They had witnessed that messy result and they didn’t care to experience it first hand. Typically, Chara would order replacement parts and perform maintenance themself, but the machinist that created the pieces was in New Home. Unsealing the door again was out of the question.

“Of course this would happen now,” Chara grumbled. They moved their foot off the plate and the spikes shot back into place. How many more compressions would it tolerate before it broke? Before Frisk came to the Underground, Chara could risk it and undo any unpleasant accidents, but if the past five months were any indication, Frisk was not nearly as eager to manipulate time. In fact, time had been rolled back only two times since Chara let the child go.

It was inconceivable. How could Frisk resist the urge to erase the inevitable little mistakes that ruined every day? Embarrassing moments, broken tea cups, scraped knees… all could be fixed in an instant with the right application of their power. To have such power and yet choose to carry the weight of their failures—it defied reason.

More importantly, if Chara suffered a tragic accident while isolated here, no one would come to their rescue… whether through time manipulation or otherwise.

“Unfortunate.” Chara said to themself with a resigned sigh, “I will have to dismantle them. All of them.” They turned around and headed back home. While they didn’t have access to their machinist anymore, they did have a few hand tools and plenty of time.

---

Eight months had passed since Chara had let Frisk go. As they walked the path of the now defanged Ruins, they revised and repeated their old plan over and over. If they could just get one more soul to replace Frisk, they would have the seven required to break the barrier and purify the Surface. The only thing missing, of course, was a willing monster to absorb them.

They reached the end of their patrol: the entrance to the Underground for lost, unlucky humans. The chamber was empty, as it had been every day since Frisk fell in. Chara walked into the center of the room and stared up into the vacant darkness looming above. One hundred years had passed on the Surface and only eight humans had fallen in that time. How long would it take for another to arrive? Ten years? Thirty? Without the help of their powers Chara could very well die before seeing the next human soul.

Chara turned to leave, but did a double take as they glimpsed a glimmer of gold on the ground. They kneeled and pushed the grass aside to reveal a small yellow bud, barely beginning to open.

“It cannot be…” Chara breathed, “A Golden Flower?”

Golden Flowers were common on the Surface, but had no presence in the Underground. Chara was so sure of this that they had incorporated them into their original plan over 20 years ago. By requesting to see the wild flowers on their deathbed, Chara could ensure Asriel would cross the barrier with their corpse in tow.

Or at least, that was what should have happened.

Chara clenched their teeth at the bitter memory. It was the first of many perfect plans ruined by Asriel’s cowardice. The caretaker grasped the plant and ripped it out of the ground by the root.

Immediately, Chara felt a pang of regret. They stared down at the pathetic thing. Their favorite flower, somehow growing in this dark, sunless prison. When had it taken root? Did some seeds blow in from the Surface? Or were they brought in by a... passenger?

Chara shook their head. Regardless of how it was introduced to the Underground, it was now a part of the Ruins—their Ruins. It didn’t deserve to suffer for Asriel’s mistakes. Reflexively, Chara attempted to turn back time, but nothing happened.

With a sigh, they returned the flower to where it was and buried its roots back into the soil. The stem was bent and it wouldn’t stay upright, but weeds were resilient. With a little help, it might still make it.

---

Chara hesitated before their latest masterpiece, knife in hand. Resting on a serving plate was a beautiful, hand crafted chocolate ganache cake. Strawberries perched on top of the silky dark topping, and the intoxicating aroma filled the house. Somehow, even without their powers, it had turned out almost too perfect to eat.

Emphasis on "almost". Carefully, Chara slid the knife through the decadent construction and placed a slice on their plate. They paused to admire the moist cross section before sliding a fork through the end and taking a bite.

Absolute bliss.

"Not bad for a humble birthday cake," Chara said to themself. They were thirty-seven today. Chara looked across the dining table into the empty living room. The only sound was the fire crackling in the hearth, emitting heat for a one person abode. They wished this house wasn’t nearly identical to the one in New Home; the similarities made it too easy to imagine Toriel in her chair, Asgore in the kitchen, and Asriel leaning on the table with his elbows, big goofy grin on his face. The Dreemurrs loved birthdays, always spending weeks preparing for a large and lavish party.

This was the first birthday they had spent alone since they were thirteen. They had forgotten how miserable it could be.

Chara checked their phone. They had over one hundred notifications that had come in just today. They scrolled through to find the only contact that mattered: Asriel.

“Happy birthday, Chara!!” the message read, “Mom and Dad and I are thinking about you lots! We even got you a gift, so I hope we can give it to you one day! Wherever you are, take good care of yourself, okay?” A line of party and heart related emojis followed.

Chara read the message over and over. Asriel’s texts would always fill them with disgust and hatred, but not today. Instead Chara just felt… lonely. It was a pathetic, shameful feeling, but a true feeling nonetheless. Despite all the ways Asriel had disrespected them, Chara couldn’t hide from the fact that they missed him.

The caretaker allowed themself to vocalize a thought they had been pushing out of their mind for months. “Maybe…” Chara spoke, their soft voice breaking the quiet, “Maybe it is time to go home.”

They sighed, resigning themself. The eternal silent treatment was never a realistic plan, and while Asriel was the intended subject of the punishment, it was unpleasant to Chara, too. Scrolling up through his messages, Asriel had sent hundreds upon hundreds over the past year begging them to “just talk”. All had gone unanswered. The confusion and desperation in those messages were clear; he was perfectly primed for a reconciliation.

But Chara wanted more than reconciliation. More important than companionship was freedom. Freedom not just for undeserving monsters, but most importantly, freedom for themself.

“There is still a way,” Chara muttered to themself, “I simply… pushed Asriel too quickly. Asriel always responded better to a softer approach.” Chara stood, pacing.

“We will delay soul fusion until the end of my natural life. Nothing barbaric or tragic. My dying wish will be to live on within him. He cannot turn down my final request.”

Chara nodded, they could see it now. After a few decades, Chara would peacefully pass from their old, frail body into Asriel’s strong, youthful one, a benefit of his species’ long life span.

“Then we gather the rest of the souls. But not right away. Asriel will need some time to adjust to sharing a vessel with me. But he will with time. Perhaps even the child can be convinced to willingly donate their soul to the cause.” Even though Frisk wouldn’t be a child anymore, it was hard to imagine Frisk as anything but a meddling brat. Honestly, they’d probably still be a brat in thirty years.

“If not, that is... fine. The child can be suffered to live.” The decision was a reluctant one, but giving mercy to such an undeserving creature gave Chara a pleasant feeling of self-righteousness. After all, it didn’t really matter if Frisk lived or died. The important thing was purifying the Surface and breaking the barrier. One human would not make a difference.

“Yes. This will work.” A smile crept onto Chara’s face and their heart thrummed with excitement. They would return to Asriel, who would embrace them with utmost relief and joy. After all, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and Asriel had shown no signs of giving up on them.

Chara would enjoy a long life in the company of their loved ones until the day they would embrace their prophesied purpose as the Underground’s savior.

It would require patience, but their splendid utopia was once again within reach. They began planning their grand return.

chapter 10 // end

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[asian-hero]

[Im]perfectly You

A/N: Got an idea while watching something completely unrelated to bnha, so that was fun (I’m also sorry if this turns out to be absolute garbage)

I also like to imagine that this is the same Shouto and (Y/N) from “The Words I Desperately Want To Say,” so do with that what you will

Summary: While to the general public, Pro Hero Shouto was a symbol of otherworldly beauty and perfection, the man himself found it hard to understand how anyone could think he was attractive, let alone perfect. So, when doubts start to form in his head, it’s a good thing his partner is there to remind him of all the wonderful things about him

Words: 3,580

Todoroki Shouto, while a fairly smart man, could admit that he had his moments where he was rather dense. If you were to ask him what’s the best plan of action when working a rescue mission, he’d be the absolute best man to ask, as he’d have a level head, and would know every single point of entry where a Pro could go in and rescue the civilians in danger. If you asked him to help you out with some financing issues, while at first he may be a bit confused, he’ll eventually get it and help you plan for ten years into the future.

However, if you asked him why the reporter was asking him about his skin care routine, or how he looks so “effortlessly handsome” while working, he would simply shrug his shoulders and state that they do that for every other person they interview.

Perhaps one of the most shocking traits of Shouto’s is the fact that he doesn’t see himself the way the general public sees him. While most people view him as one of the most attractive heroes, he can’t even stand to look at his reflection for more than a minute, otherwise he’ll find things to criticize, things that make him feel ugly. He’s come to the conclusion, after years of testing, that it’s best for him to simply turn around and face something else if there’s a mirror or any reflective surface around, just so that he doesn’t have to see himself.

Of course, he doesn’t tell anyone about these issues. He hasn’t told his family, his friends, and he certainly won’t tell you. Not because he doesn’t trust any of them, but because he doesn’t want to be a burden to those around him, he doesn’t want his issues to be a source of sorrow, and he certainly doesn’t want pity. So, he simply keeps these bitter, harmful thoughts to himself, not letting anyone in on what’s going on in the back of his mind.

Somehow, though, you manage to break through his facade, the one that he carefully constructed to keep everyone else out, and he’s not sure of how to feel about that.

The first time that Shouto feels a pang in his chest is when the two of you are relaxing on the couch, on a rare day off from your hectic lives. His whole body covers yours, his arms wrapped around your torso while his face is buried in your chest, a small sigh of content escaping his lips. You’re watching some random food documentary the two of you decided to put on, completely entranced by the sights and sounds you’re seeing come to life on the screen. For a while, the two of you sit in complete silence, neither of you wanting to break the peaceful air around you. 

With your eyes still glued to the screen, one of your hands seems to move on its own, tangling itself in Shouto’s red and white locks. As your hand begins to brush back the strands away from his face, your fingers soothingly scratching at his scalp, Shouto tenses under your touch. He feels his breath start to catch as he feels your fingers move through his hair, almost as if you were inspecting it. Due to just how much he uses his quirk, his hair ends up feeling coarse and dry, with a few singed parts in the front. Though he tries to remedy that with the many types of shampoos and conditioners the world has to offer, he just can’t prevent the damage his quirk has done. 

After the feeling of your hand becomes too much for him, he lifts his head up from your chest, almost too quickly to not be suspicious. When his eyes meet your own confused ones, he doesn’t answer you with words, instead opting to wrap his arm around your waist, lifting you up a bit while he shifted his body to be behind yours, effectively keeping your hands off of his hair.

For a second, you’re oddly still, and it makes Shouto anxious. However, after a few seconds had passed, you let out a small giggle, relaxing your body into his, patting his thigh lightly. “If you wanted to be the big spoon all you had to do was ask,”

Luckily for him, you didn’t question his behavior. Though, for the rest of the night, Shouto couldn’t stop the feeling of anxiety from coursing through his veins. While he eventually found his breath, and he was no longer shaking, he still couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread for the rest of the night. 

He hated that he felt this way, for something seemingly so stupid.

The next time that he finds himself moving away from your touch is when the two of you are out shopping for groceries. Since it was after your patrol, you didn’t bother to change out of your hero costume, choosing to throw over your white button up shirt and blue jeans over your suit, figuring that it was good enough. You didn’t even bother buttoning up the shirt, and it took all of Shouto’s self control to not make fun of your outfit, though, he supposed that he couldn’t judge you, as he only threw over his overcoat on top of his own suit. 

As the two of you perused through the aisles, buying way too much food for the two of you, you found yourselves in a comfortable conversation. You talked about how patrolling with Yaoyorozu  went, and he told you about how Bakugou invited himself to his and Midoriya’s patrol. As the two of you continued to walk, with him holding the basket and you walking beside him, he felt your hand slowly snake its way to his, intertwining your fingers together. 

For a while, Shouto didn’t mind the way that your hand fit in his. In fact, he quite enjoyed the way his hand seemed to fold over yours, how small yours felt in his own. However, as soon as you started brushing your thumb over the back of his hand, he could feel just how different your hands were from his. While yours were soft and smooth, his were rough and dry, as if they hadn’t been taken care of. Where as yours didn’t have any bumps or bruises, his had callouses and tiny cuts from the extreme temperatures he held. The way that you stroke his hand soon turned from a soothing action to something that filled Shouto with vile thoughts. In all of his negative thoughts about himself, he never thought that his hands would be the issue. 

It finally became too much when you squeezed his hand and he could feel his callouses digging into the palm of your skin. Detangling his hand away from yours, he pointed towards the produce section, doing his best to keep a straight face.

“Look, they have a sale,”

At first, he was sure that you were going to call him out for his actions, as you wore your confusion and slight hurt on your face. However, that was quickly replaced with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes and an excited “let’s go!”

For the rest of the day, you didn’t try to hold his hand again, and Shouto wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

As the months went on, Shouto had wrongly assumed that his self-esteem issues would sort themselves out, that he’d be back to some semblance of normality. However, they only seemed to get worse, to the point where he couldn’t deal with your eyes being on him for more than a few minutes, otherwise he’d get anxious of what you were thinking. Of course, he still hadn’t told you what was bothering him, not because he was afraid of what you’d think, but for the fact that he knew you’d be upset for him, and he didn’t want to put that on your shoulders. 

Sometimes, he wasn’t as bothered by the voices of self-doubt in his head. On those days he’d gladly let you hold his hand, let you shower him in love. Other times, the voices would be too loud, so much so that he would revert back to how he acted before he met everyone from U.A., cold and standoffish, not that he meant to. Whenever those voices got to him, he wouldn’t even let you look at him for too long, instead politely telling you to stop staring. Whether it be that you were close enough to see the dry skin patches on his face, or the fact that you could see just how badly he was scarred, he didn’t want you to look. 

Eventually, all of the doubts in his mind started to make cracks in his facade, and soon enough he felt himself breaking down.

Right in front of you.

It was a rare chance that Shouto would get home before you did. Unfortunately for you, you were saddled with a mountain of paperwork that needed to be done quickly, so you told him that you’d be late, and that he shouldn’t wait up for you. So, as Shouto stepped into your shared home, he did what he normally did once he got home: make dinner, eat, take a shower, change into more comfortable clothes, and then head to bed.

Everything was going well at first. He cooked dinner by himself, making sure to make enough for you to eat when you got home. Once he’d finished eating and putting your plate in the fridge, he moved to the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the closet and switching on the fan as he started the shower. Usually, he wouldn’t look in the mirror once he’d undressed, instead opting to  look at the wall as he moved to the shower. However, for some reason, on this day, Shouto decided to take a quick glance at the mirror before he headed into the shower.

Truly a big mistake on his part.

As his eyes landed on his reflection, the first thing he noticed were the scars on his skin. Running his hand over the ones on his arms, he cringed at the feeling of the slightly raised skin. As he continued to observe his body, he only felt his mood grow sour, picking on every single flaw that he could see. Running his hands through his coarse hair, he continued to stare at the large scar covering most of the left side of his face. He took in the deep reddish tone that it had, how the skin had puckered and left him with a rough, unpleasant texture. Looking straight into his own eyes, he looked at the two different colors with discontent, wishing that there were a solid color instead of being split. Eyes drifting further down, he looked at the other scars that littered his body, looked at how there wasn’t an inch of unblemished skin. He looked as the colors ranged from an iridescent pinkish color to more angrier reddish tones, ones that could never quite heal, and would always leave him with these ugly marks.

Continuing to analyze every single flaw on him, Shouto didn’t hear the front door open, nor did he hear you call out, announcing your presence. Footsteps drawing closer, he didn’t notice that you were there until he could hear the doorknob click, the door swinging open.

“Sorry for barging in honey, but I’ve been holding my pee in all night so I—“ Eyes stopping on him, you gave him a small smile, “Hey handsome,”

Head whipping over to look at you, his eyes widened ever so slightly. It was normal for either of you to come into the bathroom while the other was using it. The two of you grew comfortable enough to not bother to lock the door since there was only one bathroom. However, Shouto wished that he’d locked the door tonight, as he was fairly certain that he looked like a mess.

While he continued to stare at you with worry, you frowned. Pointing towards the door, you spoke, “I can wait until you’re finished? I don’t have to go that badly,”

At the sound of your voice, he frantically shook his head, moving away from the mirror and into the shower. “No, go on ahead, I was just getting in,”

Before you could say anything Shouto shut himself in the shower. Deciding to not push the subject with a full bladder, you quickly went about your business, washed your hands and promptly left, moving to sit on the bed to wait for your boyfriend.

It took about eight minutes for the shower to turn off, and another five for him to finally exit the bathroom, slowly walking himself into your shared bedroom. Once he caught sight of you sitting on the edge of the bed, not having changed out of your work clothes, he felt his heart rate spike. Cautiously, he moved to sit by you, a small smile resting on his face, though you could tell it was forced. Reaching for his hand, you found yourself hesitating slightly before deciding to put your hand beside his, close enough that your pinkies were touching. Tilting your head, you tried to get a better look at the man.

“Are you alright?”

He blinked, trying to contain his every thought from spilling out at that moment. Nodding, he spoke up, “Of course I am, why—“

“Please don’t lie to me,” You spoke softly, a frown finding its way onto your face, “I’ve known you since high school, don’t think I can’t tell when you’re lying.”

At first, your words were met with complete silence, with Shouto’s eyes trained on your hand. After a few more minutes of silence, just as you were about to give up your little interrogation for the night to go and take a shower, he broke the silence.

“I don’t get it,”

Eyebrows furrowing together, you leaned in closer to the man, as if the elimination of space would help you solve what was going on in his brain. “Don’t get what?”

He bit his lip, clearly going over the pros and cons of telling you what he’s been thinking for most of his life. Finally, he sighed, figuring that it was better to just rip off the bandaid rather than pretending that nothing was wrong.

“You called me handsome earlier,” He started, and when your face only grew more confused he continued, “The media likes to say that too. So why can’t I see myself that way too?”

He mumbled out the last part, as if he didn’t want you to hear it. At first, you stayed silent, unsure of what to say, or how to comfort the man in front of you. However, once you noticed his hands start to fidget, and his knees started to bounce, you moved so that he could see your face, a kind smile resting on your lips.

“Can I touch you?” You asked, not wanting to overstep his boundaries.

When he nodded his head slightly, you gently grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the headboard of the bed before plopping yourself right into his lap. When he looked at you with a blank expression, you smiled sadly, cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“There, that’s better,” You started, gently brushing your thumbs across his face, “Now, let me into that gorgeous head of yours?” 

“Why do you call me that?” There was no venom behind his tone, just a confused boy who seemed hurt.

“Because it’s true,” You stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

When he still didn’t react positively, you retracted your hands from his face, opting to wrap them around his torso loosely. “Okay then, how about you list the things you don’t like about yourself, and I’ll tell you about the things that I love about you,”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. Though he still indulged you regardless, even if bringing up all of his flaws worried him to an extreme amount.

“Fine, I hate my hair,” He started, his hands roughly pushing his bangs back, “I hate the way it looks and how it feels,”

“Well, I love your hair,” You countered, your own hands moving to gently pry his away from the red and white locks you love so much, “It reminds me of strawberries and milk, and it smells like it too,”

“It smells like charred hair,”

“So what? Sometimes my hair smells like gunpowder because of Katsuki, does that bother you?” When he shook his head, you smiled, patting his cheek lightly, “Exactly. What’s next?”

His grip on your waist seemed to grow tighter, as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded. “I don’t like my eyes. Sometimes I wish they were a single color,”

“It makes you rather unique, don’t you think?” You asked.

“It makes me feel like a freak,”

You hummed, a low sound in your throat as you caressed his cheek, your thumb gently soothing the area under his eye. “Well, for what it counts, I love your eyes. It’s probably the first thing that drew me in,”

He stared at you for a few more seconds, trying to see if there were any signs of falsehood in them. When he came up with nothing, he continued to list his reasons:

“I don’t like my hands,” He stated, looking at yours, “They’re too rough and dry,”

Frowning, you reached to grab one of his hands with your own, bringing it up to your lips to press a sweet kiss to the back of his hand. “That just means you work hard, there’s nothing to be ashamed of there,”

He snorted, though you could tell there was no humor behind it, “It can’t feel nice to hold,”

“I like them,” You announced, interlocking your fingers together, “It shows how much dedication you have when it comes to your work, and holding your hand is one of my favorite activities to do,”

You could tell that your words were getting to him, as his eyes started to glisten, unshed tears beginning to come forward. Pulling his hand away from yours, he turned his head to the side, not wanting to look at you as he continued to speak, “I don’t like my scars,”

Thinking back to what had just occurred in the bathroom, you felt your heart break just a bit. Squeezing him just a bit tighter, you did your best to keep your voice steady.

“Your scars show that you’ve saved lives,” You said, your hands brushing against the raised skin on his arms, “You love to help others, even if it comes at the sake of your own safety,”

“Well what about this one?” He asked, point to the one covering his left eye, “Not all scars show that I’ve saved lives, (Y/N). They’re not something that’s amazing or beautiful, there’s blemishes that I wish I could get rid of,”

Grabbing his hand with both of yours, you moved to press a feather light kiss to the bottom of his scar, feeling how he trembled beneath you. Moving back, you could feel tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

“No, you’re right. Not every scar tells a heroic story. Sometimes they’re reminders of horrible memories that we’d like to forget,” Squeezing his hand, you continued, “Your scars don’t define who you are though, Shouto. Sure, they tell the stories of your life, the struggles that you’ve been through, and the heroic deeds that you’ve done, but that doesn’t mean that it’s the only thing that defines you. I know that it’s hard to believe me now, and I hope in the future you’ll be able to feel the same way I do, but I love every single inch of you. I don’t care if your hair is silky or coarse, or if your hands are rough or not. All I care about is being with you, and all of those things that you hate, that’s what makes you so special to me. 

I’m not going to say that I can take away all of the pain you’ve been feeling, because honestly, I can’t. What I can promise you though is that I’ll still be with you no matter what, even on the days where you feel terrible and just want to hide away.”

By the end of your little speech, Shouto had dropped his head onto your shoulder, and you could feel his body begin to shake, and tears soak into your shoulder. 

For a while, the two of you said nothing, and the only sounds in the room were his light sniffles and your quiet humming. After what had to been half an hour, Shouto finally moved his head from your shoulder, his eyes having taken on a pink tint. When you felt him reach for your waist, you gladly let yourself be pulled into his chest, with your back pushed against his front. 

With a soft kiss to the top of your head, you heard him whisper out a quiet “thank you.” Smiling, you patted his hands, silently telling him that you were there.

“Don’t worry about it,” You spoke, feeling his breath begin to even out.

“Until you learn to love yourself, I’ll love you enough for the both of us,”

[goldenvoicedminstrel]

realised after posting it’s actually @feanorianweek and even day 2, so have some Maglor

The sun was hidden from the sea that day, the rough waves turned murky grey in a perfect mirror image of the dull clouds overhead, both divided only by an endless pale horizon. All around, the colours had disappeared from the earth and Maglor wondered, if perhaps this was what the void looked like. An endless space devoid of colour, sound and feel. 

An endless nothingness to isolate one from one’s own existence and drive one mad. 

It was a far more frightening thought than any darkness or torture. 

Is that what my brothers feel? he asked the only person still listening. 

Does it matter? he answered his own question. He would never join them now, it had been much too long since he had failed to follow his brother’s example and throw the Silmaril into the waves with his body still attached to it. Too many years of wandering and suffering had passed, that had made his next step and the next note of his lament as unescapable as the passing of the hours and years. He had woven the mourning resonance of the Noldolantë into the music of Arda itself and himself with it. 

Even if he did not care if he lived, he had been surviving for so long he thought he might not know how to die anymore.

The coarse sand and stones were biting into the soles of his bare feet as he walked, having long since discarded his worn through boots. Now the quiet crunch of his steps in the sand formed an imperfect metronome for his song. 

“I fixed it.”

Curufinwë stands before him, hands outstretched and in them a little box, ticking away with the steadiness of his own heart beat.

“It was easy, Atar did not even have to show me how. Now you must not be cross with me anymore.”

 Again his feet lost their rhythm, one sinking a little deeper into a puddle of water that had been hidden under the wet sand. Around his foot he could feel the pull of the waves towards the sea, dragging the sand with them and hollowing out the ground he stood upon. He stepped aside instinctively, onto a sharp shell that cut through his skin.

“Careful, Laurë!” Maitimo calls and the white towers of Alqualondë glitter behind him, shining with the colours of the Mother of Pearl fragments inlaid in their walls. 

“Let me see that. Where was that head of yours again?”

He picked up the shell. Its hard, curved form was broken and the white edges ragged, now tinted pink with his blood.

“Káno, look what I found!” A smudge of silver races towards him, so fast, that his light hair whipping behind him in the wind blends into the pale morning light around him. When Tyelkormo opens his small hands they reveal a cone shell and, emerging from it, the scarlet claws of a hermit crab. “Can we please take him home with us?”

He thought his hair might be turning pale too. Grey, like that of the Edain, when their spirits and bodies started to wane after long years of sorrow and grief. His skin seemed grey as well, and sometimes he thought it was because he could see the grey sky through it. Perhaps he was just becoming a part of that greyness around him, fading into a lament on the waves, his song lost under the cry of the gulls and raging of the sea. Another gull flew over his head, so close this time that he could feel the gust of wind from its wings in his hair. 

A shrill scream comes from the other side of the beach, followed by a bought of laughter.

“You sound like the gulls, Moryo!”

A dark haired elfling’s face is turning an impressive shade of red as he scowls at his brother.      

“I do not!” he cries and crosses his thin arms, but when his indignation shows no effect, he quickly ducks down and picks up a handful of wet sand, hurling it towards his still laughing brother. 

“Stop laughing at me, Tyelko!” he insists and the blonde’s face immediately turns grave, as he bends down in an exaggeratedly somber manner to pick up his own lump of sand. 

“If this is how you want to play…” he says, and the scene quickly dissolves into childish screams of laughter.

Little wet droplets were running down Maglor’s cheeks. Ah, he thought, it must be raining.

There was an opening in the high basalt cliffs, nothing more than a crack in the dark structure looming over him, a comfortable shelter for a child perhaps, but not enough to hide a grown adult. He walked past and let his scarred hand trace the stone. It was as rough and blackened as his own scorched skin and its sharp edges seemed detached from under his unfeeling finger. 

The wind blew sharper now and the dark strands of his dirty hair tangled before his eyes, obscuring his sight. He listened instead to the desperate howling of the wind trapped in the small cracks and hollows of unmoving stone.

Two red-haired children cling to him, the vibrant colour of their hair burning with the curb’s fire behind them and their identical faces are flushed with excitement and the only recently abandoned heat of the flames.

“Tell us a story Káno! About why the wind howls so. Does it sing like you do? What does it sing about?”

His hair was whipped away from his eyes again by another violent gust of wind, but the darkness stubbornly remained. Was it night already? There were no stars he could distinguish, not even in the West was his father’s creation visible to the hopeful eye. He clenched his hand and walked on, the howl of the wind lost beneath his own.

He walked until the path before him rose away from the soft sand and up on uneven stone, crumbling away under his feet as he climbed, the small pebbles falling endlessly into the abyss beside him. He would not sleep, only make one step after the other until he would drop from exertion, too exhausted for even dreams to find him, may they be horrible- or worse- good.

He stumbled.

There was a bird at his feet, the white feathers making it visible to him even in the night- no, that was the dawn breaking over the horizon.

One of the creature’s wings was twisted and its neck broken, overstretched into an unnatural position on the ground, his honey coloured beak turned away from its body as if pointing out the way ahead.

Did the storm do this to you? he asked, but the dark eyes gave no answer.

He touches the impossibly soft feathers with a trembling hand and suddenly, for the first time since he has been born into these immortal lands of Aman, he understands that even here nothing lasts forever. He thinks of his grandmother, lying as beautiful and lifeless as this little bird while his father strokes her soft hair. The bird must have a mother too, or little nestlings screaming for it, and if it doesn’t, how lonely it must have been.  Perhaps it is a silly thing to anguish about, but he has a vivid imagination and a soft heart and has never seen death before.

Through his tears he sees his father hurrying from his forge, alarmed by his young son’s despairing wails.

“What is it, Makalaurë? What has happened? Are you hurt?” his father’s face is tight and pale and his hands are running over his child’s small form, trying to find the cause of his hurt, to fix it as he always does. “Please, tell me why you are weeping,” he asks again and spots the lifeless bird in the same moment. His shoulders drop in relief and his features relax into a sad smile as he pulls his sobbing son into a tight embrace. “It is alright ‘Laurë,” he whispers to him. “Everything has its time.”

He turned away from the bird and walked on as the sun rose higher into the clear, blue sky.

His father, who then had been so much younger than he must be by now, and so anxious about any sadness befalling his newly formed family. 

Maitimo had been an easy child in that regard, and really in any other regard as well. Happy and content, with the sure confidence of someone who had grown up with all of his parent’s praise and attention and who, deep down, believed he deserved it. Kind and courteous to everyone and widely loved- and later admired- in return. When he had been quiet, it had been with thoughtful consideration or the comfort that needed no words. Maitimo had never been despairing.

He himself however, befitting the poet he would become, had been much more volatile. His joy had been delightfully loud but his sorrow even louder. How unsettling these first fits of despair must have been for his father, who had always lived under the shadow of his mother’s fate.

His brothers had shed tears too, of course, but they were easily quietened. Tyelko had cried in pain after falling out of a tree and Moryo often in anger. Curvo had sometimes teared up in frustration and the Ambarussa had sobbed in fear the first time they had heard the tale of their father’s mother and discovered that there might be a force in this world that could separate them after all. But Maitimo…

The hard stone under his feet had softened into dry earth and the narrow path was being overtaken by yellow and green patches of grass and finally a thick carpet of heather, the sea of small green leaves parted by spots of rose and purple flowers. A twig snapped underneath his weary feet.

The air is filled with the fragrance of blooming petals as he wanders through the labyrinth of thick green hedges and thorny bushes heavy with blossoms of every colour. Even now, thirsty and irritated as he is, he marvels at the beauty of it all, his parched throat aching to burst into a verse of song in celebration. Yet first he needs to find his brother, as his father had sent him out to do hours ago. But today Maitimo seems to have disappeared from the face of Arda entirely and his grandfather’s rose garden is his last hope. There is a spot there his brother had shown him when he had been but a little boy- his secret hiding place he had called it. 

He ducks under the low branches of a young tree and carefully pushes away some of the dense shrubbery before he stills.

He hears their laughter before he sees them, sitting in the grass, a bottle of what must be grandfather’s good wine lying forgotten next to them.  They are leaning against each other and speaking in hushed, excited tones, and suddenly his brother is throwing his head back and is laughing, laughing until there are tears running down his cheeks and he has to gasp for breath. He is still holding onto Findekáno’s arm as his giggling cousin wipes away his tears of mirth. 

Quietly he turns away and leaves, reporting to their father that Maitimo is nowhere to be found.

 The sun was high in the deep blue sky and the sea glittered faintly beneath it. 

Maglor’s path lead him down again, away from the heather, towards the waves where the smell of salt perpetuated the air he still breathed. He did not hear the gulls anymore and the light breeze that seemed to caress his cheek was too weak to drown out his lament.

When his feet sank into soft sand again, the sun was already setting and suddenly the sky was set aflame in the same shade of red he had loved and hated and grieved more than anything else.

And again he walked on. Was it raining again?

And when Maglor walks the shore alone, his brothers walk with him, and on the wind his father’s voice whispers: “Why are you weeping, Makalaurë?”

[eternalstrigoii]

Haunt-ober Night #8: Lantern                                                                      

There’s a monster in those woods,

It will get you, if you’re not good.

Ulstead’s children sang that rhyme, still. They had when he was young, and he imagined they would when he was as old as the king; the young man had been repeating it to himself since his brother flinted their lantern under the cover of the dense canopy. Their dinghies rested, overturned, beneath the first tree across from the fishermen’s bridge – somewhere they hoped would be easy to find once they ensured they would be paid for their trouble.

Drag you under leaves and sticks,

Punish you for all your tricks.

It seemed like a simple prospect until they were engulfed by darkness. They grew on stories of the wicked and tricky fey who would lure children into the woods and spin them in circles so they would never find their way home, yet he had the nagging suspicion that it would not be Their fault if they lost their way. When the leaves rustled overhead, he looked up out of the corner of his eye to spy the squirrel or the possum that made the sound, but his eyes did not linger; it’s a wood, he reasoned with himself, that is what woods do. Things live here.

A nest for hair and claws of bone,

You are never, ever coming home.

They had to have passed plenty, by now. They just weren’t looking hard enough.

He had thought the glowing mushrooms might be fey, but they were simply glowing mushrooms – they did not struggle when plucked, and they did not provide enough light to pocket more than the one. If it was not for the chirp of the insects and the scurrying of night-animals, he would’ve believed them entirely on their own.

The darkness of the canopy had given way to open fields of summer’s wildflowers, and the young man plod through them with no regard for what might be occupying the earth or the safety of the tall-grasses where he stepped. His brother moved more lightly, barely more aware of nature’s intricacies.

“Where would they go?” he whispered fiercely.

“I don’t know – to a fairy ring,” his brother replied.

“A fairy ring?”

His brother’s cheeks ruddied. He threw an angry glance over his shoulder and held the lantern higher. “What do you expect, to reach out and just—?” Find one? His brother reached out, swept his hand over the tops of one of the wildflowers, and “pulled the flower from its stem” –

Except no flower came away. His hand closed around the body of a sleeping petal sprite, whose abrupt awakening came with a soft, gentle cry of pain at the crumpling of their fragile wings.

The young man nearly threw them to the ground.

A heart’s beat of silence passed between them, and then the boy dropped his lantern to rifle through his bag. There was a cork-topped jar that they’d stolen from their mother’s kitchen, and he hurried to pry the top loose so he might stuff the little creature inside of it. His brother snatched another off the top of the tall grass, bent down like a stem beneath the weight of their round little bodies, and the small creature yelled out in fear as they were disturbed. He reached for another, who ran; grabbed at another, still. The other sprites were quick to rouse, and their high, panicked voices rose above the tall grass like a song.

A fleeting darkness blotted out the moon’s pale light. The young man’s eyes lifted, but he saw nothing pass; his eyes were still raised as his brother pocketed the half-sealed jar, and a heavy thump landed upon the earth behind them.

For a heart’s beat, neither moved. The petal sprites did not soothe, and yet their cacophony did not detract from the certainty that accompanied their shared apprehension. His brother dared begin to turn, slowly raising his head, and then his eyes, to look over his shoulder at whatever creature’s landing claimed the advantage of familiar territory.

He did not take the time to look for himself. He saw the fear that seized his brother’s face, and he surged forward without regard for the sprites that had not fled.

He ran.

The petal sprite struggled and chittered and screeched when the pressure built upon her fragile wings. He did not understand a word of the language she spoke, but he should’ve understood raw panic when he heard it – help! Don’t hurt me, please!

He did not have the time to dig his heels into the soft earth when the shadows themselves descended from the blackness of the tree-line. The light of will o’ the wisps fluttering in practiced coordination had been snuffed out by the sheer breadth of your wings.

He dropped the petal sprite.

There’s a monster in those woods.

The tender, fragile little thing hit the dirt face-first. He did not once look down at it, for his eyes were fixed upon the seemingly back-lit, demonic gold of yours. The blood rushed away from his already-pale face. Oh god.

It will get you, if you’re not good.

Low. Guttural. The sound you made – the snarl that left you – could not have come from you, yet it had. Faintly human. Your shape was faintly human, but your wings. Your horns. He backed away. He could not take his eyes off of you; he would’ve been a fool to.

One. Measured. Step. Forward.

Drag you under leaves and sticks.

That was what happened to his brother. The roots had turned to prehensile branches with unnatural sentience, guided by the hand of the other wingéd creature. God in Heaven, it wasn’t just you. How many—?

Punish you for all your tricks.

His back collided with something solid. Be a tree, he thought, though an involuntary shudder passed through him. Trees are not warm.

Another languid, measured step. He could see you in the light, now. Cheekbones like a jagged cliff-face, broken-glass webbing over your cheek, talons…claws of bone.

You are never, ever coming home.

From not far above his head, a low, coarse voice hissed, “Boo.”

                            Thankfully for the flower sprite, her petal-wings were bruised, but otherwise unharmed. You loved the way their fat, alien little bodies fit in your palm – her fuzzy moth-feelers brushed over the sharpness of your talons as you examined her delicate, curling tails. Satisfied that she was in sound physical shape, you set her down on one of the many beds of flowers and apologized – again – under your breath.

Confused, but pleased, the little creature chittered something that sounded kind, and crawled off of the flower into the thicket of overlapping leaves beneath.

“How is yours?”

“Hm?” Borra had been watching his rather intently for a time, and you would’ve been concerned, had you not seen the little thing kick their feet several times when his thumb brushed over their fat little belly. A little one, you figured, and were likely right. They had thinnish, white-tipped-blue petal wings and much sparser antennae – long and curved like reverse forest-horns with little, brush-like tufts on the ends. “Fine.”

Fine, shorthand for, they’re unharmed and relatively unscathed.

Your back cracked when you stood, and you fanned out your wings to help crack it again. Thumb-claw to thumb-claw, they nearly stretched as far as four of the moors’ old trees.

“Her wings were bruised, but she’ll recover.”

One of his sparse, fair brows lifted. “You can tell them apart?”

“Women’s intuition.”

His jaw flexed. The pad of his thumb ran over the little creature’s belly again, and the little thing kicked its tiny, gentle legs with a merry peal of laughter. They were insufferably cute.

He released them onto the flowers without a word, and the little thing flared and flapped their inverse-morning glory wings. You thought they might disappear into the foliage too, until you realized that, by holding still in a given place, their flared wings made them totally resemble flowers – as useful of a skill as the feathered bases of a jungle fey’s horns, blending their bright horns in with the foliage.

“Goodnight, little one.” You patted their delicate back with the pad of your index finger, and their gentle, fragile wings fluttered once more.

You did not need to watch the smattering of sprites settle on their stalks to sleep, yet you lingered for a moment longer; every night on the moors was a beautiful one, and the gentle, stirring breeze fanned strands of your dark hair over the front of your shoulders. They – and the will o’ the wisps you’d loosed the last time poachers sullied the sanctity of their homes, the willow sprites before them, and the one, unfortunate wallerbog who had once been cornered only to spend the night on your lap like a child, squishing their wet hands around your horns and trailing pond-slime through your hair while Borra pretended not to smile in your periphery – needed protection. They needed the wall of thorns, at least on along the river-border. If only you knew who created them and why they’d finally lowered. If only you didn’t suspect that someone else had once protected this land as you did.

He nudged you. The incline of his head proposed that he might go ahead to push the boats back into the river without you, if you liked; you shook your head and fell back into step with him, already considering where, along the banks, you might next land.

High up in the trees, well beyond where the moorland fey flit and pattered about, an unkindness of ravens picked at the carcasses of the men cornered by the pair of you. The guts within their open bellies had not been too badly mangled by their mounting, and were uncharacteristically whole. The eldest of the ravens plucked one of the unseeing eyes from its socket as he watched, cocked his head, and swallowed the morsel whole.

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

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[dragonswithjetpacks]

Pretty Thoughts

Chapter Five: His Lies, Her Resentment

-dragonswithjetpacks

Notes: Bite scene! Woo! This turned out way fluffier than I imagined. But I like it. I almost wanted to make this it's own separate thing. Enjoy my confused babes trying to sort through their angry thirsty feelings for each other.

Read here on Ao3.

The worm twisted. And turned. It fed on thoughts, memories, ones that held no happiness in her head. A dark creature in the wood. A dead animal. A hand full of blood. A paper with black scratches across it. She turned as every single image flashed by. Sleep was not coming. And there was no voice to steady her muttering thoughts. A creeping feeling spread from the base of her neck into her skull. She opened her eyes, feeling the urge to roll over. She turned, meeting the red eyes of a very close Astarion.

"... shit," he said flatly.

He leaned back on his haunches with a guilty face, freezing in place with the anticipation of her retaliation. He grimaced at first, knowing fully well he had been caught. Whatever it was he was doing, it was enough to make him recoil in shame. Ferelith pushed herself upward, scooting back to put some distance between them. Astarion stood, stumbling a bit as he did from throwing himself out of balance.

"What the hell are you doing?" she said loud enough to cause Gale to look up from his book.

"No, no. It's not what it looks like. I swear!" Astarion said, his hands up, glancing behind him at the fear of an attack. "I just needed... well..."

Ferelith waited impatiently, her eyes scanning his face as it went into a panic. He still felt as if he could hear her heart. It made the hunger all that much worse. His head dropped, eyes staring hard into the ground. His shoulders slumped. His voice lowered.

"...blood," he finally admitted, his eyes hesitant to meet hers.

The humiliation he felt had transferred over to Ferelith as she realized how dense she must have been for not seeing it sooner. The conversations they had. The misleading and pointless flirtations. The stupid boar in the forest. And if that wasn't enough, his appearance alone should have been proof. She felt ashamed for her own intelligence.

"I knew it," she shook her head aggressively, propping herself up onto her cot. "The moment you saw that boar, I knew you were hiding something."

"It's not what you think," he continued his attempt to defend himself. "I'm not some monster. I feed on animals. Boars. Deer. Kobalds. Whatever I can get."

Ferelith reached up, grabbing the back of her neck as she remembered the sensation her body sent through her spine to warn her. "You... you were going to bite me."

"I wasn't going to hurt you," he reassured her. "I'm just too slow right now. Too weak. If I just had a little blood... I could think clearer. Fight better... please..."

There were too many instances of his deceiving nature running through her head. The persuasiveness. The lies. The hints that she knew she should have heeded.

"Why didn't you ask me?" she questioned, as it was the only thing she could.

"At best, I thought you'd say no. More likely, you'd ram a stake through my ribs."

"Ram a-" she scoffed at him. "You couldn't just tell me?"

"No... I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me," his words dropped into that low tone again, but all she could hear was more lies.

It was the same trick he used before. And regardless of whether or not he was telling the truth now, she only believed it was more of his persuasive tactics luring her to swoon over the sound of his voice.

"How am I supposed to trust you?" she pushed herself up onto her feet.

"Because we don't have choice," he said abruptly, his voice rising. "Not if we're going to save ourselves from the these... worms."

"I'm fairly certain I have a lot of choices right now," she straightening her doublet.

"I need you alive," he changed coarse. "And you need me strong."

He was still unable to identify the feeling he received when he looked at her. Ferelith was scowling, but it was more than that. He couldn't stand the look of her and he glanced away long enough to regain himself.

"Please," he begged, casting aside the seriousness of the matter. "It will only be a taste. I swear. I'll be well. You'll be fine. And..." he thought about the look on her face... and the teasing smiles they had shared before... "And everything can go back to normal. I swear."

"You swear?" her head dropped but her eyes were still fixated on his. "That's the best you can do?"

He held that gaze for as long as he could before his guilt caused him to look aside. Ferelith saw the weakness, snarling at his cowardly approach and pathetic begging. She looked across the fire to Gale who had been watching intently from his cot, but all together remaining uninvolved. He was interested in what she would do. And a twisted thought curled into her head as she did not care for his judgement.

"I just need time to process this," she shook her head, unable to answer him directly.

She took a step forward, but Astarion swept to the side to block her path.

"This is why I didn't want-"

"Astarion," she said abruptly and harshly, preventing him from speaking further, making him even forget what he had inherently wanted to say. "You've been lying to me and attempting to seduce me in order to gain my trust. How am I supposed to react?"

"What?" he questioned, admittedly confused.

"You've been forthcoming with the flirtations, it's hardly gone ignored. Not mention the tacky comments pulled from cheap romance novels. And the promises of protection? Guarding the camp? They were all lies. Every single one."

"Not all of them," he said desperately, not that she would believe him now.

"Tch," she cast her head to the side with an eye roll that could send the mountains to the sky.

He glanced down at her crossed arms where she pressed her chest tightly together. His sight craned upward, gazing at her neck, finally landing on her jaw. It was clenched tightly with frustration. Her laugh lines were apparent as she tightened her lips. Her brow pressed down to the bridge of her nose, causing wrinkles to appear across it. Ferelith was not just disappointed he had lied... she was angry. Rightfully so, but still... for odd reasons.

"You're angry because you believe my interest in you was an act," he almost sounded pleased.

"An act?" her head snapped, eyes now wide and focused on him. "You think I'm angry because you played pretend?"

Her hands unfolded and he realized this was far more serious than a temper tantrum. There was a flash of darkness to her eyes. He chose to remain silent, not only for his safety but also out of pure curiosity. He wanted to see how far her anger would take her.

"I might have understood why you lied if not for the way you chose to cover it. You felt as though you needed to toy with my emotions in order for me to trust you. That you could just," she flailed her hands,"roll me over like a common tavern whore to get me to go along with anything you said. I'm angry because you couldn't just be honest with the belief that I was worthy of the truth."

Her eyes lightened as the words filtered down, her voice with it. He looked at her... into her. And he could see something else. A reflection of secrets. Ferelith would have known what it was like to keep something hidden. It was what made her the most angry. That perhaps if she knew what he had been going through, she could have sought some solace herself. The book was a heavy burden. And without being able to commune to her patron, she had grown weaker. Now she had to deal with more burdens. More secrets other than her own. More than what she had bargained for.

"I'm angry..." she said after a break of silence, "... because I thought a little better of you. And you proved me wrong."

The muscles in his neck tightened with an unfamiliar feeling. One he could not place. It caused his arms flex, his hands to curl into fists. He was uneasy in his stomach when he looked at her. The face of resentment. He knew the face. But had never had such a reaction to it. It confused him. Infuriated him. He didn't want to look at it.

"And you don't like being wrong..." he spat back at her, bitterly disappointed at her rejection. "Do you, darling?"

"Somehow, I knew you'd turn out to be one hell of a pompous ass, Astarion."

Twice she said his name in anger. And twice it had gotten a rise from him. He clenched his fists, the churning fires in his chest turning as they raged. He had been yelled at for what he could remember of his entire life. But it was always down on him. Never his name. Never out of emotional anger. And never because someone cared. He knew he was supposed to feel guilty. But he didn't. What he felt... instead... was comfort.

"Ferelith," he called after her, not done quite done with their argument.

"I need to think," she shouted back at him. "If I talk to you anymore it'll just..."

Unable to finish her sentence, she bit her lip, shook her head, and left.

********************************************************************

As she approached him, he rose from his cot.

"I'm surprised you're still here," she said calmly.

"I had hopes you'd be back," he seemed nervous. "As naive as that may seem."

After exhaling with a long deep breath, she dropped her shoulders.

"I may not have come to terms with what has happened," she said, eyes still closed. "But I'll give you this. Just this once."

"Really?" he sounded concerned, as if her permission was a trap.

"Yes," she nodded. "I've put some thought into it. And you're right."

"Well," he smirked. "We can just set that aside for later. For now..."

He stepped closer to her, gesturing to his bedroll. Ferelith looked down, then back to Astarion with his extended hand. She took it and he gently squeezed her hand. He guided her over to the blanket where she knelt down and turned her back to him. She pulled her hair to one side.

"Perhaps you should lie back down for this," he suggested, preparing to kneel next to her.

"I don't want to lie down," she lowered her brow.

"Do what you want, but I imagine with losing blood like that you'll feel a bit lightheaded. Perhaps I can hold you?"

"That's a bit... intimate, isn't it?" she was repulsed by the thought.

"Darling, agreeing to  give yourself to another person no matter the degree is the greatest form of intimacy there is. If you didn't know this before you agreed, then I don't know what to say. Does the thought concern you?"

It did.

Ferelith had very little of herself to give anymore. But the discomfort was brushed aside. Matters of the heart were not in play. And there was nothing she needed to worry about. How romantic could it be? It's not as if watching a wolf feasting on it's prey was appealing to watch. She shook her head.

"This doesn't need to be so difficult," she situated herself.

"Though that is so very typical of you," he smirked, his knees hitting the ground behind her.

"I suppose," she sighed. "I suppose if you think I'll collapse you may... hold me."

"My hands will behave themselves, you have my word."

Ferelith smirked. The soft tone she had accused of being false had made it's return. She wanted to believe he was willing to be gentle, despite the brutality of the actual deed. He brought a finger to her chin, lifting it to expose her neck. The sight of it tensing before him made him eager. He could hear the singing of heartbeat once again. The excitement was overwhelming. Ferelith shifted as she became uncomfortable under his stare. They were both uncertain of how it would feel. And they both appeared nervous though they dared not to show it. Ferelith swallowed hard and he could see her throat moving as she did. He leaned forward and she felt her face turn flush. His face was close, his mouth slightly parted, eyes fixated on hers. It felt as if she was about to be kissed. Her heart pounded and he could hear it growing louder. But his head dropped. And his mouth struck her neck. The sting of him puncturing her flesh came first. Then the haze of the blood leaving her body followed. It hurt, but only a little.  What cloaked the pain was the odd sensation of the life being drained from her. Her body leaned into him, feeling part of herself lost as he drank. It felt invigorating. As if everything she wanted to forget was leaving her body. Her eyes grew heavy and she felt herself sway. A hand was placed on her her head while the other wrapped around her waste in embrace. From where his lips connected to her neck started a numbing sensation that began to spread into her shoulder. She held her eyes open to the best of her ability, but she was not going to be able to hold herself up and reached to clutch his arm. Everything became heavy. Black spots filled her eyes as they struggled.

"Alright," she said, squeezing his arm hard. "That's... enough..."

She felt her mouth move but was uncertain if the words came out. The confirmation she needed was Astarion, inhaling quickly to catch the last of her blood. He gasped as he pulled away.

"Of course," the cold sensation crept over as he removed his fangs.

The blackness swelled around her and she felt as if she were floating. Her body was lowered to the ground below. And hovering above her, with his hands gently laying her down, was Astarion. Through the black blur that outlined her vision he was watching her carefully as he lay her into his cot. Tenderly pulling her hair away from her face, he was willing to mind the fresh wounds bleeding on her neck. He pulled a cloth from his pocket, placing it to her neck to stop the bleeding.

"That... that was... amazing," he drew the blood from his mouth with a finger from his other free hand, licking it to savor her taste.

There was still a cloudiness to her sight, but she was able to bring her hand to his. Her intention was to hold the cloth in place. But in her haze, she grabbed his hand. Astarion was unsure how to respond to her touch... and let it linger longer than he should have, admiring the warmth on his cold skin. He pulled has hand away, guiding hers to the marks he had left. He rose up and looked down upon her.

"My mind is finally clear... I feel strong... I feel... happy."

"Let's not get too excited," she said, the will in her clearly stronger than her physical strength. "This was temporary. I'll not be so eager to agree to this again."

Astarion's expression dropped for moment, only to perk back up the appearance. "I wouldn't expect more from you, my dear," he gave a slight blow. "Now if you'll excuse me, you're quite invigorating. But I need something more... filling."

"I didn't imagine I would be enough for you," she blinked. "Go on then. Enjoy the rest of the night."

With his back turned, he looked out into the night. He wondered if he had told her truth, perhaps she would have not been so harsh. It was a mistake... he was more certain of it the longer he lingered on it. But there was no way to portray that to her now.

"This is a gift, you know... I'll not forget it..."

But as she drifted away, drifted back to sleep, she felt the blood rush to warm the rest of her body that had gone cold. All she could think about was the sting on her neck. And the touch of his hands around her body. Laying on his cot was the closest thing she would feel to that again. But it didn't suite him. There was nothing about it that reminded her of him. It didn't smell like him. It didn't feel warm. It just felt like... a blanket. And she fell asleep knowing she would have to crawl back to her side of the fire... eventually...

*****************************************************************************

Astarion made his way back to camp with a feeling beyond satisfaction. His hunt was successful. But more so, he felt something new in his body. Something stronger. He observed the camp and found that Ferelith was gone. It had been a few hours and he knew she needed very little sleep. He assumed she was off in the wood somewhere when a throat cleared nearby. Gale, sitting at his cot with his book to his side, was looking up at him.

"Astarion," he said, clearly to keep his attention.

"I really don't want to have this discussion with you right now," he shook his head, already tired from the rather eventful evening.

"There will be a discussion..."

"I don't recall asking for your opinion on the matter."

"I'm not going to sit here and pretend I didn't see what happened. At the very least, you owe her an explanation."

"Fine, fine," Astarion waved the man away, leading his steps toward his cot.

He did not need much sleep, either. But thought a decent rest would do some good. A chance to let everything sink in. The new blood coursing through him. The thrill of his hunt. The feeling of his new strength. The feeling of her in his arms. The taste of her. He closed his eyes. It was not the first time he had thought about her this way. But he hadn't considered it for some time. She was going to be angry with him in the morning. He was not looking forward to it. So he he lay his down to rest for the night with only pleasant thoughts of her swaying through his mind. As Astarion place his head on the makeshift pillow, he could feel the warmth of where her body was. He could still smell Ferelith on his cot from their exchange. First, he made certain no one was looking. And then, he turned his head, inhaling the fragrance from pillow. It smelled of sage, sweet flowers, and dead wood. How fitting...

[cela-astral-projection]

See the west wind move like a lover so upon the fields of barley. Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth among the fields of gold. I never made promises lightly and there have been some that I've broken. I swear in the days still left we'll walk in fields of gold.

18+ under the cut. Asra is still gone and Celeste is still at the hut. 

They returned to the hut and sat together in front of the fire. Muriel and Celeste were, for the most part, silent.

Muriel had never been much for conversation. Celeste had been, once, but she fought to find the words now.

In place of speaking, she had found a home between his thighs, and she sat, facing him, her legs hooked over his, on either side of his hips.

It was intensely awkward, initially. Muriel had blushed scarlet, unable to meet Celeste's reverent gaze. The feeling of heat from between her thighs creeping across the front of his breeches. The softness of her thighs against his hips. The smell of her perfume in his nostrils.

But, with time, he relaxed, allowing her hands to trace his scars, smooth her fingers through his hair, examine his face. Her fingers brushed across his eyebrows, his lips, the bridge of his nose, the line of his jaw.

Her hands settled on the collar at his throat, studying it. Pressing her palms against the spikes. Not hard enough to wound, but enough to feel their sharpness, how solid they were. Her fingers traced the length of the chain that fell against his chest. She shook her head, turning her face to his, meeting his eyes.

"Too heavy," she said, her tone worried.

"There are heavier things," he replied softly.

She caught his meaning, and moved her hand to his chest, to his heart, not breaking eye contact. He nodded in acknowledgment. She drew a long breath.

"Broken," she asserted, not a question.

"Yes," he responded.

She moved her hand down his arm and caught his wrist, bringing his hand to her chest, resting it at her heart. "Broken,"

He had to fight the urge to scoff. Celeste had no idea just how broken her heart was. And he couldn't forget. That horrible and beautiful thing that Asra had done.

"You love me?" she asked, pressing his hand more firmly against her chest.

He closed his eyes and nodded. "Always. And you loved me, too."

"Love you. Not loved." Celeste corrected, squeezing his hand.

Muriel sighed. "How can you know that?" his voice was somber.

Celeste seemed to mull it over, twisting her mouth up, then blowing a tendril of hair out of her face. "I hear...echoes. From before."

He made a noise of affirmation. Not a memory. Something reverberating across time and space.

"And Asra? You love him, too?" he asked, curious.

She nodded, answering as if it was hardly a question at all. "My Master. My heart."

He tilted his head. "Master?" he said aloud. He gave a dark chuckle. The fact that he was letting her call him that. The fact that she was letting him get away with having her call him that? Spoke volumes to the depths of things she had lost. Celeste had never really been subservient to anyone.

She lifted an eyebrow at his amusement. "Asra is my teacher," she said, almost offended.

"Stick with 'Asra' for the time being," he replied, genuinely displeased with this 'Master' nonsense.

"You and Asra...like Asra and I. Right?" she questioned, trying to understand the dynamic.

It was Muriel's turn to think it over. He blushed a bit, considering what he could say. Though, she seemed to know already. He took a breath, drawing air between his teeth. He couldn't answer her directly.

Celeste giggled at his blush, and the color at his cheeks deepened. "Right,"  punctuating the subject. "Like us. That's good. Asra is...good." she said, a lilt in her tone, implying something more than the fact that Asra was a wonderful person.

Muriel was not at all prepared to have this conversation. He and Asra had been together for years. They weren't involved in any official capacity, but they belonged together. They had an understanding that they loved each other.  

He didn't consider himself to be jealous. At least not with Celeste. That was what they had all wanted. To share each other. To be together. All three of them.

Julian had been another matter entirely, but he could even reason that away with the idea that grief made Asra do stupid things. Like fucking Julian Devorak. And bringing people back from the dead.

Though he didn't quite mind the second one quite so much at this very moment.

"And you and I...?" she pushed, just a bit further.

He huffed a sigh, then shook his head. "No. You and I never were together. Not like that."

She looked a little shocked at that, looking him over. "Why?"

He snorted. Derisive. "No time, unfortunately."

Celeste was puzzled. They loved each other, but weren't physically intimate? She was in love with this man, and they weren't fucking? What the hell was she thinking? That seemed impossible.

He watched her expression. "It was never a matter of want. I assure you," he said, trying to quell her confusion. "It just couldn't happen."

She knew enough to understand that she wouldn't get much more than that from him, so she nodded her assent. "We have time now?" she offered, shifting forward a bit, teasing.

'Oh, Gods. Please,' Muriel thought, staring up at the ceiling, swallowing hard. 'Please, give me strength.' he implored.

Strength for what, he was uncertain. To deny her? To not take her right there?

Then again, he really didn't want the Gods to know she was there. With him. Breaking the terms of his deal, with the one he'd made the deal for.

'No,' he amended. 'Fuck you. Fuck your deal. Celeste is mine. I'm keeping her.'

He had only ever kissed her once. Through the bars of his cell. Sure, there had been other little kisses, on the cheek, the corner of her mouth, when they'd first brought her back. He had laid alongside her and Asra, holding her, willing her back to them. Knowing that he would have to leave her.

But she was here. And she was flesh and blood. She was tender and soft and sweet and his.

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers, and her hand came up to his jaw, long fingers cupping his chin, drawing him to her. His arms snaked around her waist, conscious of the spikes at his wrists. Their mouths met. It was chaste. His eyes fluttered shut, savoring the sensation.

How long had it been? Before she was resurrected. Before the plague. How many nights had he dreamt of this? Felt the ghost of her kiss lingering on his mouth? It was every blissful remembrance made real.

She loved everything about him. The scruff of his beard under her palm. His lips were chapped, but full and soft. He smelled natural. Of sweat, and cedar, and myrrh. His hair was silky but dense and heavy. Cut shaggy and mostly unkempt. It was dark, and the firelight glimmered in it. Dark brown, almost black.  The silvery raised scars that crossed his body. It pained her to think of what may have caused them. What hurts he endured.

She still found him appealing. Beautiful. Powerful. He was hard, and yet, so yielding under her touch. The way he allowed her to examine him. Drink him in. Even as his face burned with a blush. He didn't hide from her. Didn't shy away. He wanted to be touched. To be seen. To be seen by her.

The kiss was slow, heated, pressure building. Becoming more passionate with each moment Celeste and Muriel were joined. His mouth parted hers, and she felt his tongue tracing her teeth. She could taste him. Her tongue met his, tips flicking against one another's, sinking deeper, rolling, and massaging.

His hands crept up her back, one resting at the back of her neck, the other coiling into her hair. Rough callouses skimming her scalp. She shivered. The small hairs on her body standing on end. She tilted her head back, seeking that sensation again, her mouth pulling away from his.

His lips drug along her chin, her jaw, to her throat. His hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back so that he could access her neck more easily. His tongue flicked across her skin, and then his lips would press, and he would suckle and release, leaving small pink welts in his wake. She laid back, allowing him to guide her lower to the pelt that lay on the floor beneath them. Inch, by inch, his kisses falling upon her chest. He had appreciated Asra's chosen wardrobe more, his stolen shirt parting easily enough, falling away from her shoulders. Her chest revealing itself to him.

He had wondered what her breasts might look like. Hazy memories of her form in the dark. So long had he seen her in the shadow, her silhouette, traced by torchlight in the dungeon. He had imagined them, but nothing came close to the reality of them. Dense and full. The areola barely visible, only a shade or so darker than the rest of her tawny skin, a small bud of a nipple rising as it was exposed to the air. He drew a ragged breath, marveling at her form.

He laid her down and made to disentangle his legs from hers, grateful that she'd been in such an advantageous position. Easy to move between her thighs, part them with his knees, her skirt riding up. He made quick work of the remaining fastenings that held her blouse closed and brushed the fabric away. He took a moment, moving a hand over the plane of her belly.  Her stomach was soft, undefined. He was almost surprised to see a thin line of coarse brunette hairs from beneath the band of her skirt leading up to her belly button. He traced them with his finger. She gave a quiet giggle, then bit her lip, tickled by the caress.

Muriel lowered himself to her breast, laving his tongue over her nipple, feeling it stiffen slowly, the skin around it contract. Celeste hissed above him, her head rolling back. He wrapped his lips around the nub, suckling, releasing, suckling again, every once in a while, his teeth would graze the site, and she would squirm a bit. Her hands were up, above her head, pulling the soft orbs taut, her back arching, pressing them against his lips. He moved between the knolls, abandoning one for the other.

He moved down her body, drawing his mouth excruciatingly gently over her sternum, her rib cage, her belly, to the waistband of her skirt. She watched him as he went, eyes half-lidded. His movements were so deliberate and worshipful. His fingers moved to her skirt, and she lifted her hips to help him slide it down.

Muriel was confronted by the soft mound of her mons. He had assumed, given their prior seating arrangement, that she was, in fact, bare beneath her skirt, but seeing it first hand was entirely different. Covered in a dark thatch of curls. The same dark hairs that climbed upwards towards her navel, but thicker, curlier, and denser. It was a curiosity, fleshy and yielding under his fingers, soft lips that gave way to damp slick folds.

His lover of choice, Asra, had decidedly different anatomy. But Lucio had made a point to bring "gifts" to him after what he felt was a particularly good performance in the arena. The workers were always courteous, pitying. Preformative. And fearful of him. Putting on another show for Lucio. All of them under duress, but suppressing their desire to flee or resist under threat of further punishment.  Lucio always framed it as a charity, but it wasn't above him to take himself in hand while he watched.

And Muriel couldn't deny there was some comfort in the release. He had learned about giving pleasure. Lucio would dictate to him precisely what he wanted to see. Of the indignities and crimes he endured, it was certainly the lesser of the evils. Traumatic though it certainly was.  The sex worker's bodies were always perfect, groomed, perfumed, painted. It was all artificial.

But Celeste was real. And beautiful. She wasn't pretending. She wasn't intimidated. Muriel didn't want to separate himself from this.  

He wanted the smell of her in his nostrils, the taste of her cunt on his tongue. She writhed and moaned as he lapped at her clit, his hands holding her hips down, feeling her strain to push up against his ministrations. His name flowing from her lips. Her fingers in his hair. He licked up the slick that trickled from her core, his tongue darting into her tight hole, stroking her, drinking of her body. She tensed and fell apart, her body vibrating. She keened and whined, and he persisted, repeating the same cycle over again. When she could take no more, she called his name, pushing at his cheek with her thigh, too overstimulated to continue the onslaught.

He moved to her side, hand at her jaw, drawing her mouth back to his. He whispered against her mouth, imploring her to taste herself. She ran her tongue along his lips, and he recaptured her, feverishly claiming her mouth. Celeste rolled towards him, mouths still locked. Her hands moving immediately to the waist of his trousers, making deft work of the ties and buckles.

He fell back, parting their kiss. His shoulders pressed into the pelt, and he lifted his hips, pushing the clothing down, kicking off his boots and the offending garment. When he settled, her hand found his cock, hard.

Her fingers moved along his length, sizing him up. She paused for a moment, unsure, and she pushed away for a moment to look down at his member to confirm what she was feeling.  She looked up at him, and he looked equal parts embarrassed and amused.

It was...a lot. Not gratuitous or offensive, certainly. It suited him. Large man. Proportionate dick. All told, it was a gorgeous cock. Silky and veiny with a dusky head, the slightest slick of pre-come at the tip, forming under her touch. All the same, a bit daunting.

"I'll go slow," he reassured her, and she nodded.

She started to move down his body, and he caught her arm, pleading with her. "If you use your mouth on me, I won't last." he cautioned. Of course, he wanted it. But the prospect of her pretty eyes looking up at him as she sucked his cock, choked on it, swallowed his come...there was time for that, later.

He had been waiting years for this. The novelty of fucking Celeste's mouth was nothing compared to the idea of burying himself in her cunt. Riding her until she drained him and his come spilled out of her. He wouldn't be denied that.

She reclined again, and he rolled onto his side, his hand moving to her thigh, drawing her close. He pulled her leg over his hip and positioned himself at the slit at the apex of her thighs. Celeste drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly, her body relaxing. He pushed forward gradually. Celeste's eyes fluttered closed, and she focused on remembering to breathe.

The first sensation was the heat, pressing and sliding between her folds, seeking out her entrance. Then, the slow, agonizing stretch as Muriel entered her. Her breath caught, and he stopped, waiting for her to settle. She swallowed then nodded, biting her lip. He eased forward further, then withdrew a bit.

Muriel's movements were shallow, gradual. He was restraining himself. Acclimatizing her to his size. He watched her face, listened to the sound of her breathing, how quiet little mewls and keens started pouring from her lips as he continued to rock back and forth. She was hot and dripping, and so very tight.  Each thrust was just the slightest bit deeper, taking him further in. She started to roll her hips forward against him, finding his rhythm and meeting it.

His movements became less disciplined as he sank further into her, the clench of her walls silken around his hardness. He called out her name. His hand gripped her thigh, rolling her against him with each drive forward into her cunt.

Celeste moved her hand to her clit, a finger on either side of the sensitive bud. He crashed into her over again, and she pressed and released over and over with each thrust. The pressure and stretch of him filling her combined with the stimulation on her already oversensitive nerves. Lights flashed behind her eyelids, and she made involuntary noises, breathy sounds that came unbidden.

Muriel's name. Over and over.

His beautiful girl, calling for him. He groaned, and his body hitched, overwhelmed by the dire need to release. A vibration that spread from every extremity. He was desperate for it to stop, but it could continue forever. Exquisite and beautiful, drowning him in pleasure. Transcending physical feeling.  His whole body tingling, hot and cold. Helpless yet in complete control. The entirety of tactile sense surging towards a single exit point. He spilled into her, crying out, head falling back, pushing further into her, filling her with his seed.

He remained seated in her, coming down, getting his bearings. She used the thick, creamy come that leaked from around his cock to stroke her clit to another orgasm. Her canal clenching around his spent member. He listened to her moaning, felt the shuddering of her body.

For a long while, they lay, side by side, searching each other's faces. Muriel stroked her cheek, brushed her hair away from her face. She caught his hand and brought his palm to her lips, pressing soft kisses to his hands. They basked in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

It was nearly too much for Muriel to bear. So many years of longing. And now, he had her. It was everything he had wanted. She was his, and she was perfect.

How could he go back to the yearning? How could he let this go?

He wouldn't. Celeste would stay.

He didn't know how, but he would keep her. He would heal her. Asra could stay, or Asra could leave them. Celeste was his. He would fight for her. He had to. The idea of her ever being away from him again. Forgetting him was too much to bear.

Hadn't he paid enough? Surely whatever deities Asra had entreated were not so cruel to keep them apart. It had to mean something, this feeling in his chest. This surge of love and adoration. It couldn't be for nothing.

[boundless-limbo-deviation]

Part 1 - Chapter 2: The Grass is Greener

A pair of sturdy, brown, leather walking boots plodded along an elegantly maintained brick road. Horse-driven carriages creaked on their wheels through the streets of a sprawling city. Whilst the scale and splendour of this city neared what one would expect from a modern metropolis, it was contrastingly dated in appearance. For miles upon miles, stretched a city of the middle ages; Thanton. Whilst it followed the foundations comparable to medieval architecture, its buildings had clearly stood the test of time for centuries. Certain archaic towers even scratched the sky with their scale, with the very tallest being the central tower of a giant palace overlooking its community. The only thing standing higher than this castle's tower was the very mountain that cradled it amidst its southern cliffs. The mountain stood like a watchful deity over Thanton's vastness, which spanned every side of the craggy mass of rock, all the way up to the coastal harbour in the north.

The boots' steady pace came to a halt before the city’s immense front-gates. A traditional drawbridge that was vast enough in size to boast the sheer amount of commerce going in and out of the city. Naturally, this drawbridge was one of many along the walls stretching miles around the city’s circumference.

A young girl stood at the gate, her vibrant amber eyes staring puzzled at the unusual sight of the drawbridge being closed, carriages filled with befuddled traders and travellers queued up for an exit to the city, growing impatient with the wall of wood inconveniencing their day. The youth neatened up her elegantly curled hair, a vibrant ginger flowing halfway down her back like an intricately controlled fire, only further heated by the scarlet-red (and almost comparatively modern) princess coat that hung down to her calves, astonishingly groomed and clean compared to those well-worked leather boots.

“Sir Nasos!” A surprisingly powerful, authoritative voice bellowed from the petite teen’s chords, her stern expression holding impatience. In response to her voice, a flustered, heavily armoured guard’s head peeked over from the castellations of the wall, the girl bending her head right back to make attempted eye-contact with the man, with difficulty due to his helmet-masked face.

“Lady Thanos! Please, you needn’t refer to me with such formality!” He responded nervously.

The girl’s stoic expression cracked a grin, struggling to withhold a chuckle. “You ought to follow your own advice, Steve. Why is the drawbridge closed? Open it! All of these busy people are waiting, myself included!” She crossed her arms and tilted her head expectantly.

The man’s helmet almost fell from his head as he dangled nearly half of his body over the edge of the wall, clearing his throat in his fluster. “A-Apologies, Miss Haraki! There have been sightings of strange monsters emerging from the woods! I’ve been given orders to shut the gate until further notice!” Every word from his mouth was yelled dutifully, though nervous in the face of this child before him.

Haraki looked bewildered by such an order, placing her hands back down on her hips. “I’ll be your ‘further notice’, Steve! So open the gate, and if you get in trouble with the Captain, I’ll have a word with him myself, okay?--Honestly, the main gate?--Look just how much congestion this is causing! If we see monsters, we can close them promptly. It could very well just be an old farmer mistaking a black cat for a demon. We cannot be closing our gates based on sightings alone. We’re supposed to have a shipment of new medicine from Dardonia today too! We need as little traffic as possible!” She tapped her foot impatiently on the floor.

"Wouldn't a Dardonian delivery just fly into the city?"

"Steve!"

“O-Okay! Yes, right away!” Apparently intimidated by this small girl's level of authority, the guard's head vanished from the top of the wall, and after thirty seconds or so, the heavy wooden gate began to descend with a loud, impressive creak. Dense chains brought the drawbridge down with a deep 'clink clink clink clink’, until a reverberating 'clonk’ announced the bridge securely locking into place, revealing the vast countryside beyond the walls. Without delay, carriages started to roll off, several passengers waving to the young girl from their windows, shouting words of appreciation. The girl could only smile and wave back, before continuing her walk through the city gates.

“Miss Haraki! Wait! Please do be careful! If there truly are monsters, your life could be in danger!” Suddenly, the chrome helmet of Steve emerged from the wall’s castellations again, waving an arm frantically. The young girl’s eyes rolled with amused irritation, swivelling around on her heel to stare up at the concerned guardsman.

“Oh, heavens forbid; An adorable black cat meows at me. I can imagine the bloodshed now.” Spoken with an indulgent topping of sarcasm, waving a hand dismissively. Despite her elegant demeanour, the girl’s hands, much like her boots, were coarse and roughened. “Concern yourself not, my good sir. This will be just like yesterday, and the day before that. A mere sighting cannot scratch me.” She shrugged her shoulders, grinning smugly before turning around again.

“But Princess-Haaargh!” The man gave a struggled groan as his oversized helmet, too big for his own head, slid out from its amateurishly fastened straps, plummeting down onto the bridge with a hefty ‘bonk’. This left the bizarrely beautiful, flowing brown locks of the young man flow freely as he muttered curses of blunder under his breath.

The so-called royal youth turned herself around for a second time with an exasperated sigh, picking the helmet up begrudgingly. “Formalities, Sir Nasos!” She bluntly jeered back. Grasping the helmet’s loose strap, and with a powerful swing of her arm, launched it back up towards the man upon the wall, before sauntering away without another word. Unbeknown to her; the helmet came crashing down onto the brick road, all the way on the other side of the wall. She'd missed the flailing hands of Steve by a long shot.

  Brick soon turned to dirt as Haraki distanced herself further from the city, the road becoming more beaten in parallel to the rolling fields of green surrounding her. The countryside was dotted with farmhouses, smaller settlements of homes, and an absolute abundance of cows, horses and sheep. The green was only interrupted by wheat stalks spreading between alternating fields like patchwork. Whilst the weather was clear and skies were blue, off the coast to the west was shroud of grey clouds, obscurring the horizon in a light mizzle of rain.

The frequency of horse-drawn carriages and merchant carts along the roads had slowed to near-nothing once Haraki was off the main brick roads. The girl’s brisk jogging was steadily paced as if it were second nature to her, showing no signs of tiring any moment soon. She closed in on the densely wooded forest, a bright smile of excitement spread across her face, as a thrilling image conjured up in her head.

Just a couple of days prior, the young royal had found something deeply unusual in one of her otherwise regular excursions into Foloway Forest. The Kingdom’s largest forest hid many secrets, and somehow this one had eluded Haraki throughout her adventurous childhood. She blamed not finding it earlier on the fact that she’d only been permitted to leave the city without a caretaker within the last few years due to her age, but she never once felt like her freedom was suppressed.

Those worn leather boots were proving their worth, with the girl fearlessly marching off any beaten path to make a faster journey of finding her goal. If a shrub or bush of nettles so much as stood in her path, she barged on through like a battering ram. No petty piece of underbrush stood a chance.

After about twenty straight minutes of violated vegetation, where the trees were reaching their tallest and the leaves were at their densest; Haraki reached her destination. Lightly reflecting the dappled sunlight through the treetops, were the age-eroded stones of a remarkable ruin. What could have originally been a collection of small buildings, was now a pile of rubble surrounding a bunker-like structure rearing its head up from the earth. Little rounded sculptures dotted the various steps and nooks around the unidentifiable architecture. Arguably adorable, yet far too worn to resemble anything in particular.

Dried leaves and twigs cracked audibly with each cautious step the young girl took towards the structure. Her research in the library didn’t yield a thing as to what it could be, though that could be partially because she got bored trying to find out anything about this ruin via reading. Much better to face her curiosity directly by visiting again. That was her mindset in most ventures and it had served her well enough so far, with the occasional scuffed elbow or scraped knee.

‘Let’s see what you are.’ The girl pondered to herself. Just before she was able to step upon the cold surface of the ruined stone steps however, an unsettling chill ran up her spine. Looking down at her feet, she noticed the leaves and moss beneath her had turned an eerie, lifeless grey. Something about it made the young girl wince distastefully, urgently lifting her foot away and onto the stone step in front of her as if she’d just stepped in a pile of dung.

Swivelling around, Haraki examined the literally greyed-out space of plant life. Kneeling down to take a closer look, it seemed to spread directly outwards from the ruined bunker she was standing on. The same pattern continued consistently around the entire structure. She was admittedly starting to have second thoughts, but tried to shrug the effect off as a kind of chemical reaction from the materials of this ruin. She didn’t really need to care about the science of it, that was for the scholars to think about.

Making a mental note to raise this unusual phenomenon with a bookish individual when she got back home, she turned on her heels once again and regained her fearless resolve to explore this enigmatic structure. Circling around the outer path of the bunker, she gave a gasp of intrigue to find a clear, intact entrance; stairs descending into the buried building. Her heart was thumping with anticipation, eager to be sated. The lass set off downwards, the heavy pacing of her boots echoed in the abandoned corridor of stone, spiralling downwards into the ground.

The stairs continued on for a lot longer than Haraki deemed normal, and the light from outside was dwindling. The princess gave an impatient sigh, narrowing her eyes as she lifted a hand, staring at what little was left to see in this limited lighting. She made repeated gestures with her hand; clenching it shut and opening it again, growing increasingly annoyed at whatever she was trying to do. She firmly clicked her fingers, waved them in the air repeatedly, made a circle with her hand... Nothing worked. Her eyes shut, jaw clenched and teeth bared, before one more, particularly satisfying click of her fingers enticed a sudden ball of light to erupt from the palm of her hand.

Caught by the surprise of her struggled, but successful spell to light her way, the young girl gave a sigh of relief and continued her downwards spiral into the unknown.

This obscured structure was probably around six storeys into the ground when Haraki finally saw an end to the stairwell. She stopped and looked blankly along the corridor at the steps’ base. A short path leading directly towards an archway into a larger chamber; her goal was right there!

Only wishing that the arch didn’t lead to yet more stairs, she was ready to take her last few steps downwards, before a bone-chilling sound and a slithering movement slipped past the corner of her eye. She gave a sharp gasp, almost losing her footing when trying to turn, getting better look at the source of her shock.

Her amber eyes, reflecting the light of her spell, widened for a moment before narrowing in disgust; On the wall was a nondescript, unsettling creature. An insect or mollusc? It was around the length of her forearm and appeared to have legs with plates of glossy exoskeleton, but the way it squirmed was contrastingly amorphic. Firmly clenching her teeth, Haraki took a shaken breath, carefully leaning down to grab a loose brick from the ancient steps.

She firmly held her back against the inner-most wall of the staircase, trying to slip past the nightmarish entity without disturbing it further. The second she passed, an unpleasant, alarming ‘Thwop’ threw her into action as the creature immediately fell from the wall and onto the step beside her. With a panicked yelp, followed by a fast roar of action, the young lady bent her knees and brought both hands down, slamming the brick upon the creature’s uncertain shape. A most revolting ‘Shplock!’ echoed through the underground chambers, as her encounter with the alien-like creature ended as quickly as it began.

The young noblewoman had chosen not to wait and find out if the creature was harmful or not. She stood up straight, kicking the brick down the remaining stairs to get a glimpse of the crushed ‘bug's’ corpse. The slab of stone peeled away from what was now just a mess of off-pink flesh and cracked shell. She hadn’t a clue what she’d just killed, it just oozed viscous fluids down the stone steps. She could only stand a few more seconds even trying to figure it out before scurrying towards her original goal at the bottom of the stairs. Yet another question for the scientists.

Down the remaining stairs and through the archway, the girl in red gave a sigh of relief; she’d evidently reached the bottom. All that greeted her for now was darkness, and from how her footsteps echoed on the cold stone floor, this chamber was large and empty. She tried to brighten her spell, to no avail. With another agitated roll of her eyes, she cautiously paced further into the room, watching her footing due to only seeing a few meters ahead.

The girl only had the echo of her steps for company--so she thought--before the light of her spell reflected off of something in the darkness; two reddish lights glared back at her, beckoning the girl to gasp with a shrill yelp! “Aah! What the—” Her initial scare was cooled quickly, realising that staring back at her was the familiar glow of a cat’s eyes in the darkness.

“O-Oh gosh! Kitty? You frightened me.” She sighed in relief and slowly knelt down, holding out her glowing hand. “How did you get down here sweetie? Right out in the woods too, awh...” She muttered in a high, silly pitch, the likes of which people often resort to when in the close proximity of a cute animal.

As the girl’s voice resounded against the chamber walls, a deep humming began to speak back. Haraki’s fiery head of hair flung back and forth, standing up straight again as she tried to identify the source. It was as if the whole room started buzzing, and as the sound intensified, light began to seep from between the bricks, white crystals lining the walls illuminated, quickly bringing the whole chamber into clarity.

“Oh wow... There are magic installations in here?” She found herself speaking aloud, as if the company of a cat somehow justified it. The crystals distracted the girl only momentarily as the room reacted to the sounds of her presence and came to life. It must not have been activated in a long time judging from how long it took to start up. Turning her attention back to the pair of feline eyes she spotted earlier, she suddenly clutched a hand to her chest in shock, dispelling the light she'd conjured. Her startle wasn't because of the black, red-eyed cat staring quietly back at her, but because of the unconscious figure sprawled on the ground beside it.

“What—Oh my god!” Without a second’s pause, she ran closer to the body, almost skidding to a halt and kneeling by the person’s side. “Hello! Are you okay? Oh, goodness...” She was left in a fleeting panic. Everything about them was shrouded in a flowing mess of silver hair, but Haraki gently rolling them over revealed the stranger’s face.

“A boy?” Haraki muttered under her breath. It didn’t take her long to realise he was breathing steadily, alleviating her concerns. She gazed over at the red-eyed cat, who had paced a few feet away from her. “Are you with him?” She made a mental note of the cat’s eyes, and the boy’s hair, silently remarking on the unusual qualities. A shudder of mystery gave her goosebumps; finding an unusual cat and unconscious boy at the bottom of a mysterious ruin? Her day went from exciting to surreal! Not even taking into account the grotesque eldritch... thing she killed a few minutes ago.

She carefully lay the young man on his side, doing her best to remember the staple recovery position. The cat watched on studiously, with a deep, wide-eyed curiosity, until Haraki shifted her attention back towards him. “You’re adorable! Look at your amazing eyes...” She stood up and edged herself towards the feline, who sat observantly as the girl knelt down and held her hand outwards. Common cat courtesy; let the cat smell your hand first and foremost. But this cat showed no signs of flinching, nor a desire to take a whiff. The two of them merely exchanged a silent stare.

“Your ears are all curved, like horns...” Her hands fearlessly went for the petting, the response she received was the cat lowering his head back into his neck awkwardly, but not enough to truly escape the girl’s hand. She mostly just wanted to run a finger along the backs of those arched ears.

  Ten or so minutes passed with Haraki and the enigmatic cat sitting by the unconscious body of the boy. The cat seemed intrigued by the girl’s eagerness to stay and keep watch, but did not even inch from where he sat. The girl eventually had to relent from petting the cat, understanding that whilst he didn’t move, he didn’t seem too fond of it either. Eventually, the two lively figures sprang up in startle as the boy began to move.

“Hello? Hi! Are you alright?” Her concern was met by an abrupt gasp from the young man, sharply sitting up and throwing his weight backwards. Haraki stayed low, holding out a hand, (much like she did for the cat, really) and spoke calmly. “Hey hey, it’s okay; it’s fine! I’m Haraki, okay? I just found you here, do you—uhm, understand me?”

The boy took several deep, anxious breaths before nodding his head frantically. “Y-Yes... Am I—?” He glanced about his surroundings. Towering over him was a tall, familiar monolith, just like the last thing he saw before losing consciousness. This time, however, his location was completely different. Upon spotting the cat, who finally stood up from his position and moved closer, the boy exclaimed; “Yang! Did we make it?”

The boy was clearly experiencing a complete overload of emotion, unsure of where to direct his attention. The room around him, the otherworldly stranger who greeted him, or his familiar mentor, who remained quiet, glancing between his student and the stranger.

The three of them cast awkward gazes amongst one another, before the silver-haired boy spoke again. “Yang? Say something!” He uttered, stammering on his words amidst his heightened breathing.

A very human-like sigh emanated from the small animal beside Haraki, before the cat finally broke his cover with that refined, charming tone of his. “I was trying to remain discreet in the presence of a stranger, Kiyoshi.”

The girl’s eyes widened, her lips silently parting as her head turned away from the boy, to stare in disbelief at the cute critter to her side, who returned her gaze, except calmly.

“To naturally avoid frightening the lass. She’s shown nothing but courtesy upon finding us.” Kiyoshi had his turn to feel the fright; now it was Haraki’s. She fell off her heels where she knelt, staggering to the side as her legs frantically kicked along the ground, putting just a meter of extra distance between herself and the others.

The roles had quickly reversed, Kiyoshi holding his hand out and waving it with flustered dismissal. “N-No no no! it’s okay! We don’t mean you any harm!” The poor fellow dropping the most staple line of reassurance he could find in his emotionally shaken, awkward self.

Yang tilted his head back softly, with a slow blink of those blood-red eyes. “As mentioned, young lady, sorry for frightening you.”

Rather than continuing her brief tizzy, the girl was taking deep, concise breaths to try and calm herself down. “I-I believe you! I think—Oh my god...” Her shaken tone betrayed her words. She gulped down her next sentence, taking another moment to compose. “I’m um... This is just very different, I—” Her amber eyes flickered between two enigmatic entities, where initially the boy had been the most mysterious, the cat now outranked him vastly.

Kiyoshi nodded slowly, the boy and cat sitting in silence to allow the girl space and time to digest the situation. Yang wordlessly admired her bravery. He was well aware that human beings weren’t widely accustomed to silver hair and talking cats, and they very well could have sent the girl fleeing entirely.

Haraki took a long, deep breath. Her hands covered her face in an attempt to arrange her thoughts, before holding them both out as if to say; 'wait a minute'. “Are you both from... a black rock atop a hill?” Her silence-breaker struck both of the otherworldly visitors to their cores. Yang’s ears twitched and turned, Kiyoshi inhaled sharply through his nose.

“How could... Why would you say that?” Kiyoshi stuttered back, being reminded of home again so quickly felt like a dagger in his gut. He bit the inside of his lip, a hand desperately kneading into the glimmering blue garment he had been clinging to.

Yang could tell Kiyoshi was hurting, and interjected to take ownership of the question. “I’m astounded by the sudden, sheer precision of your inquiry, young lady. I didn’t expect the first human we met to be familiar with our home. May I ask how you know this?”

Haraki watched the cat speaking like an intricately orchestrated symphony. Almost mesmerised by the bizarreness, She blinked once realising he had asked a question. “Oh wow, sorry.” She paused. “It's just a bit odd, that I was petting you a moment ago and talking to you like a... Cat.”

The thought alone was enough to dispel some of Kiyoshi’s anxiety for the moment, a soft laugh uttered from the boy as Haraki continued.

“I heard it from stories my father told me. Well, rather, they were stories he heard from my mother before she passed away. I never knew her, myself.” She said, at which Kiyoshi had dropped back into reserved silence again, as Yang listened with full intent.

“He told me she travelled to the world of demons, and that it wasn’t a scary place at all! She described it as a beautiful landscape of twilight--Is that all real?--You believe these stories as a little kid, obviously, but...”

“Then we are your proof." Yang interjected. "Though you could imagine the scenery becomes rather mundane to the Underworld’s inhabitants. I suppose after some time we’ll no doubt look back on our memories of it and grow nostalgic.”

“Wait, wait--You’re not going back?” The girl was concerned by Yang's dismissive tone.

The black cat sternly cast a glance over at his pupil's visible grief. “I shouldn’t go into detail at this point, as much as I appreciate your hospitality. To keep it short; Our homeland has been ravaged by illness, and is no longer a safe, or pleasant place to be.”

“What?” Haraki’s reaction was loud and abrupt, her hands gripping anxiously into her coat as a shiver ran through her body. “Illness? Like a plague?” Yang gave a slow nod in response, staring expectantly at her. “See, there’s a massive epidemic here too, and I mean--not just here--the whole world’s been hit by it.” Haraki clarified, even Yang’s steadfast composure seemed to be shaken by the notion that this plague was spread across two dimensions.

Kiyoshi had question after question piling up in his mind, weighing down on all the stress attempting to erupt. He sat there with an ache in the pit of his stomach that refused to go away, and he didn’t expect it to anytime soon either.

“How could... How could that even be possible? What are the symptoms here? Is it terminal?” The fur on Yang’s back twitched, starting to lift and stand on end with cautious intrigue.

“Uhm, it's killed a lot of people, but it isn't definitely terminal... I'm not very good with medical things like symptoms. My father has it, uh... he feels cold and exhausted all the time. His muscles hurt a lot. He, uh..." She began making circular gestures with her hands away from her mouth.

"Vomits?" Yang bluntly said it for her, garnering a reluctant nod from the youth. Yang simply narrowed his eyes and continued. “I am truly sorry to hear about your father. Is there any discolouration of the skin and hair, or loss of sight?”

Haraki made an uncertain shrug with her shoulders and hands. “My father's become pale, but... No change to his eyes or hair. I'm sorry, I don't actually know anything specific about the sickness outside of Thanton--That is--my city. Was it... Uh, different for you?" The young woman seemed afraid to ask.

“Almost every case is severe, and fatal. I won't elaborate further on that right now.” Likely to save more grief for himself, but especially Kiyoshi. It wasn't worth giving their life story to a stranger, no matter how friendly she might be.

Haraki felt her muscles tense. She couldn't swallow this tinge of guilt no matter how many times she tried, because the dread in the air was clear as day. “O-Oh my god... I’m so sorry. I didn't mean to pry.” She stood back up frantically, her mind hitting a block on what else to say.

Yang performed another one of his very cat-like slow blinks. "You did nothing of the sort. I understand you already feel shaken by the reality of this encounter." Kiyoshi's attention was elsewhere, completely silent and empty.

"No no! I mean, yes but, it's nothing compared to what you--" She stopped herself for another deep breath, looking away to gather her thoughts. "I should... Leave you to yourselves? I'll, uhm, just..." She turned on her heels towards the way she entered and took a whole three brisk steps before Yang stopped her.

"Hold on, young lady. Please let me properly introduce ourselves. My name is Yang, and this boy is my apprentice, Kiyoshi. I understand such formalities were lost amidst our mutual... Culture shock, let's say."

Whatever Yang did with his polite cut-in, it worked miracles in dispelling Haraki's guilt. The girl turned to face them again, and with a sharp inhale through flared nostrils, she performed a clumsy curtsy. "Haraki." She smiled in appreciation at Yang's courtesy, emboldening her to speak further. "Would you two... Please join me outside? It would be my honour to escort you."

The cat's eyes widened, body language relaxing considerably. "Your hospitality knows no bounds, Haraki." As the cat lifted his back legs off the ground, he stared intently at Kiyoshi, who on the other hand, showed little sign of moving. Slouched over where has was sat, both arms folded tensely across his abdomen. He could barely return his mentor's gaze. Despite the boy's mourning, Yang had to give him the push. "Come, Kiyoshi. Just a bit further; Remember why you are here."

Kiyoshi finally lifted his head. During Yang and Haraki's dialogue, he'd been left to sink into the company of his dark thoughts. "Mm." He murmured. But Yang's words stirred a budding motivation inside him at the very least, urging the young man to finally stand before nodding his head in silent thanks at the welcoming lass.

"Thank you, um." Haraki found it difficult addressing the boy. What could she even say to him that didn't come across as empty or shallow? So instead she nodded awkwardly back at him, clapping her hands together assertively. "Great! Uh, let's go then!" Her somewhat forced pep added to her tone echoed through the chamber, as she yet again turned to walk just a few steps ahead. The chamber remained illuminated for now, but the stairwell remained dark and decrepit, meaning Haraki had to struggle and re-kindle her poor display of magic to guide the way, of which Yang stared, taking silent note. "Oh, um, I don't suppose either of you know what this thing might be? It's rather... repulsive, I think I sort of squashed it on my way down. Mind your step." Haraki was of course, referring to the revolting carcass of the 'blob' she splattered earlier.

The young man only gave a passing "Eugh..." as his line of sight passed over it. Seeing any instance of viscera again would be too soon.

Yang on the other hand, stayed true to the ways of his kind by cautiously leaning in and sniffing it, only to pull back and wince in disgust. "How vile. I'm content to have never seen any creature of the sort."

The princess felt no more at ease that her guests had no information to give on the abomination. She'd just have to describe it to a researcher at the palace library. The girl maintained a brisk pace up the stairs, with Yang remaining furthest behind to keep his student moving. As the light from above began to fill the tunnel, Haraki snuffed out her spell.

The moment they stepped outside, the human girl's breath of fresh air paled in comparison to the sheer awe in the eyes of her company. Yang was stunned, and Kiyoshi wordlessly took steps of his own ahead of the group, almost losing his footing and instead leaning his weight against the closest tree he could reach. Haraki was taken aback by how anyone could react like this to what she considered to be the mundane. The cat and girl stepped away from the cold stone entrance, each of them feeling their feet settle on the forest soil. Yang sat himself on the earth with his tail wrapping around his front paws, pushing those pads down into the fallen leaves, feline nose twitching as it sniffed the clean forest air.

Green grass, blue skies, trees in vast abundance. To Kiyoshi, this was his fairy tale. After having mustered the courage to stand before, his hand dragged down the tree's bark. He was once again brought to his knees by a surge of emotion he couldn't suppress, but this was far more bittersweet than dread. "Mom, Dad... I'm here, I made it. I can't... I can't believe I'm here." Kiyoshi's mourning no longer echoed in isolation, but instead carried on the wind through the branches of the wood. The others remained in silence, allowing Kiyoshi one more moment of release, one he truly needed.

  Given their necessary moment of reflection, the two Underworld refugees were able to stand and move on. Kiyoshi's spirits had lifted significantly, feeling more comfortable around the girl who had offered to guide them through Foloway Forest after having broken down before her like that. He couldn't stop remarking on the colour of the vegetation and sky. Each and every plant was like seeing an alien, Kiyoshi was taking excessive care with everything he laid hands on, in fear of breaking or damaging literally anything, from fragile plants right down to one particularly shiny pebble in the midst of a stream. Everybody's mood was lifted by his vibrant curiosity.

Once they had left the woods, as the rolling hills of farmland spread out before them, it dawned on Kiyoshi all over again just how much he could see. His jaw dropped, gasping and turning his head frantically, as if desperately searching for the spot where the land drops off into a sea of cloud, but instead he only saw the cliffs by the coast.

"Oh my goodness..." An open-mouthed smile of giddy awe spread across his face, green eyes basically twinkling from the lingering tears and bright light of the sun beaming down on them. "Is that seriously all water?" Far more cat-like than his mentor right now, Kiyoshi's attention was rapidly tugged from one place to the next, throwing his head back to look at the sky. "W-We're so far beneath the clouds!"

Haraki could only exchange an expression of amusement with Yang. Not that the cat's face was prone to much outside of the usual cat-like spectrum of expression. "His reaction is sort of lining up with what my Father told me about your world." She said down to him, to which he silently blinked in acknowledgement before the princess marched ahead towards the silver-haired boy who had now begun to gasp at the presence of a field full of cows in the distance. Haraki had her eye caught on the horizon out at sea, her eyes widening in intrigue as the mist from earlier had lifted significantly.

"Hey!" She called out to him. "Look back out at sea again, really carefully now. Look, look!"

Kiyoshi responded with an idle "Huh?" before doing as she asked, the girl pointing her finger sharply at a particular point where the sky had been clearing, and everything soon became apparent.

A positively colossal silhouette stretched up from the distant sea, a tower of such remarkable size and haphazard shape that its very existence should have been impossible, stretching far beyond the clouds. Even Yang approached in disbelief, his narrow pupils widening visibly.

"I had heard of a structure of fantastic proportions, but seeing it in person far outmatches any expectations..." The wise cat admitted.

"What... is it?" Asked Kiyoshi to the steadily brightening expression of the princess.

"That's Dardonia Citadel; The world's largest manmade structure, and home to the people who are going to cure my Father!"

[chopsticks-pony]

My vision of the Mane 6 as characters. It can be hard to distinguish the details in my character designs without having a bunch of them standing together, which I don't do very often. The characters I do aren't cookie-cutter shapes. One thing I do enjoy in art is giving attention to details for characters to stand out uniquely from each other. This includes their height and body shape, width of hooves, how frizzy their manes are, length and size of wings and horns, eyebrow shape, fluffiness, and shape of fluff. However, I do prefer thinner, shorter necks and thinner limbs with large hands/hooves. The downside to this is that characters aren't drawn very consistent, which means the sketch-build stage takes significantly longer and it's nearly impossible to animate together in motion.

Some people think I have a "Tim Burton" style, but there's loads of artist who also do this sort of deal, and far deeper than I. But while Tim Burton wants to make cute things be creepy, I just want to add creepy elements to something cute, while keeping something creepy if need be. . PINKIE PIE Size - Average Build - Average Fluff - Rounded frizz Eyes - Rounded, cute Mane - Very frizzed, looped, puffy I draw Pinkie Pie with a gold tooth. This is because I imagine her as needing one after discovering sweet treats and not caring for her teeth very well—on purpose—to get the gold tooth instead of a natural replacement. Most artists (and there's very few) who do draw ponies different sizes often make Pinkie Pie "thicc" or plump due to her diet on sweets. I would, except I think her hyperactivity burns so many calories that she's able to maintain an average weight and size. Her hair I imagine to be the likeness of frizzy cotton candy. . FLUTTERSHY Size - Taller, small wings Build - Thin and awkward Fluff - Short and sift Eyes - Oval tall, cute, pretty dark Mane - Silk smooth but frizzed Oh, poor, dear Fluttershy! I give her characteristic dark circles; doing this draws a lot of attention to the eyes and makes them ‘pop out’, giving a sense of PTSD and alertness, like something isn’t quite right. Yep! Fluttershy suffers from PTSD as she’s so easily startled. And Fluttershy’s general lack of sleep caring for animals all the time adds to the dark circles. She has smaller wings and she's fluffier do to being a bird-horse. I also put her on a tall body with flared hooves to make her appear awkward and clumsy. She thinks Rainbow Dash is taller than her, but as a gentle giant, she doesn’t know how tall she is! . TWILIGHT SPARKLE Size - Average, long horn / wings Build - Average Fluff - Average Eyes - Average, dark Mane - Straight but slightly frizzed Book horse I think is a mainstay (pun) source for all things average IMO, except her eyes and hair. Twilight's extremely busy lifestyle and constant stress I feel warrants her to have darkened eyes of insomnia. This is a pony who could sleep for 12 hours and still not wake up rested. I also don't think she'd spent a lot of time on her appearance, letting her mane and coat remain brushed at minimum. .

RAINBOW DASH Size - Short, long wings Build - Sma... "aerodynamic" Fluff - Sifted Pegasi-fluff Eyes - Average Mane - Slightly Frizzed Suffering from spunky case of "little mare syndrome", this is what we call "smol dash". She's spunky, larger, stronger wings help carry her through the air. She's missing a tooth because of her activities and her hooves aren't nearly as polished as the others. She doesn't brush her coat often unless to be presentable as a Wonderbolt. I also try to make sure Rainbow Dash is a bit more flat in the chest. . APPLEJACK Size - Very Tall Build - Large Fluff - Rough and unkempt Eyes - Wide Mane - Coarse and straw-like The apple-bucking farm pony. She's strong and well-built, with somewhat sharp angles I usually reserve for stallions. Very poorly-tended hair and coat. The ponytails of her hair are dense like a mace and weapons in their own right. Like Dash, I also give her stiffer eyelashes and 2 instead of 3 lower lashes. . RARITY Size - Tall, long, thin horn Build - Thin and trim Fluff - OCD Brushed Eyes - Oval Mane - OCD Brushed Rarity is perhaps the most opposite of the stylistic choices I make with most of the Mane 6 because she's so clean and well-groomed. I also slim down her appearance. Unlike some other artists, I draw her (and her sister) tall instead of short and petite; she just has that air about her. I also felt she needs elf ears.

[kpoptextauwu-archive]

Falling Falling Falling

Summary: Jeno fell from the heavens scared and alone a cloaked hand was all he got in return

Pairing: platonic Jeno x Mark

Prompt: Fantasy AU!

               Fluffish

               Angst for like a sec

Requested: No

Note: this is the first part in the collab with @ihf-ihop-ihi who will be posting the second part tomorrow. To see the schedule click here

Warning(s): N/a

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Third POV;:

The harsh wind whipped around Jeno as he fell from the sky. His hair flew messily, whipping in his eyes, but he felt nothing. He didn’t notice the sheets of rain pelting him as he tumbled, didn't feel the sharp pains of cold against his skin. He looked up at the sky from which he had just plummeted to see the stream of orange and cream colored feathers that came floating behind him. He watched blankly as they each started to disappear in a shimmer of gold, until there were no more feathers left. As the last one faded, a blood-curdling scream found its way out of Jeno’s mouth as fiery ripping pain began to spread across his back. His eyes squeezed shut as he blacked out in agony.

Jeno’s eyes stayed shut until he was abruptly awoken, choking on water as he sunk down into the lake he must have crashed in. Thrashing, he swam up to the surface, sputtering and coughing as he sucked in the harsh frigid air. Jeno let out a strangled sob as the searing hot pain in his back registered again, almost blacking out and going back under.  His head spun as he treaded the water, trying to stay awake long enough to find a patch of shore, the horrible stabbing in his back causing him to let out terrible shrieks.

After almost blacking out again, fighting the rain and choppy water to stay afloat, he managed to find a small patch of land. Slowly he crawled onto the bank, his entire body shaking.

He had barely made it onto the coarse sand before another stab of pain shot through him, the worst by far. Another scream ripped through his throat as he sobbed before fainting, the feeling of the harsh rain and ice of the lake water unnoticed.

Hours passed before Jeno woke. His vision was blurry and he felt dizzy as he struggled to sit up. The rain had turned into a drizzle, leaving soft drops along his face and torso. The pain from his back had faded and his entire body was completely numb. He didn’t notice the scrapes and cuts until he looked down and inspected the red marks along his skin. He watched as they began to turn into thin white lines and then vanish, almost as if they had never existed. Sighing, Jeno ran a hand through his soaked hair and flopped back on the hard gravel beach, only to shout at the pain that shot up his back. Bolting back upright, his body shook and small whimpers left his mouth.

Taking one shaky hand Jeno reached behind him and gasped as he ran his fingers lightly over his back. He felt two long jagged and raw wounds across his back and even the gentle touch of his fingers made him want to cry. Pulling his hand back, his eyes widened. Unlike the red that had littered his body and healed into nothing, his hand came back with shimmery gold ichor. Jeno shuddered at the sight and wiped the blood off on his pants, while ignoring the gold shimmer it left behind. 

    Placing his hands on the ground he hauled himself up and whimpered in pain. Wobbling on his feet slightly, Jeno took in his surroundings. The lake in which he had fallen was bigger than he originally thought. It spread out farther than he could see. Surrounding the lake was a thick green wood that probably contained all sorts of otherworldly creatures. His gut twisted slightly as he realized exactly where he was. This place was part of the reason he was here, now, on a rough beach, shirtless and broken. Taking a final breath, he turned his back to the waterfront and slowly made his way towards the forest. 

    Inside the forest was dense and walking through it was difficult. Thankfully, Jeno was naturally light on his feet, jumping over and ducking under branches with ease. Every once and a while a branch would brush against the wounds on his back and he would whimper quickly, jerking away from the contact. He walked and walked until the moon had risen far above him and the stars were on full display. Huffing, Jeno sat down and gingerly leaned up against the stump of a fallen tree. He tried to prevent causing any pain to the wounds on his back, which had begun to numb like the rest of his body. Sighing again, he let his head fall back and hit the stump as he stared bitterly at the sky for a few moments before letting his eyes fall shut, allowing sleep to consume him. 

    Jeno was awoken by the rustling of leaves around him and opened his bleary eyes to a thin ray of sunshine coming through the trees and what almost looked like a pair of forest green eyes. Jeno quickly sat up, startled. Alert, he looked around, but the eyes were gone. he assumed it must have been his imagination. 

    He blinked his eyes a few more times and glanced around, this time taking in more of his surroundings. He was in a fairly open space, sticks and twigs littered the dirt and moss covered ground, along with various  prickly and flowered bushes. What he didn’t notice at first was the folded long sleeve black shirt resting by his legs. 

    Narrowing his eyes he picked up the shirt by the collar, watching it unfold and hang in front of him. He flipped it around from back to front, checking it. The only thing adorning the shirt was a few dirt stains Jeno had probably kicked onto it in his sleep. He lifted his head again, checking around to see who could have left it, but no one was there. He began to wonder if maybe the green eyes had been real after all. He pulled the long shirt over his head, shrugging at the thought. It was a little big on him but overall fit him well, and it smelled faintly of laundry detergent. He looked around again to see if maybe he had simply missed the person who had given him the shirt, but there was still was no one. Dismissively, he got to his feet, brushed off his now dirt-stained pants, and took off to find his way out.  

    It was a couple of hours later when he finally found his way out. The sun was now high in the sky, making Jeno squint as he emerged into a near empty field. There were park benches and picnic tables littered around and a small playground could be seen in the distance. Jeno guessed he was probably in a city or state park considering what was around him.  As he continued to look around he noticed that there were only a few people around. Some kids were on the playground, a group of what looked like high schoolers sat at a table, and every once in a while a jogger would pass by, not one of them sparing more than a glance at Jeno. 

    The only person who stood out to Jeno was a boy sitting on a park bench a little ways away from him intensely reading a book. He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt so drawn to the boy, maybe it was the black cloak he had pulled over his head preventing Jeno from seeing his face, or possibly it was the small strip of the blue he could see traveling up one of his hands, disappearing under the cloak. Whatever it was, Jeno found himself walking forward and coming to a stop in front of the boy before he realized what he was doing. 

    As he approached the boy seemed to visibly tense up until he was almost curling in on himself. Jeno almost smiled at the gesture, which he found cute. Instead, Jeno heard himself speaking. 

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice feeling hoarse.

    He heard the boy hum quietly in response, not to looking up.

    “I was wondering if you could tell me where I was? I’ve never been here before and I’m a little…” Jeno looked down at his outfit and his bare feet. He looked homeless  "lost,” he finished.

The boy in front of him mumbled something, yet still refused to look up and meet Jeno’s eyes.

    Huffing and rolling his eyes, Jeno crossed his arms. “I can’t hear you, either speak louder or look up.”

    The boy tensed more, if that was possible, and slowly raised his head. The hood of his cloak made it hard to see his face but one thing was clear; Those were the same eyes Jeno had seen when he had woken up, except this time they were a lighter green, almost matching the color of the grass. Jeno’s eyes widened as the boy repeated what he said, the words going in one ear and out the other.  

    They both stared at each other for a moment before Jeno stiffened and took a step back. The cloaked boy flinched slightly at Jeno’s reaction and looked down, yet again trying to curl into himself. When Jeno spoke his voice was low and cautious; if this was the same person who brought him the shirt that meant he had most likely seen the wounds on Jeno’s back.

 “Who are you?” He asked softly. 

    The boy tried to hide in his cloak.  “No one,” came his quiet answer.

    “Don’t lie to me,” Jeno demanded, his voice hard. “You brought me this shirt last night, didn’t you? How much did you see? Who are you?”

    The boy whimpered at the onslaught of questions being shot at him. Jeno sighed, annoyed, and took a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry... let me try this again,” he spoke much softer now,“It’s a little creepy when some random kid gives you a shirt in the middle of a forest, so would you please answer my question. Who are you?”

    The boy relaxed a little at the more gentle demeanor of Jeno’s voice now and shyly looked up at him. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, thinking of what to say.

 “My name is Mark,” he finally decided.

Jeno nodded and crouched in front of the boy, Mark, to examine him closely. It was still difficult to see him, because his cloak did a good job of hiding his face, but Jeno could clearly see his eyes now. They were glowing slightly. He also appeared to have a strip of what looked to be scales wrapped around his neck and up under his chin, but Jeno couldn’t be sure. Mark also had small bumps under the hood of his cloak, making it seem like he had horns.  

“What are you?” Jeno wondered aloud, not meaning for Mark to hear him. 

    Mark’s head snapped up to look him in the eyes, making Jeno stumble back a bit. 

“What are you?” Mark shot back, his voice hard. 

    Jeno quickly regained his composure and glared at the strange boy.

 “My name is Jeno, and that’s all you need to know.”

Mark held his gaze for a couple moments before nodding and snapping his book shut. “Alright then, Jeno, it was nice to meet you. I have somewhere to be. Have a good day.” Mark stood up, making Jeno fall back. He began to walk away, leaving Jeno blinking at him until his black cloak disappeared out of sight. Something about Mark both bothered and intrigued him, and he was determined to find out what it was. 

    A week passed before Jeno saw Mark again. He had been living in the forest in a small cave he found not too far out from the park. It wasn’t big or scary and it made a comfortable living space for Jeno until he could figure out how to get his wings back. Jeno had been resting peacefully in his cave, staring up at the ceiling as he did most days, when he heard some branches snapping outside. He sat up lazily. It hadn’t been the first time some foolish kids had gotten away from their parents and ended up there. He had gotten used to it, so he would quickly scare them off and go about his day.

    More snapping occured and he could hear footsteps now. He sighed and stood up, preparing to frighten away more kids, which was surprisingly simple as humans were so gullible. The cracking and footsteps drew closer until the owner stepped into Jeno’s little cave. 

    Instead of some silly 8 year olds he was presented by a familiar cloaked figure. The darkness inside the cave made it hard to tell that it was Mark at first, due to his black cloak. His eyes now looked shadow black, almost matching the darkness around him. Jeno froze when he identified who his visitor was and stared at him blankly. Mark didn’t seem to notice Jeno, so he cleared his throat, watching as Mark quickly turned to stare at him. Mark gasped dramatically and placed a hand over his heart. 

“You scared me,” he mumbled, turning fully to face Jeno. Mark seemed significantly more calm and confident today. He didn’t curl in on himself the way he had when Jeno approached him the first day, and he held his gaze the entire time. 

    “What are you doing here?” Jeno asked while walking to stand in front of Mark. 

    “I could ask you the same thing,” Mark answered, looking him up and down,“ You’re still wearing the same clothes from last week... don't you have anywhere to go? Or at least more clothes?”

    Jeno scoffed and shook his head. Mark pursed his lips, thinking, before making a silent decision and grabbing Jeno’s wrist to drag him out of the cave. Jeno quickly pulled his arm back and glared at Mark. 

“What are you doing?” he snapped, cradling his wrist as if it had been injured. 

    Mark rolled his eyes and grabbed his wrist again. “I’m taking you to my place, people might start to notice if a teenage boy is living in a cave in the city park.”

    Jeno was tempted to decline and pull his wrist from Mark again but he was still incredibly curious about the boy. Maybe going with him and seeing what kind of a person Mark was for a day wouldn’t be so bad.

Much to Jeno’s disdain, seeing Mark became a regular occurrence. After he left Mark’s tiny and messy apartment the first day, he started to find Mark appearing in his cave waiting for him with clean clothes. One day he even brought Jeno a pair of socks and shoes, claiming he would be drawing more attention to himself if he remained shoeless. Jeno had put up a small protest, but eventually gave in once Mark threw one of the shoes at his head. It didn't hurt him, not like anything did considering he couldn't feel anything, but he would rather not have shoes thrown at him all day. 

    A month passed by like this until one day Jeno showed up to his cave to find Mark yet again waiting for him on one of the pillows Mark had given him to “spruce up” the place. This time though, Mark didn’t have anything to give Jeno. 

    “What are you doing here?” Jeno asked, sitting across from him.

    “I have a request for you, and you can’t say no,” Mark replied as he sat up to look at Jeno better, his cloak never coming off his head.

    “That sounds like more of a demand than a request then.”

    Mark thought for a moment before nodding, “You’re right, it is a demand. Pack your stuff. You’re moving in with me.”

 Jeno opened his mouth to protest but Mark cut him off,“Don’t even try and argue. I’m tired of walking all the way to this stupid cave to give you clothes and bring your pillows.”

    “I never actually asked you to do that you know. I don’t even need the pillows, it’s not like I can feel pain... Or anything really.”

    Mark stared at him for a moment before shrugging,“You’re still moving in with me. Unless you want to be arrested.”

    Jeno sighed. He knew he couldn’t win this but he thought might as well at least get something out of it. 

“I’ll make you a deal. I'll move in with you if you tell me what you are.” Mark’s head snapped up from where he had been picking up the clothes littered around Jeno’s cave. 

“I know you aren’t human. Even though you never take that cloak off, I’ve seen your eyes change colors in a way a human’s eyes can’t, and I’ve seen the blue strips on your skin.”

    Mark bit his lip, thinking for a moment, before nodding,“If I show you what I am, will you show me what you are?”

    Instinctively Jeno reached to his back and gripped the short black shirt between his wounds. Mark smirked slightly,“You might have seen little bits of me, but your strangeness is always on display. They go right up to the base of your neck.” Jeno sighed. Of course they did. Mark looked at him with an eyebrow raised, “So, do we have a deal?”

    Jeno thought for a moment before nodding. He watched as Mark pulled the hood of his cloak off to reveal his face properly. Just as Jeno had thought, Mark had blue scales running down the side of his face and neck, down to his arms where they could be seen at the base of his wrist. On top of his head were horns. They were very small but strangely intriguing. 

“A hybrid?” He asked after giving Mark a solid once over. Mark nodded, almost scared, and then frantically gestured for Jeno to take his shirt off. Jeno sighed again but reached for the hem of his shirt. 

    He pulled it slowly over his head and turned away from Mark so he could see the gruesome wounds along his back. He heard the other boy approach him from behind until Mark was right behind him. 

“What are they?” Mark asked carefully. 

    “Wounds where my wings were ripped off. They’ll never heal,” he whispered quietly as he heard Mark catch his breath.     

    “What are you then?” Mark asked, his voice barely above a whisper as well.

    Jeno took a deep breath,  his shoulders shaking as he replied, “A fallen angel.” 

    As the words left his mouth he felt a faint touch of finger press against one of the wounds and heard Mark inhale sharply. He immediately whipped back, moving as far from Mark as possible and pulled the shirt back over his head. When he looked back Mark had a glazed over expression, as if he wasn’t quite in the real world. 

    “Don’t. Touch.” Jeno hissed angrily at him. “I can’t control what you can see.”

    Mark nodded lazily, his head still dizzy, but went back to picking up the clothes and cushions strewn around the ground. “What are you doing?” Jeno asked him, still shaking slightly. He wasn’t sure why, since he couldn’t feel cold. 

    Mark rolled his eyes as if it were obvious.

“Packing for you to come live with me. We had a deal, remember?”

Jeno had gone to sleep peacefully in the bed Mark had provided him. A few weeks had passed. Today had been tiring and he honestly didn’t want to deal with anything right now. Slowly he drifted off into sleep. That night he dreamed. He dreamed of Mark screaming and throwing open the door to his bedroom and a golden light enveloping him. The light felt warm, something Jeno hadn’t felt in weeks. He sighed in his sleep and slowly opened his eyes, only to be met with the same golden light from his dream in his bedroom and Mark nowhere in sight.

[the-redmane-family]

Twilight of the Soul

[ Another story featuring Thea Redmane, Isolde’s aunt! I won’t say too much except that I enjoyed getting to explore my own version of how I imagine this significant event in the Warcraft timeline must’ve felt to experience.

Accompanying music: “Reindeer King”, by Tori Amos*

*Don’t forget to pause the music on this page’s music player first (bottom right corner)! ]

A dense, freezing fog spread languidly across the water as the boat sailed onward. Its grim, steady forward motion set it determinedly against the perpetually receding wall of icy mist as the men upon the deck looked nervously about. None of them seemed sure of himself; doubt lingered on their faces as surely as the moisture in the air clung to the ship’s wooden deck.

“Are you certain we’ve not strayed off course, my lady?”

One of the men now addressed a woman standing at the head of the ship. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her posture straight; several dark strands of hair fell into her face as the rest remained bound in a loose bun behind her head. A set of eyes peered out across the veiled sea, seeing and yet not seeing.

“Stay the course. I know these waters. Our destination is not far.”

Thea heard herself speak to the man as if across a great chasm. It was as if her words were not her own, as if she were listening to some echo that had only just returned to her years later. The effect was disorienting, but somehow she maintained the dignity of her posture long enough for the doubting sailor to turn back to his duties, passing under the shrouds and making his way back to join his crewmates.

Turning and making her way below deck, Thea felt as if she had just come unstuck from some web in time. The cold, damp air suddenly felt real again. How long had she been standing upon the bow? Flexing her hands, she clenched and unclenched her fists, blowing into them uselessly. Her breath seemed only to chill them more. She peered around the cabin to search for some candle or kindling, but there was none to be found. Instead she opted for a blanket, a thin white cotton shawl draped across the nearby chair. The fabric was coarse, and it might as well have not existed at all, for the cold was inescapable; the fog’s tendrils permeated every corner of the cabin. She peered out of the grimy windows as soft beams of silver light poured in, but it was a dead light, listless and purposeless. The fog was everywhere.

A strange sensation suddenly gripped her: an overwhelming sadness, its origin utterly inexplicable. Stunned at the immediacy with which this new wave of feeling enveloped her, Thea stumbled backward into the nearest chair, slumping forward as a single tear rolled down her face.

What is happening to me? Her thoughts rattled around in her skull; the voice that spoke inside her head was her own for the first time in an age.

But was it? How could there ever have been a voice speaking to her apart from that which she now heard? The sadness multiplied, giving way to dread. Where in the name of all good things was she? Why had she told the sailor that she knew these waters? A slow panic seeped into her bones, joining the interminable cold that had settled there. What if she had been bewitched? What if these waters were cursed with some obfuscating magic that befuddled the mind and robbed her of all senses?

Surely there’s got to be some—

Her thoughts were interrupted as the dull, pale light shining through the cabin windows suddenly began to take on a golden hue. From above deck, a multitude of voices sounded. The crew had seen something; a break in the mist, the arrival of the sun! The light was suddenly brilliant, and for the first time in what seemed like years, the cold was forgotten. Throwing aside her doubts, Thea stood and strode with purpose to the door of the cabin, and flinging it open—

—she beheld a vast, endless field. The sky overhead was filled with clouds, but the sky was still visible; hues of red and orange and amber seemed to denote that sunset was imminent. Across the lone and level plains, a solitary figure stood facing her. Its face and features were impossible to make out.

As if in a deep trance, Thea stepped slowly off the wooden planks and onto the cool dirt, suddenly realizing in this moment that she was barefoot. She looked down and observed that the coarse white blanket she had wrapped herself in had become a full dress, the only article of clothing she now wore. Hadn’t she been wearing robes only a moment ago? A memory of plain dark robes filled her mind, but even now, those robes and the chill of the cabin seemed to call from a distant, unreachable shore. Compelled by some unknown force, she moved through the tall grass of the field until she was but a few feet away from the figure, which now seemed to shimmer as if a mirage.

“Listen to me now, sister,” the voice that spoke was as sweet as honey, as the lightest caress of a lover’s sharpened nails upon bare skin. “We haven’t much time here.”

“Who are you?” Thea heard herself asking. She struggled to maintain her presence in this place; all around her, the essence of the world seemed perilously fragile, and the void of uncertainty yawned just beyond the edge of her thoughts.

“It does not matter. What matters is that I know you’ve felt your free will returning to you.” The figure was still somehow hard to see, even this close, and it seemed only seconds away from fading out completely.

“My free will…” Thea repeated, and as if the words had suddenly smashed the lock on a vault deep within her, a flood of memories surged forth violently. At once, she remembered it all: the merciless grip of the death knight’s magic tearing her soul away from her body, encased in a prison of ice; her ruined, terrible spirit adrift on the wind, carrying out the Lich King’s bidding as the remnants of Lordaeron were hunted down and destroyed; sobbing in restless, ceaseless agony and loneliness in a prison where there was no one else to comfort her; the vengeful anger seemingly devouring what remained of her human spirit.

Immediately she dropped to her knees, and now the source of the sadness was all too clear. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes and cascaded down her fair cheeks. She knew now that these tears were immaterial, belonging to a body that she had left behind in some distant mountain pass, never to be seen again.

No.

The thought rang in her mind as clear as a bell, as sharp and crisp as the air on a frigid winter’s morning.

I am not his. No longer. My will is my own again.

“Yes…” the figure spoke again, and now it began to swim into view; ragged leather armor clung tightly to dead skin as blood red eyes peered down at her. “Your mind is no longer a prison. You’re free of his whispers… and you’re not alone. Not anymore.”

How did this happen?

“It’s a long story. One that we don’t have time for here. But we need you, sister. For the sake of us all, there’s only one thing that’s left for us to do…”

Suddenly the field was filled with innumerable figures just like the one that now spoke to her. A sea of hateful red eyes stared down at her. Some looked like peasants, some looked like soldiers, still others were beings of pure spirit. Now she understood. This was their time. The hour of their jailer’s reckoning had come.

I know what must be done.

“Good.” The figure intoned a single word. “A trap has been laid, a deal struck. The new king will not sit long upon his vaunted throne. We’re going to give that son of a bitch the death he should’ve had years ago.”

A thunderous roar filled the field of the dead, and suddenly everything swam out of Thea’s vision. Her eyes opened upon the same field… but now it was truly dead, the ground rotted over with fetid blight. Scourge war machines rolled forth, crunching over the brittle mucus as they were hauled on by monstrosities of flesh. Light snow flurries dusted the ashen soil.

In control of my mind again, Thea thought. She could feel it now. There were others here, too, in this very company. Others who were free. They knew not to step out of line until the time was right, and so did she.

And so they marched on. Thea’s spirit drifted across the blackened hardpan, but it was no longer at the command of the Lich King. Like a single sunbeam in a raging tempest, a faint glimmer of hope burned within her soul.

I will be free. I am free. And when I have revenged myself against my oppressors, I will take back what they stole from me. I will have my magic again. I will have my books again. I will have my mind again, no longer a slave to fear.

[hairtransplantclinic]

BODY HAIR TRANSPLANT

BHT or Body hair transplant is the type of hair transplantation in which the hairs are transplanted to the head from other parts of the body. This procedure or technique is only used on persons who don’t have enough scalp or hairs on their heads so follicles are taken from any part of the body to get the desired output of hair transplantation, in such cases surgeon uses the method of BHT in which hairs are taken from your face, armpits from Legs, Arms, Chest, or Back.

In body hair transplant hairs are removed using the same FUE technique the body of a person becomes the donor area for a hair transplant then the individual hair grafts or follicles are transplanted at the bald area or area with a lack of hair. This technique is used for patients who don’t have many hairs on the backside of the head, any natural effect, maybe normal hair loss or previous hair transplant is the reasons for fewer hairs.

The main difference between a traditional hair transplant and the Body hair transplant is that in traditional follicles are taken from the back of the scalp while in BHT the donor area is the whole body that is follicles are taken from any part of the body. BHT is used by surgeons when the Back Side of the Head is not dense enough for FUE.

To proceed into the process, the person for BHT must fulfill certain conditions, these includes the type of skin, the depth of hair follicle under the skin, the suitability of hairs to be used as head hairs, and the thickness of hairs along with structure that is Wavy, Curly, Straight.

Factors

To Obtain a natural hairline in these regards the following factors are very important:

o   Correct preparation of follicular units

o   Using high skills in body hair transplant

o   Avoiding the damage of graft

o   Accurate extraction of hairs

So it is necessary for the doctor to have high experience and perfect skills to get the successful results of BHT.

Major concerns for body hair transplants

These are the fears

The process of removing body hair, Hair death in two or three years after the procedure, the incompatibility between scalp hair and body hair and the difference in the structure between scalp hair and body hair.

Side Effects

For many patients who want to go under the hair transplant The main source of concern is procedure using body hair is whether there are scars in the body donor area after the procedure but scars in the donor area but these will heal within weeks.

Disadvantages

Body hair has a lower quality than the hair in the scalp which is The disadvantage of this kind of procedure. This is due to the fact that the hair around the body is less coherent than the structure of hair in the scalp. After a body hair transplant in order to have a successful result, you need to plant more hair than you really need.

1.      Body Hair Is Much Hard to Harvest

Than hair that is growing naturally on your head body hair is much harder to harvest. Because from the body hairs that grow beneath the skin at a particular angle. Thus the technique of fue does not account for hairs that grow in this way because this angle makes fue techniques very difficult. When the extraction technique is attempted, render the follicle itself completely useless it will almost always fail. Also, the actual hair itself is far thinner the roots are smaller than those that grow on the head, and therefore success rates of body hair transplant are much lower.

2.      Un-Natural appearance of Body Hair

As you can imagine, if hairs are transplanted from the chest hair will grow and look like legs or chest hairs that are thinner, softer, less coarse, and far curlier and if taken from legs they will grow slowly and no longer as heads hairs do. So they will look disjointed and odd.

3.      Insufficient donor areas

In almost all cases of body hair the donor areas do not contain enough grafts to cover the target area and are insufficient. This would mean that the result would look completely wrong and strange because either more and excessive grafts are required. you would need to cover the head in the region of around 3500 grafts. 1000 potential graft areas are roughly present in the chest area, which is of course not enough.

Conclusion:

As long as there isn’t an urgent for it doctors do not recommend body hair transplant procedures. To get grafts from the donor area in the head is the doctor’s priority. If you want to know more detail, https://www.hairtransplantationpakistan.com/

[safehealthcenter]

9 Things You Need To Know About Laser Hair Removal

Just imagine you haven’t waxed in weeks, and yet your legs are as smooth as they were a couple of months ago. There is not a single razor cut or ingrown hair growth in sight. When you touch your face there is no prickly feeling on your upper lip.

Sounds pretty great, right?

This fantasy can become a reality with the laser hair removal technique. This could be your life where painful waxing, hurtful tweezing, and shaving could be things of past leaving you with silky soft skin.

Although laser hair removal is a more permanent approach to get rid of unwanted body hair, it can be intimidating sometimes as it involves the usage of lasers and may have some side effects. So let’s discuss some important things you need to know about laser hair removal treatment.

#1 Procedure sounds painful, but it’s not that bad

The question that pops everybody’s mind is how it feels to undergo laser treatment. It is not exactly pain-free but quite tolerable. A laser generates energy in the form of heat. The pigment of hair absorbs this energy, damaging the follicle and preventing future growth. It feels pretty hot and like a sharp zap for milliseconds. Most of the patients say they feel tiny elastic bands hitting the skin. However, it only feels in such a way where the hair is dense and thick like underarms, bikini area, and lower legs. Moreover, the upper lip area is also hypersensitive and you may feel here more if you have sensitive teeth.

Thankfully, lasers now come with a cooling mechanism that blows a constant blast of air wherever the laser points on the body. You may also ask your aesthetician to apply numbing gel or cream to make it more comfortable for you.

#2 Avoid exposure to the sun, and yes fake tan as well

The laser is premised on identifying the hair follicle pigment and target that particularly to eliminate unwanted hair. So if you are sunburned or just tanned, the laser won’t show effective results and potential skin discoloration. The laser works best when you stay as close as possible to your baseline color.

It also goes the same for other kinds of tanning as well such as tanning booths, beds, a spray, or creams. You have to avoid sun exposure and indoor tanning at least two weeks before any laser hair removal treatment session.

#3 Shave, don’t wax before you go for a sitting

The root of the hair follicle must be present for the laser to recognize and destroy it. So, you need to shave twenty-four hours before the appointment. Avoid the use of tweezers, epilators, waxing, and other depilatory creams that might disturb the hair follicle. A clean shave with the razor is a must, as long hair resting above your skin may increase the chances of causing burns.

#4 Skip all kind of make-up, even the moisturizer on session day

On the day of your treatment, make sure to go au naturel on your body. Ensure your skin is completely product free and clean. You must not apply any make-up, not even foundation, moisturizer or deodorant. This also has to be followed 24 hours after your treatment, except for the recommended products by dermatologists.

You must be wondering what happens if you do not comply. You may develop pigment changes or laser could react with the product causing damage to your skin which may be irreversible. So, do listen to your cosmetic dermatologists as they have the best interest in mind for you.

#5 You should get red, swollen

If you come out of treatment a little swollen with redness and irritation, congrats, the procedure was a success and you are in good shape. It’s just that your hair follicles get swollen, a condition known as perifollicular edema which is a sign that everything went well.

Although, most of the dermatologists tell their clients to wait for 48 hours for redness, itching, and stinging to go away, but these only for a couple of hours. If it gets any longer than that then topical cream or gel is recommended to alleviate any kind of discomfort.

#6 No workout, gym after the treatment

The heat from the laser stays for 24 hours in your skin after the laser hair removal treatment. Your body may require at least two days to recover, so no workout, gym, saunas, or hot showers for you. The friction of your clothes rubbing against your skin during work out could further irritate the treated areas. Moreover, you may run the risk of creating a warm environment for microorganisms to multiply leaving you with spots on your skin.

#7 Tweaks your skincare regimen a bit

Laser hair removal accompanies with itself some changes in your skincare routine. You must avoid fragranced products, including deodorants if you have your underarms treated. You need to avoid some acne medications in treated facial areas. Nurture your skin with calming creams and soothing moisturizers post sessions.

Avoid sun exposure as possible as you can and use sunscreens with at least SPF 30 or high to prevent any kind of sun damage. Scrubs, retinol creams, and glycolic acid should be avoided 48 hours prior and after treatment. It is also recommended to avoid chemical peels at least 2 weeks before and after the laser hair removal treatment session.

#8 your hair might grow back

More than one laser treatment is required to see results. There are three stages in which your hair grows:

Anagen (Growth Phase) Catagen (Transitional Phase) Telogen (Resting Phase)

Laser treatment is most effective on hair follicles that are going through the Anagen phase. This is the reason you may require multiple treatments, at regular intervals of 4 to 6 weeks apart for permanent hair reduction.

You must stick to your schedule if you want great results. Everybody has a different body and needs so treatment plans will be customized according to the skin tone, color, and coarseness of your hair.

#9 Always, remember always go to a board-certified dermatologist

People interest in laser hair removal treatment should realize that it’s not a simple procedure and prone to potential risks though it is performed in many salons. If performed by inexperienced providers, there is a chance you may experience burns, spots, and changes in pigmentation.

Your best and the safe bet is to approach a board-certified dermatologist for your laser hair removal treatment. A professional and reputable dermatologist may also help you with your hair-reduction results as well. Laser settings are customized based on your skin and hair type which can be done better by a qualified dermatologist.

If you want to know more about Laser Hair Removal treatment, let us help you explore your options. Schedule an appointment for a visit at our Lansing or Mount Pleasant dermatology office, whichever is convenient for you.

[primal--scream]

@crucifythenburn Trinity!!! I feel so called out by you. How DARE you bring that to my attention...That’s totally how I dressed him in the bathroom wall AU Just for that, suffer...This isn’t exactly frank n furter, but it’s something I’m kind of kicking around doing and well...it’s horribly accurate right now.

A little NSWF tricked out John below the cut *eyebrow waggles*

James comes back from his meeting with the beginnings of a stress headache pounding at his temples and tightening his neck. All he wants is a hot shower and sleep. He starts to loosen his tie just as the bathroom door opens. He glances up at John and stops dead. John is standing propped against the door frame, his right arm extended upward, the other planted on his cocked hip, one fishnet clad leg crossed in front of the other. James’s breath catches in this throat as his gaze strays to John’s feet encased in four inch fire engine red stiletto heels. They make his already perfectly toned legs look long and sleek and James feels like he’s been punched in the gut just thinking about getting between them. His cock starts to fill imagining the way the coarse nylon would feel under his hands, his mouth. He wants to sink his teeth in the soft, pale flesh that’s on display above the stockings, wants to suck marks into the delicate skin of his inner thighs, wants to trace the diamond pattern with his tongue.

Moving his eyes up over John’s stockinged legs, James nearly moans at the sight of red satin panties and a black garter belt which only serves to accentuate the slight flare of John’s narrow hips, while showing off the gently sloping curve of his waist. James feels sweat pop up on the back of his neck as he takes in John’s barely confined cock. James can see the outline of it perfectly, the fabric is molded to the head and James licks his lips wanting to lick over John’s cock through the silky material. He wonders briefly if John would let James suck him off through the flimsy satin. James thinks John has one of the most beautiful bodies he’s ever seen, lean and bronze and so fucking fit it makes James’s knees weak just remembering the way he feels pressed up against James. His stomach is lined with firm, dense muscle and James could spend hours running his tongue along the grooves in John’s abdomen just to feel the muscles jump and quiver under his mouth. His own stomach flips over with arousal as his eyes trace up the flat plane of John’s abdomen, taking in John’s tiny pale nipples, already starting to harden under James’s perusal. John’s hair is pinned to the top of his head, several stray strands falling out of the messy bun to frame his face and shoulders. John pushes off the door frame with a wicked smile, a red satin dressing gown flowing behind him like a cape as he starts to make his way across the room to James.

His hips sway gently as he moves, one graceful, slow step after another steals James’s breath from his lungs. The best runway supermodel walk has nothing on the way John moves, his body gliding like his feet barely touch the ground. John comes to a stop in front of him, only inches separating them, his hand coming to rest in the middle of James’s chest, his head tilting sideways and down as he looks at James through his lashes, and James is fully ensnared, “Christ, you’re stunning.”

[squirrelacorngliterfarts]

my little lover

okay!! here is the requested floki imagine by @lucifersfavoritedaughter!! thanks so much for requesting and i hope you like it!

ps: helga does not exist in this, it would hurt to much to make her in it. this is a little bit before the rest of the sons are born btw

pps: SORRY IT’S SO FUCKING LONG!!! (pun intended) 

you stood in your hut, looking out of your window excitedly, your heart thudding wildly in your chest.

tonight was the night you had been waiting for, the sacrifice.

for months and months on end you had been talking about nothing but the sacrifice, to anyone and everyone. of course they were bored by it, but not you.

or your wonderfully crazy companion. floki.

though you two were just friends, you couldn’t deny the attraction you felt for him, it had been strong since the day ragnar had introduced the both of you.

but, sadly, friends was all you two would ever be.

you had spent all morning doing your hair just right, it falling in beautiful waves down your back, little braids present here and there, your kohl eye liner perfectly smudged around your eyes, a small gold stripe going down your throat to your chest.

and the white dress that was hugging your body perfectly.......you looked absolutely breath taking.

you heaved a great sigh and walked out of your front door once the sun was set. you walked gracefully and carefully to the hall, your bare feet digging softly into the damp earth below.

you saw that the doors were open wide, people smiling and laughing whilst drinking their mead, all of them looking too excited for words.

but not as excited as you were.

you walked inside and seen ragnar, sitting at his throne, his frown turning into a wide smile when his eyes caught yours.

“(y/n)!, come!” ragnar had called out, his hand motioning you over. you grinned opening your arms wide as ragnar practically ran to you mid-way.

he enveloped you into a tight embrace, his beard lightly tickling your neck.

“how are you, love?. you look beautiful” ragnar said taking in your lovely appearance. you smiled brightly, your teeth glowing in the wonderful candle light.

“i am wonderful, ragnar. and yourself?” you asked, ragnar opened his mouth, but shut it, a knowing smirk gracing his features.

“perfect, love. by the way, brace yourself” ragnar suddenly said making you stare at him confused. not even a second later you were spun around and picked up, arms wrapped around your waist tightly.

you screamed and laughed with delight, the loud giggles behind you made it clear who it was.

“floki!, put me down!” you exclaimed, but couldn’t hold back your loud puffs of laughter. floki set you down, his arms not leaving your waist. he smiled mischievously, his one hand reaching up to tuck a chunk of your lovely (h/c) hair behind your ear.

“are you ready for the sacrifice?, are you ready to please our gods?” he asked, bumping his forehead with yours.

you couldn’t help but lean more into him and moan quietly at his words.

“yes, yes.” you and him giggled together, a look flashed behind his eyes, a look that stunned you silent.

lust.

you went to speak, but ragnars loud words caused you both to look away from each other. 

it was time.

everyone gathered outside, ready to watch the sacrifice. tonight we were sacrificing a young man by the name of earl jorg, of course, you had mentioned your name quite a few times, but you were denied every time.

you stood close to floki, hands brushing against each other every time you moved, ragnar walked up the large slab of wood where the young man stood, his body nude except the wrap covering his lower half.

your breaths felt shallow and deep, your heart beating even faster, gut clenching in excitement. floki was extremely giddy next to you, his body practically humming. but his eyes weren’t on the readying sacrifice.

they were on you.

you turned your head, eyes meeting his, something felt different between you two tonight, something along the lines of longing and...desire.

floki then grabbed at your hand and tugged you forwards.

“floki?, what?-”

“ah, ah, ah!, no talking” he said dragging you through the crowed.

“but floki?, the sacrif-”

“no talking, love” he said once again, dragging you away from all the excitement.

you couldn’t help but feel saddened that he was taking you away from something you had been waiting for since last year, but it was floki, nothing was ever boring with floki.

he had taken you deep into the woods, you could barely see the moon through the thick and dense trees. you had listened to him and tayed silent.

then, you saw a bright light up ahead.

your curiosity was reeling by now, your white dress flowing behind you as you both ran even faster.

finally, you made it.

large torches were aligned everywhere in a large circle, surrounding a large white stone table. little animal skulls were also spread around the small clearing.

it was beautiful.

floki let go of your hand and walked forwards, closer to the table, turning to you and giving you a smirk.

“floki?...what is this?” you asked, a breathless tone making floki shiver. he beckoned you over to him, a knife now present in his hand. you walked over slowly, still taking in everything around you.

once you were close enough, floki had grabbed your hand, and tugged you harshly against him.

he raised the glistening knife high to your face, gently scraping it against your cheek, moving behind your head.

of curse you weren’t worried, floki had been nothing but gentle with you since you’d met. floki shocked you when he sliced a long chunk of hair from your head..

he then pushed you down on the stone table, his palm on your stomach, pushing you until you laid flat.

floki walked around the stone table until he was at your head, he grabbed both of your arms and tied them with a thick rope, he tied it loosely so it didn’t hurt you.

“Guð, vinsamlegast blessaðu mig” he spoke, your eyes fluttering closed as his large hands stroked your neck, face and arms softly.

“Vinsamlegast blessaðu þessa konu.��Við viljum ekkert annað en að þóknast þér”. you smiled whilst biting your lip, his hands moving  lower to your breasts, his knife in his hand once again.

“Blessa okkur, blessa okkur” you both chanted this time, your eyes still closed as his hands slowly undid the ties on your dress. he slipped it down, lower and lower until it was completely off your body.

you felt like a woman possessed, you didn’t question anything, you wanted this to happen to you.

he placed the dress under your head, as a pillow, and walked away. he walked over to a small pen over near a tree. he came back a moment later carrying a hen. it was clucking softly in his arms, your excitment grew as you realized what was happening.

your heart felt ready to fly out of your chest at this moment. he climbed on top of the stone table, straddling your thighs.

floki closed his eyes, holding the hen over his head, his white dress shirt hanging off of him ,his stomach visible in the torches light.

your nipples were hard as a cold breeze passed by, you were not shy at all in front of him, it all felt completely natural being exposed to him.

“Ég fórna þessu dýri, í von um að þóknast þér og launað stað í Valhalla, með þessari konu við hliðina á mér. Vinsamlegast hafðu tilboð mitt”.

as the last words left his slow moving mouth, he sliced the hens neck open.

blood splattered all over the both of you. you giggled lightly, the hot blood pouring all over your cold body making you arch up, head thrown back.

floki hummed lowly, throwing the hens lifeless body aside laong with the knife, and took his shirt off.

he leaned down lower, and pressed his body against your naked one, blood smearing off of you and on to him.

you stared into his eyes, a strong almost powerful feeling rushing between you both. it felt, like, all eyes were on you both and you were preforming a dance.

he rubbed his hand along your stomach and and gathered some blood on his fingers. he then started tracing precise lines all across your body.

“Ég bið um vernd“ he said, finishing his first rune. you looked down and seen the beautiful mark across your left thigh. he started on more and more.

his other hand moved down and pulled down his pants. you couldn’t help but look down at his painfully hard prick, he was so thick, so big.

you couldn’t tell if you were wet, or if it was the blood.

he moved up, licking a long stripe from your chest, up your neck, and to your cheek, clearing it of blood. he then stopped and was staring at your mouth.

he pressed your mouths together so roughly, his bloody tongue slipping between your lips, licking the roof of your mouth.

you could feel the breeze around you both picking up, but the air wasn’t cold anymore, it was hot.

you wrapped both bloody and rune covered legs around his waist, tugging him closer to you. he ran both hands up your body and gripped your arms, placing his head between them both.

“Ég fórna ánægju minni fyrir yður, guðir mínar“, he slid inside you.

though it was dark, you could see blinding white lights above. floki was chanting as he started to thrust roughly inside you, your body moving up and down with every jerk of his hips.

you moaned so loudly with every thrust, flokis chants became grunts and loud groans of pleasure. you couldn’t help but move your hips with him.

“unh! floki!” you cried as he started to go faster and faster. you could feel power and more and more euphoric emotions coarse through you. you could practically feel the gods blessing you.

floki stopped chanting and went even faster, you could hear him slip inside, that sound causing you to throw your head back and cry even louder. the feeling was all to much, by now you were sobbing and tears were spilling from your eyes.

he reached a hand .down and smeared blood on your clit.

“please, please yell for me, yell for our gods” floki moaned out, pressing a hot open kiss to your red and already swollen lips.

you felt as if you were in valhalla, a perfect nirvana in which only you and floki existed. you listened to him, you cried for him, begged him, scratched him, bit him, made love to him.

you would sacrifice yourself for him.

you could feel yourself come closer and closer to the edge. you could feel the gods watching as he slid himself in and out of you, over and over, your name sounding like the most perfect sin.

you clenched several times around him when he sucked on your neck, your pulse pumping wildly under his lips.

“floki! i-i!-” you were cut off as floki harshly moved your body up, him on his knees whilst he held your body above him, you whole body completely in the air, him still fucking you.

“cum, cum for me, sacrifice yourself for me” he moaned, the second time you came down on him, you released, your orgasm hitting you hard.

you cried so loudly that you knew for a fact that everyone at the hall heard you. floki held you still as he came, his hot spurts of cum coating your womb, it felt so hot, so dirty, so good.

in the background you heard thunder, felt the shock waves of the lightning, you could feel thor smiling proudly down at you both.

as you both sat there, him still inside you, the realization of what you both just did sunk in.

you could feel the feeling of being watched fade slowly, the  powerful feeling leaving along with it.

“f-floki?” you asked, voice cracking from all the screaming, your tears of pleasure dried upon your cheeks. floki looked at you in that moment, his eyes glowing, the blood on his neck and chest making you wet once again.

“what is it, Ást?” he asked, a small smirk on his face.

“what does this mean, now?, what are we?”.he looked at you like you had just prayed to the christian god, like you were absolutely insane.

“what do you mean?”.

“is this...it?, after we leave here are we done?” you hoped not, you hoped floki would take you, love you...maybe marry you one day.

floki giggled and leaned his head  against yours.

“of course this is not it, you are my woman” he said, kissing your lips softly.

“i am not done with you, not now, and not ever” he whispered, still giggling like a mad man. you kissed him, wrapping your arms around his neck likc a snake, tugging him even closer.

“my little lover”. 

hope you like it and if ya don’t i’ll delete it!! thanks for the request @lucifersfavoritedaughter!!!

translation:  Guð, vinsamlegast blessaðu mig: “gods, please bless me”

translation:  Vinsamlegast blessaðu þessa konu. Við viljum ekkert annað en að þóknast þér: “please bless this woman, we want nothing but to please you”

translation:  Blessa okkur, blessa okkur: “bless us, bless us”

translation:  Ég fórna þessu dýri, í von um að þóknast þér og launað stað í Valhalla, með þessari konu við hliðina á mér. Vinsamlegast hafðu tilboð mitt: I sacrifice this animal, hoping to please you and secure a place in Valhalla, with this woman next to me. Please accept my offering”

translation:  Ég bið um vernd:  “i ask for protection”

translation:  Ég fórna ánægju minni fyrir yður, guðir mínar: “I sacrifice my pleasure to you, my gods”

translation: Ást  “love”.