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[marblespecialist]

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[freezerbunny-sims2]

Unused resources for belly piercings in The Sims 2 base game

I could not find this in The Cutting Room Floor, so here's some info. I noticed one of the models years ago but only looked for more resources recently. I'm not a 3D artist, so forgive me if I say something nonsensical (and correct me in a comment!).

This is a list of the resources I could find:

The meshes are incomplete in the sense that they are not assigned to any bones, and they appear at floor level, near the auskel joint.

There were at least two types planned, "ring" and "post". The mesh for the post is separated into two groups: "uuaccessorybellybuttonpost_gold" for the metallic part, and "uuaccessorybellybuttonpost_red" for the plastic/stones part. The ring only has one group, "gold".

The material definition files for the "gold" groups reference "shineymetal2" and "nightreflection2-envcube" as the base texture and cube map texture respectively. The "red" group doesn't reference any textures, so maybe it was meant to look like translucent red glass.

There are thumbnail cameras specifically for the piercings. By the names we can guess that they were planned for teens and adults (maybe elders too?).

I'm not sure why they weren't implemented, my only guess is they could not find a way to avoid clipping or warping during sim animations. Although if the meshes didn't even have bone assignments, maybe they didn't reach that stage in testing. Who knows.

It could be possible to restore these, you would probably need to make separate meshes for each life stage, gender and body shape.

[captainlilyuniverseworld]

Never Gonna Give You Up

Next Part in Willingly Unwilling (Can't believe we're already at 9 🤯)

Summary: Gale wants to forget Mystra but can't. Astarion helps.

It’s stupid and he should leave. He should not be sitting here in the tabernacle with Mystra’s shrine in front of him. He is admittedly a little drunk. Astarion may have collected and burned everything in the palace that reminded him of Cazador and his siblings but he left the wine cellar intact. And it’s very good wine. Gale finished the first and is working his way through a second bottle. 

The floor is cold and hard and his back hurts from leaning against the stone bench behind him. His neck hurts from the angle he’s held it in for so long. Peering up at Mystra’s statue. He missed her and he shouldn’t. He should be mad at her. He should be forgetting her. 

She’d tossed him aside. She’d left him with a hole in his chest that no matter how much magic he gave, he sacrificed, it just took and took and took. She made her forgiveness contingent on blowing himself up. He had the crown of Karsus within his grasp. All he had to do was reach out and take it. But then she’d dangled the cure right in front of him. 

“Bring me the Crown of Karsus and I will heal you Gale. I will restore you to your rightful place as an archmage. As my chosen.” 

And what did he do? Caved like the doe eyed schoolboy he’d been all those years ago. 

And she’d cured him alright. He had all the magic and power at his fingertips and then some. The only evidence of his folly, of his mistake, the evidence that something had been mildly wrong with him was the scared reminder on his chest. 

He drank more wine. He needed to leave. He needed to get up and leave and forget her but he can’t. She’s taken up too much space in his head. In his heart. And he shouldn’t be thinking these things knowing that he would come after him. 

Because it wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when. Not after the earlier conversation they’d had. 

“I just don’t understand why you’re so against the idea,” Astarion watched Gale brush his hair in the mirror. “One little bite. One little drink and eternity is yours.” 

“I never said I wasn’t against it,” Gale replied. 

“Are you scared?” Astarion sat up. “Because it’ll only hurt for a bit. I’ll make it as painless as I can. I never want to hurt you, you know that.” 

“I do. I know, and it’s not, it isn’t out of fear,” Gale shook his head. He didn’t know what it was. He set the brush aside and started to pull his hair back. His fingers brushed his ear and his hand stilled. 

It was empty. It was still an odd feeling. It’d been less of a request and more of a demand from Astarion. He caught his gaze in the mirror and looked away just as quickly. 

“Surely you are not still beholden to your former goddess?” Astarion asked as he walked over to him. “The ex-lover who asked you to kill yourself for her. Who dangled a cure for that bomb in your chest in order for you to hand over a crown that by all rights, could and should have been yours? Are you?” 

He put one hand on Gale’s shoulder the other coming around his front, fingers stroking his cheek. A few inches over and those delicate fingers would be around his throat. It’s funny how much Gale would prefer that. 

“Of course not,” Gale reached up and put his hand over Astarion’s. “Why would I when I have you?” 

“Always so predictable.” 

Gale straightened and swallowed the mouthful of wine he’d been drinking. He didn’t have to turn around, or look over his shoulder, but he did. Astarion is standing near the doors with his arms crossed over his chest. 

It must have started raining because his hair’s wet and plastered to his forehead. Even with the dim lighting of the candles he can make out the man’s expression. He’s not angry like Gale would have expected. But he is upset. He’s hurt. 

“I thought we’d moved past this running away and getting drunk,” Astarion walked over. “If it’s not the Elfsong, or the Blushing Mermaid, it’s here.” He looked around. “The shrine belonging to your ex lover.” 

“...I’m not getting drunk…” is the point Gale makes. “I’m drinking…but not getting drunk.” 

That doesn’t make it better but it doesn't make it worse. 

“Do you still love her?” Astarion asked. 

“Of course not,” Gale answered. “I told you. I don’t love her anymore.” 

“Then why the fuck are you here?” Astarion stood in front of him. “Why do I have to find you here in front of her? Staring at her like some lovesick puppy?”

The rain is louder now. Thunder breaks up the sound every so often. Astarion is looking down on Gale and Gale is looking up at him. And his eyes are wet. From tears? From the rain? 

“I…” Gale doesn’t have an answer for him. Because he doesn’t want to be Astarion’s spawn? Not now. Not yet. But it isn’t as if he really belongs to Mystra anymore now does he? But if he becomes a spawn. Astarion’s spawn it’s the same thing. No longer beholden to a mistress but to a master. 

When Astarion touches him, his fingers are cold but gente. His eyes are soft. “Poor thing. You say the words but struggle to believe them yourself. She really has you in a chokehold doesn’t she? That’s why you came here isn’t it?”

Continue Reading

[andinthedarknessbindthem]

Thorin X Hobbit!Reader - Return

Requests are open!

✿ Words: 2,612

✿ Themes: Kinda(?) Angst, Fluff

✿ Prompt: You are the sister of Bilbo, and had come with them on their quest to the lonely mountain. Over the time of your adventure, you develop a crush on the dwarven king. You head back home to the Shire to tie up some loose ends but return back to your real home.

✿ Posted: 2/20/23

Smaug had been slain, Thorin recovered from his gold sickness, and the line of Durin had finally been returning to normal after their near-death experiences. Everything was finally peaceful.

Your brother had left Erebor a week ago, and now it was time for you to follow in his footsteps. It was a very abrupt decision that you made last night. This meant you haven't told anyone in the company, but that's because you didn't want anyone to make a fuss. That and everyone was so busy beginning the restorations of the mountain.

The banquet hall that you all shared was empty when you first awoke, so you took your time packing some of your small items into the bag. You’d just tied an extra blade to the side when you heard someone walk in.

"Are ya leavin?" Bofur’s voice echoed from the doorway, but you could hear his steps on the stone floor moving further into the room. You looked up at him from where you sat on the floor and softly smiled.

"I am. I have things to tie up at home," You started, standing up to fluff your bedroll from the dusty floor. "And I'm worried if I don't leave now, I won't be able to in the future." 

He raised a suspicious eyebrow, "Did you at least plan on saying goodbye to everyone?" You let out a small laugh at that.

"Of course! I am not my brother." You joked. Dropping your neatly folded bedding onto your bag as you walked over to Bofur, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. 

Afterwards, you made your way down the hall, stopping whenever you spotted one of your friends. Most of them seemed understanding but some seemed more sad than others. Especially, Ori. Ori wouldn’t let you go and Nori ended up pulling him away before giving you a half-hug with the arm that wasn’t holding Ori back. Dwalin gave you one of his gruff slaps on the shoulder and wished you safe travels. You’d received a few offers of a travel companion, but you turned them all down.

When you made it to Bombur, he had just finished breakfast. You gladly helped him plate up the food for everyone and clean up the mess. Plus, it gave you a little more time to talk with a few of them. You gave a tight hug to Bombur before picking up the last plate for Thorin, who always lost track of time in the mornings. It also allowed you to show a bit of your appreciation and adoration for him.

You slowly made your way down the halls until you were standing in front of the grand doors to Thorin’s council chambers. It had become normal for you to always greet Thorin and bring him breakfast before starting your morning trek through the mountain. But today, your stomach churned nervously as you stared at the door. You sucked in a breath, bringing your hand up carefully, and gently rapping your knuckles against the wood. 

You tensed even more when you heard the faint voice, "Enter." 

You used your free hand to push open one of the doors and slide in, closing it behind you with a loud click. "Good morning, Thorin." You hummed as you ambled towards him. 

"Morning." He let his head rest in his hands as he stared at a parchment laid precariously before him. You reached down and pulled the paper out from in front of him, quickly placing the plate down in its spot. His head rose quickly, most likely to scold you for taking the parchment from him, but you placed a hand on his shoulder and he quieted.

“Bombur told me you didn’t have dinner,” You sighed. “And on my way here, Balin told me you never slept last night.”

Thorin let out a long sigh as he leaned back, eyes closing slowly. He looked so tired with the dark bags under his eyes. “I had more important matters to attend to.”

“You need to take better care of yourself Thorin, you’re still recovering.” You let go of his shoulder, placing the parchment next to his plate. He just huffed in response.

You took a few steps back, thinking over how to tell him you were leaving. It had been so easy telling all of the others, but the thought of telling Thorin made your heart ache and stomach churn. 

“Thank you, for your concern.” Thorin’s voice broke the silence and you bowed your head. He opened his eyes, going back to look over the parchment but this time he picked at the food on his plate.

You couldn’t help but take in a shaky breath to attempt to calm yourself before speaking. "I'm sorry, I know you’re probably busy but can I take up a moment of your time?"

His head lifted to turn towards you, swallowing whatever food was in his mouth. "I'm never too busy for you." 

Thorin’s sweet words made it harder for you. You evaded your eyes as you spoke in a whisper, "I’m leaving, Thorin." Your head snapped back up when you heard the legs of his heavy chair slide against the stone ground, he was standing now, eyes burning into your own.

"When are you leaving? Why?" His sudden hostile tone shocked you, he was so tired not even seconds ago.

"As soon as I sort out my stuff and say the last of my goodbyes.” Your voice quivered when you watched him turn his face from you. “I knew if I didn’t leave now, it would only be harder!”

"Let me send someone with you, it's not safe-"

You cut him off, "No. I need to do this myself." You could only watch as his shoulder tensed and relaxed in front of you. "Thorin, I'll come back. There are just a few things I need to sort out at the Shire.” Your words were but a whisper as you took a few steps to him, going to reach out and touch his shoulder, but he reeled away before your fingertips could even brush against his furs.

"Go then.” His cold tone and words cut deep into your heart, your eyes welling up with tears.

“Thorin-”

“Be on your way!” He roared, his head half turning so you could see the left side of his face. His thick brows were furrowed and eyes slit. You hated this side of Thorin, yet you could understand his anger. You knew he didn’t mean to react like this, he was never good at controlling his feelings.

You stood up straight and bowed your head, moving quickly to the door. You kept your back to him as you sucked in a deep breath, "I think I'll miss you most of all, Thorin." You slipped out of the door, quickly wiping off whatever tears fell down your cheeks. You could hear a loud clattering as soon as the door shut behind you. You so wanted to look back, but you knew you had to keep going forward.

You continued making your way around to say the last of your goodbyes and soon enough, it was time to go. You slipped out of Erebor, waving to Nori and Gloin who were watching the gate, and made your way back home.

It was scary at first, being alone and camping in the woods. But the knowledge from your first travels made you feel at ease. Soon enough you were back home at the Shire.

-.-.-.-.-.-.- 1.5 Years Later -.-.-.-.-.-.-

You hadn't planned on being away so long, but life had another way of flipping things around. After giving away your hobbit home, you acquired a pony for your trip and gave what you wanted to keep to Bilbo to hold on to. You didn't plan on coming back, despite your brother begging you to. He knew better though. After your adventure, you felt like the peace of the Shire was uncomfortably silent and boring.

The path to Erebor seemed more worn than before, and you even came across a few Dwarrow heading in that direction. You all traveled together through the forest but lost them when they broke off to go towards Dale to check out their improving markets.

You nearly couldn’t contain your excitement the closer you came to Erebor. You smiled to yourself as it came into view. The gates were fixed, holes were patched, and it looked chocked full of life. The birds and vegetation had returned to the mountain and the air had a sweet smell to it. You watched from down the path as what looked to be a Dwarrow family passing through the renewed gateway, four armored dwarves allowing them through.

As you approached, two of the dwarves aimed spears in your direction, causing you to pull back on the reins of your pony. "Stop! Whats yer buisness here?" One of the armored dwarves holding a sword shouted. 

"I'm here to see Thorin." You called, swinging your leg over and slipping off your pony, you held your hands out to show you held no malicious intent.

A dwarf's eyes furrowed as he kept the spear pointed at you. "The king is not seeing any diplomats." His voice grumbled. 

"Oh! Believe me, I’m no diplomat.” You laughed at that, placing a hand over your chest. “I'm part of the company of Thorin Oakenshield."  

"You are a hobbit, a woman hobbit! I haven't heard anything of you." One of the dwarves yelled from above. Little did you know, his yell reached the ears of someone close to you.

You sighed and placed your hands on your hips. "Can you please find Dwalin, Balin, or anyone else by any chance?" As soon as you said that, Kili's head looked over the wall.

"Well look who finally decided to show up!" His voice yelled happily, your head turned up, a large smile spreading across your cheeks.

"Hello, Kili!" You laughed and turned towards the dwarves who reluctantly let you pass them now. One of them pass kind enough to take your pony as you walked in.

You could hear the quick steps coming down a set of stairs to your right, but you weren’t prepared to brace yourself when Kili slammed you into a bear hug. “I missed you so much!” His laugh was loud in your ears.

"Kili!" You whined as he squeezed you once more. When he finally let go you playfully slapped his chest.

"We’ve been worried sick about you! We got a message from your brother saying you left the Shire over four months ago!" 

"That's my fault, I got sidetracked a few times along the way.” You said sheepishly. He hooked your arm in his, directing the dwarves to give your pony the best care and that your belongings be brought to one of the rooms in the royalty wing.

It was a lot warmed than you remember inside the mountain and plenty more lively as Kili took you on a grand tour to show what’s been changed since you’ve been gone. You were so happy to see your friends again and they seemed happy to see you. Though walking around with the prince did earn you a few odd looks from other Darrow’s, you held your polite smile despite that.

You stood in the industrious kitchen, watching as Bombur worked tirelessly with a few other dwarves. It was such a change from what you remember before. You had a lovely chat with him about the influx of ingredients they were able to receive now that the trade lines were opening.

Bombur pushed a plate into your hands, and you looked at him quizzically. “Take this to Thorin, will ya?” 

“Oh, yeah, of course.” You patted his back with your free hand before leaving. 

You were happy to help, but your nerves started to creep up on you. You ambled down the halls towards the council chamber. You were admiring all of the new adornments on the wall, but mostly you were avoiding the inevitable; seeing Thorin. Eventually, you stood in front of his intimidatingly large door. You sucked in a breath and lightly knocked on the door like you would before.

"I'm busy!" You heard his voice growl from inside.

You rolled your eyes and decided to enter anyways. You pushed the door open and kicked it shut with your foot.

"I said I'm-" His voice trailed off as he stared at you. 

You evaded his eyes and walked forward. "I'm sorry, I know. Bombur asked if I could bring your dinner to you." You hummed and walked to his desk, reaching over him and sliding the plate in front of him. You stood there for a second as he stared at you like you were a specter. You rubbed your hands together and bowed your head. "Sorry for the intrusion, I'll come back later." You sputtered, turning to rush out of the room, but instead, arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back onto Thorin's lap. You turned your head to him, mouth agape. You hadn’t expected him to react this oddly. You expected a cold look or even a simple ‘It’s great seeing you!’, not this.

"Where have you been?" His voice was soft and gravelly as one of his hands moved to cup your cheek. 

"Thorin, I'm sorry." You looked into his eyes, your hands resting on his toned chest. He looked so exhausted and worn out. "I really didn't mean to be gone so long."

Thorin sighed, his head leaning forward and resting against your own. "You have no reason to be sorry. I treated you so coldly that day.” You could feel the brush of his beard against your chin. “I was worried that you wouldn’t return to me, that in my fear and anger, I let you slip through my fingers.” 

You blinked rapidly in confusion,  “What… What are you saying?” It almost sounded like he was professing his love to you.

“I cannot bare to lose you, (Y/N). My heart ached every moment while you were gone and I couldn’t find a reason why you plagued my every waking thought.” His hand dragged down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps. His eyes were soft and his breathing shaky as he continued. “Then it came to me. I love you. I love the way your hair falls upon your face, the way your nose scrunches when you’re irritated with me, the way you cared for me when I was injured.” A blush spread over your cheeks, but he wasn’t done. “I love the way you smell in the morning, the way your eyes sparkle in the sunset, and how your laugh was full of warmth.”

His eyes darted between your own, looking for any response from you. Your hands lifted to cradle his face, his eyes shutting as he waited. It was your turn to speak now, but you were completely awestruck at his confession. You sucked in a shaky breath before lifting yourself and gently pushing your lips together. Your stomach tingled as his lips moved along yours delicately. Your chest pressed to his as his hand pressed against your back, trying to move you impossibly closer. His soft kisses turned fiery as he devoured your lips. You heard a slight hum coming from his throat and you whimpered in response. 

He pulled away first, his hard chest rising and falling as he brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. "I've been waiting for this for too long." He cooed, pressing your foreheads together again.

“I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting, my love.”

[cuubism]

Okay obviously I want to know everything about everything but for now I’m super curious to know more about “Michelangelo’s Hands”

🤘five-and-dimes

@five-and-dimes

this is a fic I started in October 2022 and have just been slowly working on since, it's a post-episode 6 slow burn about Dream's difficulties with restoring the Dreaming and getting back to creating after not being able to create for 100 years (inspired by my annoyance at how the Dreaming goes from being totally wrecked to being basically normal again between one episode and the next in the show, even if I know there was a time jump and what not. why did it just get fixed, where's the effort 😂)

--

Hob dreamt himself into the center of the massive throne room, startling into existence between one moment and the next. He was barefoot on the marble floor, in dream-pajamas, and the room felt cold in only a t-shirt, though sunlight streamed in through the high windows.

The room looked partially restored, columns reconstructed, some of the broken glass and stone fragments gone from the floor, though all was not quite right. There were holes, still, near the starry ceiling, and even the restored parts of the room looked… odd. There was a fragile, forced quality to them, and cracks still showed in the marble.

Dream was sitting on the steps, as he had been last time. As before, the massive stained glass windows behind the throne were in shattered pieces on the floor around him, their empty window frames looking out on an expanse of infinite nothingness. It made Hob dizzy, so he focused on Dream instead.

He made his way across the room, careful of the glass. He sat beside Dream, who didn’t look up at him, though Hob knew he knew he was there.

“Hey, love,” he said gently, as he sat down. The throne room looked better, but Dream looked worse. Hunched over, hair a mess, shadows under his eyes. He was thrumming with power, Hob could feel it even when they weren’t touching, but it felt abrasive, dangerous. Massive and out of control.

“Hob,” he said quietly, in greeting. He was playing with a piece of glass again, tilting it back and forth in the sunlight pouring in the holes in the castle’s roof. Beams of red glanced over his face. Hob took his other hand, gave it a grounding squeeze.

“Reminds me of your ruby,” he said, nodding to the glass. “Whatever happened to that? Really?”

“A human attempted to use it and nearly destroyed himself and many others,” said Dream. His voice was gravelly and rough. Tired. “In trying to wrest away my power, he shattered it, freeing the power to return to me.” 

“Must be strange, not to have it,” Hob mused. It was not quite the question he wanted to get at, but at least Dream was talking about something. Letting him in.

“I have relied upon it as a tool for too long. Now, I must rely on myself.”

So many things broken by his imprisonment, Hob thought. The ruby. The Dreaming. Dream’s own continuity. But not them, Hob vowed. Never them.

“Crafting without it is like sculpting of lava,” Dream said. “I had forgotten the feeling of such raw power.”

“Dangerous?” Hob asked.

“Yes,” Dream breathed. “And exhilarating. I—” he slipped his hand out of Hob’s and looked at both of his palms. “I scarcely know… what to do with it.”

The reflected light of the glass cast his palms in red. Dream closed his hands over the edges of the shard.

“When I escaped my prison, I had not touched a dream in over one hundred years.” His hands trembled. “In an instant they came to me, swirling and screaming and clamoring. Rejoicing. All of the dreamers. A trillion colors. A trillion voices.”

Hob laid his hand over his again. Dream’s skin was hot against his palm. He dropped the shard, and it cracked as it hit the floor, joining the hundreds of other pieces of debris scattered around the steps.

“I did not know what to do with them,” Dream admitted. “How to allow them in again. They were so loud, and I had been asleep for so long. I felt—” he studied his hands again, flexing his fingers. Those delicate hands. Hob wanted so badly to kiss them. “I felt too clumsy to touch them.” 

What if Michelangelo lost his hands? Again the Corinthian’s words echoed in Hob’s mind. He watched his friend, master creator of all wonders and horrors, staring at his hands like he no longer knew them. He imagined him stumbling home, adrift in the river of creation so long taken away, only to find all that he had created decayed into nothing. 

Picking the shards of glass from the floor with broken fingers.

Darkness flashed between them. Dream kept staring at his hands, only now they were bleeding—streams of red fell from long gashes in his palms, from lines gouged in his wrists, seeped from under his fingernails. Hob scrambled to hold them, to stop the bleeding with his own skin. 

“Dream!” he gasped, the first time he had said it aloud, but he didn’t think his friend could hear him. “Dream!”

A tear swept down Dream’s cheek, washing away dust that had stuck from the shattered throne room. “They fled, Hob,” he said, despondent. “My creations fled.”

[agirlandherquill]

lies of loving

it's been quite a while since i've shared something from Ruin's Reprisal, but having just sat and written a chapter all in one go I thought, why not share it on here?

it's not a very long one by any means, but it's just as important to the story,

so here it is, this chapter's called lies of loving

Nothing steadied her fall, or his, they fell in a heap of limbs on the floor, she was too unsteady to process anything at first, delirium rocked her soul, but by the time she recovered her senses it was far too late for her to escape, it was nothing but awkward.

Their position was awkward.

Compromising.

Some might even say scandalous.

Not that I have anything left to be compromised but still… This is the most awkward I’ve felt in my life.

One of her legs was hooked over his, their knees touched, one hand was splayed near Fenley’s head, her fingertips tickled by his hair - the morning air had caused the ends of it to start to curl - she was petrified to move, to even breathe, they could feel each other’s breaths, she was convinced she could feel his heart too. Her borrowed shirt was so thin that it scared her to realise just how cold she must have been for Fenley to feel warm. 

Fenley was tense under her, his stomach was a tight, supportive board of flesh beneath her, her hands were doing a very poor job of holding her up, and his were nothing more than weakly formed fists pressed against his sides.

She swallowed some of her fear and looked him in the eye, wincing as she saw herself reflected in his eyes. She was a horror, a thing of the earth, her skin was plastered with mud, grime, and beneath that painful coating there more bruises than she cared to consider. 

It hurt her to see herself this way.

She was alive, she was grateful to be so, but she certainly didn’t look it, didn’t look as though she deserved it.

Her heart gave a start at the twitch of his finger, brushing against hers, the smallest of touches sent a wave of horror crashing over her and Edeva threw herself to the side, away from him, with a breathless apology. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” She didn’t have the strength to finish the thought. Her fingers clawed at the rug beneath them for enough purchase to make herself stand, but she was too panicked, too mortified to stop herself tripping over her own feet and she stumbled away.

Her fingers scraped through her hair, trying to restore some sense of order while her head hung heavy, I should have moved, I shouldn’t have taken so long to realise where I was, how I was, High-Mother please forgive me even if I don’t think that I can forgive myself - What have I done? Oh, what have I done?

“Edeva.”

She bit back a scream, her eyes flying up in alarm. “What?”

Fenley was right in front of her, he moved impossibly closer, the edges of his boots touched hers, he shouldn’t be that close, he couldn’t be that close, but she couldn’t move, she willed her body but it wouldn’t move. His arm moved, What is he doing? What does he want? She noticed a tremble in his fingers as they reached for her face. Gulping, her muscles turned to stone. There was no moving, not now, she wasn’t certain she wanted to, or that she didn’t. She simply couldn’t.

Fenley’s fingers brushed against her ear as he pushed her hair back from her face, withdrawing his arm quickly after, but as his palm touched her cheek he paused, his hand hovered, terrifyingly uncertain.

“Edeva.” He said her name again.

But this time, after countless times, it felt different. Everything about them felt different. They had been this close, or almost as much, many times before. But never had she been hit with a feeling that left herself aching.

She was vulnerable.

Whether he had made her vulnerable, whether she had allowed herself to drop every pretence, every fragile guard she had surrounding herself, Edeva did not know.

But the ache was there, the ache knew, it knew how vulnerable she was.

Fenley could take a knife as he often threatened to and tear her into pieces and she wouldn’t utter a single word, no whisper of pain would pass her chapped lips. He could say anything, anything, and she would listen. He could look at her, as he was then, and she would not blink, she would not break his stare.

Fenley had the possibility of doing many things in that moment and she simply wouldn’t stop him. 

That was what vulnerability had done to her.

She didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“Fenley.” She said his name, used it to anchor herself, to collect her composure enough to raise her head, to look complete, the utter opposite of vulnerable. But inside she was needle and thread, pulled taught, twisted, and wrenched apart until her insides were beginning to tear and fray. Edeva was fragile. Edeva was weak. Edeva was a victim of her own vulnerability. Her heart was paper, frail, frantic, and feeling far too much that she didn’t trust herself to say more than a word to him. 

Words were powerful things, too powerful for her to grasp, but in the stare that passed between them, no words were necessary. A single shared look conveyed a thousand soundless discretions.

He was just as vulnerable as she was.

That terrified her beyond anything else. 

She could not have his vulnerability, she would not, he would come to loathe her for it, and she feared that inevitable loathing enough to put distance between them. She was surprised that her feet obeyed, pulling her from him, his fingers slipping from her skin as she ensured she slipped away. But she hadn’t expected him to follow. He mirrored her step for step until she couldn’t step back any more, the wall ruined her escape. Edeva rose onto the tips of her toes to try and get as far back as she could, but it wasn’t enough, Fenley followed.

Her hand, pressed against his chest, was the sole, fickle thing keeping them apart.

It took her more breaths than she liked to find her voice, to sharpen it, weaponise it, to scare him away. “You’ll regret it if you try that again. I’m warning you.”

Fenley would not be scared. “How are you so sure of my regrets?”

“I-”

“How do you know what I feel when you don’t know yourself?” His question, so brutally honest, made her bristle. “I do know.”

“Then tell me.” 

“Don’t be difficult Fenley.” Edeva was not composed, no matter how hard she tried to seem it, the harder he pressed to make her realise the opposite. It was maddening.

“Then you won’t mind me guessing.”

She did mind. But she knew saying as such would let him win, win whatever this was, whatever it wouldn’t be, so she stayed quiet and let him guess, biting down on her lower lip until her teeth made a painful crack in the skin, she savoured the pain as the distraction while he spoke.

“Are you afraid? Is that it? You’re finally learning to fear me?”

“I. Don’t. Fear. You. And I never will. I’ve never felt those things.”

His jaw tightened, her answer changed something in his eyes, something she couldn’t place. “Then you know nothing of fear, the thing that drives us. True fear is full of abandon, full of nothing, full of grief and agony - full of so much strife it makes your heart ache.”

Edeva wanted to disappear to Martja then and there. She wanted to hide away, but not for fear, for something else, something his words made clear to her, something that did in fact make her heart want to ache.

“Fenley… That isn’t fear.”

His eyes narrowed. “Then what is it?”

“It’s…” Love. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it, not when she wasn’t certain it was in the first place. She could be wrong. She thought wrong. She had to be wrong. Because love could not be her first thought, not when she didn’t know what love was. 

I’ve never felt it, not really. Arden and I were convinced we were meant to be, the Court practically ordained it when we were children, and we never bothered to think otherwise. We never really had to think about love. We liked each other. That was it. The realisation hit her hard. My word, how blind I was. 

Edeva knew very little of absolutely nothing, that was all the Court had given her. She did not know love. She only just knew hatred. Trust was another thing entirely. She had barely any experiences, any memories that were actually worth something. Unlike Fenley. He knew things. He felt things. He felt more than he realised. More than she knew how.

She couldn’t say the words he desperately sought, he did not know they existed until she said them, but she could not put that weight on him. She could not tell him that his view of fear, true fear, was nothing of the sort. Fenley thrived on fear. She did not know how he would take to the notion of its enemy, its opposite, its antithesis. 

She did not know how it would change him.

But that responsibility is not mine to bear. 

So she stayed quiet. She refused to say it. 

Fenley’s throat bobbed up and down, his nostrils flared, then he sighed. “Tell me what it is that you feel then, here and now.” 

That question came dangerously close to being worse than his last, but she found herself straining to answer it. What do I feel? She sank back against the wall and breathed out her answer. “I feel… Empty.” She pressed her hand to her heart, “I am alive, my heart beats, but I have nothing else in the cold light of day. I am no-one. I am beaten. I have been broken.”

Fenley’s jaw ticked. “Lie.”

Edeva groaned quietly. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth. The one you’re denying yourself.” What he failed to say was denying him, and that hurt her.

“You really want the truth?” She had to make sure he was ready, or at least thought he was ready, to hear it. He gave her a solemn nod. 

“I feel vulnerable. I have never felt like that in all my life, and in that moment, I felt as though I was going to sacrifice something, something I don’t think I can live without.”

“And that is?” He’s asking. He’s really asking. 

She pressed a hand against the wall to steady herself, “My hope. My will. My choice.” Her lungs hurt to say the words. “My everything. And I can’t. I can’t do it.” She took a breath, then another, but nothing helped, nothing but continuing on. “I’ve had so much taken from me Fenley and I… I can’t let you take this too.”

“Don’t say that.” His voice sounded hard, his voice sounded angry. She willed herself to stop the tremor in her voice. “Why not?”

“Because I would never take a part of you.” Fenley looked hurt that she had even considered it. Her throat grew dry, her heart grew heavy, “Isn’t that what we’re meant to do? Take pieces of each other? Follow the way of the world as it’s always been?” She gestured to herself, then to him. “An Exilza and a Wiksaen, we’re the mistakes , the abominations of Haelish-kind, the world sees it as a right to undo us, to remove us from this perfectly imperfect place. That is the way it will always be.”

“No.” Fenley’s face flared with rage. “No. They are wrong for changing you, chipping away at you, treating you as though you’re a mistake.” His eyes searched hers and his anger faded as quickly as it came. “You are not their exile, not their crime. You deserve to be treated as you are. A lady. A Conteis.” Fenley paused, shaking his head in contempt. “No, you’re better than that.” 

Her breath caught in her throat as he took her hand and raised it to his lips, “You’re better than you think you are. You are not empty or alone Edeva,” His lips hovered over her skin, his warm breath startled her with each exhale, “Because I can feel you, I am here with you, and you are here with me.” His lips brushed against her hand and he dropped it, her arm hung by her side, painfully stiff from shock. Her eyes froze on the spot his lips had touched, there was no mark but she felt as though there ought to be one. “Why?” Her eyes flitted to his. “Why did you do that?”

“Because, Edeva,” He sighed her name, “Even if you have nothing, no title, no worth, even when you feel as though you’re nothing…” His gaze shifted away from her, she watched the muscles of his face grow tight, his throat constrict, “I needed you to know,” with a sharp breath he forced himself to face her, his knuckles were white, pressing into his thighs, “I needed you to know,” He repeated himself, and she caught a change in his eyes, the grey was  lit up in a way she had never seen before. Is he ill? Is he going to be sick? Is he feverish, driven by madness? She didn’t know, and she hated not knowing. 

“You’re something to me.”

~ ~ ~

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[winvyre]

[Valerie's Story] Chapter 1: Omie (1/6)

“Valerie, you are on sweeping duty today.”

“But I’m always on sweeping duty!”

“This is history that we are preserving,” The old lady smiles, “Careless hands…”

“Doom the world.” I begrudgingly take the broom. I’m ten years old, not an idiot. My older siblings are already at work maintaining foliage and restoring art. Well, two of them. Even with Maurin missing I’m still stuck with the broom.

For as long as I can remember, Bernadette has dragged us to Omie’s temple on the sea cliff once per month to help her keep it from falling into ruin. To be honest, it’s already pretty ruined.

It’s a small building, especially when compared to other temples in the region, about the size of a sloop. There’s no door; I don’t think there ever was. Faded murals run along the inside but you can’t see the entire picture because parts of the walls are missing. The arch roof caved in before I was even born and when you walk through to Omie’s statue on the other side, there’s a specific path you have to take to avoid cutting your foot or falling through the floor. The back is open so ocean spray keeps the back side of the statue permanently damp. Plants grow through every crack and hole, wrapping around pillars and obscuring the details in the white stone.

We’re the only ones who ever come up here if you don't count the teromynies, rabbits, or many, many insects. They’re going to be worse this summer because winter was so short. Omie’s worshippers mostly attend the Megachurch in the capital. No one cares about a shrine in an outskirt village that even the locals have forgotten. Bernadette is an exception. She probably lives here. She talks about Omie like she created humanity.

I kick up dust near Omie’s feet. She’s twice as tall as our mom and looks a lot like her. Mom has long, curly hair so blonde it’s almost white kept out of her face by a bandana. Omie has the same style but a much more elegant headband. She wears an off-the-shoulder dress with a collar low enough that her hands clasped over her heart touch her bare chest. Her downturned head makes it seem like she’s looking at you but her eyes are always closed. Bernadette says that Omie’s watching over us.

I hope she’s watching over Maurin. It’s too quiet here without him. Usually he’d be cleaning the grime off the statue but since he’s gone Bernadette’s doing it. The only other person she lets touch Omie is him.

When I’ve swept every part of the temple Bernadette hands me six red candles to place at Omie’s feet. I’m not allowed to light them, though. Bernadette sets her cane against the wall and hobbles through the temple with a thurible, muttering to herself. She’s not praying. That old lady might treat Omie like Francesca treats the young watchman stationed by the docks but she’s not a Believer. The candles light on their own when she’s done. Witch magic is uncanny.

I scan the mural on the right wall. It shows various images of Omie interacting with humanity. Healing the injured, officiating weddings and blessing babies, singing and dancing in a large group. We do the same dance during Omie’s Festival accompanied by a song that she apparently wrote. Kell hangs up the red banner with Omie’s symbol, a human heart made of fire, that fell off the middle pillar.

The left mural is more about how Omie fits into the Six Immortals. It depicts things that they did together like establishing the United Regions, Demon's Lock, and taming dragons. Modern temples are built to hold service but this one, like most older temples, was built to foster a personal connection with its deity. There are no pews and no altar, just stories up to interpretation.

Francesca peeks through one of the holes in the wall, “I finished trimming the bushes.”

“Good. Kell, Valerie, help Francesca pick the hearthblooms.” Bernadette gathers her things.

I can't look at the flowers without feeling nauseous. They remind me too much of him. “If the wreaths are so important why don’t the other villagers grow hearthblooms themselves?” I cross my arms. “Why are we the ones who always have to do it? For once it’s actually warm enough to go swimming in early spring and we’re stuck making wreaths!”

“C’mon, Valerie, don’t be like that. We all want to go swimming but these flowers aren’t going to crown themselves.” Kell offers a smile.

“Well said, Kell. We have responsibilities that we must uphold. Supplying the festival with hearthbloom wreaths is one of them.”

“Guts! Why are you so obsessed with Omie? You’re not even religious! You-“

“Valerie, that is enough. I have my reasons. You would not understand.”

“Because you never explain anything to us! It’s always ‘Time to visit the temple,’ ‘Be careful around the statue,’ ‘Omie watches over you!’ We know nothing about you aside from the fact you’re friends with our mom. You just show up every once in a while to gush about your celebrity crush then disappear again. I witness enough of parasocial relationships when Francesca rambles about that stupid watchman!”

“Hey, I love him!”

“He doesn’t even know who you are!”

“It’s true love!”

“That’s dumb!”

“I’m going to marry him one day!”

“You’re an idiot! All of you suck! I want Maurin back!”

Silence. “And there it is.” Bernadette mumbles. “Why don’t the two of you head home? We can visit Graciela later.”

Francesca and Kell take one last glance over their shoulders before descending the hill. Fran’s face scrunches in anger. She tosses her hair and leaves with her nose in the air. Kell’s eyes dart between me and the witch worriedly but he still follows.

I can’t stop shaking. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from crying but tears have already blurred my vision. Bernadette is a colorful blob as she cups my cheek with her hand. I swat her away when her thumb sweeps across my skin. There is an energy burning inside me and I’m not sure if I can keep it in there.

“Maybe nothing I say will ease your pain but just know that it is okay to feel this way. Your grief is valid in whatever form it takes.”

A sound catches in my throat and I feel that ember surge. “GUTS!” I whip around and punch the tree behind me, regretting my decision immediately as I buckle, cradling my fist as the sobs break through my throat.

Bernadette gently takes my hand in hers, “It is broken. Let us get you to Oakley.”

When Mom sees my sorry state through the window of the healing room, she rushes to the door. “Goodness! What happened?”

“I can heal it myself.” I grumble.

“This is too severe for you, darling. Now, tell me, what did you do?”

“I hit a tree.” I take a seat at the dining table with my lip out.

Mom sighs. “Fran said that you’ve been having some big feelings, is that right?” She definitely didn’t say it that nicely. I nod. “You miss Maurin, don’t you?”

I feel the tears return but the ember is finished. “Yeah.” I choke.

“The Crown is doing everything they can to bring the missing children home. We’re all sad, we’re all scared,” Mom’s glistening eyes meet mine, “But we have to have faith. Your brother… is okay. He’s smart and he’s strong. We’ll all be reunited soon.” She lets go of my hand, now all better. “I have to get back to my other patients. Please, go with Bernadette and finish the wreaths.” Mom goes back to the sitting-room-turned-workshop, leaving us to return to the temple.

----------

Hello! Winvyre here. I thank you for your faith and patience even when I have nothing to show for my progress so to express my gratitude I will be posting the entirety of this draft's [Valerie's Story] chapter one on my page today in segments scheduled to upload on the hour. Stay tuned and please feel free to ask questions!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

[wouldyoustilllovemeifiwasawyrm]

Reverent

Linktober Day 2: Temple

Summary: Following the end of the Calamity, Princess Zelda begins funding the Hyrule Restoration Project. As thanks to the Goddess Hylia, one of the sites marked for restoration is the Temple of Time on the Great Plataeu. She sends her trusted knight to oversee the initial assessment of the task. What they discover underneath those crumbling stones may just change Link's perspective on "ancient history".

How many times had he walked these floors? How many times had his knees hit the cold stone before the Goddess, begging for her help and guidance, for a sliver of wisdom to point him in the right direction? Her stone face smiled just as serenely as ever, her hands gently folded at her waist. Like a patient mother, listening to his complaints – always providing what he needed, yet never what he asked for.

Six smaller statues surrounded her, echoes of her divine majesty. Like Zelda and the Champions, he thought. He wondered if this was merely a coincidence or if the number had any significance. From what he recalled of the legends, it might be either. The details withered away as the centuries dragged on.

Moss under his boots, crawling slowly up the sides of the Goddesses, filled the air with its earthy scent, mixed with the unmistakable sweetness of oncoming rain. Gray clouds rolled over one another, framed by the gash in the temple’s walls.

A low whistle heralded the arrival of his companions.

“Well, we’ve got our work cut out for us, don’t we?” Karson noted, his loud voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Link almost snapped at him to keep it down out of respect, but kept it to himself. If they were to rebuild, they’d have to make a little noise.

Link had always trod so carefully upon these grounds. From the first moment he rose from the waters of the shrine not far from here, the majesty of this temple cut into his core. He couldn’t remember then, and he struggled to remember now, but he felt so, so certain that this place housed something more than the crumbling ruins that lingered in this age.

Out of habit, he knelt before the Goddess statue and whispered a quick prayer. Like walking into someone’s house, it would be rude not to say hello.

When he rose, he heard a few more footsteps enter through the temple doors, their voices adding to the strange soundscape.

“This half is pretty stable, looks like,” Karson remarked. Link watched him disappear into the side room near the front. “Some kind of platform up here. Anson, get me a ladder! Let’s see what we’re working with here!”

The moss underfoot absorbed Link’s footsteps as he explored the back of the temple. Thin, high windows stretched almost to the ceiling. Vines crept up the walls, their roots digging into the cracks between the stones. He reached up, wrapping his gloved fingers around the thickest vine. If they were going to clean up and restore the old temple, these had to come down.

He tugged the vine loose, feeling the roots pop away from the wall. The leaves shuddered as they fell to the floor. With one final yank, the vine’s taproot snapped. Watery sap oozed from the broken stem. The dead vine hung loose in his hands, dragging on the floor as he walked it over to the giant hole in the wall. More vines, moss, and wildflowers crept in from this exposure, covering the stone floor. He tossed the vine outside, watching it fall onto the cracked walkway below. So much work…

He turned back toward the statues, green starting to tint even the Goddess’s face. He wondered what she must have looked like when she was well-kept. He wasn’t sure by whom. He’d found the abbey a short distance away, the long-since-collapsed bridge connecting it to the temple. And while the Shiekah Slate identified that structure as an abbey, Link wasn’t quite convinced. Unlike other structures around Hyrule, no sign of a roof remained. Surely, whoever lived there didn’t sleep under the elements.

But then, perhaps the roofs were destroyed entirely by the Guardians. He recalled how he’d first heard the sliding and creaking of those ancient mechanisms, the bright red dot appearing on his skin just a moment before he nearly got blasted off the side of the Plateau. He shuddered. Whatever happened to the priests who lived there, he hoped it was at least quick. No other part of the Plateau had so many Guardians. And all of those, though partially buried, were alive. Or, active, rather. He didn’t think they lived the same way animals, or even plants, did.

Link knelt by the stone tablet nearest the gap in the wall, brushing away the moss, dirt, and grass that had taken root. When he first stumbled across this place, these tablets, one on each side of the Goddess, were still legible. He’d let them sit in neglect for too long. Though, in his defense, saving Zelda had taken precedence over maintaining the graves of people he had never met. At least, he was fairly certain he’d never met them.

As he brushed away the dirt and green, letters emerged on the stone surface. ”On this day…” Link frowned. Time had damaged the next line beyond his ability to read it, confusing the script. He could tell it was a series of numbers, likely a date, but he couldn’t read it. Though he doubted it would be a date that he would recognize. Whatever benchmark Hyrule had used before Pre- and Post-Calamity seldom few would recall. Given the damage, he doubted even a historian could translate it into PRC. The next few lines were equally damaged, though he felt certain these were letters rather than numbers. A “T” here, a “Q” there, an “N,” an “L,” a “D.” Ah, that was an “A.” “A’s” were easy.

He took out the Sheikah Slate, taking notes. T. Or maybe J? Some letter. E. Or, no, was that W? Q. That’s U. Two of that same symbol. Definitely two E’s. N. Oh! Queen!

Link drew back his hand, startled by his discovery. Queen? This was a queen’s grave?! What on earth was it doing in the Temple of Time?!

“Karson!” Link called. “Come look at this!”

Light, quick footsteps raced across the temple floor and up the stairs. “What is it?” Karson asked, bending down to look at the stone tablet. “Some kinda memorial?”

“I think so?” Link frowned. He brushed away more of the dirt, uncovering the next line. Damn it. Even more illegible than the last. “I think it’s a grave.”

“Really?” Karson’s eyes widened. “I can’t read the inscription.”

“Me neither.”

Karson thought for a moment, holding his chin. “Well, there’s one way to check for sure.”

Link recoiled, glaring at Karson. “We’re not breaking it open.”

“I’m not suggesting that we do!” Karson assured him. “I was just going to knock on the wall down here to check if it’s hollow inside. If it is, we know it’s probably a grave.” The foreman hopped down. He pressed his ear against the stone platform, knocking against the brick with a small hammer. Link almost snapped at him to be careful not to crack anything. An echo reverberated through Link’s bones. “Oh yeah, that’s hollow.” Karson decided with a nod. “Any idea whose grave it is?”

“A queen’s.” Link relayed, frowning. His eyes strained to read the letters after that, giving him a slight headache. L, D, A, at the end. His fingertip traced the letters before it, as if he could decipher it by feel—lots of names ended in -lda. Hilda, Merelda, Alda, Yolda…

Karson hopped back up, brushing the moss off his trousers. He squinted, tilting his head to one side. “That’s definitely Zelda.”

“What?” Link tilted his head the same way as Karson, as if that would make the letters fall into place. “You think so?”

“Pretty sure, anyway.” Karson squatted down, pointing out the details that remained. “See the way this curves? It’s definitely a Z.”

Link chewed the inside of his cheek, thinking. “I thought it was an O.”

“Nah, it’s a Z. And that’s an E. Z-E-L-D-A. Zelda.” Karson nodded.

Link tilted his head the other way. “Well, that makes more sense than Owlda.”

Karson rose again, crossing his arms. “Hm. Now that you mention it, it could be Owlda. Those are the same characters.”

“You ever heard of a Queen Owlda?” Link asked.

Karson shook his head. “Nope. Never heard of a Queen Zelda either, but I figured the princess had to get her name from somewhere. Reusing names seems like a thing that a royal family would do.” He turned his head toward the right. “You check out the other side yet?”

“Not yet.” Link answered, rising from the ancient queen’s graveside. He brushed the dirt and moss clumps off his gloves. “I can probably guess what it says, though.”

Karson hopped over the ledge and crossed in front of the Goddesses, patting one of the smaller statues on the head as he went. The action almost made Link’s blood boil, though he kept his tongue firmly behind his teeth. Karson crouched down by the second grave, digging at the soil with his fingers.

Link soon followed, casting a glance toward the rest of the construction crew, who were busy taking measurements, stretching rope knotted at even intervals across the gaps. Link wasn’t quite sure how they intended to measure the heights. He could offer to climb up onto the roof and dangle the rope down. That metal ladder should still be attached to the outside. He remembered climbing up that old ladder, in the rain, just to get to the mysterious old man on the roof. Link would never forget that shock.

After following the elder for days, almost considering him a friend, Link’s heart dropped down to his stomach when the king revealed his true form. Gold and fine silk covered the spectral body of Hyrule’s final leader. Without a memory beyond his own name, Link soon learned of the tragedy that brought him to the Great Plateau. It was from the king’s mouth that Link first heard the name that sent him climbing mountains, fording rivers, and slaying impossible enemies: Zelda.

He looked back at the grave by the gap in the wall. To think a Zelda had been here this whole time…

“Oh! You’ll want to see this, Link!” Karson chuckled, snapping Link out of his wandering thoughts. “We’ve got a king on our hands, too!”

Link raised a brow, joining Karson’s side at the edge of the tablet. That made sense. A queen might naturally be laid to rest with her husband. Link squinted, turning his head back and forth to try to read the script. K-I-N-G. That tracked. The letters in the middle confused him, muddied up. Better start with the other side and work backward. E-L-U…R? F? One of those. Y…H. Hyrule.

Again, that tracked.

Karson snickered, shaking his head. “You can’t read it, can you?”

Link glared. “Are you going to tell me what it says?”

Karson grinned, pointing out the letters as he spoke. “L-I-N-K. Link. King Link Kokiri Hyrule. What do you make of that?”

What did he make of that?! Link straightened up, his face blanching. He didn’t exactly know what to think. He’d met a ghostly king before. Even Rhoam didn’t creep him out nearly as much as this tablet. Link took a step back, feeling very strongly that he shouldn’t be standing here. “It…it’s a common name, I’m sure.”

Karson gave Link’s shoulder a playful punch, grinning broadly. “I guess at least one Link managed to tell his princess that he liked her.”

Heat rushed to the tips of Link’s ears. He turned his face away, toward the Goddess. “Shut up. We’ve got work to do.”

Karson squatted down to the stone, brushing away bits of moss and tangles of grass roots. “Kokiri, huh? I wonder where that family hails from.”

“I’ve never heard of it.” Link answered honestly. He carefully peeled off layers of moss from the side of the closest statue. “It doesn’t sound Hylian. Maybe he was adopted.”

“Maybe.” Karson hopped back up, setting his hands on his hips as he surveyed the remainder of the temple. “Guess we ought to leave these guys here, though I doubt there’s much of them left. We’d probably get cursed if we tried to move them.”

“Probably.” Link agreed, continuing his work on cleaning up the smaller statues around the central Goddess.

For several seconds, Link thought the grave conversation had ended until Karson spoke again. “You think they were buried with treasure?”

Link’s fingers twitched at the hilt of his sword. He redirected, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Leave them alone, Karson.”

“I wouldn’t-!” Karson sputtered. “I mean, it was just a question!”

Leave a kudos or comment if you liked this fic!

[ladyhoneydee]

30 Day Song(fic) Challenge: Day 7

It's past 12am as I write this, but I finished the fic before midnight, so the clock can fight me!

Today's Song(fic) Challenge prompt was "a song that hits harder live". Despite having attended two concerts at this point in my life, I am skewing the prompt to mean any live version. And so that brings me to the One World: Together At Home live version of Hozier's "Work Song", which I love more than the studio version and has lived rent free in my mind since 2020 because of the way he sings the line "I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me". Amen, sir.

across the void (i'll crawl home to her)

Game: Breath of the Wild

Pairing: Zelink

Word Count: 684

Keywords: yearning, atmospheric, literally undying love

He’s not supposed to remember the love that sent him to his grave. And yet the muscle memory of a love stronger than the black hole of death sends him staggering out of the place he was reborn, toward the light. Toward her. 

Read the fic on Ao3, or under the cut!

Fluid sloshes against the walls of a tank and spills over the side, droplets pattering on the uneven stone beneath as gravity calls them down with a siren song. The form within the tank twists beneath viscous blue liquid. He isn’t meant to wake yet, but his sleep has grown more and more restless over the near-century. 

It hurts her heart to see him, the gashes on his body carved in her service filling in with scar tissue rather than flawless new skin, and the gaping death maw of his chest only superficially plugging over, and so she’s kept her gaze far away, only glancing back every few decades. It’s sick, probably, sadistic, but it’s easier to watch the carnage in the fields than her lover in the vat. Her responsibility for both pains is the same, but the clean blood of an unknown has an easier flavor on the tongue.

His spine arches, and for the briefest of moments, his belly breaks the surface tension of the water. It’s the first time a single inch of his skin has been touched by air in a human lifetime. Though he still sleeps, goosebumps erupt over his entire body. Whether from the chill of the cave air, or from anticipation, no one can say.

He’s not supposed to remember the love that sent him to his grave when he wakes. She tells herself it’s better this way. Better a clean slate than a shattered one.

His consciousness is a dark, shifting green; lake weed in twilit water. It twines ever closer around her ankles as the years pass. Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine. 

One hundred.

He’s not ready. He’s not fully healed yet. What he’s lost has yet to be restored.

No. She’s not ready.

He wants to wake. Courage or recklessness; it matters not which guides the seeking thread of his awareness. It’s his choice. She sighs, and calls to him across the void. 

Perhaps in another world, the liquid that preserved and revitalized his flesh would drain away slowly, and he would rest on the plinth until his eyes have adjusted to even the bare ambient lighting of the cave, and then swing his bare feet to reach the floor and walk out of this womb of the earth under his own, sure-footed power.

In this world, he thrashes bodily out of the liquid before it’s halfway gone. He lands on his side on the stone with a wet, meaty slap, amniotic fluid starbursting around his form. Before his eyes even open, he’s lurching to his feet, and then crumpling down again, fawn-legs too unsteady to hold even his atrophied frame. 

Eyes shoot open. They glow spirit-blue in the dark. She doesn’t want to watch. She can’t look away.

He cannot walk, and so he crawls across the stone floor for the door. She tells him of the Sheikah Slate, and he takes it unquestioningly even as no recognition sparks in that luminescent gaze.

There’s an urgency to his motions that she can’t explain, regardless of the goddess’s knowledge running in the gold of her veins. She shouldn’t be so happy to see it. She should be simply pleased that he’s out there moving at all. She should be horrified that his exit from death’s parlor has left him as changed as her own. She should pity him for the mission set on his shoulders. 

Or is it?

Because…no one has told him yet of the person he was, of the life he lived and lost. No one has asked or commanded his fealty to the land they both used to call home. As of this moment, he is free. And yet he half-trips, half-runs from the mouth of the cave, as if following a siren song of his own. 

If her lips hadn’t calcified a lifetime ago, she might have smiled. 

He’s not supposed to remember the love that sent him to his grave. And yet the muscle memory of a love stronger than the black hole of death sends him staggering out of the place he was reborn, toward the light.

Toward her. 

[fabeong]

You know how we all like to put our favourite blorbo through The Pain?

Yah this happened. Sorry Florentius you know I love you -

xxxx

“The choice is yours.”

For a moment Florentius watched Arialis fall completely still, her face pale and seemingly blank even as her lower lip trembled and her eyes began to water. Then as if cut loose from a string she slumped forward, against Florentius’ chest, and a sob escaped from somewhere within her throat. Florentius’ arms went around Arialis at once.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was muffled twice over, from the tears wetting her cheeks and the fact her face was near-buried in Florentius’ shoulder. Smiling fondly, Florentius shook his head.

“Please don’t be,” he murmured, all tension of the past month forgotten. “You have been an exceptional apprentice so far. I consider myself very lucky.”

“No.” Arialis’ sobs were not subsiding. Florentius vaguely felt her arm move. “I’m sorry.”

And then there was something pressing against and then in his chest, icy cold and then burning, searing as it tore the air from his lungs. His lips parted, but he couldn’t breathe. His arms fell from around Arialis as she leant back enough to look up at him.  The tears poured from her eyes and one hand was still clutching the hilt of the dagger buried in his chest. Florentius couldn’t look away, even as the dull aching agony began to spread up and deeper around the blade within him. He still couldn’t breathe. Arialis seemed to be struggling too, attempting to speak through sobs.

“This is kinder. They wanted me to use the other dagger, the one that would soul trap you and cut you off from Arkay forever and I – I didn’t want that, I promise.”

Is this your idea of mercy?

Florentius realised he couldn’t speak. His hands and feet suddenly felt very cold and suddenly his legs could no longer hold his weight. Arialis must have tried to catch him, or perhaps the impact of the stone was intangible compared to fresh agony of the dagger torn back out of his chest, severing new flesh and veins as it went.

Florentius had studied healing and restoration and anatomy for most of his life. Given the choice, the stone floor was not where he would want to die. But few people he’d met had gotten to choose and now neither would he.

“Please forgive me, Florentius.” Trembling warmth he dimly recognised as fingers brushed his cheek, wet with a thin stream of blood that ran from the corner of his mouth. With strength he could only ascribe as Divine, Florentius focused on Arialis once more and saw a young woman more frightened than the one he had met in the burning dwemer ruins, with greater shadows than he had ever foreseen sinking their claws into her heart and mind. Her hands were wet with his blood.

I have failed her.

Pain worse than any wound gripped Florentius’ failing heart in a vice-like grip. His pulse roared, stumbling as it did, in his ears. Above him the candles cast shadows longer than they should have, shadows that reached for him in an inevitable welcome through the downright frantic image that was Arialis.

“Forgive me!” Arialis was clutching his shoulders now as if she hadn’t put the knife in his heart, her eyes wide and bloodshot and hair tumbling loose from the braid Florentius had done for her as her screams rattled the walls. “Florentius, forgive me, please! Forgive me!”

But Florentius could not fight the darkness rolling in like waves on a windswept shore. The shadows rose. He sank beneath the waters.

Arms that felt like his mother’s reached up to catch him.

[centralfloridapaving]

Choose The Services of Professional Paving Company

There are numerous reasons why companies and homeowners use an asphalt & concrete paving provider. They might require the installation of a new driveway, the repair of their parking lot, or other road & sidewalk Asphalt Paving Orange County Fl services. The phone book lists a lot of paving contractors. Regrettably, they don't all give outstanding services. As a result, choose your paving specialist with caution.

While doing a few paving patch-ups oneself may be a straightforward chore, larger paving tasks must be left to the pros. They not just have the necessary expertise and skills to finish the project, in addition they have the necessary equipment. An experienced asphalt &Concrete Contractors In Florida who has been in business for a long time can offer services such as:

Asphalt paving & repair - It covers residential developments, the overlaying of current driveways, parking areas, roads & sidewalks, sub grading, base & asphalt cap maintenance, in addition to asphalt valleys & speed bumps.

Concrete services – Your professional contractor can instal and maintain new concrete driveways, car parks, walkways, curbs, valleys, and trenches.

Asphalt sealant - Asphalt Paving Tampa sealer will make your parking space & driveway look nicer. It will additionally add security to any project of any size.

Striping - Best Paving Company Near Me need markings for handicap spots, curbs, bollards, etc.

Crack filling - Half of basic upkeep is crack filling. It should be available as either a cold or hot pour mixture.

A paving contractor's task includes pouring parking areas, walkways, and flooring in new buildings. When it is a municipal project, they may fix any existing damage such as cracks or potholes or instal new sidewalks or roadways.

Paving experts for homes

Expert of Paving Companies Palm Bay Fl will visit with the owner to talk about the project, determine the estimated amount of supplies and labour, and then provide the homeowner with an estimate. They may be hired by the homeowner to lay a floor, patio, or pathway. They can also restore buildings like sidewalks or stairs. A few of these paving firms may specialise solely in landscape pavement. It includes placing stone items such as patio tiles or pavers, as well as installing a pour surface.

Machines employed

Acting as a paving contractor necessitates the ability to operate large pieces of equipment, such as:

Excavator to prepare the ground for paving

Tamping machines, that are big machinery used to assist level out the sand or dirt surfaces

How to Become a Paving Contractor?

If you intend to work in this industry, you must be willing to work outside in all weather conditions. You must also be comfortable working on major highways because this type of job is done during the day when traffic is moving nearby. You may also be a flagger, therefore you should be familiar with traffic safety and flagging. As a paving professional, you should anticipate to operate in crowded, noisy, and dirty environments. When working with Asphalt Paving Companies, you must be aware of the various heat levels and possibly harmful gases.

[myronmarblegta]

Top 3 Benefits of Hiring Granite Restoration Services

Granite is one of the preferred choices for kitchen countertops because it is resistant to most acids, durable and easier to maintain. But with time it can become cracked, etched and dull looking. If you are experiencing the same problem and looking for “granite repair near me” on the internet, then you will be glad to know that this article will show you some awesome benefits of hiring a professional for this service.

Let's delve into the three benefits of hiring Professional Granite Restoration Services.

Fixes damage- One of the main benefits of hiring professional restoration services is that they greatly enhance the look of your stone. They have enough expertise to find out the issue and suggest recommendations to fix those damaged areas, giving you a polished-looking granite stone.

Removal of etched marks- Normally granite is acid-resistant, but over the years it can become resistant to acid. And when it comes in contact with acid, it causes etch marks that are usually quite difficult to remove. Professionals make sure to use the top-quality chemical agent and the right tools to remove these hard stains without causing any further damage during the process.

Refinishing and polishing- This is another significant benefit of hiring professionals. They use the Best Quality Polishing Powders to polish the marble and granite stone as per the individual’s choice. They can offer a semi-gloss or matte-finish look and you can get a glass-like Polished-Looking Granite.

Conclusion

If you are searching for “Granite Restoration Services Near Me” on the internet, you will come across a few reputed companies that offer marble and granite restoration services including stone crack repair, epoxy filling, topcoat sealer removal, polishing, grinding, cleaning sanitizing stone and much more. In addition, they have a team of expert professionals who will offer you the best service to increase the durability of your marble or granite flooring.