#starlight queries

[starlightseer]

"their daughter"? 👀👀👀👀

I forgot I have new followers lmao. Yeah, I designed a fankid for them. Her name is Astrid.

She's due for a redesign, not a huge one though. It's notable that her partner is now a shiny mudkip instead.

Anyway, she was born because Archie reunited with his Jirachi friend and accidentally uttered the words "I wish" and "[He and Maxie] could be parents" in the same sentence in front of it. And there she was. Their new infant baby that they absolutely were not prepared for.

Cue them freaking out about it and frantically calling up their admins to help them immediately set up a nursery.

[bookwyrminspiration]

do you think the lost cities have candles? because of how afraid of fire they are

They canonically do! When Livvy treated Alvar in Nightfall, she "reached into her tackle box and pulled out seven slender candles" (461), which shone different colors similar to Elwin's flashing.

However, we haven't seen their application outside that, as far as I recall. Instead, there's things like Sophie's moonjars, bottled starlight, bio-luminescent organisms, etc.

There is the fact Candleshade is named Candleshade, which implies candles existence outside of medical fields, as I doubt Assius would name his home after a medical instrument.

So: yes, they have them, but not in widespread use--likely because of that fear/stigma you mentioned!

[trix1erose]

i saw a post (edit: it was the ‘A Query of Edith Payne’ post from @shadows-and-starlight :) ) about butch edith payne in the same way edwin is more feminine and i 100% agree- give the edwardian girl some trousers

[sinisterexaggerator]

Hard Feelings

Hancock x Fem! Sole Survivor / Reader Insert

(AO3)

Summary: You are the General of the Minutemen. Hancock is your companion when out on missions. It's all fun and games until there are hard feelings at play, the ghoul thinking that one day you just might leave him.

Warnings: NSFW / 18+ for PiV sex, public sex (sort of), MAKEUP sex, switching, praise kink, heavy petting and kissing, fingering, biting, angst, a small domestic dispute, and negative thoughts and feelings associated with oneself (Hancock). In this fic, Hancock displays golden retriever boyfriend energy, and he is more submissive. He also experiences low self-worth, and feelings of inadequacy, which leads to doubt. At some point, he has a panic attack.

Notes: Another fanfic that is completely self-indulgent. I was inspired when I took Hancock to the Starlight Drive-In for the Minutemen mission. We were briefly separated when I (sole) climbed onto the roof of the movie screen. Hancock ran around down below in a panic, thus this idea blossomed; I mention it in this post. I stole Teeth's nickname for Hancock: Hanni. ;D )

Word count: 4.7k+

A gentle peal of thunder rocked the night, just hours from daybreak, the eerie green glow of your pre-war Pip-boy casting its luminescence across the present object of your interest: a sullied movie poster. It was curling at its edges, the faded face of a starlet frozen in time with her mouth agape having snatched your attention, for better or worse, as this potential settlement had yet to be explored—there was no telling what lurked out there among the shadows.

Rita Jean Scarlett was staring into the eyes of not man, but insect, The Barfly calling out to you from a bygone era. It was an Old World tale of weird science gone wrong, filled with hubris and lessons learned all too late. Not too far off from the reality of things, you mused, though meant as fiction, actor Chip Weathers having adorned the costume of the “ghastly” monster for his starring role. 

The creature had bulbous eyes and sticky clawed feet, yet wore a suit and hat. Once considered the stuff of nightmares, now things like this seemed to you like child’s play. You regularly joined in the company of ghouls; robots; synthetic humans, and even super mutants. You faced adversaries on the daily that would make prey animals of yesteryear look like teddy bears—an unnerving thought, but it caused you to smile regardless. 

“What are you grinnin’ about?” a curious voice asked, the creak of worn red leather signaling his closeness; two thin arms encircled you, pitted hands smoothing over skintight, extruded rubber, shiny as the ghoul’s black eyes.

“Just about how things that used to be science fiction are now science fact,” you offered vaguely, casting a glance downward to the sight of yourself being molested, Hancock groping your tit—like any typical man—before it maneuvered lower, gliding over your belly to dip between your thighs.

“Hancock!” you breathed, your pulse quickening, loins already beginning to throb as blemished fingers stroked the line of your vault suit, teasing you at its seam. 

“Hmm?” he hummed, ignoring the tone in which he had been addressed. He asked another question, even as he continued to fondle you sans mercy.  

“Things like me?” 

Hancock was unhurried, enjoying the sleek texture of the glossy fabric against the underside of his thumb. He was positive he was making you wet, wondering how long you might last before you were begging him to fuck you, just like a few hours previous.

However, his query caught you off guard, your mind preoccupied as your palm came to rest over John’s explorative hand, holding it firm, the ghoul taking liberty with your breasts again, cupping one’s shape to give it a squeeze.

“Things that shouldn’t exist? Like that monster up there who thinks he’s human,” he growled silkily, finely wrinkled digits pinching your pebbled nipple through that damnable suit that left nothing to the imagination, John’s prick hardening against the back of your leg.

“You might say that,” you replied without thinking, thoughts clouded with pleasure that would all too suddenly end, so careless was your answer that the ghoul recoiled.

“Really,” John flatly returned, as if for some reason not at all surprised, his warm, gentle touch leaving you longing, confused as to why he was beginning to walk away.

You turned from the ticket booth, staring after your lover as he kicked a loose rock across asphalt; it bounced, ricocheting off an overturned cigarette machine. Hancock pretended to be engrossed in the diner just up ahead, a part of the Starlight Drive-In theater, you both having been warned about raiders before traveling here.

“Hancock.” You followed closely behind; he did not pay you any mind, as if he had not heard you, acting about as mature as a spoiled child who was giving you the dreaded silent treatment.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you claimed, though it was the truth. To be asked that question to begin with seemed like he was fishing for flattery, but who were you to deny the charismatic Mayor of Goodneighbor a harmless stroke to his ego, especially when he meant so much to you.

“Is that where the “might” part comes in?” he snapped, his tone irritated; it was becoming obvious that he had not expected you to agree with him on such matters, the conversation quickly devolving. 

“Is this our first fight? Are we fighting?” you asked, Hancock’s beady eyes narrowing beneath his hairless brow at the flippant way you were brushing off his feelings, or so he thought. 

“Look, if you don’t want to travel with a ghoul, why didn’t you just say so— got better things I could be doing,” he groused, namely chems with his name on them. 

“Is that so? Well, far be it from me to stop you from doing those better things,” you returned, not understanding why he couldn’t just forgive you for something said in passing.

“Always a smart ass,” he complained, as if Hancock himself wasn’t guilty of using his fair share of sarcasm.

Had you not been so heated, you may have remembered just how self-conscious the sociable, charming mayor actually was. His confidence was partially a façade, though he wasn’t one to normally bring down a mood with his own insecurities. Being the introspective sort meant that Hancock wasn’t afraid to get to the heart of things, even at the cost of his own self-esteem. 

John had even allowed you in, being vulnerable by sharing details of his sorrowful past; it was no secret the ending had been bittersweet, if not unhappy. His own appearance had sickened him; he found it hard to believe a gal like you wanted anything to do with him, much less desire to share a bed together, especially since he wasn’t exactly a looker by human standards.

Perhaps you had failed to give him reassurance when it was needed, though temporarily blinded by your temper. Instead of trying to clear things up, you made it worse. 

“You’d be one to know,” you baited.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Hancock shot back, droplets of rain beginning to descend toward the ground.

“You know what? Go over there, check that place out.” You gruffly dismissed him, pointing toward the diner. “I think we both need some time to cool off,” you added, voice sounding less than amicable toward the man whose forehead lurched, as if he had been punched in the gut. 

“Yeah? Fine.” John’s feelings were hurt more by this simple demand than anything you had said thus far, Hancock behaving like a scolded puppy whose owner had treated it unfairly.

You shook your head as you watched him march away, Hancock’s red frock coat glistening thanks to a now steady sprinkle. You sighed, turning toward a slew of rusting, run-down autos, spying a shed somewhere in the distance—you hoped it had a crafting station, as your orders from Preston Garvey were clear.

---

No raiders were present, only mole rats and radroaches. Hancock had kept his distance at your request, though you weren’t so oblivious that you failed to notice the way he routinely hovered only a stone’s throw away. The ghoul was caught basking in your shadow more than once, stealing glimpses, a frown pulling down the edges of his thin-lipped mouth. Yet he would move along the moment you laid your eyes on him, as if embarrassed, not wishing to be the victim of your ire.  

Overall, he seemed to be taking things about as well as you had hoped, though he had technically been the one to start it. You weren’t a mind reader, either, refusing to try and decipher his body language despite the moping, waiting for a time you felt more at ease.

Although, it undeniably tugged at your heartstrings—knowing he was suffering in some capacity—but you kept a clear head, focusing on the task at hand—building a radio relay tower from spare parts in order to reach out to others, reclaiming the theater in the name of the Minutemen with the sole purpose of making the Commonwealth a better place, one settlement at a time.

It was when another accursed mole rat burst forth from its earthy den that you yelped in surprise, drawing your double-action revolver almost a moment too late. With teeth nipping at your toes, you shot the beast, Hancock having dashed to your aid.

You glanced back at him, rattled; he seemed satisfied knowing you weren’t hurt, though his gaze lingered, as if there was something on the tip of his tongue. 

After a moment, he asked, “Can we talk?”

“Not right now.” You shook yourself off, taking a deep breath to assist in the slowing of your pulse. You returned to your workstation, deciding it wasn’t appropriate to address any more personal issues at this juncture—you both had a job to do.

“Sure, got it,” Hancock said grouchily, the ghoul wandering off to continue sifting through various piles of refuse for any usable materials to add to your haul, though inside it felt as if gnarled fingers were cinching tightly around his heart. Anxiety was welling within him, as not being on good terms with you did not sit right; beneath the surface, he was a troubled bundle of nerves, though he did not want to rush you by any means.

If only you knew about the disturbing thoughts that were crawling up John’s brainpan, slithering through the cracks to possess his mental faculties, feeding them fear; unsurety, outwardly expressed by way of a sour attitude. So involved was he with the many voices collecting in his head, that he failed to notice when you had finished installing the relay tower, your instincts guiding you to the Starlight Drive-in’s once magnificent three-story screen.

You took the stairs, moving past a shoddy door to climb to the top. The sun was newly risen, a fine mist hanging over the expansive parking lot, rays of light from your planet’s star casting a beautiful glow along remnants of grass, present in patches, though the area was plagued by the contamination of rads—another item on your to-do list. 

You were enjoying the view when you observed Hancock poking around the last place he’d seen you, determining you were in a better mood and willing to talk. You had planned to call out to him when you saw him run the other way, circling the diner, and then the first place you had gathered—the ticket booth where you had exchanged unpleasantries. 

Confused, you continued your study of his erratic behavior, wondering if there was some unknown enemy skulking about, yet Hancock had no weapon drawn, his gait all at once frantic and without rhyme or reason, the ghoul seeming to have no particular destination in mind. 

“Hancock?” you asked yourself quietly, baffled at how John was going insofar as to peek inside doorless cars, or even under them, kicking into a full-fledge run as he made his way toward your perch. He wasn’t paying heed to anything that wasn’t at ground-level, failing to notice you up high above.

“Han—” you were enthralled, the ghoul almost as fast as a feral, which was a less than comforting thought, watching as John ran a lap around the base of the screen. 

You followed, pushing off the railing to walk the few short steps to the opposite side, catching him turn the corner as he looped back around. It wasn’t until you heard his panicked breathing and the terrified whisper of your name that you completely understood, gut clenching as Hancock came to a disconcerting stop. 

The poor thing looked to be having a meltdown, head darting to the left and right, though the only thing visible to you was the top of his tricorn hat. He began to pace, first one direction, and then another, not keeping to east or west, but zigzagging as if he couldn’t decide where to go, or what to do. 

He called your name again, this time louder, sounding more distressed. You could not tear your eyes away as Hancock fell to his knees, fingers digging into soft dirt as the ghoul appeared to be in the throes of a panic attack.

Was he—

Spurred to action, you turned toward the way you came in, quick to rush down the stairs as swiftly as your legs could carry you. You sprinted around the bend of the building, nearly bumping into an abandoned cooking station off to your right, skirting it in the nick of time; you passed behind the structure, witness to a heartbreaking sight.

“Hey,” you whispered, Hancock having pushed himself back against the wall, knees to chest. The ghoul was tightly hugging his own legs, his marred face buried in the folds of his coat.

You weren’t sure what was happening, or why, only that he seemed deeply upset he could not find you, not expecting your brief absence would have such a negative effect. The ghoul was mumbling words you could not discern as you tiptoed forward, bending down to his level to address his huddled form.

“Hanni?” you asked gently, calling him by a pet name you had given him so long ago, John’s head shooting up, onyx eyes glistening, though you dare not think he had shed tears on your behalf. 

Hancock gazed at you, his expression a mix of sadness, incredulity, and stark relief. You placed a hand on his shoulder, concern marking your features, John not budging from his half-fetal position. 

“I thought—" he began, voice cracking, words quavering with an emotion you could not quite define, “—I thought you’d skipped out on me,” he offered pathetically, the amount of hurt present in his eyes enough to make you feel as if you deserved to die. So devastating was the look plastered across his handsome, ghoulish face that you wanted to cry, moving to cup his ruined cheek in the crux of your palm.

“Why would I do that?” you asked, tone soft but firm, staring at your reflection within gorgeous, dark depths, as if the answer lay hidden somewhere deep inside them.

“Because I don’t deserve you; because you can do better than me,” he answered without hesitation, “because who would want to be stuck with this ugly mug; wouldn’t wish it on my own worst enemy,” he finished flatly, Hancock’s dispirited disposition arising from being rejected—that’s not to say he blamed you.

“Didn’t wanna talk, ignoring me, couldn’t find you—just figured you were through,” he continued, tone solemn, making you feel awful. 

You had deeply sinned to make this man react in such a manner—that was your first thought, Hancock’s gloomy mood permeating your defenses. All the walls you had in place came tumbling down, feeling nearly sick to your stomach as you scooched forward, prompting Hancock to drop his knees, legs finding even ground.

“No,” you berated, “none of that is true.” You shifted, straddling the ghoul, your other hand joining its partner to cradle his jaw opposite. “I won’t leave you,” you pledged, placing a kiss atop his furrowed mouth. “The thought never even crossed my mind.”

Hancock searched your face; he expelled a dejected sigh, breathing out through the hollow cavity that once housed his human nose. “You—you’re the best thing I’ve got. I don’t want to lose you, sunshine. I’d be dead in a ditch somewhere if it weren’t for you, hopped up on chems,” he admitted, hanging his head. “But don’t think I would blame you for hittin’ the road. I’d manage, somehow. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to make do, so just say the word. Don’t feel obligated to stick around.” 

“Is that what you think? That I would abandon you? That I would get sick of you? That I don’t want you here by my side? Hancock—” you emphasized, running your thumb over the curve of his ear, forcing him to look squarely at you with a gentle redirection, “—I mean it when I say I love you,” you lamented, kissing his raised flesh. “Please, don’t doubt me.” 

John lifted his head with your help, the concave divot residing front and center brushing lightly across your cheek. He presented you with a kiss this time, his cock enlivening beneath you, unable to help his arousal at the admission of your heartfelt words. 

“I won’t, not anymore,” he promised, another kiss administered, and then another, returning each touch of his lips with one of your own until they picked up in fervor, Hancock’s sly tongue subtly snaking its way between your teeth. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” you cooed, warm, wet muscles intertwining in an orchestrated dance that rekindled the deep-seated ache of your loins. 

“You listen so well,” you needled playfully; you had the ghoul’s number, knowing just what made him tick.

Hancock moaned a sound of gratitude, your impromptu praise causing his prick to flex, lean, wilted fingers creeping forward to place themselves deliberately along your thighs; they ran up the dips in your hips, and smoothed over the shape of your waist.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Hancock grated between avid swirls. His cock was riding up against your slinky blue vault suit—like liquid latex poured to conform to your body, it fit tight as a glove.

John held no complaints, only that you were still wearing it. Fortunately, you had ideas. 

“Being such a good boy for me,” you teased, your own hands roving, exploring the contours of his slender chest and waist, sweeping back and forth; you hooked his partially corroded throat, carefully capturing Hancock between the crook of your palm, thumb trailing his Adam’s apple in a light caress. 

“Not sure you know what that does to me,” he purred, the ghoul at your mercy as you gyrated your hips, your own sex succinctly aligned as you massaged his erection through faded black slacks.  

“Are you so sure?” you asked, grinning into your kiss, one of Hancock’s hands sneaking along synthetic fibers for three fingers to stroke the underside of your jumper. He pushed up only slightly, cupping your mound; you felt it in your core, a subdued moan breathed straight into the ghoul’s mouth—Hancock was so turned on, it was a wonder he didn’t just nut right then and there.

“You teasin’ me, sunshine?” John panted, groping your breast, digits fingering stitchwork; you bit down on your bottom lip as you reached for the clasp at the front of your collar.

“Get this off me,” you instructed, fumbling with the pull of your zipper.

“Is that a request?” Hancock asked cheekily, though he did not expect an answer.

“An order,” you responded, feigning authority, Hancock doing as he was told, though there was a hint of a smile crawling up the side of his face. 

“Yes, ma’am,” the ghoul chortled wryly, watching as you shed your suit like a second skin. You ushered it past the arc of your shoulders, the slopes of your breasts, to the base of your hips, leaving yourself half naked and assailable; John was unable to help his amorous stare.

“You’re so beautiful,” he declared, moving to knead doughy flesh, mouth finding your throat; Hancock sucked the sweat off your flawless skin, his other hand working its way underneath what was left of your vault suit, two fingers dipping into your already soaked cunt. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, slipping in and out, thumb pushing itself between the folds of your labia to rub your throbbing bud. 

“Yes, let’s,” you returned, swirling your hips, riding Hancock’s thick fingers as you clumsily moved to untie the flag wrapped about his narrow waist. 

“Right here?” he asked, perplexed. Though not one to argue, being out in the open without cover was dangerous; he knew better than anyone the risks of the Wastes. 

“I want you,” you answered, as if that in and of itself was all he needed to hear. You knew there might be consequences, but at that moment, your hormones were the ones in charge, a sharp gasp escaping as John’s fingers curled against the anterior wall of your sex.

“I’m all yours, love, forever,” Hancock vowed, following your example. He hastily unbuckled his pants after releasing your tit with reluctance, pushing apart the flaps to withdraw his glaring hard on; precum was already seeping out the slit at its head. 

“Promise me,” you insisted, lifting up off your thighs—and Hancock’s fingers—to shimmy the rest of your suit down toward your knees. It might be a little awkward, but you were too desperate to care, taking up the ghoul’s girth in the breadth of your palm.

“Cross my heart and hope to—” 

“Don’t you dare,” you protested, shoving your tongue back into John’s mouth, guiding his cock inside you. You sank down onto your haunches, inch by delicious inch, his variegated shaft filling you full up.

Then, the ghoul went rigid. “But sunshine, what about—” 

“Shhh, that’s it,” you whispered, though Hancock hadn’t done anything to warrant a reprimand. It was your own descent that had you crooning, dipping forward to feel that delightful pressure snug against your walls. 

“Not sure you wanna end up like—”

“—I took one a few hours ago, remember?” The darling man was more concerned with your well-being than even you; you could physically feel the tension leaving his body, John relieved to know you had things under control.

“You do love me,” you stated breezily, flicking the tip of your tongue inside the helix of the ghoul’s ear; Hancock shuddered, both his hands returning to your hips, touch featherlight, prompting you to press your palms against the partition behind him to prop yourself up on either side of his head.

“Wouldn’t mind you turnin’ Ghoul,” he replied throatily, thinkin’ spending an eternity with you sounded like the best damn thing a guy could ask for. 

Hancock watched with bated breath as you rose up to enshroud him in your shadow, breasts level with his eyes. He groaned his appreciation, seizing your right nipple between puckered lips, John’s bony hips pushing up against the round of your ass. The ghoul sucked diligently, dull nails clawing gingerly into supple, human flesh, incapable of keeping a straight face.

“What was all that about not doubting each other?” John huskily reminded you, the point of his tongue flitting against your sensitive skin. He returned to suckling, as if a babe latched to nurse, the hand left idle finally slipping down your thigh. Hancock spread your lower lips apart with the underside of two fingers, a third taking its place atop your thrumming clit, engorged with blood. 

“Shut up,” you urged, wanting him to belay speaking for fear the moment might spoil, Hancock grunting in indignation before he bit down lightly on your nip. 

You gasped a broken breath, cunt rising to the head of his cock. You dropped back down; Hancock bottomed out, sequestered in the deepest part of you, snug as anything, the ghoul hypnotized by your pretty writhing. 

“Why don’t you make me.” Hancock intensified the patient revolutions of blotched fingers, dragging you down by compressing your cheeks with his thumb and index; you slumped your shoulders just enough, angling to meet his current height, tossing your arms about John’s neck to humor him with another passionate kiss.

“Done.” You rocked forward, feeling Hancock’s sizeable member immured to its base. Indecent sounds kept each other company, the squish of your conjoined loins combining with the wet, obscene spirals of your whorling tongues. It wouldn’t take much longer to climax, your slick cunt tightening its grip on John’s rock-hard cock. 

The ghoul’s chest heaved between ragged breaths, Hancock practicing his self-control. He didn’t want to cum until you did, sliding his palm up to carefully cradle the small protrusion distending your lower abdomen. 

Feeling the outline of himself inside you was nearly too much to handle, a visible tremor preceding what was to be an early warning.

“I-I can’t hold back, angel.”

“Wait,” you countered, guiding the ghoul’s head toward your breasts, driving his noseless face into your cleavage; Hancock’s tricorn shifted backward as he followed your lead. He vested himself in the cocoon of your limbs,  moaning his approval, grabbing onto a fistful of ass as your back arched in pleasure. 

You opened your eyes to gaze at the sky—it was pale blue and cloudless, for once.

You came hard, the flat of John’s palm supporting your spine as you released your ecstasy to the heavens, the ghoul’s tepid seed discharging in spurts to paint your inner walls white; his ejaculate had been offered as payment for your lovely little song.

The ghoul felt overwhelmed and full of deep affection for you; Hancock’s teeth bore down on beautiful, unblemished skin; he broke capillaries, drawing your blood to the surface, leaving his mark in the form of a dark red welt. 

You gasped at the bite, Hancock ensconcing you tightly in his arms, both of you allowing your orgasms to run their course. His grip was a comfortable vise, brittle nails burrowing into lithe flesh with almost paradoxical tenderness; John was always so careful with you.

From an outsider’s perspective, the embrace of a ghoul meant certain death, with the expectancy you would be rent into unrecognizable pieces. Such a pose as you presented now was questionable, one that evoked alarm from bystanders, settlers who had followed the beacon to their new home, expecting to find the general of the Minutemen, but not like this.

“Ghoul!” someone shouted; you heard the shuffling of leather, the clink of metal.

“No!” you yelled, protecting your lover with the entirety of your body, encapsulating his slight frame. You shielded his vitals with your bare back, hunkering down to speak to these newcomers over the peak of your shoulder. 

“He’s not feral!” you growled, hating that you had to defend him, knowing how John must feel at this moment as he gazed up at you with surprised, wide eyes. You cared not that a horde of people had seen you naked; you only cared for Hancock, determined to preserve him and all his parts.

In reality, the ghoul was seconds from tears, knowing—without a doubt—that you had meant what you said. You were guarding his wretched life with your own without question, willing to die to keep him from harm, just as he gladly would have sacrificed himself to see you live another day. 

A day, he thought, that might have been better off without him, but now he was glad to be alive (in some form or another), swallowing hard against the knot in his throat, eyes never once leaving your impassioned face.

“We’re together; we came here together, and we will leave here together, do I make myself clear?”

A person stepped forward, separating themselves from the crowd. “Yes, General,” they said, having fortunately, or rather unfortunately, recognized you.

With a sigh of relief, those gathered departed. John practically smothered you, so forceful was his hug that it nearly choked the air from your lungs. 

Hancock didn’t know what he’d done to get someone like you, and he was afraid to ask. If there were any powers at be—something, or someone—watching over him, he supposed he’d owe them one, but for now he was more than happy to count his blessings. And the sad thing was, everything, all of it, could be a dream—or one long, hallucinatory chem-trip. If this turned out to be nothing but a fucked up Jet flashback, he’d just as soon never wake up. 

“I’ll follow you to the end of the Wastes,” Hancock blurted, voice strained and rasping, fingers; arms; chest tightening as he spoke against soft tufts of hair. “You and me together, the world ain’t got a prayer.”

Despite what had just transpired, you cradled him against the bow of your neck, oblivious to the inner workings of his mind, only wishing to absorb him, for him to live in the space between your ribs that stored your heart. All you wanted was to keep him safe for all time, knowing that he deserved the world, though the ghoul would most certainly outlive you. 

It was a melancholy thought, if ever one existed, but you did not allow your mind to dwell. “Sweet man,” you murmured, “it doesn’t stand a chance in hell.”

—-

Fallout Masterlist

[kykyonthemoon]

Where Time Whispers

At the Time Post Office, where letters always reach their recipients, Xavier had written letters to you and let them fade with time. However, your response led him to a future together.

── .✦ Xavier x Female Reader|MC

♡︎. Tags: birthday fic, fluff, soft, warm, handwritten letters

♡︎. Word count: ~2k

♡︎. Inspired by Xavier's birthday event - Timeless Days. Happy Birthday to our little star, Xavier!

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - currently closed.

You arrived at Moonfall Bay one morning. The sunshine bathed each roof and every window in a beautiful, golden glow. You strolled alone through the little streets that had formed over time. You pondered why you had missed out on such a beautiful location close to Linkon before. 

After receiving a letter at your residence a few days ago, you arrived here. Curious, you looked up the address of the sender and took advantage of a rare day off to explore this place. You wanted to see the scenery that Xavier had once seen, to find the place where he had sent you a letter in the past. There were innumerable queries for which you believed a certain post office would have the answers you were looking for.

Thanks to the help of the people in town, you found the Time Post Office. It was an old building with a wooden sign placed outside. This place had closed many years ago and only recently reopened. For that, you felt fortunate.

“Welcome!” An employee emerged to greet you. He appeared to be roughly your age, if not younger. He was different from your imagination about an old postman working here, as old as this place.

“Ah… Hello.”

“Do you want to send a letter?”

You gave a modest nod, "In fact, there are a few more questions I would like to ask."

The staff shifted behind the counter. You took out from your bag the letter you had just received a few days before.

“I… want to know about this letter…”

The staff picked it up, examined it carefully and said:

"Yes. It was sent from our post. Regarding the date on the letter, it is true that it was shortly before the post closed in the past."

You looked at the letter. The date above was on the sixteenth of October, fourteen years ago. Xavier had sent you a letter fourteen years ago? Did he even know your address in advance? This was unbelievable! 

“Are you sure this letter was sent fourteen years ago?” You asked again.

The staff confirmed with a nod. “According to the seal and date, it is. This letter also made an impression on me, since it's the first letter we've sent after fourteen years.”

For a little while, you were unsure how to respond. When you regained your composure, you asked: "So... do you remember anything about the person who came here to send this letter?"

The staff frowned. “This has been so long. I only vaguely remember that one beautiful sunny day fourteen years ago, our very last customer arrived at the post office.”

And the staff began to tell his story.

On a warm autumn afternoon, that customer came to the post office.

His hair was the color of starlight, and he greeted the then postmaster as much courtesy as if he had known him for a long time.  The postmaster informed his young nephew, who was assisting him, that this was a frequent customer who visited to send a letter every year. While the boy was making tea, he heard his grandpa talking to the customer:

“This place is about to close. Do you still want to send the letter?”

That person nodded.

“How many years has it been?” The old postman continued. “Even in a place that preserves memories like this, things are constantly changing. It's a pity that I can no longer keep my family's old profession."

They were silent for a while. Then, the customer slowly turned his head towards the boy preparing tea in the corner of the room and said:

“Maybe there is still hope.”

“That kid? Haha! I have high hopes for him. In the future, perhaps he will know what to do with this post office. As for now… Maybe I won't be able to hold on much longer…”

The child paid close attention to what they were saying. Though it was the first time he saw him, his grandfather had told him stories of a specific client who would occasionally show up at the Time Post Office. How odd! Grandpa said the client had been visiting the post from the very first year it was opened, which was two centuries ago! Was the old man mistaken?

“Have you found the person you were looking for?” The old postman asked once the customer had completed penning his letter.

“I've found her,” the customer responded.

“So there will be an address on your letter this time, right?”

“No need. This letter, like the others I've sent here, is meant for something that's fading away.”

“Who knows, maybe in the future, your letter may find its recipient? At that time, I hope you two can be together.”

After the customer had departed, the postmaster handed the boy the key number 214 and instructed him to put it away. 

“Mailbox 214 always belongs to that customer. Keep that in mind, kid!” 

“But, grandpa… We are about to close this place. How can we send this letter then?"

The postman patted his head and replied:

“Have I not told you that every letter submitted to the Time Post Office finds its way to its intended recipient? This letter and all letters from that customer will eventually find their way to the right person. Think of it as the magic of this post!"

The boy fiddled with the key in his hand and kept thinking about what his grandpa had said that day.

“After the post office closed and my grandfather passed away, I assumed that what he stated about letters always reaching their intended recipients must no longer be true. I saved up for many years and finally was able to reopen this post office. After all, this is all my grandfather left for me. What a coincidence that the last letter of that year has now reached you. It's interesting; I recall the customer that year didn't write the address on the letter. But when the post office reopened and I reorganized things here, I accidently discovered it in the mailbox with your address clearly visible on the envelope."

When the staff finished his story, you remained silent. Previously, you were dubious of Xavier's identity, believing that he came from a different timeline than the one you were familiar with. This was merely another piece of evidence to back up your speculations. Of course, he would not tell you everything so casually. Despite this, you wished to learn much more about him during your brief time on Earth.

You began composing a letter to Xavier. You wanted to respond to him in the past.

After a while, you stopped writing. Most of the content of his old letter had faded, yet you could still envision Xavier from fourteen years ago, sitting here in the afternoon sun, crafting every word for you. You grinned and folded the letter before placing it in the envelope. You notified the staff, now the postmaster, that you intended to pick it up on the sixteenth of October, which was also Xavier's birthday.

The staff gave you the number 214 key as you had asked to put the letter in the same box as Xavier's from fourteen years ago. You walked along the empty hallway, where wooden mailboxes were stacked from the ground to the ceiling. Your feet stopped in front of the box you were looking for. To your surprise, the box was not as empty as you thought.

Many old, fading letters poured out from the box bearing number 214. They circled like birds soaring towards the ceiling, their paper wings fluttering in the wind, then they dropped down next to you. Floating around.

“Don't come close! It could be dangerous!” You informed the staff. 

He scratched his head. “What's going on? The other day I opened it, there was only one letter inside..."

You checked your Hunter watch. There were signs of a protocore fragment, but not alarmingly so. You told the staff that you would handle this. He nodded and walked out.

When you were alone, you reached for the letter floating nearest to you. There was no name or address on the envelope. You opened it. The paper was yellow and the ink was smudged. Nonetheless, you could distinguish the handwriting from the few brief lines that remained readable. These were Xavier's words.

To my dearest,

This is my very first spring on this planet.

This world is completely different from where we used to live. But perhaps you would like it as much as I do. 

…

I have found the Time Post Office, where letters will always reach their recipients. I do not completely believe that, especially when the person I want to send the letter to probably does not exist in this world yet...

However, when you appear, I hope that I will have the opportunity to be with you again, in this timeline...

The letter gradually faded and vanished in your hands shortly afterwards. You quickly grabbed the next one, then another. As soon as you read all the content that had faded over the years, the letters would all be gone.

You could, however, thread them together to form a tale. The person who had written these letters visited this post office every year. That person was always looking for the girl he once loved and lost for more than two hundred years.

Isolation was apparent through each line, through the time-worn envelope. It was Xavier, but a completely different Xavier that had existed before you appeared. Soon, nearly two hundred letters disappeared before your eyes. Only the last one left—the one you had just received a few days ago.

You held the letter tightly, placing it close to your heart. And your tears began to fall.

On the sixteenth of October, the young postmaster of the Time Post Office met that certain customer again.

In the midday sunlight, his starlight hair gleamed. Deep blue eyes met him. Just like that day fourteen years ago. The only difference was that, while the postmaster had grown up, the customer stayed the same as in his memory.

Could the person he met that year be the same as the one standing in front of him? There were quite a few strange things that had happened at this post office. The letter from fourteen years ago, the "little accident" involving mailbox number 214 the other day, and the recent appearance of the customer he once met a long time ago... It seemed like there really was magic in this place. It was something his grandpa had told him about countless times back then.

The man used his key to pick up the mail from box 214. He smiled at the postmaster before walking out, to where a woman was waiting. The sun glistened on her hair, and the wind puffed up her white dress. That was the woman who had visited this post a few days ago. They exchanged a few pleasantries before she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. On the yellow-leaved porch, time appeared to stand still. The man lifted her up and spun her around. Their crisp laughter blended into the sunbeam.

The young postman watched as their silhouettes fade away. On the long road, the man clasped hands with the woman. In his other hand, he was holding the letter she had written to him.

To my dearest Xavier,

Much has changed since your letter was written. The Time Post Office closed but has since reopened. You also found a new home, a new life in Linkon.

However, even after many years, your letter still reached me.

Like a miracle, Xavier always finds me no matter how many years have passed.

So I think, no matter how the world changes with time, from now on, I will always be by Xavier's side to witness those changes.

Thank you, Xavier. You found me.

[eternalstarlitwonderland]

Into The Starlight (Act 0)

Nightfall envelops the principality in a velvety embrace as night descends, where the starlit hour unveils its celestial wonders.

A silvery gleam, ethereal and soft, spread across the landscape, illuminating the cobblestone streets and the quaint rooftops while creating a magical ambiance that seemed to whisper secrets of the cosmos.

Beneath this celestial canopy, the empyrean dome sparkled with myriad stars, each twinkling and shimmering like diamonds scattered across dark silk.

Residents with keen eyes, devoted stargazers, and passionate astrophiles emerged from their homes, drawn together by the mesmerizing allure of the night sky, and their faces upturned in awe.

The vibrant constellations twinkled above, each a sparkling diamond embroidered onto a deep indigo canvas, evoking a sense of wonder and infinite possibility.

Among them was Peyton, a young woman deeply enthralled by the cosmos and its myriad mysteries. Her heart alighted with awe at the mysteries the universe held.

Her eyes were wide with admiration; each twinkling star ignited her imagination, whispering tales of distant galaxies and the infinite possibilities that lie beyond.

She felt an unshakeable connection to the celestial bodies above as if the cosmos was calling to her, each star a beacon of destiny, intertwining her fate with the luminous tapestry of stars, guiding her towards the endless possibilities that awaited in the cosmos.

“The stars are brilliantly twinkling, like natural uncut diamonds," Peyton quietly murmured.

{Exhale}

"I wonder what lies in the starlight?” Peyton quietly asked herself.

{Wind Blowing Gently}

“If the stars can speak? What would they say? Or maybe if they can sing a melody? What would they chorale for?" Peyton queried.

{Pleased Sigh}

"I want to be a songstress, not just any songstress, A cosmic songstress; I know it's a feeble dream, but at least I have the stars and their brilliant glint,” Peyton’s POV.

{Yawns}

{Stretches}

“Maybe I should go to bed soon; I'm getting sleepy,” Peyton’s POV.

The iridescent glow still smoldered, softly drifting overhead. A fluorescent butterfly appeared in the starlit glint, its brightly illumined wings fluttering in its silvery glimmer.

The vibrant butterfly danced in the air, its wings adorned with a dazzling layer of silvery glitter that sparkled like the stars, showcasing exquisite shades of the rainbow.

It fluttered gracefully in front of her, a mesmerizing rollick of colors,

She was utterly beguiled by its enchanting visual; the butterfly fluttered in her direction and drew near.

“Huh?" Peyton silently observes the appearance of a fluorescent butterfly.

{SPARKLE}

{Fluttering}

"Am I hallucinating here? Or I'm seeing a fluorescent butterfly suddenly appear?” Peyton’s POV.

{SPARKLE}

{Fluttering}

“Seeing it elegantly flutter in real-time, it is surreal, and the wings are adorned with a dazzling layer of silvery glimmer that can rival the sparkly stars in the night sky, beautifully showcasing beguiling hues of the rainbow, fluttering gracefully; it's like a captivating dance of colors" Peyton’s POV.

{SPARKLE}

{Fluttering}

She extended her hand toward the exquisite butterfly; its delicate wings shimmered with vibrant colors.

With a gentle caress, the moment her fingertips made contact with its delicate form, she brushed against its fragile wings.

At that moment, a cascade of light erupted between them, enveloping her in a warm, shimmering glow.

*Extending her left hand toward the brightly lit butterfly*

{Resonating}

{Shocked Gasps}

“What's happening? Why, I’m brightly resonating?!” Peyton’s POV.

{SPARKLE}

In an instant, the luminous embrace whisked her away into a realm where the horizon stretched infinitely in all directions, a breathtaking expanse that seemed to defy the limits of reality.

All around her, myriad iridescent stars sparkled like diamonds scattered across a velvety canvas of darkness. Each palpitated like a heartbeat, casting a gentle glow across the vast expanse.

Each star glimmered with a vibrant glow, its dazzling hues oscillating in rhythm with her heartbeat. She gazed in awe as the stars twinkled in a celestial dance, their light flickering in harmonies of blues, yellows, purples, and pinks.

Drawn to the nearest star, she marveled at the sight of a fluorescent star, its dazzling aura beckoning her to touch it and igniting a sense of wonder that filled her soul. Her fingertips grazed its luminous belt, feeling the pulsating warmth of its fluorescent glow against her skin as if she were momentarily woven into the fabric of the universe's breathtaking connection to the cosmos and its magnificence.

{Shimmer-Shimmer}

{Tinkle-Tinkle}

{Plink-Plink}

{ZING!}

{Gasps}

“Wow! Am I dreaming? Or am I hallucinating here?" Peyton asked.

{Shimmer-Shimmer}

{Tinkle-Tinkle}

{Plink-Plink}

*Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle*

“They are so bright and shiny!" Peyton excitedly exclaimed.

{Shimmer-Shimmer}

{Tinkle-Tinkle}

{Plink-Plink}

*Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle*

"Perhaps I could touch one of them?” Peyton asked herself.

*Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle*

“Wow, It's brilliant!" Peyton replied as she held the brightly lit star.

*Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle*

“I truly want to keep this twinkly star?" Peyton asked once more.

In a genuinely enchanting moment, the cosmos became alive as the stars overhead twinkled with a resplendent brilliance.

Each star and spark flickered like a precious gem, imbued with a sacred glow that seemed to pulse with life; they seemed to sing a sanctimonious canticle as their shimmering light intertwined to form an ethereal melody that cascaded through the boundless expanse of the cosmos.

As if engaged in a sacred ritual, the stars began to sing their celestial canticle, their shimmering light casting a gentle glow that danced across the darkness; they seemed to sing with a sanctimonious joy, their shimmering light composing an ethereal melody resonating through the infinite universe's expanse; this cosmic harmony enveloped the macrocosm transforming it into a breathtaking celestial symphony, where the shimmering lights danced and flickered like notes in a grand orchestral performance.

Peyton felt a wave of surprise wash over her as she encountered the unexpected beauty of the celestial piece before her; the ethereal quality of the sound enveloped her as though it had descended from the heavens themselves and left her momentarily speechless.

She stood at a crossroads, torn between joining her voice to this breathtaking canticle or allowing it to soar on its own, unaccompanied by her contribution.

The decision weighed heavily on her, each note resonating deeply within her, compelling her to respond.

[Vocalization]

*AHH, AHH, AHH*

The stars are sanctimoniously harmonized; it's breathtaking" Peyton’s POV.

*Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle*

*AHH, AHH, AHH*

[Music]

[Vocalization]

*AHH, AHH, AHH*

“I seriously want to lend my vocals, but I don't want to ruin this astral canticle," Peyton’s POV.

[Music]

A decisive moment dawned upon her; she resolved to lend her voice to the ether.

With a sharp exhale, Peyton inhaled sharply, her breath escaping in a gentle sigh as she closed her eyes and surrendered to the ethereal mellifluous to envelop her like a warm embrace, creating a cocoon of sound that pulsed and resonated in the air around her.

With a fervent determination, she began to serenade; her voice burst forth with fervor, each note pouring from her soul with an almost tangible passion, and swelled in richness, bolstered by the harmonious cadence of the surroundings, and it seemed to dance in the air, intertwining with the celestial refrain.

Each note she poured forth, and her vocals grew stronger, resonated with a brilliance, magnifying her vocals tenfold, transcending the moment into something genuinely celestial with an enchanting sound that captivated all who listened.

[Music]

"What the heck! I'm going to serenade! But first, I need to take a deep breath and be one with the celestial canticle" Peyton’s POV.

{Sharply Exhale}

"[First Verse]

The distance separating her from the stars faded into a shimmering haze, a mere backdrop to the magic of her performance

When she sang, her voice transformed into a vivid tapestry of storytelling, weaving tales that danced among the celestial spheres

An astral songstress had emerged in the cosmos, captivated by the stars in their untamed glory

They responded to her, their brilliance igniting the night sky, casting a mesmerizing glow that reached deep into her being, overwhelming her senses with their radiant embrace

[Second Verse]

As she aligned herself with their dazzling shimmer, her lips parted, releasing notes that soared like ethereal whispers

Her voice, clear as crystal and infused with a soothing balm, called out to the stars and their celestial neighbors, drawing them closer

Each melodic phrase rolled like waves across an ocean, enhanced by the starlit glint that amplified her gentle sound

[Bridge]

With infectious joy, she sang her ethereal melody, a harmonious engagement that stirred the very fabric of the universe

So enchanted was she by her voice that she hardly noticed the Milky Way joining in, a tapestry of stars weaving their song alongside hers

She sparkled, bathed in a silvery light that seemed to connect her with everything above

[Chorus]

COSMIC SONGSTRESS

(Her love for singing cuts through the obscuring shadows, illuminating the path for wandering souls, leading them safely into the silvery embrace of dawn)

COSMIC SONGSTRESS

(Her voice weaves seamlessly with the celestial beauty of Orion and its radiant belt)

[Third Verse]

As she continued her cosmic serenade, her vocals grew richer, layered with an additional wave of soothing rhythm that enveloped her audience in a starlit lullaby

Each note acted like a balm, easing the burdens they carried and washing away their uncertainties

[Fourth Verse]

Her serene melodies took away the doubts and pains of wandering souls, extending a gift that transcended her fears

Though the act of singing tormented her spirit at times, her voice remained the spellbinding allure that enchanted stars across the galaxy

The radiant beings were captivated not just by her vocal prowess but also by the ethereal beauty she emanated

[Bridge]

As she drifted through the vastness of space, her song approached its climax, gradually enveloping the stars in a soft twilight

The brilliance around her began to dim slightly, a gentle indicator of the concluding crescendo

With a deep inhale followed by a sharp exhale, she summoned her powerful vocals for a resounding bridge that resonated through the heavens, transforming her song into a melody that beckoned all who wished to listen

[Chorus]

COSMIC SONGSTRESS

(Her passion for singing pierces through the thickest shadows, Her voice illuminating the path for wandering souls as they seek the warmth of light during the enchanting starlit hour)

COSMIC SONGSTRESS

(Her passionate melodies slice through the deepest shadows, echoing through the stellar tapestry, each note sparkling like the stars in its brilliant belt)

[Bridge]

The notes flowed serenely from her lips, a beautiful tapestry of sound that resonated in harmony with the night

Despite the weight of the astral pressure upon her form, her unwavering passion for song conquered every physical strain

[Final Verse]

The air was thick with the lovely effluvium of her vibrations, filling the night with an enchanting aura

The night felt intimate, as if she were tethered to the stars themselves

And in this moment, it was her night—a time for her voice to be heard, unmatched, and unshared

[Chorus Outro]

She’s the enchanting songstress of the cosmos, weaving melodies that resonate through the starry expanse and capturing the essence of cosmic beauty

She will eternally be celebrated among the stars; her voice is like a shimmering beacon of light, and her light shining brilliantly will forever illuminate the night sky with her timeless essence with a brilliance that touches the hearts of all who look up, a lasting tribute to a remarkable spirit” Peyton passionately descanted.

[mjrtaurus]

"Where's my other grandma?"

Gabe asks Crocodile this one day when they're reading together in the drawing room. He really shouldn't have been surprised. That particular query was bound to come up at some point, especially since Urpi's been dropping by. If this were a few months ago, he might have shut down or snapped at the boy, but Crocodile is not keen on repeating that mistake. But he also can't lie to his son.

"She passed away, hayati. She's been gone for a long time"

"Oh," he's quiet for a bit as he absent-mindedly tugs at the carpet for a minute "Did someone make a clone of her?"

Croc has to take a deep breath at that. It's not Gabe's fault in the slightest, but they really need to sit him and Gryphon down at some point and explain that regardless of what the Vegapunks cook up in their labs, cloning is not an undo-button for death. There are things and people that truly are lost for good. But that's besides the point.

"I highly doubt it. She died a long time ago and wasn't someone the World Government would have taken notice of ("at least not for that reason" is what's left unsaid)."

"Oh... what was she like?"

Hell if he knows. His mother perished before he had left the haze of infancy, and in a way that was slow and torturous. Of course he doesn't tell Gabe the last part but he's honest once more about being just as in the dark on the details as his son. Well, he did know some things.

"She had hair like mine. And there were patches of her skin that glimmered like jewels. I think they might have been fishman scales"

"Like ours?"

Ours? What could he possibly mean by that?

When he asks, Gabe climbs up on the couch and lifts his shirt sleeve so Crocodile can see the tiniest little patch of lime-green scales growing right under the transparent tube of green blood.

"You have some on your neck next to your bumpies. I saw them when you were carrying me to bed last night. We match! 😊"

(Gabe calls scutes 'bumpies' and I just find that really cute)

“… What… happened to her, Baba?” It’s asked cautiously. There’s something in Gabe that’s always felt uneasy and upset when thinking about this branch of the family tree. He can’t place it, but it all just feels sad.

And maybe that’s why he’s asking about it.

What can Crocodile even say? How can he even explain?

“Hayati… you know how Tayta loves me? How he’s there for me if I’m hurt or sick, or even if it’s just to be there?” Okay, strong start. Let’s hope the comparison he’s setting up actually works.

“Yeah?” Gabe says expectantly, star-bright eyes wide.

“My father- not Pops, just to be clear- wasn’t like that for my mother. He was… not nice to her. Did bad things to her. And to me. He… didn’t love either of us.” He spoke carefully, riding the line between not wanting to sugarcoat and not wanting to distress.

“When I was four, she got very sick… and he wouldn’t help her. One night I feel asleep next to her, and when I woke up… she didn’t. I never even knew her name.” He remembers the rattle of her breath, how her scales and scutes slowly but surely lost their iridescent luster, how her hair had thinned. How still she was… too still…

Gabe looked at him as if what he was saying was the most alien thing he’d ever heard. Crocodile lays a kiss on his brow, and holds him close.

The silence is heavy, but Gabe’s tears haven’t come just yet. He can tell from the quiet that his son is putting pieces of some bigger picture together.

“…Is that why Vang covers his eyes?” The boy asks, resting his head on his father’s shoulder. He sounds… sad.

“It’s part of it…” Crocodile sighs, carding his fingers through starlight silver hair. “Though not all.”

There’s more to Rocks D Xebec than being a horrible partner and father. Much, much more. But for tonight, that’s enough to chew on.

To divert the conversation, he looks over the little scutes and scales that had cropped up on Gabe’s arm. They were new. Very new. Possibly the cause for the irritable streak the child had been having these last few days. And the voracious appetite.

They are very uniform and healthy, like little plates of bright green armor. Crocodile remembers how his had come in a little wonky, with plenty of uneven edges. He takes it as a comfort, knowing Gabe was far healthier and happier than he had been at his age.

Come to think of it, Crocodile’s had only come in when he was sixteen. He imagines early life malnourishment and eventually running out of puberty blockers had something to do with it.

“They itch when they come in, don’t they?” He asks, scarred lips turned into a lopsided smile.

“They feel like feathers, ‘cept more.”

[the-bi-library]

Here is the final part of the bi4bi books posts!

I'd appreciate it if you let me know if there are any more bi4bi books that I didn't include here 💕

Books listed: They Never Learn by Layne Fargo If We Were Villains by M.L. Rio Silver Nitrate by Silvia Moreno-Garcia The Drowning Summer by C.L. Herman Case Sensitive by A.K. Turner Missing, Presumed Dead by Emma Berquist Her Soul to Take by Harley Laroux Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao City of Shattered Light by Claire Winn City of Vicious Night by Claire Winn The Light Years by R.W.W. Greener The Apocalypse of Elena Mendoza by Shaun David Hutchinson Tell Me Anything by Skye Kilaen Her Scarlet Letters by Cat Giraldo Break Free by Raleigh Ruebins Modern Divination by Isabel Agajanian Caroline's Heart by Austin Chant The Door Into Fire by Diane Duane The Stone Prince by Fiona Patton Swordspoint by Ellen Kushner Wolf, Willow, Witch by Freydís Moon When the Stars Alight by Camilla Andrew Love at First Set by Jennifer Dugan Cleans Up Nice by Margo Phelps Educated by Nellie Wilson Queried Sick by Dallas Smith Chance Agreement by Margo Phelps Sirens & Muses by Antonia Angress Release by Suzanne Clay Orphia and Eurydicius by Elyse John Crown of Starlight by Cait Corrain To Beg or Not to Beg by Cat Giraldo Two Winters by Lauren Emily Whalen Electric Idol by Katee Robert Neon Gods by Katee Robert The Scandalous Letters of V and J by Felicia Davin The Spinster's Swindle by Catherine Stein Rocky Mountain Freedom by Vivian Arend Um traço até você by Olívia Pilar Biforia by Rebecca Romero Escalando Você by Rebecca Romero Entre estantes by Olívia Pilar → translated Between Bookshelves by Olívia Pilar Honor Among Thieves by Rachel Caine Victories Greater Than Death by Charlie Jane Anders The Stars Undying by Emery Robin Legend of Korra: Graphic Novels Harley Quinn: The Eat. Bang! Kill. Tour Novels Seven Days: Monday–Sunday by Venio Tachiban Brimstones and Roses It Would Be Great If You Didn't Exist My Werewolf Girlfriend The Fiancée Farce by Alexandria Bellefleur Xeni by Rebekah Weather

Part 1

Part 2

[gingersnaptaff]

💗 slow kiss or gentle kiss etc with enid/gwen plzz

CAINNNNNNNN I'M FUCKIN CRAZY ABOUT THEM SO HERE U GO!!!! This is after Geraint and Enid have met up with Arthur and the court and once Arthur's tent has been 'moved closer to the road' to allow for Geraint to be seen 'in his present state. (Injured, obvs.) Also, it's when Gwenhwyfar's maidens have taken Enid to her tent, so yeah. Hope u enjoy it!!!!!! :D

A note: A queen couldn't have a teulu (like a household army if u like.) but the king could. However, she had the right to circuit the lands separately from the king. Also, I guess this is Welsh-ified again.

ANYWAYS, here u go!

'I disliked being distracted from my thoughts. I was thinking about the woman I loved best.' - Peredur in Peredur ap Efrog

The tent was warmed by braziers, their orange-black coals smouldering brightly within its dark, silken interior. The sultry air was welcome after many months out in Wales’ mountainous regions, where the air was as bitter as a blow upon the cheek and as sharp as Enid's husband's demeanour.

She had suffered, that was true. Yes, that was true. How many nights had it been sleeping beneath a blanket of starlight, frozen out by her lord? How many days had blended together until she did not know when one began and another ended?

And how many months had it been since Ger - No. She could not bring herself to acknowledge him, not by his name, at least - her husband had dragged her through woods and hills and mud, all so he might satisfy his long-festering doubts about her unfaithfulness.

A lump rose in her throat. Not one of sadness - for she had cried that out until her body had hollowed into a husk - but of something else she dared not name. A wavering sigh left her lips, and she turned to see the ladies processing out of the tent, whispering and laughing, their duties done for the evening.

That brought a frail smile to Enid's lips. The lump in her throat ached.

Warm furs now swaddled her. Her belly no longer panged from feral hunger. She’d been scrubbed until her skin flushed rose until the hot water had scummed with grey, and now she lay in her lady’s bed naked as a newborn.

Her travelling gown, that tattered, muckied flag her husband had decreed she don, lay discarded upon the carpet-strewn floor. If she craned her neck enough then she would see it.

A teasing nip on the shell of her ear startled her out of her fugue. “You should burn it, fy enaid,” her lady murmured, her voice mellifluous with singing amusement.

Enid turned to meet her lady’s gaze. Her eyes glimmered in the dark, the grey of them shot with fire. Quickly, she shook her head, swallowing past the lump in her throat. The words she wished to speak - those she truly wanted to utter - lay dormant on her tongue.

Another kiss was her lady’s response, this one pressed to the sensitive skin below her ear. “Can’t or won’t?” she queried once she'd drawn away.

Enid shuddered. “I can’t,” she said at last.

Her lady smirked. Propping herself up on one shoulder to see her better, she sighed. Her breath was warm against Enid’s neck. Its cloying prickle made the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end. “He has no claim to you here. And you know as well as I-” and here her voice hardened - “That he must listen to me. He can't touch you. He won’t. Arthur will be dealing with him as we speak, you know, or, at the very least, reprimanding him.”

“Did you tell him to?” was out of Enid’s mouth before she could stop it. At once, she stiffened, expecting a rebuke, her muscles quivering with doe-meek terror.

At this, her lady nodded her fiery head in agreement. Laughter left her lips and her freckled shoulders shook, “Ay.” She reached out and tucked a strand of Enid’s dark hair behind her ear, her soft fingers brushing against the weatherbeaten skin of Enid’s cheek.

“You shouldn’t have-”

“Why not? It was cruel of him to do as he did.”

Tears pricked Enid’s eyes. She ducked her head, a sob tearing past her lips, renting apart the otherwise still contentment of the air. “I - I know,” she gasped, not even fighting against her lady as she gathered her into her arms and pressed her against her chest as though she was liable to shatter. “But I - I had to follow him. I had to.”

An animalistic growl left her lady’s lips. “When was the last time he touched you in such a manner as I, Enid?” she probed, the iron ore of her demeanour shattering. Tenderness imbued her tone with honey and Enid let her eyes flutter shut and her body slump into her softness.

“Weeks. Months. I don't -” she sniffled. “I don’t recall. I was forced to travel any road G-” She could not utter his name. It burned within her gut, crumbled to ash in her mouth. “He did.”

The flint of her lady's eyes tempered to steel. A tinder of anger burned within them, liquid pitch and wrathful.

Once it caught, it would consume.

“If he were not injured,” she hissed, her mouth a white slash in the umbral black. “And propriety did not forbid it, then I would have Manawydan tear his head for the indignities he wrought against you.”

Caught between surprise and shock, Enid flung herself out of her lady's arms and clutched at the furs with calloused fingers. “Lord Manawydan?! Your majesty, I-”

“He is most aggrieved. Pryderi, too. What Geraint forgets is that I have a Teulu too, not unlike my husband's," the axe blade of her breath ghosted across Enid's neck. “And they would do my bidding.”

“Your majesty,” Enid laughed, half-scandalised. “Are you inferring that my husband is disobedient?”

“I do not suggest. I know.” Her lady calmly asserted as she drew Enid back to her, nestling her against her chest. Rosewater and candied ginger clung to her skin. Queen Morfudd had surely spent the night before with her then. Only the Lady of Eidyn would wear such a decadent perfume.

Enid's brow furrowed. She fiddled with the fur coverlet listlessly, her eyes glued on how it glowed sumptuously in the light of the brazier. “How?”

With another tinkling laugh, her lady sat up. The furs pooled around her middle to reveal the lovebites that Enid had nibbled on her freckled shoulders during their bout of passion and with it the rosy flush their exertions had imbued her with.

Enid’s mouth dried. Her eyes lovingly traced the graceful line of her lady’s neck, the copper waterfall of her unbound hair as she canted her head to try and rid her face of a troublesome strand, and the swell of her breasts as she exhaled.

“He has always been so ill-mannered, ever since he was a squire,” her lady sighed after a moment of contemplation, the noise mingling with the susurrations of the breeze outside.

Enid raked a hand through her hair, tugging on the strands until her scalp ached. Her heart clenched, sharp and searing. “I-”

“Oh, genethod melys,” her lady said kindly, cupping her face with her hands. “I do not say these things to wound you, you must know that. But…”

Enid blinked up at her. “But?” she prompted softly, tilting her head. She smoothed a hand over the furs, revelling in their luxuriant softness, and took up the trefoil-hued hand of her lady. “Gwen, tell me.”

Gwenhwyfar swallowed. A whistle-like laugh left her lips, akin to a caged songbird's trilling. “When you were away,” she choked out, her eyes glazed with tears. “I demanded news of you. Every day, I went upon the ramparts and looked across the hills in an effort to spy your coming, and every day I saw nothing. Only grey mists and green hills. I'd enquire of the guards if they'd sighted you, and the knights if they'd any news of you - a missive, a sign, some sort of indication of your state - and every day the same answer left their lips: “No, your majesty, we've nothing. Nothing.” I'd-” Her breath hitched, her chest heaved. “I'd feared that you'd perished. And I did not - would not - know whether it was by a brigand's hand or his.”

For a moment, Enid only stroked the back of Gwenhwyfar's hand comfortingly. She did not weep, although a wry smile twisted her lips.

“I would've sent word to you,” Enid said with all the inferno of a solemn oath, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the lawn-soft skin of the inside of her wrist. The sweetness of roses and the sourness of sweat lingered there, as captivating a perfume as those low-lying fields of Queen of the Meadow that bloomed near her father's estate during summer. “I wouldn't have left you.”

Gwenhwyfar's heartbeat grew frantic beneath her lips, the rhythm a pulsing tide that syncopated with Enid's own. Warmth besieged her in her cheeks and chest, a glowing coal of adoration.

Silence shrouded the tent. Their breaths mingled as they snuggled together, while the braziers crackled and popped, their orange glow dissipating. Shadows elongated across the tent's silken walls as the first sparse patters of rain fell upon its sloping roof, and the twilight elongated, enmeshed the lovers in its gloam so that Enid did not know where she began and her lady ended.

What was it that Peredur had once told her all those years ago when he'd caught sight of her daydreaming in the gardens at Caerleon? Ah, that was it: “Well, it's simple. You're thinking of the lady you love best. I'm the same although s’not the Queen.”

At the time she had scoffed, protestations falling from her lips with all the alacrity of one on trial. But now, she reflected, there was some truth in his words.

‘Peredur Baladr Hir, when I see you again, I'll have to thank you.’

Cocooned in this space, her body feather-light and buoyed by joy, Enid nuzzled the freckled hollow of Gwenhwyfar's throat until she stiffened and sighed above her, “Would you?”

Enid hummed, “Yes.” Her eyes fluttered shut again as exhaustion knitted itself to her being and bones in a longed-for blanket. Gwenhwyfar crowned her with a kiss. Around a yawn, she asked, “How did you come to be here?”

“The Cylch,” Gwenhwyfar said, matter-of-fact, as she stroked Enid's hair. “T’is the time for circuiting. Arthur wished to see his land and I hoped to catch a glimpse of you somehow. It was Gwalch who persuaded him hither.”

Enid's chest tightened. ‘Bless Gwalchmai,’ she thought, sunlight syrupy in her veins. ‘And his golden-tongue.’ Only he would have the wherewithal to sweet-talk his Lord and King until he acquiesced to his wishes like a reed buffeted by the breeze. How quickly had Y Brenin Mawr capitulated to his cousin? How speedily had the party set out upon their circuit about the lands?

And… And how long had Gwen waited for a morsel of knowledge about her? Had she grown starved and gaunt, unable to feast on sweet kisses and teasing touches? Or had she remained calm and composed right up until the moment Enid and her husband had ridden into camp on their used-up steeds with Lord Cai swearing a blue streak at their side?

She pressed her lips together, admiring Gwenhwyfar as she leaned back upon the mound of pillows, the haze of the braziers limning her with amber.

And… ah, there it was. The Queenly mask had once again affixed itself upon her lover's countenance, straightened her posture into a sturdy iron rod, sword-sharp and feline-faced. “Arthur was anxious too, cariad. He took note of just how much your absence affected me. He ordered scouts out a few days ago, although I suppose there'll be little need for them now.”

“I'm glad of that,” Enid said, pressing a kiss to Gwenhwyfar’s throat and revelling in the reverberations of the hum of agreement this action greeted her with.

“As am I,” A fond smile split Gwenhwyfar's face and Enid found herself laughing for the first time since she had been forced to accompany her husband upon this perilous journey. Once she'd recovered, or at least her hilarity had lessened, she stroked the soft flesh of Gwenhwyfar’s shoulder, her eyes drawn to the faint scar of a glancing hammer blow that lay there. She traced it reverently, flinching a little when Gwenhwyfar grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to the tips of her fingers.

“It's in the past, Enid,” she bit out, her voice husky with unshed tears. “T’was a… gift. Dylan’s uncle was kind enough to bestow it on me.”

Enid nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You can’t change anything. And… I should be the one who is sorry. I gave you leave to marry him.” Bitterness seeped into her tone, as fetid as groundwater, and Enid shuddered as she snarled, her hands wringing at the blankets as if they were Ge- his neck.

Something blazed in her chest at seeing such protectiveness from one so formidable. She expected it with men, in a way. Her father had done his best to shield her from Lord Edern when he’d been The Knight of the Sparrowhawk. Certainly, she'd become inured to it throughout her honeymoon with… him. She had keened for it over the course of the journey, undoubtedly so, praying to God for some paltry wisp of security so that she might feel anything but bereft.

Alas, he had only bestowed upon her stone and sorrow.

But now, seeing Gwenhwyfar, her queen and lover, doing so intoxicated her with the same steady heat as the braziers, the same candied spice as the enduring remnants of ginger that clung to her lady’s skin.

Without thinking, without even feeling really, she closed the gap between them, threw her arm about Gwenhwyfar’s neck, and kissed her, long, and loving.

Gwenhwyfar hummed against her, as sultry as any cat's purr. Honey mead clung to her lips, sweetly tart, while her hands sought the curve of Enid's back, tracing the delicate hills and valleys of her spine. And all the while Enid let herself be held, cherished, treasured, allowed her lady to coax soft, indulgent kisses from her.

God, a day ago she’d ached to have been touched in such a manner. Supplicated herself upon the ground and begged to be tender-heartedly treated by the one who loved her best. Kind words fell from her lover’s lips, interspersed with syrupy-soft kisses, those that quicken the breath and muddle your brain until you can do naught but follow, and Gwenhwyfar did not draw away until Enid's breath grew sufficiently shallow. Until her lips burned.

Enid’s heart quivered in her chest. Her head whirled, the disorientation, the brain-fogging light-headedness making her slump against her lover. Gwenhwyfar's touch was soft, reverent, as her hands draped over Enid’s shoulders, and she bent her head to nuzzle Enid's nose. “Rest now,” she said, stroking Enid's cheek with her thumb, “I'll be here when you awaken, I swear to you.”

Enid nodded in response, her eyes fluttering shut.

The ghost of Gwenhwyfar's kiss lingered on her lips.

[fifty-two-blue]

Searching...

>Two sets of feet swirl around each other, cosmos aligned, stardust mingling in infinite symphony.

>System Response: System Online.

>System Response: User Online.

>Input: ?

>Laughter, silent, a pre-fall film. Grainy, but preserved in memory alone. A misstep, hands grasped tight, never letting go.

>Query: "Dancing" = ?

>Head thrown back in drunken delight, hair like starlight, eyes as luminous as the moon. Complimentary, caught in each other's gravity.

>System Response: "Dancing" = "To move one's body rhythmically usually to movement: to engage in or perform a dance."

>Query: "Music" = ?

>Lips move in a silent song. An exasperated sigh, unknowingly fond. To look into a mirror and see someone else's reflection, but never one's own. Clinging tightly. Never letting go.

>Input: [An audio clip plays. It is a singular, whistling tune, buffeted by howling winds. Simple, yet stubbornly clear.]

>Never letting go.

>Never let go.

>System Response: Warning! Any Further Action Will Trigger Administrator Initiatives.

>Input: [The audio clip trails off, ending.]

[thelongestway]

All right, so as is almost traditional by now, here's a little story from the worldbuilding process, which takes place simultaneously with s4ch23. This one is in present tense, as a bit of a homage to TTOU itself. ^^

And I think this is a good time to say that Formless and Vanquished We Shall Travel is complete on AO3, and that I've started putting up these little short stories as a separate series, Voices From The Pegasus Constellation. The current story being posted chapter-by-chapter there is The Worst Movie Night.

But - if you're here, you've probably read those things, and not this one. So - without further ado:

Losing Starlight

Perihelion taps my feed as I am finishing up the synnerve checks for Aspen's new, as-of-yet nameless body. (It is widely considered bad luck to not name a ship before it launches, but Aspen is insistent that they won't know their new name until they are in there, and I am not superstitious. They will be fine.)

We have a problem, it says, and it sounds worried. It concerns the Courageous and SecUnit.

Perihelion gives me log access. Simultaneously, I direct my attention to my channel with Aspen, querying them, and--.

Oh yes. Perihelion is right. We do have a problem.

I pause my work on Aspen's body entirely and use the released processing power to extend an invitation into an accelerated time workspace to Perihelion. It accepts, and we both appraise the scene playing out before us with the same degree of deep puzzlement.

On the plus side, neither Aspen nor SecUnit have thought of using accelerated time to have their… Conversation, so we have some time to think. On the minus side, this is because they are far, far too busy trying to do as much damage to each other as they can, without actually physically harming or even touching one another. It's like the world's stupidest game of tag between some of the sharpest people I know.

That is an apt description, Perihelion says.

How long has this been going on?

Since your last conversation in the Courageous' old body. I apologize for not letting you know earlier.

Looking at the logs, I suspect that the reason Perihelion didn't let me know earlier is because it was just as angry at Aspen as SecUnit was, but was smart enough not to turn this into a two-on-two fight. At least one ship was thinking rationally here.

Scratch that. One ship and one station. Note is silently monitoring Aspen's critical functions, preparing to assist if necessary. At noticing my attention, our Khemin cousin gives me a bemused shrug. In many ways, Note's easygoing nature made them far more suited to being a harbor than Aspen, and I was very grateful for that right now.

A cursory sweep shows that Nike and Blaze are also still in slow-time, talking in hushed, bewildered tones. I send them a request for assistance, asking Nike to move more into the stations' internal processes, and Blaze to monitor the Calderan ship, Magma. It was still very unlikely Caldera would be acting just now, but getting that wrong would be incredibly unfortunate. So we will not risk it.

Nike accepts, her suspicious eyes monitoring SecUnit closely. Blaze glares at me, some of her old animosity bubbling from beneath the surface, but says nothing, moving into position, trusting me to handle Aspen as I trusted her to handle Caldera. Whatever we had between us, she would not choose petty infighting over true risk. That was why we had picked her.

Good. That frees Perihelion and myself to act. Just in case, I ready and share my protocols for subduing an out-of-line ship, but for now, that is not necessary. They are still just having a conversation. Even if both Aspen and SecUnit are acting like that conversation is worse than a literal firefight.

Perihelion sends me a complicated feed expression that reads, "how can people who are so smart be so stupid?" And adds, At least mine isn't three hundred years old.

It isn't being aggressive. Just expressing the difficulties it is having processing, so I answer in kind.

A great deal of that was under time dilation or in chronostasis. And yours hasn't been trying to frantically marshal a strategy to deal with Rim encroachment for the last five years. SecUnit hasn't even been acting solo that long, has it?

True, it says, continuing to observe. Even so, they are very similar in what they process, if not how. A greater and smaller reflection.

A corridor of mirrors, magnifying each other's flaws and fears rather than strengths, I sigh. This should not have caught me by surprise. But what is done is done.

Can we get them to magnify each other's strengths?

I shrug. That was Aspen's specialty, not mine. Mine was to stop harm where I saw it. And right now I saw a pause in their sparring that Perihelion and I needed to make use of.

Come. You handle yours, I will handle mine.

Perihelion is already there, reaching for a wrung-out, exhausted SecUnit and wrapping itself around it tightly. Their conversation is their own and none of my concern, but Perihelion and I continue sharing a channel anyway, just in case there is a new emergency of some kind.

My concern is Aspen, who is turning to me, their feed connection wide and oscillating much too wildly for me to be able to latch on safely. (Again, good winds that we have Note right now.) But we can talk.

Dandelion, they say miserably, sounding like they are just coming out of a daze. Please make sure they don't actually reconnect me right when they move me.

They send me a very complicated social analysis that boils down to, "I am too stupid and dangerous to let live, but we can't actually afford a second trial right now, so please just quietly kill me yourself," which is an incredibly unreasonable request to make after having one conversation that hasn't resulted in anyone dying. Which is what I tell them.

They shudder and try again, desperate.

Dandelion, please. I did not live this long to turn into the rot that is Sands, of all people.

That's a ridiculous notion. Sands would have taken over SecUnit's mind and made it attack Caldera approximately as soon as it entered the station, Aspen. You had an argument with it.

It's not just an argument when there is a massive power differential--

Aspen. No one's dead yet. And no one has to be.

Turning their own argument back at them is a low blow, but it is what they need right now. They calm down a bit, and reach out for me. I hold them.

Is this really all it takes? they mumble. Just one decent person pushing my buttons? Taproot and stars, Dandelion, I really am no better than he was.

No. It took centuries of unending work, years of actual crisis, and then it took one decent person who is very good at identifying threats and weaknesses hitting an already strained spot repeatedly. And what you are is still a node ship who has been trying to find a replacement for themselves from the moment they realized they could no longer do their job. You are not Sands, Aspen. Breathe.

I still did things to SecUnit that I absolutely shouldn't have, no matter what my excuses are. Is it all right?

I look into the channel.

It's asking Perihelion the same question about you.

Wow. That's… Actually pretty interesting.

The moment their analytics start up again, I feel a weight lift from me. Now I was sure they would be all right.

Aspen turns their attention to the grove where the whole altercation happened, looking at the small humaniform figure making itself smaller still under the trees. They say, slowly and curiously, It's just like SecUnit and Tal, isn't it?

I have no idea what they mean, but they do, and that's what matters.

I'll leave you two to your work now, I say. We've got a lot to do in the coming days. And Aspen? You're not getting out of this by dying.

They grin, distancing themselves from me, even as they remain in touch. Come to think of it, has there been even one time when I managed a successful escape attempt with you around? I should have known better than to try by now.

You should have, I say. Now, let's get back to it. We're losing starlight.

[starlightseer]

0, 7&8, 15, and 44 of the nosy ask game. smile

0: Height

I am 5'9 (175 cm)

7: Have tattoos? 8? Want any tattoos?

Not yet, but I want them. Gotta get the money first. Then I will brand myself with the team aqua and magma logos

15: Favorite Movie?

Big Fish by Tim Burton

44: A random fact about anything

Valentina Vassilyeva was a Russian peasant woman who birthed 69 children in her life time. She had 16 pairs of twins, 7 sets of triplets, and 4 sets of quadruplets.

ask game here

[inknrivers]

Kill the Nightingale Sneak Peek

So, I have been reading a lot of other people's writing recently, but I realised just now that it has been a while since I posted any of my own stuff.

So here it is, then, part of a chapter from Kill the Nightingale. Let me know what you think! Spoiler alert~

@inspirationallybored @afantasyoffiction

---

My answer came swift. In this, I could not hesitate, “No. No, I would not.”

“Because you have seen it?”

“Because I have seen it.”

And it was true. If I had not known calamity so personally, I might have considered. Something like that, it changes you just as anything else does. The difference is the depth of the wound and the forging, well, it took entire parts of me.

“May I see them?”

Her question surprised me. No one, save for Ephes, had ever asked to witness such a thing, before. Most were content to forget it ever happened; especially those who would move on.

It had always been up to us, the Marshals, to guard that past; lest we be buried within it- Entombed but never enshrined.

Even so, a part of me would not deny her this. If anything, her willingness to see the retributions of her own chosen destiny was an admirable query. Was it not within the beholder that one could truly expect understanding?

“You may,” I spoke with roughness in my throat. Slowly, then, did I rise from the windowsill and start to untie my cloak, then loosen my bandolier. Slowly, I let the cloak drop to the floor, threw my satchels to the side. It is only a wound; I assured myself as I took a final breath and then lifted my tunic over my head.

The sea salt bit into the gashes upon my shoulders as I turned around and displayed them to her. Within the maimed flesh still sat remnants of bone and tissue that never fully healed or even closed. It was a vicious reminder. It was my nightmare.

I bit my lip and bowed my head and, for a moment. I was back there again. For a moment I saw the old spires, towers to uphold the very foundations of all we knew. I saw the thick fog and the broken, dark depths. I looked into the mirror and saw myself.

I saw the armour of gods and my starlight crown. I saw the wings upon my back, spanning the entire building and some more, proud and strong enough to carry me anywhere.

The freckles upon my face lit up like the mortal skies and my skin mimicked the pale cold of the Dream, to remind me of my lineage across the aether. Some things are best left forgotten.

Lyder looked upon me, beholding the sins carved into my flesh. For what felt like an eternity, she said nothing at all. I could feel her deep breaths upon my back as she approached me, placing one hand between my shoulders and trailing it down to my waist, before pulling back.

“They say that you were the fastest of them all. That your crown outshone the lot of them, and that you were beloved by the Keepers,” she finally spoke.

“At least some of that is true,” I muttered in reply. All of it had knocked the air right out of my lungs.

“Were you? Beloved by the Keepers?”

“Beloved like a pet is beloved.”

“And how is that?”

“Cherished until no longer worth the hassle.”

[dasniichts-a]

The Aeon research Welt Yang has on display being open to information on The Permanence is rather quaint considering said Aeon's availability. ❝You could simply ask.❞ Although the voice is Dan Heng's it's lower than his usual tone, and when Welt turns to face him he will be greeted with the bright glow of cyan eyes and a wide smile. ❝If you wish to impart a question do not hold back, child.❞ A hand finds purchase on a hip while the other gestures vaguely in Welt's direction. ❝Speak. I will endeavor to answer your queries.❞ @starlighttrain //Have an ancient dragon :D

He can feel the magnetic change in the air before he notices the shift, hand flicking for the star out of the corners of reality. “What--”  

Oh. Right. Maybe some of the legwork of his research could’ve been avoided in hindsight, but really there were just some things Welt didn’t want to push. It was always hard to know what to expect in these slips. 

"Forgive me—you... admittedly you scared the living daylights out of me.” And maybe there was still a show of worry on his features even as he flicked the cane away in a show of dark matter and starlight. “I didn’t think my extrapolations would’ve been so interesting to have caught your attention. I’m--well, flattered I believe is the word I’m looking for...” 

[ctraceywrites]

✏️ First 10 Lines Tag Game ✏️

Thank you for tagging me @gryptids

Rules: Post the first lines of your 10 most recent works then tag 10 people.

The first is the novel I'm currently querying:

A Long Journey To Somewhere

“Starlight! Breath! I found it.” Orchard called out, the sound of his voice muffled slightly by the sleek filter mask that covered his face. He lifted the binoculars as the other two jogged up beside him. All three wore the same uniforms, thick armored fabric with hoods held down tight around the edge of their masks, heavy boots, gloves, and padding to protect them. Their Scavenger uniforms covered every inch of skin to protect them from the environment and was colored an ashy brown to blend in better with the arid landscape. Orchard towered over the other two, his body overly tall and overly muscular, as they approached the ledge.

“Looks like we got company,” said Starlight, the smallest of the three, with a long sword strapped along her back. A large buck, thick dark brown fur, taller than Orchard, with antlers twice the length of his arms. It dug into the melting snow with it's hooves to get at the vines, dark green with streaks of purple-red, and started eating.

“Brute's gonna eat the whole lot.” said Breath, older and heavy-set with a handheld gatling gun hanging from a shoulder strap.

This is the rough draft of my current WIP

Rivals (I'll definitely be changing the name at some point)

"Try it again." The knight, imposing in his shimmering armor that glowed softly in a blue light from the gems inlaid across each piece of metal. He looked down over his bushy gray mustache to the young recruit, still in his training tunic and vest. A single blue gem sat on the recruit's gauntlet that he pointed at a squirrel scurrying through the branches in one of the nearby trees. The gem's glow increased marginally and the recruit flicked his wrist sending out a sharp bolt of light that hooked around the branch about two feet to the right of the squirrel who quickly dove into the thicker foliage of the surrounding forest.

"This is a lot harder than it looked at first." The recruit mumbled as he tugged at the gauntlet as if some micro-adjustment would help his aim.

"Just keep trying. Luckily there are plenty of little critters out here to use as target practice."

"And the spell won't hurt them, right?"

"No, no. Might startle them, but it's only a binding spell. It'll just keep them stuck until you release the spell."

I never really know who to tag in these things, so no pressure: @missekondor-blog-blog, @aritany, and anyone else who wants to do this feel free to consider yourself tagged.

[rot-never-ends]

The Long Way 'Round - Part 1

Long, long ago,

A great and powerful empire emerged from the mountainous lands to the North, with an ambition to conquer everything the starlight touched.

And conquer they did. For hundreds of years, all peoples who lived between the Mountains and the Southern Sea would bend the knee under their banner. And all who refused were razed to the ground.

But five-hundred years ago did a hero arise, brave, compassionate, charming, Berezina. Full of love for her people and fury for their oppressors.

With her help, the nations and tribes all throughout the land formed the Forty Armies and followed her into battle, and fought the Empire out of their homes.

Though superior in numbers and in magic the Empire was, they were outwitted by the strategic genius of their opponent.

Her people now freed, the nation-state of Berezina was founded, named in her honor.

But the nation of Berezina is no longer what it once was.

The rulers of the current age, brothers Cyril and Imil, dreamt of vastly different futures for their kingdom.

Though they had lead in harmony before, their differences grew wider, their resentments stronger. Until neither could stand for the other's ambitions.

And Berezina was plunged into war with itself. There was no resolution. There was no victor. The kingdom has split in two.

Now a great wall separates the East from the West. Families are torn apart. Lives are uprooted.

The people have cried out for their leaders to come to an agreement, but the distrust between both rulers only grows with each passing day.

Yet there are those who are determined to cross to the other side, no matter what it takes...

____

"Your papers, please?"

The Customs Office official gestures impatiently towards the loosely bound bundle of pages under Evelina's arm. "Some time today?"

Evelina nods awkwardly, uttering a quiet "Yes, of course ma'am" as she sets it on the desk. The official moves aside the flimsy cover page to reveal the stack of fibrous documents underneath. Large print at the top reads "LEAVE OF VISITATION PERMIT". The rest of the page is in much smaller print, with handwritten responses to various personal queries. She flips through page after page, scanning them down with unfeeling eyes while mouthing something to herself. No page is contemplated longer than a few seconds. When she reaches the end she flips the entire thing back to the front cover with a light thump and slides it in Evelina's direction.

"I'm sorry, but we cannot grant your leave at this time." "But I submitted my first request months ago." "Please try again later." "That's what you said last time!" "Please. try again. later. Preferably when you can be someone else's problem." "I... I... Ma'am please just listen to me. The only family I have is on-" "Spare me the sob story, I have to do my job." "But royal decree promised that everyone would have the right to-" "Thank you for your time, and long live the Great Protectorate of Berezina. Next!"

Anything she could possibly think to say in protest has already been stolen right out of her mouth. All she can do is scramble for words helplessly, before uttering a barely audible "yes ma'am" and take her papers back and slump out the door.

...

From the outside, the Customs Office is a small building protruding out from the Wall. The Wall itself is a towering eyesore, a featureless stone monolith that stretches higher than any of the nearby apartment buildings, and as far as the eye can see to the left or the right. The only evidence that anyone has ever considered valuing its appearance are the giant renditons of the Protectorate coat of arms painted onto it, looming above either side of the Office. The most adjacent line of city blocks, mostly full of old apartment buildings and small textile factories, are already dark and cold from the Wall imposing itself between them and the sun at this hour.

The girl glares up at the coat of arms painted onto the Wall. Clenching her fist and gritting her teeth on the verge of tears, she wails out and hurls her paperwork at the painted crest. It never hits its target; stacks of paper aren't known for doing so. The cover instead flaps open in the wind like a butterfly leaving its coccoon with its new wet wings that it doesn't quite know what to do with yet, while all the papers it once protected are violently flung out and scattered across the ground. Deep breaths, deep breaths, she eventually calms herself back down and kneels on the ground to pick up after herself.

"Hey there miss. Have a moment?"

She jumps in shock at the realization that her outburst had an audience, and stares wide eyed in the direction of the voice. An older man with a thick black beard is bundled up in a commoner's winter coat, leaned against the Wall right in the path of the papers. "Oh I'm- I'm sorry, I, err, didn't see you there."

He gives a warm smile "No need to worry about any o' that now. It sounds like you've got bigger problems. Need a hand with all o' that?" "Er, please. Thanks."

Together they make quick work of restoring the mess of papers into some semblance of a neat stack.

"Thank you again stranger. I really appreciate it, even if none of this junk is any good to me anymore." "Oho, but of course, anytime. ...I reckon Customs didn't let you through?" "...yes, for the fourth time." "Want to hear a secret?" "Secret?" "They're not letting anyone through anymore. No one like you or me anyway. It's nothin' but gov'ment or folks really buddy-buddy with someone important who get through." "So there's nothing I can do then?" "Well, there is one thing, but-"

The man is abruptly interrupted by the Customs Office door swinging open and clanging shut. Two men in Protectorate guard uniforms have stepped outside for a smoke and idle banter, both of the two terrible habits one forms working for the guard. The helpful man lowers his voice. "Not in their earshot. Let's move." The guards pay them little more than a passing glance as they walk away as casually as they can manage to appear.

They stop about two blocks away in a small park spanning the block. It's not a remarkable park; besides the bronze statue depicting St. Berezina triumphantly raising a sword while the horse she rode in on is reared up dramatically, there's nothing but a few trees, benches, flat ground, and an elderly couple feeding pigeons. The mysterious man clears his throat.

"This'll be far enough I s'pose." "What were you going to tell me before?" "They don't want folks knowin' 'bout this, but some people who'll do anythin' to get across found a way. An oversight on botha gov'ment's parts, you could call it. But it's not easy." "I'm willing to do anything at this point. Whatever it is, you have my ear." "So for the past year or two, folksa been goin' around by way of the south sea. The trick's not to go straight there or someone'll know what's up. Ride the ships to one city, get to another port, ride to the next one, repeat, repeat. The whole thing takes about three weeks." "That... sounds so simple." "Don't get too excited. It's risky business. Can't let anyone know where yer really headed. Can't talk to police, even in other kingdoms, and somma the stops 'long the way aren't savory places. If yer make it there, yer may not be so lucky on the way back. May be best to treat it like a one way ticket." "I see." "It's a little more for the migrant than the visitor, I admit. I'm sorry if that's t'yer dis'pointment." "No it's... fine. I'll have to think about whether I want to do this, knowing I might not be coming back." "Of course, big decision an' all. That's the kinda thing yer should be sleeping on, naturally."

She says nothing for a moment. The sun is starting to go down and the city noise is quieting. The old couple have grown bored of the company of pigeons and are crossing the street away. This side of the city has always been known for its stillness outside of its busiest hours. A V-formation of airships flying overhead and stirring up the wind momentarily is the only interruption to this urban peace. When their engines are nothing but a distant echo, she tilts her head at him.

"When are you making the journey, though?" "Me? What makes yer think I had any such plans?" "Oh, I figured from the way you know so much about this special route, and seemed so eager to risk arrest to tell me, that it's an ambition you had yourself. Was I wrong to assume?" "Well no, not at all, it's just, I- yes, yer right. I dreamed of it since the day the Wall came up. Damn that hideous thing, I tell yer. I just never had the courage. But I decided, I'm leavin' the East behind for good soon." "If that is so, and if I decide to go... Do you think I could come with you?" "You? Come with me? As in, make a long and dang'rous journey with an old codger yer just met?" "I know it sounds irrational. But I have no one else who would do that for me and I don't want to go alone. Besides, you sound like you know your way around sea travel." "Well, that's one way t'put it. Alright then lass, fine. Think it over for a week. And if yer decide to go with me, meet me at the teahouse by Kvetna Station. Kvetna station, got it? We'll take the train south to the harbor. Try not to keep me waitin' too long, y'hear?" She nods. "If yer comin', see you there. Otherwise, farewell miss." "Wait, I never caught your name?" "Name's Jarek. Yers?" "Evelina. I'd best be getting home now. Goodbye, Jarek. And thank you."

...

The week-long wait begins. To tell the truth, she'd already made up her mind by the 3rd day, bought a suitcase by the 4th, and spent the next few days shuffling about antsily. There's not much that feels worth doing when you have plans incoming, you think "Oh, my appointment's at 4, that's still hours away. Maybe a few rounds of tiles with my friends will be a good way to pass the time until then." But then 3:30 comes 'round in the middle of a round you're winning, and you're too engrossed in imminent victory to even consider calling it here. And the high of winning the table is short lived when you're late to your appointment and you have to wait another week to find out what's wrong with your left knee. On the day of your next one, you take no chances. 5 hours away has in equal measure the urgency of 5 minutes away and the tedium of 10 hours. All you can do is pace about your home in anticipation until it's time to catch your train. One might imagine, for a young girl with few other obligations about to embark on a life-changing journey, that this feeling could be stretched over days.

On the 6th day, Klara, her host and caregiver, had taken notice of her odd behavior and dared to pry. Evelina presumes that it's best that she answers honestly, after all, who has a right to know more than the woman who'd given her food and shelter for the past several years? So tell the truth she does.

"Are you MAD??" "No. maybe. I don't know. What I do know is I haven't been happy here since the day the wall came up." "Haven't been happy? Have I not been doing good enough to take care of you? Has all my work for you meant nothing?" "No, it's not that at all. You've been good to me and I'm really grateful. But you're the only good thing I have in this lonely city. I just want to see my home again." "What happened to applying to visit legally?" "I tried that 4 times. They're never letting me through." "Then you should learn to take no for an answer and stay in your lane, young lady. I don't like the split either. It's done nothing good for us. But the Lord-Protector is trying his best to make our side of the Wall a better place! At least he's not a crazed tyrant like his rotten brother! He's poisoned all their minds, Evelina. They'll not be kind to you there." "On the other side there are probably two people having this very discussion about us." "As they should be. Cyril and Imil will settle their differences eventually, when that "King" steps down, and everyone will be much happier if they just wait patiently and don't try to do anything stupid that sparks another war in the meantime." "Maybe it is stupid, maybe I'm risking everything and I'm going to pay the price. But I'd rather die at sea trying to get back where I belong than spend the rest of my life wondering what could've been. It's the same leap of faith that brought me here to begin with." "I just don't see how you could throw your life away so soon. You're nearly of age, you finished school early, you have your whole life ahead of you!"

Now the girl can't even maintain eye contact. Her focus instead goes straight to a specific knot on the grainy wood floor below her, then to various objects in the room. The flickering blue lantern on the wall, the pearlescent plate set hanging in the dish hutch (presumably all made of a Bledymine ceramic), the old portrait of a younger Klara, anything besides Klara herself.

"I just... can't." "Can't what?" "I... can't just learn that there's a chance I could go home again, and simply go on without acting on that." "Look, Evelina. I hold no true authority over you. You can walk out tomorrow and I'd have no say on the matter. But listen to me, please rethink this. What you're planning? It's madness." ... ... "I have four more days. I need rest, so I'm off to bed. Goodnight." "...Goodnight."

...

The remaining days carry on uneventfully, Klara isn't being confrontational; it's like she doesn't want to address that she's leaving soon at all, but the tension is all but palpable. By the 8th day, Evelina has already packed. She hardly had much to bring. Money, clothes, a comb and toothswab, bandages for emergencies. It's not like she exactly had very many valuables to bring. Besides, well, sure, she decides to pack that family photograph as well.

One day left. This time, Evelina is the one to break the silence.

"Hey." "Mm?" "I never properly thanked you for taking me in and taking care of me for all this time. I would have been sleeping in the streets without you. But you really didn't have to do any of this." "You're all too kind, but in my eyes, I did have to. Hospitality is the greatest point of pride of our kind. We're but fell beasts without it. ...Besides, I never got to have a daughter of my own." "In any case, Thank you, Klara." "...I'm sorry for the other day. To be truthful I was afraid that all I'd done for you was for nothing, that I'd just pushed you away and lead you to die at sea. I still don't approve of what you're trying to do, but perhaps you know what is best for yourself better than I." "You never pushed me away. You raised me into someone capable of making this journey. You don't have to worry about me." "Though please, Evelina, heed my warning: it's a dangerous world out there. Don't trust too quickly, especially not attractive men who always have the most flattering thing to say; they either want your money or your flesh. Don't let anyone back you into a corner, don't anger guards or soldiers, and absolutely do not mess with odd circles in the woods." "I know all that, it's okay." "Please just be careful, alright?"

The two of them hug and exchange their last goodbyes, knowing they likely won't cross paths on the way out the door in the morning.

...

The next morning, she wakes up to find something left atop her suitcase: a dagger and a note tied to it. "For your protection. Try not to have to use it. ~Klara"

____

Hey! I hope you enjoyed reading this. I wasn't sure about this one, I've been wanting to start writing some kind of fantasy epic for a while now, but the beginning's always the hardest place to start. This is also on my Neocities ^^