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thepringlesofblood · 1 year

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Dimension 20 Campaigns Rated By The Amount Of Mice/Rats

(chronological order)

disclaimer: I have not seen Escape from Bloodkeep, Shriek Week, Coffin Run, or The Unsleeping City s2.

for all of these except the last, I command + F’d through their transcripts on the wiki for the terms “rat” “rats” “mice” “mouse” and “rodent” to find the relevant data.

the reason I didn’t do TUC s2 is a. from watching the first season I can intuit a similar level of mouse/rat content in this setting, if slightly lessened rat action due to the lack of a rat PC, and b. laziness. consider all of tuc under the same umbrella

i don’t know what’s wrong with me either.

Fantasy High - 7.5/10. the introduction of Sexy Rat into the d20 canon is iconic. we also have the rat that the sexy rat was created for - Edgar, Zayn Darkshadow’s cute lil plot-relevant pet rat. Not much mice/rat content outside of this, but a beautiful beginning.

Escape from Bloodkeep - 1/10. aside from Erika Ishii occasionally saying “aw, rats,” there’s only one minor instance of rat action, this quote from ep 1 - “We're training little ants and beetles to carry little swords and sharp things, and crawl in, and you know when you get a rat to eat through someone's stomach and come to the other side, we're trying to cover the rats in spikes.”

The Unsleeping City - 10000/10. rats every episode. rat PC. rat NPCs. MULTIPLE combat eps with not only rat swarms but a rat KING. impeccable. kugrash my belovéd. true rat positivity. rights for rats. the height of rat content in dimension 20.

Tiny Heist - 6/10. Solid rodent presence in the form of Tony Manchego, a mouse supporting NPC who is basically Boomer’s main coworker. Several other mice/rats also appear as Felix Flick henchmen (henchpeople?). Not a main focus, but decent background presence. I don’t recall any good/cool rats/mice though, they’re all goons of some kind.

A Crown of Candy - 0.5/10. in ep3 Brennan uses the phrase “Everyone thinks we're rats.” to explain political negotiations w the dairy isles. you know it’s rough when the only mention of rats is its use as a pejorative. the 0.5 is for the incredibly gratuitous cheese content. No actual mice, but that counts for something in my book. also Lapin is a bunny, which is another kind of rodent. This is the only possible framework in which ACOC could be described as “disappointing"

Dimension 20 Live aka Fantasy High: Sophomore Year - 6/10. The thrilling return of Sexy Rat. Sadly this is the only significant mouse/rat content this season, but what a banger!

Pirates of Leviathan - 9/10. Another excellent rat-person PC. Jack Brakkow is revolutionary. we love a grimy king. not much else in terms of mouse/rat content though, and Jack’s rattiness isn’t discussed as much as kugrash’s is. there is a character deadass named “Cheese” though.

Mice and Murder - 9.5/10 it’s in the title. No PCs though, surprisingly, which is the main reason this isn’t 10/10. they went more for diversity in animals with this one and tbh it works really well, but also means that despite the title, it’s really Fox and Racoon and Javelina and Weasel and Owl and Doberman Pinscher and Murder. The mice/rats they do have are dope though. Both of the McCabbages are vibrant and interesting, and of course Rosalind Crumb showing her ass is iconic. Thomas Gilfoyle is classic suspicious butler, Carolyn Dickory and Edwina Thimble wind up being extremely important, Molly Milton and Millie Molton are peak Brennan weird naming convention as well as a lesbian power couple, and there’s a variety of other Loam Hall staff that are mice (and they all have wild names like Tessa Teapot and Alfred Honeyhatch). I know that moles aren’t mice/rats, but shoutout to Mrs. Molesly, a real one start to finish.

Misfits and Magic - 7/10. this probably shouldn’t be as high as it is, but I am incapable of not ranking mismag as high as possible, it is what got me into dimension 20 and I LOVE it. K’s amazing cinderella scene at the end is one of the highlights of the series, and they also use mice/rats as surveillance sometimes. Theodore is a chipmunk, not a mouse/rat, but still points for other prominent rodentia. the K fucked-up-disney-princess stuff only has mice/rats a few times, but it’s just so iconic.

The Seven - 0/10. Absolutely zero mouse/rat content. Rip. They went hard on horse girl content (respect), so it makes sense that there was less room for mice/rats. again, the only measurement by which this series could be considered a disappointment, I fuckin love the seven.

Shriek Week - 0.5/10. A “rat man” is mentioned briefly as a one-off gag. Exhilarating. occasionally, the clicking of a computer mouse is inserted as a sound effect.

A Starstruck Odyssey - 2/10. in Ep. 12, there is discussion of “skiff rats” and rat poison that makes your head explode. This is a very important memory from Skipper’s past, but the emphasis is on the rat poison, and on the consequences of the mass poisoning, not really on the rats themselves. in Ep. 11, when describing a room Brennan says “The walls piled high…with bright blue animatronic mouse heads with the eyes torn out” however this is the only mention of them in the episode. There is one mention to the concept of a computer mouse (Ep. 10), and on several occasions, the sound of a computer mouse clicking can be heard as a sound effect.

Coffin Run - 5/10. in the finale, rat swarms try to eat Dracula. A thrilling moment. other than that, in Ep. 1 we have the quote, “This letter then goes across the ocean in a rat-infested ship”, and in Ep. 5 wetzel accidentally eats some rat poison. highlighted quote: “If we connect all the rats together, can we get a rat king?”

A Court of Fey and Flowers - 0.25/10. in Ep. 4 Mickey Mouse is mentioned, in the context of Hob’s state of dress - “You're either a Donald Duck or a Mickey Mouse” - Oscar Montoya. It’s 0.25 because fuck disney. bit of a missed opportunity, mice can typically fall into the “cute woodland creatures that live in/around fairies” category, and there were so many mentions of trash this season, I was really hoping we’d get some rat action. lacking that, I was hoping a salt goblin would be described as being the size of a mouse, but no such luck. rip. Again, the only disappointing aspect of this campaign, ruehob aka battlemaster of ceremonies is one of the only happy positive romances I’ve seen with a nonbinary person and as an enby myself, the idea that a brennan lee mulligan character could find someone like me attractive is. very validating.

Neverafter - ?/10. it’s not done yet (post written 12/28/22), but things are looking promising so far! we’ve had several mouse swarms, and a whole miniature town of mouse NPCs, plus many descriptions of pib eating mice. if a similar level of mouse/rat content continues, I project a 7.5/10 at the very least

UPDATE: final rating for Neverafter - 8/10. nothing ever managed to match the chaotic rodent energy of earlier episodes, but still a very solid showing. Rosamund’s swarm is a fairly consistent source of rats/mice, though she more often calls upon her “little birds,” and Pib continues to eat mice on occasion. We did have several later season mouse appearances; Aesop has the famous lion and the mouse, and the Land of Beasts is mentioned as being full of mice (among other animals). The Mouse King (from the Nutcracker) appears on the list of the Council of Kings (after being described briefly in Herr Drosselmeyer’s memories in one of the very first episodes). The song “Three Blind Mice” is mentioned several times, with Ylfa saying it is her “favorite story”. Tom Thumb mentions that he “hang(s) around with a lot of mice.” We learn that Pib turned an ogre into a mouse in his backstory. Other prominent rodentia do appear, most notably Pib’s fellow trickster, the Rabbit. Overall, a lot of excellent mouse content early on, with a handful of smaller appearances in the mid to late season.

UPDATE: The Ravening War. 0/10 Not a mouse or rat to be seen, not even a mention. and unlike ACOC, there are no other prominent rodentia to save them. Lady Amangeaux is described as “Jessica Rabbit as a mango” but given than not even Jessica Rabbit is a rabbit, I do not count this. considering the amount of times rot and mold are mentioned, I was hoping a rat might skitter away from a pile of garbage at some point. no such luck. the only point that I would even consider as related to mice/rats would be the amount of cheese content, as we have both a cheese person PC (in this house we love Colin Provolone) and a semi-prominent cheese person antagonist. however, I would say this averages out to considerably less cheese content than ACOC, which has several cheese person NPCs, including lesbian icon Annabelle Cheddar, Manta Ray Jack, Sir Morris Brie, and prominent antagonist Stilton Curdeau, plus a whole battle with ships made of cheese, plus a whole battle with cheese people (though dressed as meat people) as primary antagonists. thus, I cannot in good conscience award TRW any points for that when it made up only a portion of ACOC’s 0.5 of a point. I greatly enjoyed TRW, but not for mice/rat reasons.

UPDATE: Dungeons & Drag Queens, Mentopolis, and the promising beginnings of Burrow’s End

DNDQ: 0/10. No mention of mice or rats. honorable mention to Alvin, a chipmunk who I would call a semi-prominent rodent. I only watched half of the 1st ep* but my usual command + F of the transcripts yielded no results.

*no shade to the queens, this season just didn’t work for me specifically, I have a thing where when I know the rules to something watching people learn them/not know them is like. chalkboard screech. it’s the autism I think. so as much as I love the queens & their characters I just couldn’t watch the actual show.

Mentopolis: 0/10 understandable as canonically the only animal in Mentopolis is Justin. in absence of any mouse/rat characters, I was hoping for perhaps a mouse/rat fact from the FIx, but i really can’t complain about the myriad of animal facts in this season in good conscience. they were many and varied and I am very grateful. still no mice/rats though. Birds, snakes, and their “prey” are discussed, which mice can certainly be. For example, the heat pits on a python’s lips that Ronnie mentions can be used to detect warm-blooded animals like mice, rats, and other small rodents. But as no rodent is directly mentioned it will not be counted. perhaps next time a reptile eating a mouse will be mentioned, or one of my fave rodent factoids, “a mouse’s heartbeat is so fast that to the human ear it just sounds like buzzing,” will be included.

Burrow’s End: ?/10 I have high hopes but did you know that stoats are actually not rodents??? neither are badgers, otters, wolverines, or pine martens. rodents are all vegetarian - they’re (obvs) in the order Rodentia, so they can’t be in the order Carnivora. so far we have strong chipmunk presence (that’s 3 campaigns with important chipmunks!), and a variety of “woodland animals”, so I remain optimistic.

[update] final score for Burrow’s End: 1.5/10. frankly appalling lack of mice & rats given the setting. occasionally (as in 2-3 times in the series) a mouse or rat will be mentioned in passing, but the only rodents the gang actually interact with are rabbits and chipmunks. I’m guessing that’s probably bc stoats are specifically known for hunting rabbits, so mice/rats would be too small of a prey animal for them? plus the watership down allusions. and then of course we have the horrifying chipmunk/bear battle. credit for the few rat mentions and rodent presence in general, but this isn’t the rodent post it’s the mice and rats post.

Fantasy High Junior Year: ?/10 I am terrified. there’s a set of antagonists called the Rat Grinders. well, at least we know there will be rats! Zayn also reappears and with him a mention of Edgar the rat, a fantastic character. potentially...could there even be mention of the original, iconic, sexy rat? we shall see!

I would like to give credit to a post I read many years ago that I realize may have given me inspiration to make whatever this is: harry potter rated by mentions of swans.

don’t ask

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erabundus · 1 year

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@ruinlost &&. said... “Big brother ,do you know anything about swords??” Taiyang asked sitting down leaning again rens arm “-not just the normal looking ones those really really big ones!-im thinking bout ones I wanna use when im okder!”

secluded beneath a tree, face buried in a book — it wasn't uncommon to find the wanderer in such a state. today's reading material of choice was a rather dry guide to the various flora of liyue, penned by an author who wrote as though they sustained themself exclusively on a diet of rain water and thesaurus pages. simultaneously bland, yet overly pretentious. not his first choice in terms of reading material, but ren had acquired the book as part of a bulk deal during one of his ( many ) haggling excursions. seemed like a waste not to read it — and maybe if he was lucky, knowing which plants would lead to a swift death when slipped into a cup of tea would come in handy ... it never hurt. ( him, anyway. )

a familiar voice at his side had indigo hues suddenly peering above the dusty pages. ren blinked, once — fully processed the question, then snapped the book shut with a dramatic THUMP. when he turned to face taiyang completely, there was a distinct tinge of liveliness not oft present in his gaze. ❝ do i know about swords ... ? ❞ the wanderer exhaled a tiny laugh — something about the question ringing humorous in a way he deigned not to elaborate on. ❝ yes. ❞ did he.

❝ it's called a CLAYMORE. ❞ thin fingers wrapped around a stick — no doubt fallen from the tree above. he was quick to drag it through the dirt, strokes brisk as though wielding a brush. in a matter of moments, a picture, a rough schematic took shape. a wickedly sharp blade, intricate guard, tassels dangling from the pommel. surprisingly detailed, considering the limiting medium. ( though it was obviously easier when one drew from MEMORY. ) ❝ are you interested in it for appearances' sake? it may look like a large sword, but the fighting style is different. ❞ he was quick to draw another blade — this one, much smaller, more delicate by comparison. notably, both weapons had a distinctly inazuman flair to their design. ( but of course, why wouldn't they? )

tapping the ground, ren continued. ❝ where a sword is quick and precise, a claymore's strengths lie in its power and reach. you can't just expect to swing it around carelessly like an ordinary blade. using it is going to take a lot of WORK. ❞ he looked up, fixing taiyang with a serious look. as if trying to silently test his RESOLVE. they both did, of course — but of the two, one was surely less suited for a child. although, the wanderer supposed some would argue a child wasn't suited to have a weapon at all ... yet ren wasn't so naive. the world was dangerous, cruel and delighted in showing those forced to inhabit it just how deeply unfair it could be. it was more of an unkindness to leave taiyang unprepared to face the day it showed its true colors.

perhaps, selfishly, it was also for his peace of mind as well.

❝ of course, it would all be easier with the help of a vision ... but let's agree not to expect the gods to do anything USEFUL. ❞

#ruinlost #( ''sword?? swords?? you like swords??? come brother. i will teach you swords. swords are better than gods.'' )#( ren calm down he is asking ONE question. )

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cauzukofleascum · 2 years

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Slow Dancing In The Dark (Hawks x Reader)

Chapter One: First Dance

Hawks had always had a thing for Y/n, ever since they first met.

It was a warm summer twilight and Hawks was getting ready to return to his nest for a roost. He flew over the city, slowly, as he'd lost a good number of feathers trying to pin down a particularly slippery bag thief. His mind was swirling with thoughts as his golden eyes gazed over the city, watching the tiny people below, when he caught a glance at someone being pinned up against a wall in a dark alleyway. Quietly cursing to himself, he drew a feather to his hand and swept down into the alleyway below him. Literally sliding into battle with a strong war cry, Hawks charged the villain, dropping low to slash at the man's legs. With a pained growl, the assailant turned on Hawks, raising his left fist to punch at Hawks. Hawks, without thinking too much into it, caught the villain's fist in his right hand before letting out a sharp cry. The man's fist had turned into a drill and was twisting its way through his palm. Hawks twirled his sword, still not letting go of the man's fist, and aimed it at the man's gut. He didn't get the chance to strike, however, as a loud "Oh no you don't!" came from the darkness. Both he and the villain were suddenly bodied and thrown to the ground.

Hawks used his wings to lift himself back up, scanning the area for the attacker. He felt a hulking presence from behind and quickly crouched to avoid a swipe to the head, missing him by a hair. Holding his injured hand, Hawks rocked forward and kicked his unseen attacker as hard as he could in the stomach. He hopped to his feet, holding his sword in one hand and using his wings as a shield before rushing toward the drill-handed man. He would have to deal with the second villain later, his kick should have bought him some time. The drill-handed man was sprinting toward Hawks as well, a pleased grin on his face. "I've been looking for a good fight, hahaha," he laughed as he dodged Hawks' rightward sword slash, dipping low and aiming for Hawks' gut. Using his wing, Hawks brushed aside the man's hand and, with an elegant twirl, aimed a spin kick at the villain's head. With a grunt, the man went down, but wasn't quite out.

Hawks turned to meet a strong punch directly to the jaw, biting his lip in the process. The world went in slow motion for a moment, and his eyes met with [E/C] ones. Those surprisingly beautiful eyes widened in surprise, as though the mind behind them realized they had made a mistake. Hawks hit the ground, hissing "Shit!" as his shoulder hit the pavement. Without wasting a second, he was back up and slashing at a woman with two fuzzy, brown ears atop her head and thick, [H/C] hair framing her adorable face. 'Adorable? Jeez, I really must be tired,' Hawks thought, keeping his frenzied slashes matched with his careful footwork. He could tell this woman had been trained, as she carefully dodged and weaved his every swipe, her footsteps matching his in almost a dance. "H-Hey, wait, I'm not your enemy," the woman called before switching her footing and advancing on him. "Yeah right, then why are you attacking?" Hawks retorted, parrying her attacks. "If I stop you'll kill me!" was the response he got, which caused him to snort. He was no killer. The girl let out a growl and swiped upward, knocking his sword out of his hand before rushing toward him. Hawks easily ducked down, scooped the woman by the waist and simply suplexed her. With a winded groan, the woman hit the ground.

Hawks called his sword back to his hand and placed a boot on the woman's chest, holding the sword against the girl's neck. He stopped when he realized who it was: "Grizzly Hero: Honeybear?!" The girl under him smiled, coughing, "Yeah, sorry about attacking you..." Hawks sighed and held out a hand, helping her up. His eyes met hers again, and for a moment, he didn't want to let go of her hand. She drew him in, even if he couldn't see what she looked like under the snarling bear-muzzle mask that covered her lower face. However his attention was quickly pulled away from her by the drill-fisted villain, who was quickly escaping. Hawks looked at the hero beside him and nodded, using his wings to fly ahead of the villain. "Going somewhere?" He asked, using his wing to punch the villain right into the Grizzly Hero. Without wasting a second, she brought her arms up high above her head and balled her hands into fists before slamming them down on the criminal's shoulders. The man crumpled to the ground, groaning and successfully knocked out.

Hawks restrained the man and placed him against the wall, slumped, before alerting the authorities. He grimaced and nursed his hand, now crusted with blood, then looked up when he heard the Grizzly Hero approach. "I'm so sorry about earlier..here, let me take care of that hand for you," She said, her eyes apologetic. "No no, it's nothing, really," Hawks said with a slight smile, "All in a day's work, Honeybear." The woman shook her head, laughing a bit, "I'm still new to all this, who knew being a pro hero was so hard? Call me [Y/N]." Carefully, she took his hand into hers and pulled out a roll of bandage and some gauze. "It isn't much but it'll stop the bleeding and keep dirt out of it," she said softly, wrapping up his injury. Hawks' cheeks turned a soft pink color. "Hey, you know, you and I wouldn't make a bad team." Hawks said, offering the cutie in front of him a wide grin. The girl let out a soft laugh, then looked at him with glimmering eyes. "If we meet again, I'll think about it."

Hawks prayed to whatever God was up there that they would.

#hawks x y/n #mha hawks #hawks x reader #fiction #mha fluff #bnha fluff #bnha hawks #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha x you

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years

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So obviously the entire Feanorian Host as a whole is a bit intense about the cause, but I feel like there’s different levels of devotion between their individual followers.

So my question to you is, from least to most intense, which Feanorions followers are the most cult-like and why?

the cultishness absolutely varies by region! i'm being a little facetious when i call them an out-and-out cult, but fëanorian minion culture certainly has... tendencies. the isolationism, the way loyalty to the group supersedes absolutely everything, what they do to those who 'betray the cause,' not to mention how absolutely psyched they get at the opportunity to do murder. still, the precise way that manifests, as well as how intense they are about, does change a lot depending on where you are in east beleriand. surprisingly it doesn't track that much with how tolerant of outsiders each subdivision is, which is most evidenced by:

the gap: maglor and his cronies are easily the most xenophobic part of the host, which is both a cause and a consequence of them having probably the least regular contact with non-fëanorians out of all the armies of east beleriand. paradoxically, this gives them very little incentive to go full cultist; much of the deliberately off-putting stuff the rest of the host does is partially to distinguish them from the outgroup, which isn't something you need to do when everyone you deal with is either part of the gang or an obvious enemy. they still do the elaborate facial deformations, they still have a bit of a Thing about fire, but the thing that's holding them together is much less utter devotion to the cause and much more the organic friendships and kinship bonds between riders

there's a few other reasons why the folk of the gap are relatively less culty. the gap is sparsely populated to begin with, and most of its population is at least semi-nomadic; it's a lot harder to cultivate that kind of obsession when everyone's off doing their own thing most of the time. while the gap doesn't have the highest headcount of mithrim sindar - as stated above, its population is tiny even by east beleriand's low standards - it has more mithrim sindar as a proportion of the population than anywhere else in east beleriand, and the culture of the gap has this big mithrim sindarin focus on community and clan to counteract the noldorin tendency to sacrifice everything for grand ideals. the general lack of new recruits from outside the host only serves to intensify all of this; the riders of the gap fight together because of the spiderweb of social and personal obligations that link them all together, not necessarily because of the cause (though that is still a factor, i want to be clear.) this fairly isolated society held together by individual and familial bonds stands in stark contrast to:

himlad: the thing about celegorm and curufin's people is that they're up against the fuzzy border between east and west beleriand, between maedhros' definitely-not-a-kingdom and the finarfinians' section of fingolfin's defensive line. as such, they're more or less constantly in contact with the outside world, coordinating troop movements, sharing information and resources, recruiting from the same sindarin populations. there's still a clear delineation between the fëanorians and the fingolfinians, partially because there's a lot of mountains between their major centres and partially because this lot actually do have an other to define themselves against and thus a reason to emphasise their own identity, but there's a lot of chatter and petty squabbling and philosophical discussion and a steady regular connection to the outside world counteracting the worst of the cultishness. unlike pretty much any other part of the host, the himlad minions never really lose the sense that they belong to a greater community of elves

which explains what they do in nargothrond. i don't believe that literally every single one of their followers abandoned celegorm and curufin, but i'd buy it was a lot of them, maybe even most of them. it helps that it's specifically the finarfinians their lords are betraying, the people they've - perhaps not fought side by side with, but who definitely always had their backs. even without that, though, the very existence of that relationship means they're used to working with people from outside the host, getting to know them, empathising with them, which is a pretty hefty counterbalance to the specific the-whole-world's-out-to-get-us undercurrent of internal propaganda. by no means was it an instant switch, or an easy one; after finrod got ousted there was a ton of interhost politicking and debate and the occasional brawl as everyone tried to figure out what to do. but the fact that the question was even open says a lot, i think. that probably wouldn't have been the case even in:

thargelion: caranthir’s domain is the most heavily populated part of east beleriand, and the settlement at lake helevorn is the closest thing it has to a city. a significant portion of that population aren’t fëanorians by even the loosest definition; they’re dwarven traders or miscellaneous humans or sindar far enough from the front line of the siege they can just keep on with their lives the way they always have. the fëanorians (and here, more than anywhere else, that’s a fuzzy category; this is the easiest part of the host to join, and the easiest to leave) are mixed in with all these groups, negotiating supplies, managing tribal levies, patrolling the roads, state stuff. out of all the subdivisions of the host, the thargelion minions are the hardest to distinguish from outsiders.

to keep their ingroup coherent, then, they actively mark themselves out. the minions in thargelion are probably the loudest about their collective identity and the cause and the joy of bathing in your enemies’ blood and all that. they have weird midnight rituals and purpose-built meeting halls and elaborate coded language, and while being overly tyrannical about it would be bad for business there’s definitely a sense that they form a tightly knit core which looks after its own above all else. that image is somewhat complicated by the aforementioned blurry edges of the thargelion host - is the sindarin bureaucrat who’s never touched a weapon in her life but plays a vital role in the military administration a fëanorian? is the noldorin freeholder who pays very little attention to the day-to-day minutia of the war but keeps his sword sharp for the hour it is needed? - but the alliance of old soldiers at its heart is a clear and palpable thing, especially when you can feel its eyes. when their hackles aren’t up the minions are perfectly happy to mingle socially with the other peoples of thargelion, though, which sets them apart from:

himring: on the frontlines of the siege of angband, with all the nightmares of the north pressing directly on their spirits, maedhros’ followers stoke the flames of their devotion high. the warriors of the cold fortress are less showy about their fervor than their counterparts in thargelion or even himlad, but the ardour underlying it is markedly more intense; they don’t have much in the way of over-the-top rituals, but they have vast amounts of ironclad unspoken rules they follow unwaveringly. they’re polite to outsiders, sometimes even welcoming, but you never forget that you are, in fact, an outsider, and that himring and its satellite forts form an internal world others can never quite see. even to other fëanorians, they come across as aloof

their fervour also tends to manifest as a deep personal loyalty that borders on reverence towards maedhros himself. all the brothers command respect, of course, they’re all magnetic personalities who draw people in and bind them together, but maedhros’ minions are on a whole other level. they mythologise him, tell stories of his deeds like he personally holds the line against morgoth, treasure the slightest contact with him, hold being called to his direct service as the highest honour of all. most of the new recruits to the himring host are brought in by the vast pull of maedhros’ reputation, from all across beleriand and even from the north. but no matter where they came from, they all understand that they will fight and live and die together beneath the banner of their lord. which is a bit weird, even by fëanorian standards, but they’re nowhere near as bad as:

ossiriand: amrod and amras’ henchelves are considered by the rest of the host to be notably psychotic, which is saying a lot. the minions of ossiriand are utterly terrifying, absolutely fanatical about the cause, the most bloodthirsty murder cult in east beleriand. you’d think the green-elves they share their territory with would act as a calming influence, but in practice the two groups mostly avoid each other, because the green-elves naturally prefer to stay away from these nutbags. you’d think being away from the front lines would lessen the need to solidify their identity through cult nonsense, but in practice it gives them the free time to go full gonzo. most of the horrible rumours you hear about the fëanorians in the rest of beleriand are either specific quirks of the ossiriand minions, or most egregrious in the ossiriand minions. they have an orc pit

or so they’d have you believe. the fëanorians in ossiriand effectively serve as the host’s intelligence division, scouts and spies and saboteurs. a lot of their work is clandestine by its very nature, and they tend to be pretty secretive about what they actually do. half the things you hear about them are probably disinformation, lies they’re deliberately spreading to make themselves sound scarier. hopefully, at least. as anyone who’s chatted with an ossiriand minion knows, they are both eagerly awaiting the fulfilment of the oath, and already preparing for what will come after

(this paradigm does break down after the siege is broken and the union of maedhros fails and the dregs of the armies of east beleriand wind up stuck in the same ever-shrinking territory. still, i think the origins of the survivors are... interesting. the people of the gap were almost completely wiped out in the bragollach, the people of himlad mostly jumped ship with celebrimbor, even the people of thargelion took heavy losses in the nirnaeth. but the people of himring stood firm around their lord, and the people of ossiriand were never really frontline fighters in the first place. minions from the more cultish parts of the host tend to survive longer, and in greater numbers. i feel this could have... consequences)

#ask #whotookliterallyallthenames #feanorian minions #maedhros #beleriandic politics in a nutshell #my terrible headcanons #post nyanyannya askbox clearout #like by the time elrond and elros show up most people are too tired for cult bullshit #(except that one guy who quintupled down as a coping mechanism)#but the attitude of the cult still permeates the camp #cults aren't about silly rites after all #they're about relationship to the outside world. and control #this was a lot of fun to write! had more headcanons than i thought i did #feanorian-state-in-east-beleriand-worldbuilding is a weird special interest to have but holy hell do i have it #feel like i could pinpoint the stereotypes each part of the host has about the others now #but yeah i think all the 'positive' aspects of their culture fell away as the cause became unreachable #leaving only the really nasty stuff

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condorclaw · 3 years

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...so we could all use a little fluff after yesterday, right?

TW: description of a panic attack with referenced abuse. The scene is in bold if you want to skip over it, and is a small part of the story

Michael didn’t understand much about the world, especially since Snowchester was all he could remember.

What he did know was that there were both kind people, and people who were not so nice.

Michael’s dads knew what was best, he had realized. Many times Michael had been approached by strangers in his own room, with dadboo swooping in to clutch him to his chest protectively. Michael didn’t know what was so bad about some of these strangers, but in his dad’s arms, he felt protected, so he figured dadboo knew something he didn’t.

Dadboo wasn’t the only one in Michael’s life who he felt fully safe around. There was his other parent, dadbee. Dadbee wasn’t as tall or as strange as dadboo was, but dadbee would stand with dadboo, a weapon clutched in his hand whenever a stranger would invade the house. If Michael listened to Technoblade’s metaphors in the possible future, he’d look back on this time and compare his fathers to a sword and shield.

There was another important guardian in Michael’s life too: his uncle Tommy.

Tommy had hair that reminded the kid of gold, fangs that were as sharp as piglin tusks, and always some kind of mischievous glint in his eye. When Michael’s dads were away, Tommy came to watch over him, something Michael had grown to look forward to.

Ever since the two met, they had a strong connection, something that was cemented with Tommy knowing Michael’s native language, being able to communicate with him better. Tommy was also teaching it to his fathers too, dadbee getting good enough to ask Michael what he wanted for dinner, and being able to understand Michael’s answers, while dadboo was the best at giving one-word instructions.

His family was so cool, and Michael would tell Foolish Jr. about them whenever the little totem came over for a playdate. Just like Michael, Foolish Jr. had an uncle as well, but unlike Michael, Foolish Jr. had never seen his own, hearing that he had been taken somewhere secret. Michael felt sorry for his best friend, while also being happy that he had such an awesome uncle himself.

Tommy was even missing an eye like him! Michael didn’t know how he lost it, and whenever the piglin asked, Tommy would just mumble something in response about “green”, and saying that Michael could hear about it when he was older. Michael didn’t mind, it just made him feel closer to the blonde.

The world was confusing, and things didn’t make that much sense yet, but Michael knew that he always had dadboo, dadbee, and uncle Tommy by his side to protect him.

“You two have fun, okay?”

Michael watched as Tubbo tried forcing a large metallic object into his bag, even beginning to stomp down on it before Ranboo ran in frantically.

“Tubbo, we just need to check on the borders of Snowchester, we don’t need-”

“Nukes can come in handy, Ranboo!”

“HOW!?”

Tommy rolled his eye in mock exaggeration, glancing down at Michael, who turned his head to stare back. “Your dads are never getting out of here, guess I can’t babysit tonight.”

Michael stomped his hoof in frustration, letting out a loud snort of annoyance, which caught both of his dads’ attention.

“Tommy, what did you tell him?” Ranboo’s eyebrow raised in suspicion as his eyes gazed down at the huffy piglin.

“That the two of you are slower than the Eggpire’s “ultimate takeover”.” The pout on Tubbo’s face was enough to make Tommy burst into his signature laughter, the couple eventually joining in on enjoying the joke. Michael didn’t understand what was happening, but began to giggle in little snorts, not wanting to be left out.

“Okay, okay. I think we are taking a while,” Ranboo muttered, tilting his head to look down at Tubbo accusingly. The ram hybrid stared back, sticking out his tongue in mock aggression.

“Don’t you want to be safe? We could run into a pack of wolves and have to defend ourselves.”

“Tubbo, I think the nuke killing us is more likely to happen than being killed by mobs-”

Michael let out another frustrated cry, beginning to hop in place and slam his hooves down on the floorboards. Ranboo and Tubbo both looked at him, ears folding back sheepishly.

“Sorry,” Tubbo mumbled in piglin, rubbing the back of his neck. Ranboo nodded along with that, bending down to rub Michael’s head affectionately. “Okay, we get it. We’re going now. Have a good time, Michael.” Ranboo gently booped Michael’s snout with his own, standing up once the piglin squealed happily,

“Ranboooo, we have to make a stop at the warehouse,” Tubbo tugged on his husband’s jacket once the enderman stood.

“Tubbo, we’ll waste time-”

“Do you want the nuke to be left here with our son then?”

“...okay, w-”

“GOODBYE ALREADY!” Tommy let out a battle cry, shoving the two parents through the door and locking it behind them. Michael chirped happily, clapping his hooves at the amusing sight. Even inside, they could still hear Ranboo and Tubbo talking faintly. Uncle and nephew listened closely, waiting until the voices could no longer be heard.

“Okay, those two are gone now. We now have the whole night to ourselves.” Tommy turned, giving Michael a fanged grin. The piglin began jumping on the spot excitedly, flapping his stubby arms.

Tommy had been surprisingly good at managing Michael, even understanding how to keep him happy while making sure he was safe. The lack of a language barrier made everything a lot easier too, but even Tubbo and Ranboo were surprised at how well Tommy knew how to do a lot of household tasks that parents normally took over. The two of them had once come home to a spotless house, Tommy telling them that he needed to kill energy through cleaning after putting Michael to bed.

Currently, Tommy was preparing a bowl of steamed carrots for Michael, keeping an eye on the piglin playing on the floor while also focusing on the pot boiling. Michael’s favourite food was potatoes, but his parents had told him that Tommy didn’t really like those much, so he had to have something else. Michael’s next favourite was carrots, which was something Tommy did like too, and he always made them the way Michael liked.

On the floor, Michael was playing with his stuffed bee. It was a gift from his dadbee that Michael loved squeezing into, and it was even the size of the piglin himself. It was rather silly to see him clutching onto a giant bee, but it was also a very cute sight.

Michael pretended to attack the large plush, leaping into it at full speeds and rolling across the floor like he always did. Tommy chuckled at the sight, removing the pot from the stove and turning it off. “Be careful, little man. Tubbo’ll kill me if something happens to you.” He muttered light-heartedly.

Michael oinked in understanding, rolling his bee across the floor once more. Upon doing so however, a thread caught onto the edge of one of the floorboards, unravelling the bee slightly and exposing the stuffing. Michael stared at the plush toy quietly, his eye wide as tears started to spill from it.

Setting aside the carrots for draining, Tommy quickly turned around upon hearing a panicked squeal. He spotted Michael clutching the ripped bee close to his chest, sad little oinks escaping from him. Tommy slowly made his way over to his nephew, crouching down to see him better.

“Did Mr. Bee get hurt?” Michael nodded, oinking out what happened to his favourite toy. Tommy turned, glaring at the floor with a huff.

“How dare you fuckin’ hurt him. Mr. Bee never did anything to you, stupid pieces of wood.”

Michael giggled a little, tears still falling from his eyes. Tommy turned back to the piglin after “getting angry” at the floor, an understanding smile appearing on his face. “Michael, do you know where Tubbo keeps the rainbow string with the tiny stabby sticks?”

The piglin gave a curt nod, pointing to one of the chests along the walls. Tommy stood up, stretching his body before leaning down and gently picking up Michael. Michael was placed in his high chair, with Tommy bringing over the bowl of drained carrots. “You eat these, okay? I’ll have the coolest surprise for you when you’re done.”

Michael’s eye widened again and he quickly began to gulp down his food, Mr. Bee forgotten for now. Tommy let out a panicked laugh, quickly taking the bowl from Michael and stared at his nephew eye-to-eye. “You only get the surprise if you eat slowly, okay? It’s not safe to eat that fast.”

Michael frowned, folding his arms and muttering something.

“Woah, and where did YOU hear that word from?”

Another snort.

“...okay, I’ll admit that I did say that.”

Michael’s lip curled in in satisfaction as he stuck his tongue out at his uncle, Tommy placing his hand to his chest and gasping dramatically. “Wow, you’re so fuckin’ rude. I can’t believe you’d do this to your own flesh and blood.”

Michael pointed to the right side of his head.

“...flesh and bone. Stop being so sassy tonight.”

Another stuck-out tongue.

As Michael began to eat, Tommy looked through the chest his nephew had been pointing to, finding the needles and threat he had been looking for. The blonde gave a fist pump in quiet celebration, heading back to where Michael had left the stuffed bee behind. He sat down and picked up the plush, surprised at how light it was. With his materials there, Tommy began to sew up the toy.

Wilbur had taught him how to sew during the Pogtopia days, when Tommy's clothes kept getting torn due to running from the Manberg guards. Wilbur eventually became far too busy to teach Tommy more, which was when Niki stepped in to continue teaching Tommy, and started teaching Tubbo as well.

Tommy didn't have the best childhood. Actually, that was an understatement. Tommy had one of the worst childhoods possible, with the constant threat of war and death looming over his head as he charged into battle with his family and friends. It was the worst experience Tommy could have ever gotten, and even though the wars were over, there were still the rising threats of new ones. Ones that he'd probably be forced to participate in.

But for now, everything was okay, and that's all Tommy wanted.

Michael was a bright young lad, appearing to adopt similar mannerisms to Tommy's own. While he'd never say it to anybody, Tommy was incredibly fond of his nephew. Michael had a loving family, and a wonderful home to live in. He didn't have to care about wars, or being exiled, or being imprisoned, or-

Tommy felt his heart rate drop for a moment, accidently pricking himself with the needle he was sewing with. "Shit," he muttered, quickly shaking his hand to alleviate the sting.

Michael looked over at him, hearing the curse. His ears were perked up and he oinked inquisitively. Tommy responded with a thumbs-up, letting out a fake laugh. Michael copied his actions, giving a similar thumbs-up motion with his hooves.

As Michael continued to eat, Tommy continued to sew, his mind suddenly a lot more crowded than before.

Michael slurped up the last of his meal, licking his lips happily. Carrots were always filling, especially when Tommy made them.

The piglin began to let out chirrs, gazing in Tommy's direction as he wiggled in his seat. Tommy looked up from what he was working on, eye softening when he saw how energetic and happy Michael was after the meal.

"Alright, I'm coming."

After removing Michael from his chair, Tommy brought him over to where he had previously played with his bee, setting the boy down carefully on the floor. "You ready for the best fuckin' surprise ever?"

Michael nodded rapidly, clapping his hooves and flapping his legs.

"Shut your eye."

Michael did so, one of his hooves rushing to cover up his functioning eye. The other hoof covered up his skull eye, despite not being able to see anything out of it. Tommy smiled fondly, placing the stuffed bee in front of his nephew. The bee was sewn up shut, a large red bow tied around its thick neck.

“You can look now.”

Michael removed his hooves and immediately started shrieking with excitement. He rushed forward, almost flattening himself into the plush toy. Tommy stepped back, folding his arms and leaning against the wall with a smirk. “Is your uncle the coolest, or what? Don’t answer that, I know I am.”

It was funny how despite being different species, Michael looked so much like Tubbo in the moment. Tommy recalled a similar situation with Tubbo that happened in the ravine of Pogtopia, and how it happened shortly after Quackity had joined the group. Quackity had gone to secretly fetch items from his old office, returning to Pogtopia with them alongside Tubbo’s beloved bee plush that had been abandoned on the former vice-president’s desk.

The bee was ragged and torn, but a still-recovering Tubbo had been happy beyond tears to have it back. He held it all day, with him only letting go as he slept that night. Tommy had slid the bee gently out of the older boy’s arms and tried to stitch it back up. It didn’t go as well as he had hoped, but Niki had found him underneath the moonlight, and was the one to assist in repairing the plush. Tommy had made Niki promise that she wouldn’t tell Tubbo it was him, but looking back at some of those messy cross-stitches, Tubbo probably figured it out within seconds.

Upon waking up, Tubbo found his newly-repaired bee and began to bleat excitedly, clutching the toy close to his chest and burying his face in it. It had been a moment of joy in the darkness of their situation, and certainly lifted Tommy’s own spirits.

Michael was acting just like his father did then, the memory causing a soft smile across the blonde’s features. Tommy was so lost in his thoughts though, he didn’t notice Michael rushing towards him. In the piglin’s excitement, he had forgotten the one rule his parents had set up for him.

He grabbed a hold of Tommy’s leg, squeezing it tightly in a hug.

Tommy's eyes shot open at the sudden contact, the pressure on his leg constricting him, preventing him from moving it. He couldn't move his leg, he couldn't move his leg, he couldn’t move his leg.

His voice caught in his throat, the walls of it tightening as his breathing sped up. He couldn't scream for help, he couldn't cry out for anybody. All that was there was the searing pain of his wounds as his body was scraped along the ground, Dream's voice in his ears that Tommy couldn't run, that Tommy couldn't beg, that Tommy couldn't leave.

Michael had looked up at his uncle at that point, suddenly aware that the mood in the room had shifted drastically, and still clutching the leg. Tommy returned Michael’s look, trying to weakly shake his leg, which had become numb.

“Michael. Leg.”

It was two words, but Michael immediately realized what he had done, the piglin stepping back a few feet with an apologetic squeal. Unfortunately, Tommy’s head was now spinning, and couldn’t make sense of the room. He was real, he was real, he was real. He wasn’t dead, he wasn’t back in the prison, his head-

Tommy collapsed to the ground, making Michael jolt. Michael started oinking nervously, trying to find out what was going on, and what he could do. Tommy’s head felt like it was going to split open, and he shut his eye tightly, hands clawing at the wooden floor as he tried to communicate with Michael, making sure not to scare him even more. “Brain’s upset.”

Tommy wasn’t able to open his eye to see what Michael’s response was, but Michael was frantically looking around for something that could help. When his parents were upset, he would curl up next to them, snuggling into their sides, but he couldn’t do this with Tommy. His fathers’ one rule had been to never touch Tommy, especially if his uncle wasn’t looking, and Michael had broken it on accident.

Going over everything he liked to do when scared, Michael’s eye landed on his bee plush. Whenever he was worried, he liked to hug it. Would his uncle like doing that too? Nervously, he tried nudging it towards Tommy, little by little. When he thought it was in good-enough range, he let out gentle honks, trying to get his uncle’s attention. It took a few minutes, but Tommy’s eye eventually opened slightly. It looked glazed and unfocused, glancing around the room for a moment before landing on the soft toy placed in front of him.

Slowly, he let go of the floor, the process taking several minutes for him to even reach out for it, but Michael waited the whole time. He gave the toy one move delicate shove, allowing it to roll until it stopped in front of Tommy with about a foot of distance between them. Once more, Tommy grabbing the plush took a while, his arm trembling, and his face pale, but eventually he got a grip of it, pulling it into his chest as quickly as he could.

“Thanks,” Tommy muttered weakly, Michael’s ears rising as he smiled.

It was about a half-hour later before Tommy fully calmed down, the comfort of the bee plushie combined with the gentle sounds of Michael’s chirrs lulling him into a more comfortable mindset.

Weakly he got up, the bee plush sitting in his lap as he rubbed away the tear stains. Tommy glanced over to his side, noticing Michael watching him carefully. His head was cocked to the side, and though he seemed happy that Tommy was up, his eyes showed worry for the older boy.

“I’m great, Michael,” Tommy lied a little. He was certainly feeling a lot better, but Michael probably wouldn’t understand if Tommy said he still felt a little disoriented. It was best to reassure the kid more than anything else. Smiling back at his nephew, Tommy carefully handed the bee plush back to him, the worry in Michael’s eyes being replaced with relief and joy.

With a grunt, Tommy hoisted himself up, praying that his arms or legs wouldn't give out again like they did before. He was still shaken up, and definitely not wanting to come in contact with anything else at the moment, his skin feeling cold and exposed from the aftermath. Michael watched him closely, taking a few steps away whenever Tommy would stumble in place, and looked like he was about to fall over. Letting out a sigh, Tommy looked over at Michael, gently smiling at him. "We could use a break. Do you have anything you want to do?"

Michael practically beamed.

"Hello~!" Tubbo slammed open the door, his mouth pulled into a cheeky grin.

Ranboo followed behind his husband, letting out an exhausted yawn as he carried a stack of leather almost up to his chin (and for Ranboo's height, that was saying something). "The world's most tired man is back, along with the living embodiment of a firework hyped up on crack."

"Ranboo, don't say that," Tubbo frowned, placing his hands on his hips. "You're nowhere near enough to be as colorful as a firework is."

"Are you implying that you're the tired one here?" Ranboo set down the stack of leather, beginning to brush remaining bits of meat from the leather off of his hands. "Because it seems like I had to do all the work."

"Hey, you're the one who said we should get leather!"

"And that to YOU somehow translated to "let's kill every cow in a four-mile radius". Now I've got gunk all over me."

"We-"

"OH MY GOD, WILL YOU BOTH PLEASE FUCKING SHUT UP?" Tommy yelled from where he sat on the carpet, spinning a plastic spinner that landed on the color red. Michael oinked in agreement, trying to reach the red spot on the plastic mat with his hind leg. Tubbo and Ranboo's conversation was immediately forgotten, the two watching in awe as their son was playing Twister.

"C'mon, big M. You've got this," Tommy encouraged. When Michael wasn't looking, Tommy carefully slid the mat closer together, making the spot reachable for him. Michael placed his leg down, letting out a squeal of victory. Tommy whooped excitedly, Michael raised a hand to give Tommy an air high-five, when he slipped and fell down, squealing in surprise.

"I know last time with Battleship was the weirdest I thought this could get, but I literally have no clue why you keep teaching him games out of his age range." Tubbo muttered, confused, before taking off his uniform and hanging it up on one of the hooks. Ranboo nodded, following Tubbo's actions with his own coat.

"Michael's a trooper!" Tommy folded his arms with satisfaction. "Next time I'm teaching him chess."

"Do you even know how to play chess?"

"Um, of course I do."

"Then why-"

"Okay!" Ranboo clapped his hands together, interrupting the conversation before it spiraled once more. "I assume you two had a good time?"

Tommy and Michael looking away from the couple awkwardly wasn't a good sign.

"Well, it was a good time," Tommy began to explain. "There was just a little accident though. I'll tell you two about it later when, y'know, somebody certain's asleep. But all you need to know is that Michael handled it really well." The blonde looked down at the piglin, flashing a fanged grin. Michael returned the smile, standing up on his stubby legs and rushing to Tubbo to give him a hug.

"How was the patrol thingy?" Tommy stood up as well, stretching as best as he could.

Ranboo and Tubbo were now the ones that looked away awkwardly.

"So somebody," Tubbo began, itching his cheek. "Might have suggested that we should get leather while we were out."

"And SOMEBODY," Ranboo flashed Tubbo a glance, folding his arms. "Decided to commit a mass cow genocide-"

"You know what! That story's not important right now!" Tubbo waved his hands frantically, laughing awkwardly as he avoided eye contact with a glaring Ranboo. "The point is, we didn't end up doing what we wanted to do-"

"Wonder who's fault that is-"

"-SO WE DECIDED TO DO IT ANOTHER TIME!" Tubbo finished, looking like he was about to start sweating buckets. "So, if it's okay, Tommy… could you maybe look after him again tomorrow?"

Tommy grinned again, nodding his head several times. "You can count on it, Tubbs. We definitely need to fuckin' talk about what happened tonight first, but hell yeah! Sounds good to me!"

"If you tell me Michael killed somebody, you're immediately fired as a babysitter and an uncle." Ranboo lifted up Michael from Tubbo's side, allowing the piglin to grab at his horn.

"Michael, if you ever kill somebody, don't tell your dads." Tommy whispered to Michael in piglin, fully knowing what was coming next once Michael giggled.

"Tommy, what did you say to him."

"Manslaughter is pog."

"YOU DID NOT-"

#*stares at word count* this is two times longer than the previous one what the fuck am I okay #anyway have more uncle Tommy and Michael content because I adore them and am manifesting wholesome canon interaction #dream smp #dsmp #c!tommy #c!tubbo #c!ranboo #michael #michael the piglin #c!michael #my writing #my post

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witchersjaskier · 4 years

Note

Jaskier running around as a cat after the mountain because he's a cat shifter and somehow ends up getting claimed by Yennifer as her familiar.

It’s truly not the worst fate Jaskier can imagine for himself after that dreadful mountain. Being damn-near pampered as Yennefer’s familiar is not the worst thing he can do, even if he still hates her a tiny bit.

He also understands her a tiny bit because Geralt of Rivia can be a right bastard sometimes, as was proven back on that mountain.

Jaskier may dislike her a lot but he enjoys the free food and silk rugs and nice smells of her potions. Even if he sometimes has to assist her in some magic? That’s not a big price to pay, given that he’s not exactly capable of using Chaos on his own. Unless, of course, a traumatic event happens, but he prefers to not do that. Last time he accidentally decimated an entire city and Jaskier’s not a destroyer.

It’s a bit weird, going with Yennefer everywhere and hearing her take new lovers but well, Jaskier is adaptable and observant. He sees how she’s deeply insecure, how she wants to look beautiful but at the same time hates it, how she’s cruel but detests herself while doing it. Yennefer is an amazingly complex person and Jaskier is itching to write something for her.

It takes 3 months before she mentions Geralt and Jaskier just makes a small sound and then it’s all pouring out. Poor thing probably never had a confidant like that and well, he feels a bit guilty that he’s pretending to be someone else but… It’s for the greater good and all that.

After 5 months, Jaskier decides he likes her and is pretty content to stay with her, travelling all over the Continent and avoiding the Witcher. It’s also what he would’ve done so he can’t exactly complain.

Then, the battle of Sodden happens.

Jaskier honestly isn’t sure what’s happening most of the time but Yennefer is drawing energy from him at an alarming rate and then everything goes up in flames. He searches and kills whoever he can get his fangs into, until he finds her, slumped over, unconscious.

“Fuck,” he mutters, the second he shifts back into a human.

The air smells like ash and burnt flesh and it makes him want to sneeze but he has to go now. Carefully, Jaskier gathers Yennefer into his arms and focuses. The link she used to draw energy from him is still partially open so it’s easier to open a portal that spits them out vaguely in the same area as an abandoned cottage they used a few months ago.

“Fuck,” he says again, but walks on, glad that it’s dark.

Inside, he lays Yennefer on the bed and then undresses her clinically to make sure she’s not wounded or burnt. If she was anyone else, Jaskier would be all over her, but she’s...Yennefer. Beautiful, undoubtedly, but just a bit too sharp and vicious for him. He spreads a thick leftover salve on her burns and then dresses her in an old shirt, leftover from her old loved from their last stay there.

Everything is musty and kind of old but well, Jaskier survived in worse conditions so he sets off to make fire and find some food. He leaves Yennefer just long enough to hunt a deer and then sits down in the entrance to skin and portion it. He can hear she’s not waking anytime soon, so Jaskier prepares some sparse, bland food and strokes the fire, and then sits down on the bed to think.

“I could’ve guessed you weren’t a familiar,” she says suddenly, in the early hours of the morning.

Jaskier smirks and shrugs, turning to face her. He doesn’t feel guilty, not really, and he did just save her life probably.

“I’m full of surprises,” he says cheekily, flashing his fangs and cat eyes.

Yennefer, surprisingly, just sighs and looks around. “I think we’ll be staying here until further notice.”

He just smiles and sets off to work.

It takes them less than a week to make the cottage habitable again and then it’s just a slow, painful process of healing. Yennefer is pretty much fully depleted and she can only take so much from him before it starts doing more harm than good.

They both know what happened in Sodden, they know what happened in Cintra. Jaskier should be worried about Ciri but she belongs with Geralt, no matter how much the Witcher tries to deny it, and she will find him. Chaos finds a way.

That’s why he’s not surprised when the wind carries a familiar smell of horse, ash and sword oil. Geralt doesn’t really smell like opinion normally and Jaskier knows his smell intimately. He also knows Ciri’s smell so he just shoots from the house into the road, where he can see them.

Ciri makes a small, delighted sound and jumps from Roach, accompanied by Geralt’s shout, only to drop to her knees and hug Jaskier tightly around the neck, burying her face in his fur. Jaskier makes a small ‘mreow’ and lets her cling.

“Don’t try to kill him, Geralt, you will regret it,” Yennefer states dryly from behind them and Jaskier twitches an ear at her. “Now, come in, no need to make a scene.”

“No,” Ciri mutters into his fur, childishly stubborn.

Jaskier just sighs and shifts under her hands, standing up with Ciri in his arms, held like a child. Geralt makes a choked off sound and the scent of regret and relief get almost overwhelming.

“Jaskier,” he says in that gruff voice of his so Jaskier turns around to face him.

“Hi, Geralt,” he says brightly, ignoring the pain in his chest. “Long time no see, hm?

#witcher #the witcher #jaskier #yennefer #geralt #ciri #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #yennefer and jaskier friendship #big kitty jaskier #non human jaskier #ask #my writing #idk how timeline works here #just #ignore it

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karkles-does-things · 3 years

Text

Part 1.5/2

because this one was too long

———

"GET BEHIND ME!" Yaman shouted, putting his arm out in front of Allister.

”Are you fucking serious?" asked Allister.

Yaman was immediately aware of how stupid it sounded. They were completely surrounded by spinning wind and shrieking laughter. Tongues of lightning flickered out from the storm. There was no “behind him.”

Allister stood back to back with Yaman, taking off his gloves. "I think maybe YOU should get behind ME," he said coolly.

"No magic," spat Yaman.

"Okay, sure," said Allister. "No magic. You can just go ahead and swing your sword at it."

Yaman gnawed his lip, his eyes lingering on Allister's hands. The darkness was spreading.

"Yaman. Let me help."

"Are you sure?" whispered Yaman.

"Trust me," said Allister and the daimon at the same time.

Yaman blinked. He shook his head to clear it. "Not you," he said to Allister.

”What?" Allister's uncharacteristically soft expression steeled again. "What are you-"

"Okay, go!" Yaman said before he could change his mind.

Horns ripped out of his skull. The stump of his tail lashed, growing a crystalline extension. His fingertips stung and throbbed and sprouted icicle claws.

The daimon in Yaman's body roared and shot an icy blast at a nearby tree.

The wind stopped short. A pair of eyes in the storm blinked at the frostbitten tissue of the tree. They turned to look at Yaman.

And then Yaman felt his body relax, and one hand lift in a wave. "Miss me?" the daimon asked with his voice.

The storm grew a mouth. A wide, grinning number. "YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

Three winds separated out, whirling roughly around Yaman's body. Allister took a step back with an involuntary exclamation of dread.

"AYYY!" Yaman shouted, lifting his arms. Everything about the way he was standing, speaking, smiling just looked wrong, wrong, WRONG. "What's up, you bastards?"

"We thought you were DEAD!"

"The fuck are you WEARING?"

"You look like shit!"

"Yeah, nice to fucking see you too," said Yaman with a grin. Icy wind whirled around him, pushing the daimona back. "Get the fuck off me. What's been happening?"

"Oh, the usual," said one. It was whirling frantically and looked almost green. Its smile was sharp. "Fucking with the humans, fucking with the revolutionaries..."

"Fucking with the weird death cults that pop up in the middle!" another exclaimed. This one was a cloud, thick and dark, and lightning crackled with every word. "What the hell's been happening with you? We thought you were DEAD when those Niran freaks got their hands on you."

Yaman slouched comically. "You have NO idea. They stuffed me into this ugly little halfling."

"I was wondering what was up with that," hissed the third. This one was hot and smelled like sand. "What's it like, having a body?"

Yaman examined his icy claws. "Surprisingly fun...on occasion. It's my roommate that's the problem. And it's SUCH a drag being corporeal. It's like I'm stuck in a room with one window."

"What the hell is a window?" asked the thunderstorm. The other two laughed. Yaman laughed too, after a moment.

"So why don't you ditch it?" asked the scorching wind. "We're going to have SO much fun."

"I fucking WISH I could," groaned Not-Yaman. "Those Niran fuckers knew what they were doing. I'm stuck with this thing."

"Not a problem!" said the thunderstorm. "We can rip you out."

"...Really?"

"Uh, yeah!" said the thunderstorm.

"We're not stuck in a body like you," said the scorching wind. "We should just be able to sweep through and tear you out."

"Might hurt like a bitch, though," snorted the tornado.

Yaman thought for a moment. "And what about Y- um, the host?"

The three winds laughed. "If that doesn't kill it, we can tear it apart once you're out!" said the scorching wind.

"NO!" shouted Allister.

The three winds fell abruptly silent and turned to him. "Ooooh, the baby king!" the scorching wind crooned, whipping around him. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Stay away from him," Not-Yaman warned.

Allister looked up. Yaman...no. Whatever was inside Yaman was looking at him with a cold, suspicious expression.

He was just using Yaman's face to do it.

"That thing is a monster."

"Really?" demanded the tornado. "It's so tiny. And pale."

"I'm serious, get back," said Yaman. "There's something fucked up in there."

"What kind of fucked up?" asked the thunderstorm.

"It's uh," said Yaman, snapping his fingers. "It's like a fucking, uh..."

He twisted his fingers, creating a small blizzard that punctuated its howling with the sounds of cracking ice.

The three winds backed away from Allister immediately.

"YOU'RE KIDDING," said the tornado.

"I said it's LIKE that," said Not-Yaman. "Do you think I'd be anywhere NEAR that freak if I thought it really WAS one? No. It's just...something bad."

"Why ARE you near it then?" asked the scorching wind.

"My host has...questionable taste in potential mates."

"Well then, let's get you out of that filthy little thing and get the fuck out of here," said the tornado.

"...Where are you going?" asked Not-Yaman.

The three daimona looked at each other and laughed. "Where are we GOING?" asked the tornado incredulously.

"Come on," laughed the scorching wind, and reached out fiery arms towards Yaman.

Allister gasped, but Yaman's body lunged away, bringing up his hands. A wall of ice erupted between himself and the other three spirits.

The laughter fell silent. The wind in the clearing stilled.

Not-Yaman was breathing heavily. He straightened up and forced a smile.

"Wish I could," he said. "I'm telling you, those fuckers knew what they were doing. If this thing dies, I die too."

"Ah," said the thunderstorm. "That's a drag."

"Well," said the tornado. "See you later."

"Good luck with that!" called the scorching wind.

And then they were gone.

"...Just like that?" asked Allister.

Not-Yaman glanced at him. "We're fickle."

"Evidently," said Allister dryly. He lifted his fucked up hands warningly. "Give Yaman back."

#my writing #creators supporting creators #friends stuff #less-depresso-more-espresso #I had one more brain worm originally so I’m doing that next and that’s IT #I only have time to write so much of the shit I have in my head at any given time 🙄🙄🙄

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useless-slytherclaw · 3 years

Link

Relationships: Lán Jǐngyí/Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī Characters: Lan Jingyi, Lan Yuan | Lan Sizhui, Lan Qiren Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, All of the angst is in Jingyi's head, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Light-Hearted, Getting Together, Gay Panic, Disaster Gay Lan Jingyi, Friends to Lovers

Fresh spring air drifts through the windows and open doors of the Orchid Room, making the students even more restless than usual. Lan Jingyi sits in the second row at the second table from the center aisle right next to Sizhui. It’s their usual place and a compromise found over the years between Sizhui’s desire to be up front and Jingyi’s desire to be as far away from Lan-Laoshi’s sharp eyes as possible.

Their seats are directly in a pool of golden sunlight filling the room. The warmth combined with the fresh air, a smell that’s a tiny bit floral and a tiny bit pine but entirely indescribable, mixes to make it almost impossible for Jingyi to focus. It doesn’t help that they’re reviewing material that Jingyi already knows. If it was something interesting, he might be able to sit still.

“Lan Jingyi!” Lan-Laoshi’s voice is sharp, and Jingyi jerks into a more upright position, turning his gaze back to the front. “This is your last warning to pay attention.”

“Yes, Lan-Laoshi,” Jingyi says, ducking his head low in a show of apology.

He catches Sizhui’s tiny- probably disappointed- headshake out of the corner of his eye. It’s not Jingyi’s fault that he’s easily distracted or that Sizhui is as unfairly good at modeling proper Lan behavior as he is at everything.

Jingyi picks up his calligraphy brush and starts taking down notes rather unenthusiastically. He already knows these things, and they weren’t particularly interesting the first time. Beside him, Sizhui sits with perfect posture, dutifully taking meticulously neat notes. There’s even the faintest hint of a smile in his serene expression.

Jingyi watches Sizhui’s paper, copying down what he’s writing, but his gaze drifts to Sizhui’s hands: elegant musician’s hands, with slender fingers that are deceptive in their strength. Even his hands are nice: holding an artist's brush, playing the guqin, gripping his sword… Jingyi blinks and drags his gaze back to his own paper.

He manages another few lines of characters before his gaze is drifting back to Sizhui, as it so often does. The warmth of the sunlight suits him, bringing out the warm highlights in the deep black of his hair and kissing the curve of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose with a note of bronze. Jingyi has a perfect view of his profile from his seat, and though it’s more familiar to him than his own face, he finds his gaze drawn back, again and again, lecture after lecture.

He’s the picture of refinement and masculine beauty from his perfectly neat ponytail, to his upright but never stiff posture, to his somehow lovely hands, to the soft curve of his lips. Some part of Jingyi longs to touch him, to see if his hair is as soft under his hands as it looks and to see what his smile tastes like-

“Lan Jingyi!” Lan-Laoshi’s voice snaps Jingyi back into the present, and he turns towards the front, spine straightening so fast his back cracks. Mentally, he braces himself for the next words. Punishment is coming, handstands probably, the question is really how many. He is not at all prepared for the next words out of Lan-Laoshi’s mouth. “Stop admiring Lan Sizhui and pay attention. You can daydream after class.”

For a moment, Jingyi is absolutely frozen as his brain processes the words, not quite able to believe that he’d heard what he’d just heard. His whole body goes hot and then cold as the mortification sets in. A murmur spreads through the class, but Jingyi can’t hear it over the ringing in his ears.

He catches a movement from Sizhui out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t dare to look at him. If he had, he might have seen the slight widening of Sizhui’s warm brown eyes or the way his lips part ever so softly in surprise. He might have seen the blush, pale as cherry blossoms, that spread across his cheeks or the expression in his eyes that looked a little bit like hope.

Jingyi opens his mouth to say that he hadn’t been staring at Sizhui, but he had, and lying will only get him in more trouble. He shuts his mouth. Then again, the punishment for lying might be better than Sizhui knowing the truth. Before he can untangle his tongue to come up with some kind of response, Lan-Laoshi has resumed teaching.

Jingyi can feel the heat on his face and knows it must be nearly crimson. Part of him wants to glance at Sizhui, to try and gauge his best friend’s reaction, but he doesn’t dare. Not only is he afraid of what Lan-Laoshi might do, but he’s also not ready to face Sizhui’s reaction. Sizhui is his best friend, the closest person to him in the world, and he’s not ready to lose that.

Of all the insane scenarios that Jingyi’s brain had come up with, Sizhui finding out about Jingyi’s feelings from Lan-Laoshi was not on the list. His feelings. Feelings he doesn’t have words for if Sizhui asks. Feelings he has very been ignoring, very studiously if not very successfully, until now. He’s screwed.

Jingyi wants nothing more than to vanish into the floor; well, perhaps dying might do it. He keeps himself perfectly upright with his gaze on the front of the class, terrified that if he looks away Lan-Laoshi will somehow make this worse. He doesn’t know how, but he doesn’t want to test it.

His brain scrambles desperately for a solution to this mess. He momentarily considers lying to Sizhui about it and instantly discards the idea; he’s never been able to lie to Sizhui. Sizhui would know he was lying, which would defeat the point of lying, and Sizhui would be upset that Jingyi lied to him, which would make things worse.

Time seems to warp around Jingyi for the last two hours of class. Every moment seems to drag on as he tries to manage the absolute panic growing larger with each second, but time also seems to race forward to the end of class no matter how much he wants it to stop. Sizhui looks at him several times, and each time, Jingyi wants to fall into the floor a little more.

His heart starts to race faster at the last few minutes of the class. Two hours and he has heard not a single word out of Lan-Laoshi’s mouth, and he has gotten no closer to knowing how to handle the situation with Sizhui. As soon as the bell is rung, Jingyi grabs his bag.

“Jingyi-” Sizhui says, voice quiet and with an inflection that Jingyi is too panicked to read.

Jingyi turns towards Sizhui, unable to resist answering to the sound of his name on Sizhui’s lips. He looks at Sizhui for maybe a whole second, taking in the tiniest crease between his brows and the lack of serenity in his expression before his courage fails him, and he runs for it, leaving his notes, brush, and ink block on the table.

“Jingyi!” Sizhui calls after him, half-rising from his seat as he does so, hand outstretched a moment too late. Jingyi turned away too fast to see the blush on Sizhui’s cheek or to see past the confusion in his eyes.

All the other disciples turn to stare at the pair of them. Jingyi can feel their eyes on him, but he doesn’t care right now. It’s Sizhui’s expression that’s burned into his mind. There’s a rush of voices behind him as whispers spread from disciple to disciple and then Lan Qiren’s sharp voice: “Gossiping is forbidden!”

Jingyi isn’t sure where he’s heading other than away as fast as possible as he takes the shortest route out of the Cloud Recesses. He doesn’t slow down as he races past several older cultivators. Their admonishments about running and disturbing the peace fall on deaf ears. He skids to a stop past the last building and presses himself against the back of it, breathing hard in a way that has less to do with the run and more to do with anxiety.

He scrubs his hands over his face, trying desperately to gather himself. He can’t run from Sizhui forever, and he doesn’t really want to, but he also can’t face him yet. Probably, he should be embarrassed for running away, but he’s never had delusions about his own bravery. He might be scared of being killed by ghosts, but losing Sizhui’s friendship forever sounds worse.

Except he knows that Sizhui wouldn’t do that. Sizhui’s too good to just stop being his friend. He’ll be polite and calm- nice even- when he rejects Jingyi. Jingyi can picture the exact expression, gentle and consoling. He’s so… so… Sizhui that Jingyi won’t even be able to be upset with him when he breaks his heart. What he’s really scared of is things changing between them. He’s not sure he can handle Sizhui treating him with the same warm but distant politeness that he uses with most people.

Jingyi presses the palms of his hands into his eyes. He has to figure out how to make this mess right again, and he has to do it soon, but first, he has to figure out where to go. He can’t go back to his and Sizhui’s dorm room, not yet. Every place he can think of to hide is also a place that Sizhui would think to look for him. Their lives are so entwined that he can’t seem to untangle them even for a few hours.

Eventually, he starts off around the edge of the Cloud Recesses for the Cold Springs. It’s one of the last places he’d thought of, which hopefully means it’s one of the last places someone would look for him. He has never been one for silent meditation and has never gone to the Cold Springs entirely of his own volition before.

It’s empty, blessedly, but not surprisingly, since dinner is soon. As Jingyi strips off his outer layers and folds them to set on the bank, he realizes this may not have been the smartest idea. He really hopes Sizhui doesn’t come here- either to find him or to meditate- because this is a conversation he really, really doesn’t want to have half-naked.

Jingyi hisses as his feet hit the icy water, and he starts to wade in, but he keeps walking. He lets out a shaky breath and focuses on the flow of his spiritual energy through his meridians until he feels, if not warm, at least not freezing.

He sighs, breath turning to white vapor in the chilled air, and resists the urge to cross his arms for warmth. The waters are supposed to have soothing and calming powers, and ancestors know he could use both right now.

Jingyi stays in the water until the sky starts to purple with evening, turning the problem over and over in his head. He’s no closer to knowing what to say to Sizhui, he has a dozen half-formed speeches in his head, but none of them seems quite right. He has however realized two things. One, he is hopelessly in love with Sizhui: a realization he has been shying away from for longer than he wants to admit. Two, he can’t stay here all night because he will either freeze to death if he’s lucky or be buried under more punishments than he wants to think about if he’s not.

Slowly, grudgingly, he climbs out of the Cold Springs and dresses himself. His feet are practically numb and the gravel feels strange underneath them. Once dressed, he pauses again, staring up the path into the rest of Cloud Recess, but he really can’t put this off any longer, and so, he starts slowly walking up the path and back to his dorm.

There’s candlelight in the window of their dorm, which means Sizhui is there; not that Jingyi expected him to be anywhere else. Despite the number of junior disciples housed here, the building is quiet when he enters, as all buildings in the Cloud Recesses are, and his footsteps sound loud in his own ears. He can hear, faintly, the sound of Sizhui’s guqin close by, and the soft melody of a flute from further away.

He hesitates for just a moment outside the door, but he knows that Sizhui would have heard his footsteps, and he doesn’t need to look more like a coward than he already does. He pushes the door open. The room is lit by the dying daylight and a lantern on Sizhui’s table next to a music score, and Sizhui is exactly where Jingyi expected him to be, sitting at his desk with his guqin before him.

“Welcome back,” Sizhui says softly, fingers continuing to move over the strings without any interruption.

“I-” Jingyi says and stalls. All the words he’d thought of earlier fail him as he looks at Sizhui.

Jingyi steps into the room and softly closes the door behind him. He hovers by the door, anticipating something more from Sizhui but nothing comes.

“I’m sorry,” Jingyi says, looking at the ground.

“For what?” Sizhui says. The tune of the guqin under his hands changes. Jingyi hadn’t been paying attention to what he’d been playing before, but his trained ear picks up the shift. “For running away when I tried to talk to you? For leaving me to eat dinner by myself? For making me cover for you when you didn’t show up to feed the rabbits?”

Sizhui’s voice is calm and not at all accusatory, but Jingyi winces. He’d forgotten that they’d been assigned to the rabbit meadow tonight.

“For embarrassing you in front of everyone,” Jingyi says. “Mostly myself, really, but you got caught in it. I know you don’t like to be the center of attention.”

“Ah, that,” Sizhui says. His tone is closed off, and it’s hard for Jingyi to read. Sizhui is usually reticent about his feelings, but Jingyi can generally tell them anyway, not right now; he’s shut himself down too far. “I accept your apology.”

Jingyi steps further into the room, not looking away from Sizhui. The silence between them stretches with the soft melody of the guqin the only sound.

“You aren’t going to ask about… earlier?” Jingyi asks tentatively, feeling unsure and wrong-footed. He hates it. This is exactly why he didn’t want this to happen.

“You clearly don’t want to talk about it,” Sizhui says without looking up at Jingyi. There’s something in his voice under the forced calm: disappointment, maybe. Jingyi isn’t used to having to work so hard to understand his best friend. Something about Sizhui’s tone urges Jingyi forward until he’s standing in front of Sizhui to better see his face. His bangs cast shadows on his face, partially obscuring it from view. Though he’s not sure why it’s obvious to Jingyi that Sizhui wants to talk about this.

“I didn’t know what to say,” Jingyi says, “still don’t know what to say.”

It’s not much of a statement, he knows, but it’s an offering, an attempt to bridge the odd gap between them, a way of letting Sizhui know that it’s okay to ask questions. For a moment, Jingyi thinks that Sizhui will remain quiet, rejecting Jingyi’s attempt, and that hurts more than he wants to admit.

“Were you?” Sizhui asks. He doesn’t look up from the instrument in front of him, but the motions of his hands are exact, deliberate, not at all his usual easy motion. “Was I?” Jingyi asks.

“Were you looking at me?” Sizhui asks. His voice is as careful as his motions. The answer to this question matters to him.

“Yes,” Jingyi says. “I was.”

“Why?” Sizhui asks, and the note from the guqin is ever so slightly off, slightly out of tune, and too sharp.

“Because you’re beautiful,” Jingyi answers his question without thinking, still trying to put together Sizhui’s reactions. He realizes what he’s said the moment after it’s left his mouth.

Sizhui lays his hands over the strings, stopping the music, and finally looks up at Jingyi. His eyes are intense, searching Jingyi’s face for something, but Jingyi doesn’t know what.

“Is that all that you think?” Sizhui asks.

Something in his tone, in his expression, in the way he’s leaning towards Jingyi now, emboldens Jingyi.

“No,” Jingyi says, watching Sizhui’s reaction as closely as Sizhui is watching his. “I think you are clever. I think you are talented. I think you are good, kind, and generous. I think you are the most important person in my life. I think that you are my best friend.” Sizhui’s expression flickers ever so slightly, but Jingyi pushes on because if he doesn’t say it now, he’s not going to. “I also think that,” he hesitates, “that I’m in love with you.”

The words hang between them in absolute silence without even the sound of the guqin to soften it. Jingyi’s heart hammers against his ribs, and some part of him thinks he’s going to faint.

Then, a smile spreads across Sizhui’s face like the rising sun, and all the air goes out of Jingyi’s lungs for an entirely different reason. It’s not a polite smile or a consoling one, it’s a genuine grin: the kind where his eyes crinkle at the corner and his cheeks dimple. If Sizhui is beautiful normally, when he smiles like this, Jingyi doesn’t have the words.

“Sizhui,” Jingyi says, voice sounding ever so slightly panicked, “please say something.”

Sizhui grins even wider, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Jingyi, I love you.”

There’s no ‘I think’, no qualifiers, no doubt whatsoever in his voice.

“What?” Jingyi says, faintly. Not quite sure that he’s heard this properly.

Sizhui gets to his feet in a single graceful movement. He steps out from behind his desk so that the two of them are standing together.

“I love you,” Sizhui says, slowly, deliberately.

“You do?” Jingyi asks, a grin spreading across his face.

“Yes,” Sizhui says, and there is laughter in his voice.

He steps closer to Jingyi, and Jingyi mirrors him, moving so they are nearly touching. This close, Jingyi has to look down at him. He can smell the cinnamon and smoke smell of incense clinging to his robes and the hint of almond from his hair. His eyes are bright, and his lips are curved into a smile.

His lips.

“Sizhui,” Jingyi says, dragging his gaze up from Sizhui’s lips to back to his eyes.

“Yes?” The undercurrent of excitement in his voice is obvious to Jingyi now.

“Do you know what I was dreaming about in class today?”

Sizhui tilts his head slightly, curious, and blinks. “No?”

Not quite breathing, Jingyi reaches out and cups Sizhui’s face in his hand before leaning in to kiss him. His heartbeat is loud in his ears. Part of him still expects Sizhui to pull away, but he leans in closer, eyes falling closed.

Their lips brush together, hardly more than the touch of a butterfly's wings, but Jingyi’s heart is still trying to pound its way out of his chest.

“This,” Jingyi whispers and kisses him again.

The kiss is more solid this time but no less gentle. Sizhui sighs ever so slightly, leaning into Jingyi’s hand, and Jingyi’s brain whites out for a moment when his soft lips part.

Jingyi knows, from their friends, that kissing can be more than just this tender press of lips, but he doesn’t dare push further even though he wants to. The most he dares is to allow his own lips to part and perhaps to hope that Sizhui will dare to be bolder than him. Sizhui’s breath catches much the way Jingyi’s had, and Jingyi can feel it. They linger there for another moment, neither daring to take that next step before pulling away.

Jingyi is relieved to see he’s not the only one who’s breathing a little fast. He lets his hand fall away from Sizhui’s cheek and down to his side. Sizhui takes a step back and takes a breath, composing himself.

“I think you owe me dinner,” Sizhui says.

Jingyi blinks.

“If you saved me dinner-”

“Mn.”

“Gods, I love you!”

Sizhui just laughs and moves back to his desk, putting away his guqin. Jingyi settles on the opposite side of the desk. The movent is familiar and comforting in its familiarity. It feels just like always, just like them, just like it should be.

Sizhui sets a neatly wrapped fabric bundle on the table and starts to untie it. The smell of food almost immediately makes Jingyi’s stomach rumble.

“Sizhui, I could marry you,” he says as he snags the chopsticks that Sizhui sets down. He doesn’t think about the words. He’s made the joke a hundred times before.

“Careful what you say, Jingyi,” Sizhui says, lips turning up into a smile that isn’t entirely joking, “or I might take you up on that.”

#lan sizhui #lan jingyi #zhuiyi #mdzs #the untamed #fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #the untamed fanfic #ao3 link #fic

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thebibliomancer · 3 years

Text

Tides of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 3

Tides of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because I want the answer to Amri’s question. Don’t you?

Last time on book: The dream team of Naia, Spider-Tavra, Kylan, and Amri have gone to Tavra’s friend(?) Onica to get the lay of the land after Kylan shotgunned exposition petals all over Ha’rar. Onica used her Far-Dreaming to let the team see the Vapran and All-Maudra’s reaction to all of those petals. Then on Amri’s turn, he asked the entire planet Thra how they can beat the Skeksis.

Chapter 3

Weirdness on either side, Chamberlain in the middle

The answer to Amri’s question was a wall.

Well. Thanks for that, Thra.

It’s a bit of a weird vision. Amri actually feels like he’s himself, not as a petal or peeping through another Gelfling. Just an Amri standing alone in an infinite dark void, with a stone wall in the middle of it.

Amri sighed. Of course this would happen. The first thing he shouted out to Thra was to ask it how to defeat the Skeksis. If Thra cared about the Gelfling, and knew what to do, then wouldn’t it have told them already?

In fairness, Amri. Maybe your question broke the planet? Maybe you logic bombed the entire world.

Or to be less mean, the planet is sick with the Darkening. So maybe it can’t give a straight answer. Aside of a wall in a void.

Then the wall catches on fire.

The fire had engulfed the wall, but where it had been reavenous and red, it was now blue as the midnight sky. The wall itself had crumbled in places from the teeth of the fire, and where the rock had fallen away, Amri saw shining light. Crystal veins, white as starlight, bared as the wall crumbled, bit by bit. And revealed in the light of the crystal were words. Images. Figures...

Then he was back on the boat, his hands clammy against Onica’s and Naia’s.

I hope Onica has a book about interpreting dreams.

Although, blue fire. Wasn’t that the fire skype that the Dual Glaive did in the show?

The flower petals already kinda took their role as the thing that communicates to all Gelfling so, yeah, this is an abstract dream.

Onica, explain!

She doesn’t though. She just tells Naia to go ahead and ask her question.

Half not surprisingly and half not, her question is “Please, tell us where we can find Rian.”

It makes sense but also, its weird that she doesn’t ask instead about Gurjin.

It sure is more handy for the plot that she asked about Rian because they get a village of a Skeksis carriage drawn by rolling armalig slug racing through the snow. Whether its inhabitants are laughing all the way ho ho ho ho is not shared.

Amri realizes that they’re seeing a vision of now and somewhere pretty close by actually! They passed through that snowy area on their way to Onica’s Exposition Hut.

Hm. Always interesting what commonalities there are between the show and the YA books despite the very different courses they take. They’re both going to have a Rian Chamberlain carriage rescue scene although the location and presumably the context is gonna be different.

Naia rushes out ahead because rushing out ahead is what Naia is best at. Amri, Kylan, and Tavra soon follow, but Tavra asks Onica to wait here in case they need a place to hide.

Just gals being pals, doing crimes, hiding fugitives.

While poor Kylan has to take the long path, Amri just starts climbing up the sheer rock wall, even with the sandals slowing him down.

Amri actually manages to catch up to Naia although they wind up on different ridges on different sides of the trail.

Naia being Naia, she just jumps off the ridge, onto the carriage, and goes through the canopy.

A Skeksis scream curdled the air, high-pitched and nasal. A moment later, Naia and another Gelfling crashed through one of the carriage windows. The carriage tipped, the armalgis squealing in distress at the disturbance.

Oh my god.

Imagine being Chamberlain. Probably sitting in a carriage and psychologically breaking Rian because his sensitive soldier brain is no match for your words words words. When an angry Naia drops in and starts waving a dagger around.

No wonder he screm. And now wonder he crashes the carriage into the ravine wall.

Amri wishes again that he had wings making me think hmm but slides down a fallen tree that Tavra points out to him.

“I hope Kylan tells a nice song at my funeral!”

Oh, Amri. I don’t think Kylan knows much more about you than Onica did.

Amri lands in a pile of snow and finds Naia and Rian with his blue streak of hair pulling themselves out of a snow bank.

Rian runs back toward the carriage because he says Chamberlain has the vial. The important plot driving vial. Containing Rian’s liquidated girlfriend.

Out of the carriage, coughing and swearing and spitting, came a Skeksis. He emerged, reptilian snout first, like a black bird from an egg, almost too big for the door. His feather-lined cloak squeezed out, then billowed as he stepped into the snow, rising to his full height. His eyes smoldered beneath his prominent purple brow, black pupils tiny and livid as he cast his gaze upon them.

This is another scene I wish I could have seen in live action puppets. Chamberlain pulling himself out of the crashed carriage.

Rian demands Chamberlain give him the vial, his confidence impressing Amri who wants to curl into a perfect orb and roll under a table when faced with a Skeksis.

The Chamberlain glared, then reached back to fluff the black collar around his neck so it framed his face.

“The vial? The vial? After ruining our carriage -- MY carriage? Stupid Gelfling. Stupid Rian. After all we’ve done for you, you stand there and defy us. Defy me.”

Effrontery! Offense! How dare?!

Naia threatens that they’ll take the vial by force if Chamberlain won’t hand it over, which is pretty gutsy. Even given that she has a sweet metal dagger and Amri has Tavra’s sweet sword that he has no idea how to use.

Chamberlain takes out the vial and threatens to pour our Rian’s girlfriend if they make a move on him.

“You think you can command me?” the Chamberlain asked, a low growl growing in the back of his throat. “You, puny Gelfling? Giving me orders? A Skeksis? One of Twice-Nine? You dare to command me?”

“The Skeksis won’t rule the Gelfling much longer, not once we prove to them what you’ve done,” Naia said, brandishing her dagger. “To the Crystal, and to our people.”

“So hand over the vial before we make an example of you,” Rian said.

And Chamberlain, well, he took exception to that.

Because he is a petty lizarddragonvulture man when he’s in a good mood and he was just in a carriage crash and these Gelflings keep saying words at him.

So he wonders aloud what Vapra tastes like and then chugs Mira goo.

“OH YES. SWEET AND BRIGHT AS SPRING SYRUP! Mmm-MMMM!”

Leave some scenery for the rest of the characters, SkekSil.

So to contextualize the situation, now Chamberlain doesn’t have the thing they wanted from Chamberlain. And he’s all roided up on soul juice. This is not a situation that they want to be in anymore!

“Now,” he said. He threw back his cloak and drew a short, sharp blade, smiling at them with a mouth of razor teeth. “What were you saying about making an example of me?”

Tavra tells Amri to raise his sword and tries to give him really quick sword pointers. But Amri makes a quick decision and hucks the pouch of fire dust that Onica gave him, the spicy coral shavings getting all in SkekSil’s eyes and nose.

Wow, that fire dust Chekov’s gun fired way sooner than I thought it would.

While the Chamberlain drops to his knees and tries to soothe the burn by shoving snow into his eyes and nose, Amri yells to Naia and Rian to run.

Luckily, Rian does, since previously he was paralyzed by unfathomable rage.

The three run and run and run over the hills and through the woods until they can no longer hear Chamberlain.

And then things get weird.

The vertigo returned, and Amri stumbled, then leaned against a tree as the world spun. In every swirl of snow, every spot of shadow, he saw Skeksis faces. Phantoms, rising out of his worst fears. His throat felt tight, locking air out of his lungs.

“I don’t feel great,” he tried to say.

“What’s wrong? What’s --”

Tavra’s voice fell away, and all Amri could hear was... humming. An intense droning, a chant, coming from deep in the earth and high in the heavens at the same time.

Are there Mystics about?

The drone vibration sharpened, and Amri heard words. Coming from the earth. From the stars. From the suns and the moons. It drowned out the cold and the bright light. It chanted in time with Amri’s heart, in time with the pulse of the world. Of Thra.

Oh, hey, is the entire planet returning Amri’s call? Was that wall vision like.... an answering machine?

I have no idea! This has been some odd bookends around an exciting Skeksis encounter.

Just as Amri thinks he recognizes the voice, the world vanishes.

You keep cliffhangering me, chapters in Tides of the Dark Crystal!

#dark crystal #the dark crystal #Tides of the Dark Crystal #liveblog #Amri #Naia #Kylan #Tavra #Onica #SkekSil #the Chamberlain

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secret-engima · 4 years

Text

Snippet from Blood of My Blood verse

(Alright I’ve finished dithering, have a snip. >:D)

...

There was a flicker of movement on his right, liquid smooth and deliberately slow like a stalking predator and Noctis felt his magic surge up to rest just below his skin on instinct even as he politely turned his head to look at the newcomer. He froze, caught between an intense sense of deja vu and confusion, because he could have sworn he’d never seen this woman before, yet she felt familiar as she glided over to stand on the edge of his personal space.

She was very dark-skinned, her black hair done up in elaborate braids that were dotted with beads that looked they might be actual pearls. Her dress was sleeveless, showing off powerful shoulders and arms and a neck draped in a plated silver choker that was layered like an hundred thousand tiny scales. A glance down at her dress, more to check for hidden weapons than anything, and he almost had to catch his breath from the intricacy of it. The bodice was embroidered with silver-blue thread to looks like scales, similar to her necklace, and the threads stood out stark against the blue that was almost storm grey in its shade. The grey-blue grew brighter the further down the dress he looked until it was a vibrant shade like the waves beneath a summer sun, and the whole thing draped and flowed around her legs and ankles in a way that reminded him of water.

The dress alone had to have cost a fortune, and those heels looked sharp enough to skewer someone, but he didn’t really care about that. What he cared about was the persistent sense of danger and power she projected, and that he couldn’t recognize her at all yet felt so sure they had met before. He looked back up at her face, at her eyes, and stopped breathing. Lips painted a blue that complemented her dress tilted upward in a thin, closed smile, “Would His Highness,” she rumbled in a low alto that brushed against his ears like the hush of the tides, “humor me with a dance?” Humor. Not honor. Because an honor would imply he had some sort of status equal to or greater than hers. Humor was mocking, like she had every right to force him but was giving him the courtesy of choice out of amusement.

Every sense prickling, caught in disbelief and wariness and interest, Noctis tipped his chin and accepted her outstretched hand, careful of the silver-blue nails that were short, but decidedly sharp looking. They drifted back onto the dance floor just as a rumba started, and Noctis choked back an incredulous laugh as she slid smoothly into the motions, every step and sway entrancing in the way only apex predators could achieve, “I didn’t think you would bother knowing human dances,” he finally managed to murmur as she spun into his arms. This close to her, when he breathed, he could taste the tang of waves and brewing ocean storms.

She spun out to arm’s length again, every gesture smooth and powerful, and eyes that shifted through the shades of blue and grey like all the seasons of the ocean glittered with amusement. She smiled, and in the second her lips parted for the expression, he saw teeth that were needle sharp and hungry, “Just because I do not care for humankind does not mean I do not pay attention. Your pithy customs are not hard to learn from observation.”

They swayed and prowled across the dance floor, Noctis’s magic instinctively rising to tangle passively with the deep, thrumming push and pull of hers to keep it from pulling him under just by proxy, “And why does the TideMother deign shed her scales and walk among mortal men this night, if I am so bold as to ask?”

They pressed close, and he tasted the ocean again as she watched him through half lidded eyes, “Curiosity.” She rumbled, deep and ancient as the tides, hungry as the crushing depths and gentle as the light playing over the coral reefs. A flicker of surprisingly mild annoyance that rippled more in her magic than her expression and a sour glance of ever-shifting eyes to one side of the ballroom as her voice lightened to something vaguely human again, “Besides. The Fulgarian insisted, and I decided to indulge him this once.”

Fulgarian? Noctis looked over in the direction of her glance as they spun, and he caught sight of an elderly man with an elaborately braided beard watching the proceedings from one of the benches, surrounded by what few children remained who had not been taken home yet. The man sensed his gaze from across the room, glanced up, and for a moment his dark eyes flared a deep, electric violet. The elderly man —the StormFather— smiled beneath his beard, raised a hand to his lips, and then tilted his head meaningfully first to a far corner, then to another part of the dance floor and Noctis choked on his spit.

Lurking in the far corner, watching over everything with a vague aura of confusion and disdain, stood a man with black hair down to his chin and eyes that were a faintly glowing armiger blue usually only seen in Lucis Caelums. He wore no armor, but his shoulders were broad and squared in the unmistakable stance of a knight at rest, and in the moments before his eyes fully reopened from a blink, Noctis caught a glimpse of wings made of a thousand swords in the man’s shadow. Not far away from the StormFather’s seat, a Behemoth of a man with dark skin and golden tattoos curling along his bald head also sat, watching the proceedings with an absentminded sort of interest, like a man who did not understand what he was seeing, but thought it pretty enough anyway.

#Secret Engima Rambles #Melodies and Manuscripts #Blood of my Blood (That Was Shed On the Throne) verse #Child of My Blood verse #>:D

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glassworkspiderlilies · 3 years

Text

portrait of a lady

Genshin Impact | Lumine/Albedo | AO3 Summary: Three times Albedo draws Lumine, and the two times he doesn't. Notes: mr. albaedo...

Dragonspine is only the beginning.

Albedo is well-informed about her by now, one would think, after running so many tests and observing her first-hand. But those were all in controlled scenarios of his own making, and so, he discovers, that outside of that, there is far more to Lumine, stranded Traveler of worlds.

Somewhat surprisingly, there are quite a few chances to see her out and about around Mondstadt. Albedo is, besides Chief Alchemist, also Captain of the Knights of Favonius’ Investigation Team—which means he too does his fair share of fieldwork, granting him opportunity to cross paths with her at unexpected moments.

But even so—the Traveler has her goals and he has his, and since Dragonspine, he spots her only in passing.

As such, in order to perform a separate study when he only sees her in such scattered moments, Albedo does the other thing that he does best besides alchemy and childcare—

He draws.

It is one thing to see her combat in a controlled situation, and another to see her fighting out in the wild. Even from the distance that he spots her, she is quite the sight. Lumine is strong; this he knows. But her movements are different when she’s in a trickier situation and does not have to account for the safety of another person. She is as vicious as she is elegant—relentless in her swordsmanship, flawless in her footwork.

It could be a dance, almost—and so too can he see that it is not one meant to be performed alone. The one who stands beside her can only be just as formidable—and of course it must be her missing brother, whom Albedo feels like he can picture despite never having met him. Still, she does what she must to make up for that lack of partner, and with one final array of slashes nearly too quick for the eye, the Ruin Guard falls. Lumine pockets the core of the monster before flipping her sword into the air, and it disappears to wherever it does.

She’s on her way again before Albedo thinks to call out to her, unwilling as he is to interrupt whatever mission she’s on without a particular reason.

Instead, he flips open his sketchbook. He has a very good memory, but he uses quick, broad strokes anyway to capture the basis of what he saw before a certain amount of detail is inevitably lost to the limits of brain capacity. He is in the middle of a field investigation with the command of other knights, so it won’t do to take too much time for something so completely unrelated.

That night though, he sits at his desk and refines the sketch. The sharp angles of her arm as she cuts through the Ruin Guard’s tough body, the fluidity of movement from one slash into the next, the flow of her hair as she whips her body around to dodge…

It is not perfect, but it is passable. There is only so much he can derive from such a short moment, without additional time with the model.

Still, it will do, until next time.

Miraculously, for all the dangerous maneuvers she tends to do, the Traveler’s flight license has yet to be revoked. She always falls just short of penalty, in a way that makes the Acting Grand Master’s lips pinch together and the Cavalry Captain grin in delight when they see her. Jean can only sigh and request for Lumine to simply be careful, to which the Traveler dips her head obediently and solemnly swears that she is, and would not let her flying jeopardize herself or the citizens’ safety.

There is something about the way she says that, so serious and matter of fact, that goes beyond simple confidence in one’s flight skills, and has the Knights questioning.

But they do not ask, nor can they really figure just what it is exactly they want to question.

Albedo, of course, observes. She is so natural in the sky, the glider seeming like an extension of her body. She flew exceedingly well even after she’d been first gifted the glider, according to Amber, even when Stormterror’s winds had whipped her so suddenly into the air. Lumine has Barbatos’ blessing, it is true, even if not quite in the form of a Vision, but her skill does not feel owed to that. Jean, gifted with her Anemo Vision as she is, is not so remarkable in the skies; even Amber, three-time winner of Mondstadt’s Gliding Championship, does not quite have the particular easy grace that Lumine does.

It is….baffling, this ever so slight yet just discernable difference that cannot quite be explained.

Albedo sees her sometimes out in the field, a large shadow overhead as she glides. On somewhat rare occasions she will accompany him while he experiments in the wild, and he watches with mild trepidation as she steps off the sides of cliffs so casually, unfurling her wings like an afterthought to retrieve an herb or some such thing down below.

Other times, she drops from such great heights that he can only marvel at the lack of fear.

He is painting below Starsnatch Cliff the first time this happens, suddenly hearing a soft call of Albedo! in the distance. It takes a minute to locate where it is coming from, and he squints to see the tiny figure of the Traveler atop Starsnatch’s tip, waving her arm. He waves back, but he cannot hear what else she is saying nor understand what she is gesturing at, and tilts his head in confusion. In another minute, she takes a running leap off of the cliff, gliding towards him. He watches as she soars, then takes out his sketchbook to capture her figure in the air. Albedo’s eyes follow her as she glides past him, and—ah, the band of hilichurls making their way towards him must have been what she was trying to warn him about.

But then—she drops suddenly, hurtling down with such speed that it is genuinely alarming, the wind whistling. Her sword manifests in her hand and she uses it to pinpoint her landing; she slams into the ground, the blade sinking into the sand before her knee does, her other leg bent and braced for support. The hilichurls are blown back from the resulting blast of power, and she’s up again in a flash, ready to fight.

Albedo blinks before adjusting his gloves, and joins her in the clean-up.

“Are you not afraid of falling?” he asks, immediately after the battle is over.

She turns to him with a faint smile, putting away her sword.

“Not when I mean to,” she responds. “Are you not afraid of surprise attacks, if you are so focused on your art?”

“I would not be Chief Alchemist or Captain of the Investigation Team if I could not handle such situations,” he replies politely, “Though I thank you for your concern, and assistance.”

She gives him an amused look.

“Are you hurt?” he queries, glancing at her knees, “That was…quite the landing.”

“It is not so bad with sand,” she shrugs, brushing off the grains that have stuck to her skin, “But I have gotten better at mitigating the damage.”

He raises an eyebrow, and her lip quirks up as she awaits his potential scolding. There are a few beats of silence between them before he sighs.

“I trust you know what you’re doing,” he relents, and her eyes grow more mirthful.

“As do you,” she says pointedly, and he holds out his hands in defeat.

They have a quick lunch—she splits her food with him despite his protests—and she’s off again, always busy.

Albedo stays behind until the sun begins to set, filling pages in his sketchbook, the image of her descent burned into his mind.

“You want a lesson on alchemy?”

He blinks at her in surprise as he lets her into his laboratory. She steps in carefully, looking around with interest and taking in its disorganization and clutter.

“This is not so different from Dragonspine, is it?” Lumine says, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and he coughs lightly in mild embarrassment. “And yes. Is it so surprising? Timaeus has been a great help, but I do not think it remiss to ask his teacher for guidance as I move on to craft more complicated things.”

“From what I hear, you are shaping up to be quite the alchemist yourself,” Albedo says, crossing his arms and putting a thumb to his chin in thought.

Both Timaeus and Sucrose, who had seen her craft in person before while he has not, had mentioned that she was taking to the process quite well.

“You are exaggerating, surely. Perhaps it may seem that way when all one crafts is the occasional potion. But as I said, I find myself needing to make use of more complicated alchemy if I want to reinforce my weapons.”

Albedo hums, studying her. It is true that such a thing was one of his topics of particular interests for a time, hence her coming to him instead of Sucrose, who was far easier to find.

“Have you ever thought of becoming an alchemist, with this growing interest of yours?” he asks, motioning for her to come closer to his crafting table.

“Ah, Sir Kreideprinz, is two students not enough?” she teases lightly, “I’m afraid I haven’t the proper time to invest currently, as you must know. But I shall promise not to abuse any knowledge you are willing to impart upon me.”

It startles a laugh out of him—one, because it had not occurred to him that she would, and two, because what was considered misuse of the art was not always the same between alchemists.

“All knowledge is worth having,” he murmurs absently, and she glances at him out of the corner of her eye, but he says nothing further on the topic of potential misuse. “Alright, then. Look here…”

She is a good listener, despite the complexities of the process he outlines. They discuss the theory, and he shows her how to combine the pieces she’s brought to higher-level material. She watches with a nearly hawk-like keenness, and asks him to repeat the process a few more times before she attempts it herself.

It is all about trial and error, in the beginning, and so Albedo steps away and takes the back seat as he watches her work out the formulae and arrangement of materials on the table to achieve what she wants. He pays close attention to prevent any dangerous accidents, but also idly puts a pencil to paper while he observes her.

Her focus, the way she drags her fingers lightly over the symbols as she thinks, the purse of her lips as she works out what she needs to…yes, drawing her is never tiring.

Eventually, she succeeds in her crafting, straightening out her back and smiling in quiet pride as she turns to show him the results. Under his further guidance, she uses her newly crafted materials to reinforce her sword, and they both look upon the end result with satisfaction.

“Good work,” he says, as she prepares to leave, “May this serve your well on your journey.”

She glances at the papers he had set aside before coming to assist her again, unable to see what is on them from this distance. Still, there is a knowing gleam in her eye.

“And may that serve you well in your research,” she replies, with a slight raise of her eyebrow.

His lips twitch in amusement, but he does not respond.

As much as Albedo loves Klee, she is a boundless ball of energy, and he must admit that he is not always able to keep up with her. It is why there is a rotation of knights to look after her when Albedo is particularly busy and cannot be disturbed—and playing with Klee comes to be considered tantamount to a training regimen. Oftentimes the girl will have left a string of exhausted knights—especially recruits—in her wake when he finally comes out of his laboratory.

So it is odd that this time, when he comes out to take down his “Experiment in Progress” sign, that the halls are unusually quiet. The knights seem fairly undisturbed, and he does not even hear any distant telltale explosions to signal her presence.

“The Honorary Knight is watching Klee,” he hears Jean say, and Albedo turns around to see the Acting Grand Master smiling at him as she comes down the hall. “The last I saw them, they were in the courtyard.”

“I see,” Albedo says, inclining his head in thanks, and goes searching.

Jean had spoken truly; the two are still in the courtyard, sitting on the grass, and apparently weaving stalks of dandelions into garlands. Albedo is surprised to see Klee so focused on such an activity, when she usually prefers more active games.

“Hello,” he says, to draw their attention, and Klee perks up immediately, rushing over to hug him around the middle.

“Albedo! Are you all done now? Can we eat dinner early? Can Miss Lumi come? We played all day so I’m really hungry!”

Albedo pats her head and murmurs acknowledgement of her requests, his eyes crinkling as he looks over at Lumine.

“Jean had mentioned you were watching her,” he says, “Thank you. I hope you were able to convince her to leave the fish population at Starfell Lake intact.”

To his incredible surprise, Lumine’s cheeks turn faintly pink, and Klee begins to jump up and down, still holding onto him.

“Albedo, did you know? Miss Lumi is really good at fishing! She can catch them with just her bare hands! We brought lots back, so can you make Woodland Dream tonight, pleeeeeeeease?”

He blinks at Klee, then looks back at the Traveler, who avoids his gaze and steadily continues to weave dandelions together with careful precision.

“With her bare hands, you say?” he asks, and his sister uh-huhs enthusiastically.

“Oh! But I want to finish making these first! Albedo, do you want to make one too? Miss Lumi says that in some other worlds, flower crowns are a sign of appreciation!”

“Alright then,” he says, though Klee is already dragging him towards the spot she had temporarily abandoned.

He is quiet for a while, letting Klee and Lumine show him how to bend the stalks carefully and weave them tightly without breaking. But as he falls into the proper pattern, he is too curious to stay silent.

“…Where did you learn to catch fish with your bare hands?” he asks innocently, without looking up.

“…The fish population is intact enough that, given a little time, Starfell Lake will be full again,” Lumine says first instead, sensing the question he is not asking. “But—nowhere in particular. It is simply a matter of practice. It was a silly thing that Aether and I had challenged each other to do one day, and then contested one another for the most caught.”

Her tone grows a little quieter at the mention of her brother, her eyes more melancholy. Albedo glances at her, but before he can say anything, it is Klee who broaches the subject.

“What’s Mr. Aether like?” she asks cheerfully, and Lumine startles at the question. “You’re twins, right? Do you look exactly the same?”

Lumine blinks, her eyes growing thoughtful.

“No,” she says absently. “But we do look…very similar. His eyes are a little sharper, and his nose is a little more pointed. His hair is sort of like mine, but he could never the front to lie flat. Back when both of our hair was long…I braided his, but he liked it so much that he kept it. He cut mine for me, when I wanted a change.”

Albedo looks at her, noting what she says, trying to imagine her other half.

“Go on,” he encourages, and her eyes widen a little as she pauses, thinking about stories to share.

Haltingly, she tells them a little more about her brother. How he favored the hotter months over the cooler ones, how he liked acrobatics when they flew, how he preferred darker clothing over lighter ones. As she speaks, Albedo forms a clearer picture of Aether in his mind.

In the course of this, Klee ends up dozing against Albedo’s side, though she tries hard to stay awake.

“Ah, I tired her out,” Lumine says, her eyes crinkling.

“Quite the feat,” Albedo murmurs, patting Klee’s arm. “Ah, Klee. What about dinner?”

“Woodland….Dream…” she murmurs, and Lumine chuckles.

“It was all she could talk about, at the lake,” she says, reaching out to stroke the little girl’s hair tenderly. “I have high expectations.”

“It’s my specialty,” Albedo says easily, “So it should not disappoint. Ah—here, this is for you.”

He gives her the garland he had woven, as well as the finished one of the two Klee had been making, as Lumine was undoubtedly meant to be one of the recipients. Lumine blinks, taking the crowns gingerly.

“Appreciation, right?” Albedo says, and Lumine nods.

She puts both on her head, and then places the one she made carefully on Albedo’s.

“My gratitude, for dinner,” she tells him, and he smiles.

“Well, you will have to come home with us first,” he says as he picks Klee up, and she blinks a little in mild surprise before smiling back.

Albedo leads the way, and it is not long before Lumine falls into step beside him.

He is finishing up some sketches in the library when she climbs through the open window, startling him out of focus.

“Hello,” she greets amicably, sliding into the chair across from him.

“Hello,” he greets back, “That was quite the entrance.”

“It’s faster this way, sometimes,” she says, and he blinks at her, unable to formulate a response to say otherwise. “How many hours have you been here?”

He blinks again, working out the time via the position of the sun, peering out of the window.

“Four hours, perhaps?” he guesses, and Lumine hums, looking at the papers laid out in front of him, which are all various portraits of her.

“Will you finally tell me what this is about?” she asks, propping her elbows up and putting her chin in her hands.

He smiles.

“Nothing so mysterious,” he says, gathering some of the drawings closer to glance at for reference, “I have said before you make a fascinating study, have I not? But I suppose I did want to try something.”

She raises an eyebrow in question, but Albedo signals for her to wait a moment as he makes some minor adjustments to the piece he is working on at present, which is tilted towards him against the edge of the table and thus out of her sight.

“Alright, then,” he says after a while, “Here—all of these are for you.”

He places this last finished piece on top of the small stack resting on the seat of the chair next to him, then hands the whole thing over, and she takes the little pile with open curiosity.

Her expression changes to shock when she looks down at the first drawing.

“…Aether,” she whispers wonderingly, her hand hovering over the portrait as if she is afraid this too will disappear in front of her.

“You paint quite a vibrant picture when you speak of him,” Albedo explains, “So I thought I would try my hand at actually putting him to picture. I am sure there are inaccuracies, but…tell me, how did I do?”

She is silent as she goes through the others—some quick sketches, some more detailed renderings, some smudged with color, and even a couple of full paintings. Her eyes grow wet as she looks through each page, pausing here and there to trace the lines with her fingers, or to relax her grip so she does not crinkle the paper overmuch.

“Near perfect,” she finally says, very quietly, as she looks at him. “Albedo, this is….remarkable. I feared…forgetting small things about him, with the time that had passed. Thank you.”

He is not sure what to say now that she is teary, so he coughs a little and pushes the sketches of herself towards her, as well.

“You are very welcome. I confess I may have given him some of your mannerisms, for lack of other reference. But when you fight, there is a space for him, and I can guess how he might compliment your movements as you must complement his. Of course, as I have never met him, I did take some liberties…”

He trails off when she looks at him again after studying her portraits, her gaze a little more intense.

“You…must have been studying me quite closely, to produce these,” she says, tone deceptively mild.

“Ah—my apologies, I suppose it was presumptuous of me,” he says, worried about losing her regard, “I—sketch people around Mondstadt so often, they have grown used to seeing me do so. But I should have asked your permission.”

“Oh—that is not what I mean,” she reassures him, tilting her head, “I just hadn’t realized you were paying quite so much attention to me. I would have sat for you, if you asked.”

His eyes crinkle at the suggestion; she bore his constant tests with great patience up in Dragonspine where others would not have so readily, and here she is still willing to do additional favors for his whims.

“I appreciate the offer, but it was not such a…staged manner that I was after. I enjoyed seeing you simply going about your activities.”

She hums, gentling putting down the stack of drawings before leaning back in her seat a little.

“And now?” she asks, and he blinks at her, confused at her meaning. “Is this moment also something you are looking to draw?”

He stares at her, taking in her profile in this moment, a curious feeling creeping over him as he observes her. The quiet intensity of her gaze, the faint smile curving her lips, the weight of some sort of expectation in the air…

“I…suppose I could, but as I mentioned, I was hoping for something other than a controlled environment,” he demurs hesitantly.

“Ah, so you believe this a controlled environment?”

He pauses again, taken aback, and as if to purposely disprove his implication, a strong gust of wind rushes through the open window. The papers on the table rustle loudly, startling the both of them, and the two instinctively surge from their seats, lunging across the table in half-panic and slamming their hands down to prevent the sketches from flying away.

“Oh no—have we creased them?”

“No, they are fine, I believe.”

They look up then, realizing how close they have come to each other.

A few heartbeats of silence pass.

“…Do me a favor, if you please,” Lumine says quietly, as they try and sweep the papers back together. There is a balance hanging between them that has not yet broken while they do so. “Keep these portraits of me. If you…come across my brother, please give them to him.”

“I will keep them safe,” Albedo says, narrowly missing grazing her fingers as he lays another sketch onto the pile, “It is no trouble.”

She smiles faintly.

“I should hope not,” she murmurs. “I shall…entrust myself to you.”

She means the drawings, he knows, and yet there is a slight unguarded lilt to her voice, and he does not miss the double meaning.

There is a question here, an offering, if he chooses to accept it.

At this distance, they can see each other’s eyelashes; one slight movement and they could be touching. The delicacy of the moment is suspended as they stare at each other—Albedo’s blue, blue eyes are wide and searching, Lumine’s pink lips slightly parted. The gauzy white curtains are billowed upwards by the wind again, fluttering over them like a veil, hiding them from direct view.

A soft murmur, a gentle brush of cheeks, a warm puff of breath.

…Do you trust me, Albedo?

…Yes.

Their silhouettes slowly drift closer.

#genshin impact #genshin impact fic #genshin lumine #genshin albedo #genshin traveler #kreideprinz #fanfiction #man these tags feel so repetitive #me both times i've written albelumi: why is the characterization like this #they do what they want huh

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dragonsateyourtoast · 4 years

Text

Special thanks to @owl-in-a-top-hat for their support of social justice! They requested something from the Calliope's Tale universe, and I am happy to oblige. Sorry this took so long - it got a little lengthy, haha! And then I had to rewrite the entire end of it because tumblr decided to delete my edits.

Her name was Miyei, and she was the queen of the sea.

No nation could capture her. No navy could break her fleet's formation. There was no ship upon the seas of the world that could - or would - best her.

This was in the old days, before the Midnight Sun and Calliope, before the Crown and their vile trade, before even Buroni Hakir and its law of fealty. This was when those that could conquer the waves were considered strong as the gods themselves, able to tame the water beneath and the wind about.

Her name was Miyei.

A fleet of five hundred ships, she had. A fleet that no coastal village could stand up against. No port could deny them. They could blockade a nation if they wanted, and vanish into the Topaz Islands the next day, invisible amongst the thousands of tiny stones jutting from the sea, the coral reefs that lurked beneath them. The Islands belonged to Miyei and her fleet, and everyone knew it. No one could navigate it like she did. No one had ever mapped its intricate formations.

Inside the islands, Miyei was safe. Until she wasn't.

Perhaps it was her hubris and disrespect that brought Kulari's wrath down upon them, or perhaps it was just chance that coaxed a hurricane from the southeastern waters and sent it roaring to the coast in a day and a half. Whatever the truth, even Miyei's seers did not sense its approach, not until it was too late. The hurricane burst over the Islands like an angry god, ripping the trees from their stones and ripping the fleet apart. She mobilized them as soon as it appeared on the horizon, but they weren't fast enough. Perhaps half the fleet escaped. The other half was too slow to run, or they thought the Islands would shelter them. That was not true - the Islands simply gave the storm something to batter them against.

Miyei's flagship, the Blue Bone, was one of the ones caught behind. When the hurricane came, it tore her ship to shreds beneath her and threw her into the ocean like a ragdoll.

This is it, Miyei realized, as she saw the stormlight fading above her, the water dragging her down. I will be no more.

To her surprise, she awoke some time later, laying atop a flat piece of wood in the water. When she scrubbed the salt from her stinging eyes, she realized she was afloat on half of a ship's deck, in the calm, cloudy blue water of the Islands. She didn't try to stand, just squinted around at the world.

There was something watching her at the edge of the deck.

Miyei scrambled back from a creature with eyes so dark brown they were almost black and skin almost as dark as its eyes, head resting on its crossed forearms. "Stay back!" she shrieked, grabbing for something, anything - a piece of metal tied to the deck, anything. She held it out in front of her like a sword, shaking hands pointing the sharp tip towards the creature.

She'd seen merids before. But never this close. "Stay away from me!" she shouted, and the merid, finally, slid backwards into the water and disappeared.

Miyei took stock of her surroundings. Ship deck, metal piece, and a few of the islands in sight. But she didn't have any way to paddle her raft to them, and she didn't know if she would be able to swim all the way to one of the nearer blots of rock. For several hours, she tried to construct something, all the while well aware of the blistering heat of the sun and the lack of water.

Towards midday she sat down. "I am going to die here," she murmured, and wondered if she ought to just let Zzoriel take her now for the reef.

A laugh came from beside her. She sat upright, eyes wide, and saw again the merid beside her. "Stay-" she started, but the merid interrupted her by pulling a parrotfish out of the water and tossing it onto the deck.

The merid - mermaid, from the looks of it - just watched as Miyei carefully stole forward and touched the fish. It was dead, freshly so. "I..." Merids couldn't speak; that was ridiculous. Still... "Is this... a gift?"

"Is it?" The mermaid said, and disappeared again.

Stunned, Miyei sat down hard on the salt-crusted wood. Xikaal grant me the breath in my body and salt in my tears, what? she thought. But... I've never heard a merid speak before! They, they can't...

No. Now was not the time for pondering. She didn't have a fire to cook it with, but a fish was a fish, and the one thing that hasn't been torn from her in the hurricane was her knife, a coral-handled iron blade that gleamed bright silver in the sun. She stripped as much flesh from the fish as she could and savored it.

By the evening, she still hadn’t found a way to get herself to the nearest island in the chain. She didn’t even know where in the chain she was, though she had a vague idea - she knew the shapes of individual rocks poking above the water. But... she couldn’t reach them.

At nightfall, she waited to see if the mermaid would come back. When she spotted a flash of brown under the water, she went still and silent, until the mermaid’s dark head poked up above the swell.

“Listen,” Miyei said, speaking quickly in case she darted off again. “I am a pirate queen. Anything you want, I can give to you, if you get me back to the islands.”

“A queen,” the mermaid scoffed. “Really? With what nation?”

She can speak! She can really speak! Where did she learn?! Never mind, that doesn’t matter. “I’m powerful enough to build my fleet back up if I can get to an island with enough wood and sticks to build a raft back to one of my strongholds.”

The mermaid watched, leaning on the edge of the raft. It tipped perilously; Miyei swayed to keep her balance. “Sure,” the mermaid drawled. “Whatever.”

And she was gone. Miyei sat down again, frustrated, but she didn’t come back that night.

The pattern repeated the next day. The mermaid gave her a fish; Miyei tried in vain to make some kind of sail, or paddle or something that could get her moving. But one of the things that made the Topaz Islands hers was her wind-magic sailors, the ones that could power the ships through this unnaturally calm area, usually so untouched by Kulari’s breath. There was no breeze to sail by.

That night, the mermaid came back. “You must take me to an island,” Miyei ordered her, rage bubbling in her chest. “You must!”

“Or what?” the mermaid asked. “You’ll kill me? Out here, it’s you who’s in danger. I’m doing fine.”

Miyei seethed, but she was right. “You will take me to one of my strongholds, or I will kill you,” she snapped.

The mermaid stared at her, then shrugged and slid under the water. Miyei this time charged forwards to the edge of the raft, that sharp piece of metal in her hand, and stabbed it down into the water. Nothing. Of course not.

Then the mermaid’s hand closed around the metal and tugged hard, and Miyei overbalanced and was dragged into the sea. The water was cool to the touch, and she automatically shut her mouth and held her breath, trying to right herself - but strong hands grabbed onto her and held her in place, one over her mouth, one around her torso and arms, locking them down. The mermaid was behind her. Miyei knew instantly that she could not escape, but she struggled anyway.

“You’re foolish,” the mermaid told her, voice clear in the water, somehow. She just held Miyei, below the surface. Miyei knew she could hold her breath for four minutes, but she hadn’t been prepared, and she knew the merid could out last her. “Do you want to stay down here with me? Is that it?”

No! Miyei struggled, shaking her head.

“Then get out of my ocean.” The mermaid released her. Miyei flailed, then kicked upwards until she broke the surface, gasping for breath, and pulled herself back up onto the wooden raft.

The next day, at midmorning, she sat down on the planks and called out, “What are you doing?”

No answer. Miyei narrowed her eyes. “I know you can hear me,” she shouted, voice ringing over the waves. “What’s your plot, here? Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?”

The mermaid surfaced next to the ship and leaned on it again. “I want you to stop ruining my islands,” she said, conversationally. “You have cannons and swords. My people do not, except of ocean glass and stone and coral. We can’t beat you in a fight. So we’re forced to negotiate with you, except you people won’t listen unless we make you listen. It’s an opportunity.” She shrugged.

Miyei glared at her. “Well, fine, you have my attention,” she snapped.

“Good. Promise to leave the islands alone forever, and I’ll take you to a stronghold. Then you can clear your people out and leave.”

That... was absurd. But Miyei knew she wouldn’t be getting out unless she did this. Besides, she could just lie. “Deal,” she said.

“That was surprisingly easy,” the mermaid said, watching her face. “Too easy. You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not!”

“And there, too.” The mermaid shook her head. “That’s not a deal if you mean to break it. You just want to get back up on a ship where you’re safe away from me, and then you’ll continue parading around. Well, I’ll tell you this: we asked Kulari for help once, and we can do it again. If she gets tired of helping us, she’ll bother Athu about it. Then what? Then what happens to you, pirate queen?”

Miyei glowered at her. “I can’t leave the Islands,” she said. “They’re where my fleet needs to hide. It’s where we live.”

“I can tell you right now, we were here first,” the mermaid said, shaking her head. “We were here first, and we don’t care for you moving in and saying it’s yours.”

“I can’t just make them leave!”

“Yes, you can. You made them come here. You can make them leave here.”

“It’s not that simple!” Why am I even entertaining this thought? This creature wants me to destroy my entire empire! “You can’t just make people leave.”

“Well, I hope you figure out a way to do that,” the mermaid said. “When you do, I’ll be ready to tow you back to a stronghold, so you can enact your plan. Good luck.” And she disappeared again.

Miyei stamped her foot on the deck and swore several times, loudly. Curse this stupid merid! Curse that stupid storm! None of this was - none of this should have happened! Wretched, horrible merids, lurking underneath the waves and causing problems and now trying to take her Islands from her! No - she couldn’t. She couldn’t leave. She’d just have to - she’d just have to lie better.

She waited several hours, then called out again. “Fine,” she snarled. “I hate it. And I hate you. But I like living better. Do you hear me? I’ll adhere to your horrible conditions if you’ll only let me go!”

A disturbance in the water. Miyei strode over to the edge of the raft and stared down into the water. “Do you hear me?” she again shouted.

A hand shot out and clasped around her ankle, and with a shriek, Miyei was again dragged down into the water. She clawed at the boards, but all she did was get a splinter in one hand before she was dragged into the water.

The mermaid stared at her, holding her by the shoulder. “You just cannot bring yourself to be a good person,” she said, sounding irritated. “So I’ll have to force you to be one. I was really hoping maybe you’d just have the decency to listen and realize there are real people you’ve invaded here, but I should have known from your past habits that you’re not capable of such a thing, so I’ll have to play tour guide and hope my land can speak for itself. You disgust me.” With that, she shook her hair out of her face and sang out a few sharp, clear notes that made Miyei’s vision blur and go black. She felt her body involuntarily breathe in and shrieked - this creature was trying to drown her! - but the water just felt like thick, humid air, rushing into her lungs, and out again, taking her air bubbles with it. It stung, and hurt in her throat and nose, but after a few moments, she was forced to accept that it wasn’t killing her.

The mermaid was watching her when she opened her eyes. “If you climb out of the water, you’ll drown,” the merid said casually. “So I really wouldn’t recommend trying to get away.”

If it had been humans she’d been negotiating with, Miyei would’ve tried to escape. But this was a merid. And she’d done something to Miyei, something magical, and there was no way Miyei could count on her magic not killing her if she tried to break free. So she glowered at her and said nothing.

“Good! Great. Now, come on.” The mermaid grabbed hold of Miyei’s wrist and immediately towed her away from the raft.

There was so much more beneath the Islands than she’d realized. Miyei could swim, of course, and was familiar with reefs, but she’d never been one to go exploring around in them like some folks did. The seabed here went deeper than she expected in caves and crevasses, and the coral covered secret clearings of white sand and green seagrass. Her vision was unexpectedly clear down here, peering through the water, and the sunlight that reached down showed an extraordinary number of fish and corals hiding on and in the rocks.

But more impressive than that were the merids. Miyei had rarely ever seen a merid in the Topaz Islands - she’d assumed they were too shallow for them. But here, she saw them everywhere. Watching from behind rocky outcroppings, cloaked in the green sea-grass sprouting from the sand beds, tucked underneath a spur of coral just peering out at her. They all stared at her, and each had an expression of mixed curiosity and... hatred?

Why do they look at me like that?

“They hate you because they were here first, and you and your fleet moved in and started destroying everything,” the mermaid told her, conversationally. “You drop your anchors on our coral. You catch all the fish and leave none for us. You destroy things we create without even noticing, and you do not listen to us. These are where we raise our children. And you just sail on in and wreck the place. Can you see why we have a problem?”

Miyei tried to speak. To her surprise, she could, though it was hard, forcing water sluggishly through her throat. Her lungs weren’t used to this kind of effort. “Why... didn’t you mention this... before?”

“You don’t think we tried?” the mermaid snapped. “We tried! But nobody listens to sea monsters. I had to learn your horrible language in order to even get you to listen.”

“You could’ve... talked to us before.”

“No, I couldn’t have. You would’ve captured me in a net and put me in a tank for entertainment. Absolutely not.”

That... may have been true. Miyei winced. You don’t use people for entertainment. But I didn’t know they were people, she thought, and grimaced, and said nothing.

“You look uncomfortable,” the mermaid said, with a kind of grim satisfaction. “Good! You should be.”

She continued to drag Miyei after her, downwards, towards a large hollow in the rocks. It led to a soft sandy area, where several mer-matrons carefully watched a few chubby, awkward-looking blobs go floating about. Baby mermaids, Miyei realized, staring at them. They were... very strange looking. Weirdly similar to human children, except for the gills and the heavy, fleshy tail.

“Oh, yes, we have children,” the mermaid commented. “I know, astonishing. It’s almost like we’re people who come from somewhere.”

“I get it,” Miyei grumbled. “I get it.”

“No, you don’t.” The mermaid turned, staring at her. “You don’t get it. We live here. You tried to steal our home from us, and you’ve been succeeding this whole time. You need to leave here.“

“But where... do we go?” Miyei asked.

“That,” the mermaid sniffed, “is not my problem. There are other islands to live on that don’t have our ancestral birthing grounds underneath them. Go use those.”

The mer-matrons had gathered together in a little group, warily watching Miyei and the mermaid. The mermaid sighed and called out something in a searing, hissing language that made Miyei’s ears hurt; the mer-matrons responded, their voices deeper and stronger, and stayed where they were.

“What’s your name?” Miyei asked.

“Ah, finally!” The mermaid turned back to her. “Finally you ask! I was really wondering how long it would take you to realize I probably have a name.”

“I get it, alright?” Miyei snapped. “There’s no reason to keep on me like this. I get it!”

The mermaid glared at her. “You couldn’t pronounce my name if you tried,” she snapped. “It’s Skreshkaiurhsra. You can call me... let’s go with Resh.”

Miyei took a deep breath (of... water. It still unnerved her) and let it out. He crew on the Blue Bone answered to her because she was just and fair to them, and because she punished anyone who broke her rules. If - if - she got out of this mess, she knew, she’d have to adhere to the merids’ demands, or face the same punishment.

And... she didn’t realize there were kids down here. Children.

“Resh,” she said. “Right. I’m Miyei. So to get home, what do you need me to do?”

Resh wouldn’t let her go that easily. She casually assured Miyei that the magic wouldn’t wear off any time soon and told her to help out. The storm had ripped some of the reef apart - the merids were trying to repair it as best as they could.

It wasn’t natural, Miyei was told. The reef was cultivated, kept at its most beautiful and healthy, by the merids who lived here. Some were here all year round to maintain it, and others came and went, coming here to give birth to their children, leaving later once they were grown. “Like turtles,” she said, “but, you know, awake in the thoughts.”

Awake in the thoughts. The thing that Miyei had thought merids weren’t.

It was easier to lift stones and coral underwater, but Miyei wasn’t as quick swimming as the merids were. A single flick of their tails, and they were gone; she had to drag herself through the water. She didn’t belong here, and it was obvious. For days, she struggled to keep up with the merids, doing what they asked of her - she had no choice! And by the end of a week, the younger mermaids (not the babies, but the children) were brave enough to whirl around her, taunting her in their weird language.

“Go away,” she snarled at them, a time or two, feeling her face flush. She didn’t like being made fun of.

“Aww, they’re having fun,” Resh said, appearing behind her. “They aren’t faster than the adults. Let them mock you.”

“Why?!”

“Because they’re children, and they’re having fun,” Resh replied. “Honestly. Were you ever a child, or were you born grumpy?”

Miyei was worried about her fleet. The Blue Bone had been destroyed, she knew, and half her fleet with it. Where were they now? Had they chosen a new captain, a new queen? Would they try to find her? Or would they assume she was gone? Where was her life now, all remnants of it sunk beneath the waves? And myself with it, she thought, looking up to the glittering surface far above. I’m down here, too.

No one came looking for her. It was as if the world above the surface ceased to exist. Everything was the ocean: the coral, the merids, the water that she breathed. Everything. The ocean became the only thing that mattered. Two weeks. Three. A month. Two months.

The merids stopped being so afraid and wary of her, after a time. She’d long since lost that piece of metal, and she didn’t use her knife as a weapon - it was a tool, nothing more. They even seemed to be okay with her presence around. Resh almost seemed to like her.

And then the storm.

It was sudden. The first news they got of it was a crack of thunder over the ocean miles away that they could hear, even from the caverns. All the merids started, and looked up; Miyei, who’d picked up a little bit of their language, could understand what they were saying. A storm? Approaching? They hadn’t thought there would be one. Merids could feel when storms came. But they hadn’t felt this one.

She swam out of the cavern and found Resh as quickly as possible. “There’s a storm coming,” she told the mermaid, as if she didn’t know.

“Yes, I’m aware,” Resh said, but her face was more worried than irritated. “That shouldn’t happen. And we didn’t call that.”

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know. Maybe some of your old friends, who knows.”

The storm came. Miyei had never seen a storm from below before. She thought that perhaps the wind would be dulled underwater, that it would simply be a lovely light-show. She couldn’t have been more wrong. The water became her enemy, roaring, twisting, tearing sand and plants up from the seabed. Fish hid inside the rocks and corals, but even those weren’t safe. The water ripped at the reef like a sea serpent.

Resh hauled boulders in front of a cavern where several merid families had fled for refuge. "Bring more!" she bellowed when she saw Miyei. "Seal it up, keep them safe!"

"I will," Miyei called back, and then the storm ripped away any further words she could have said. She had a split second to think before a wave came roaring in. A whirl of water caught a rock and sent it hurtling away towards the mermaid.

The last thing Miyei remembered was trying to warn her. "Resh!" She remembered shouting, and then there was water, and sound, and -

Miyei woke on the shore. Wet sand on her cheeks. Air blowing above her. When she raised herself up, she was seized by a fit of coughing and choking; water in her lungs trying to escape, to be replaced with air. Air. I’m alive. I’m on land.

There were voices in the distance. Miyei dragged herself to her knees - she was so heavy, so clumsy here! - and spat up water. It didn’t sting like she thought it would.

Voices drew closer, and Miyei sat back on her heels and turned her face to the sun. She breathed in, deep - deeper than she should have. The air felt like nothing. She breathed too much, and it sent her coughing again.

By the time she recovered, she was surrounded by people. “Queen!” someone shouted. “Queen, Kulari’s breath, you’re alive!“

Those must be from her fleet. Her crew. The ones that made it out before the storm. She tried to breathe lightly - had it always been this easy? No, she was simply used to the water, which resisted her, which supported her, not this place of air and dead sound where she had to drag herself along through nothing - and looked at them.

“Queen,” one of them started, and then the words died in their mouth. They stared at her, eyes wide, faces pale. Miyei paused. Something was wrong. She raised a hand to her face.

She hadn’t noticed it before, not with how heavy she felt freed from the tides, but there was a strange weight to her head. She ran her hand along her face, her cheeks. There was a strange, smooth ridge of hard bone rising from her cheeks, sweeping up above her ears. There, again, alongside her eyebrows - and from her forehead as well.

Miyei staggered to her feet and turned towards the nearest sailor. In one swift movement she lunged forward and grabbed for the hilt of his blade, unsheathing it fully. He yelped and leaped back, but she only raised the sword and stared into the mirror-bright blade.

Coral. It was coral. It split from beneath her skin and surrounded her face like a portrait frame, or a halo, hanging about her head. It was oddly smooth for coral, and solid, but there was no mistaking that intricate patterning or that dull olive green color.

Miyei stared for a moment longer, then dropped her hand and threw the blade into the wet sand. It stuck point-first and hilt-up, quivering where it landed. “Gather everyone,” she rasped, her voice rough with salt and sand. “Every ship. We empty the strongholds. No one remains in the Islands after three days’ time.”

“What?” said one pirate, staring. “Queen, we can’t -”

“We can,” she interrupted him, a low growl. “Every person here leaves. Do you understand me?”

“Queen,” someone started, and she whirled to face them, her black hair flying around her. Sand sprayed onto the ground. The sailor went quiet.

“Good,” she said. “Let’s go. I need a new ship.”

Miyei looked to the water. It glittered so bright it nearly blinded her, but she swore for a moment she caught sight of a dark-haired head vanishing between one swell-peak and the next.

The Topaz Islands are a sacred place. They are holy by all of the goddesses of the sea, protected by a living fleet that has held its vow for thousands of years. No nation can capture them. No fleet can break through their waters. There is no ship upon the sea that may enter them and live to tell the tale.

The fleet that guards them is eternal, and its captain, they say, has been alive since its founding. They say that instead of blood she has saltwater and kelp-fiber. They say that she speaks the merids’ tongue. They say that if you intrude into the place she has given her soul to protect, that even Kulari’s blessing could not protect you from her retribution.

Her name is Miyei, and she is the queen of nothing, for the sea itself needs no crown.

#Calliope's Tale #ctverse #writing #writeblr #UGH sorry for the mishap #had to EDIT ALL THE DRAFTED WORDS BACK IN #because TUMBLR DELETED THEM

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iam93percentstardust · 3 years

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2020 Fic Recs Part 1

Hello everyone! If you saw @ad1thi‘s recent fic rec post going around, you know she got the idea from me. I had the idea a few months ago of doing a roundup of my favorite fics from 2020 at the end of the year because, let’s be honest with ourselves, I read a lot over the last twelve months, partially because this year, I really started settling into my own in fandom but mostly because this year was an absolute shitshow and I needed a distraction from everything going on outside my tiny apartment. I know it’s been a hard year for everyone and while there’s hope that next year might be a little better, there’s no guarantee so here are some of the fics that helped me get through this year. I hope you all like them as well.

Fics are organized by month and range over a variety of fandoms and ships. Since some of these are multi-chapters, I’ve organized them according to what date the last chapter posted. This got a little long so I’ve broken this up into 4 parts to be reblogged over the next two weeks.

January

Hope for the Holidays by @aurumacadicus (Winteriron)

Tony never expected to share Christmas with the man who killed his parents, but he's here now, so they should make the best of it.

Woodash and iron and leather by LokelaniRose (Geraskier)

Jaskier is the only person Geralt's ever been around who doesn't smell of fear

Happiness: A Song in Three Parts by @newtypeshadow (Stuckony)

Tony's just a kid when he first hears the music. He's human, no one knows werewolves exist yet, and there's no sexy beefcake couple Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes coming out as werewolves and giving interviews to the press to explain the melody Tony heard sporadically during childhood is what werewolves—and the human mates of werewolves—hear when their soulmate is within a few miles of them.

By the time he finds out what the music means, he hasn't heard a note in years.

And when he finally hears it again, he's busy running for his life.

Heart in Hand by janonny (Stevetony)

Steve had been thinking — that was all he was doing, thinking, not moping, as Bucky described it — about the best way to make his feelings clear to Tony. He wanted it to be perfect. He needed it to be the best demonstration of sincere interest that Tony had ever received.

Bucky called it procrastinating, but Steve called it strategizing.

And this Courting Ceremony? It was perfect.

Now he just needed to figure out what to get Tony as a Courting gift. And what to wear. And what to say. And what to do.

Or the story where Tony, an Omega, holds a much belated Courting Ceremony. Steve joins up and loses his mind a little.

something i can treasure by theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes (Geraskier)

Jaskier would not call himself a thief. But, well- he is elbow-deep in someone’s saddlebags, pulling up handfuls of pretty little bottles. They’re all filled up with jewel-bright potions, corked delicately, and they almost seem to hum in his hands.

Then, suddenly-

There’s the sharp point of a sword at his neck.

Lock & Key by sablier_bloque (Geraskier)

“Geralt, it’s not what it looks like.”

“Really?” he asked. He clenched his jaw before offering a sharp, mirthless smile. “Because it looks like you got caught fucking the mayor’s wife, and now I’m not getting paid!”

“Well,” he laughed nervously, looking anywhere but up. “When you put it that way.”

In which Jaskier suggests a chastity device to prove himself a worthy travel companion, and of course, gives Geralt the key.

February

A hard curl of satisfaction by LokelaniRose (Geraskier & Yenalt in V-shaped polyamory)

Geralt was taught that a witcher is only good for one thing

Half Agony, Half Hope by @no-gorms (Stevetony)

Following the Battle of New York, the Avengers Initiative kicks into high gear under the leadership of Steve Rogers, i.e. Captain America. Tony didn’t mean to become part of this initiative, but it makes sense to sign on due to his experience with SHIELD and Rhodey’s War Machine suits.

The upside: Tony’s tech can be used in a widespread and meaningful way to help protect people. The downside: the last time Tony saw Steve, he’d rejected Steve’s proposal of marriage and broke his heart, leading to almost ten years of the two having no contact whatsoever. Until now.

when the bones are good by SummerFrost (Geraskier)

Julian is six when he realizes that he's got an astounding capacity for being an annoying bastard. He's seventeen when he finally decides to lean in.

Where There’s a Witcher by ghostinthelibrary (Geraskier)

Jaskier is a twentysomething recently unemployed journalist and amateur musician looking for his big break. So when he’s saved from the jaws of a wyvern by the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia, he comes up with a brilliant idea: he’ll follow the Witcher around and sing about their exploits. He’ll gain fame and fortune and Geralt will get a much needed image rehab. Everyone wins.

Unless Jaskier goes and falls in love like an idiot.

my body bruises at your touch by brawlite (Geraskier)

To lure a monster out, Geralt ties Jaskier up, making him look like easy prey. Surprisingly, Jaskier finds himself enjoying his time as bait a bit more than expected.

Do it Again by thisgirlsays22 (Geraskier)

By the twentieth time Geralt has gone through the loop, he decides to just throw himself off the cliff’s edge after Borch.

He wakes up to his twenty-first attempt.

“Fuck.”

The Song of the White Wolf by sospes (Geraskier)

“It’s a wolf, not a dog,” Geralt says flatly.

“It’s hurt.”

“It’s a wolf.”

“I’m helping it,” Ciri says, ignoring him, and turns back to the wolf.

But when is a wolf not a wolf? When it's everyone's favourite humble bard, of course!

March

Even Steel Blades Need Fire by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Geraskier)

Jaskier's given a lot to Geralt over the years, but there's one tiny, insignificant, minor molehill of a thing he's kept back from him.

Namely that Jaskier isn't human.

Mission Accomplished by @riotwritesthings (Winteriron)

Tony has had a terrible, rotten, no good day. Fortunately, he knows exactly what he needs to feel better.

With a Conquering Air by inexplicifics (Geraskier)

From the kinkmeme: AU Warlord!Geralt receives Tribute!Jaskier as a sacrifice to appease him in every way possible. Jaskier has no choice on the matter and he’s fully aware of the awful rumours that have spread about Geralt and his ruthless conquests. (But we all know those aren’t legit.) A classic angst with a happy ending please! A dash of smut to heal those scars and a sprinkle of new found love!

Jaskier arrives at Kaer Morhen knowing his family gave him up without a second thought, and absolutely sure that the dreaded Warlord of the North will value him even less than his own blood did. But the White Wolf and his pack are not what Jaskier expected...and if he's unreasonably lucky, Kaer Morhen might become far more of a home than Lettenhove ever was.

play out a spell in your sequence of chords (to inspire and sharpen our rusted swords) by AceSailorKoshkaRayn

Geralt cocked his head to the side curiously to regard the chittering fox caught in the hunter's trap. The beast had deep chestnut fur and eerily bright blue eyes. He knelt, and the creature hissed at him, baring his teeth in fear.

"I mean you no harm," he rumbled, hands palm-up. His swords were at his campsite, regardless. He reached forward slowly, and the fox didn't move, though it's teeth remained bared. It was a simple matter to pry open the trap, and the fox leapt away, chattering its teeth at him. Their eyes met for a long moment, amber to fantastical blue, and the fox dashed off.

Sighing faintly, hands resting on his knees, Geralt bowed his head tiredly. He rolled his neck to crack it, and rose to his feet to shuffle his way back to his camp.

Set out neatly next to his bedroll were three cleanly gutted rabbits, and Geralt paused in surprise. Roach whinnied softly, and stamped a hoof. A crown of golden wheat rested primly between her ears.

Ah. Fae, then. Services paid for services rendered. Hopefully the fae would consider them even, now, but something in him doubted it.

#fic recs #2020 wrap up

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