#twilite answers

[tw1l1te]

Reader who's a fairy like maleficent who has massive wings and horns. Maybe they have some magical abilities too? Wind totally expects to go for a fly. Sky is reminded of home in a sense because loft wings? Four pretending he totally doesn't LOVE being cocooned in their wings for cuddles. Just a random fluttering thought of mine and I'd love to see a quick write up of the chains different reactions!

I think all of them would be curious about you, in one form or another.

Hyrule, which I headcanon as a fae, would be almost instantly connected with you because of your fae roots. He fawns over your wings at least twice a day, but you don't mind at all! Definitely gives you sugar water as a treat <3

Wars is a bitttt nervous, not because he thinks you'll hurt him, but more so about the horns and reminding him of Volga. He thought you were a Great Fairy for a hot minute, so he took a bit to come around, but definitely huddles under your wings when its down pouring.

Time is also quite fascinated, its as if the tiny fairies from his era were much larger and humanoid. He definitely fell asleep against you once and used your wings as a giant blanket.

Twilight is one of the most enamored with you. Being part animal, he feels less alone in his differences from the rest of his brothers and the world. Loves looking up at the night sky while you fly up there, showing off for him just a little ;)

Four is in shock. You're so tall compared to him!! Your wings alone are almost twice the size of him. Absolutely loves sitting on your back while you fly around, he could stay up there for hours but he doesn't want to tire you out too much. Likes tying lil' scraps of fabric or ribbons onto your horns for "decoration".

Sky is also very enamored with you, I mean, he's from the sky. Also loves when you pick him up to fly around for a bit when he's feeling homesick. He always feels better after an hour or so of just flying around Hyrule. If you have feathered wings that "shed" occasionally, he'll make you jewelry to wear with your feathers and one for himself at for a later time if you understand where I'm going with this

Legend initially is freaked out. You intimidate him because of your huge wing span and horns, but suprised by how opposite your personaility is to your initimidating appearance. He thinks flying is cool and all, but he refuses to let his feet off of the ground. Loves petting your wings though, they're so soft.

Wild tries to ride you first time you all meet, consequently causing Twilight to keep him in place so he doesn't piss you off. He's ecstatic once you're comfortable enough with all of them to let him ride on you. He will know how to cook all of your favorite foods, saying "you need energy to fly me around after dinner".

Wind? He thinks you're the coolest being to ever exist. Point blank. You're his favorite, even though you're not one of his brothers. Will almost always fall asleep while being under your wing, especially by the fire and your wing warming him up. Also likes putting twigs and branches in your hair, claiming to be making you a crown, but it just seems like a pile of sticks he's trying

[tw1l1te]

Me continuously reediting the plot of Chapter 12 because Im hating how im writing it rn haha

[skyward-floored]

H5 Dampe?

I’m done doing the expression game for now, sorry!

[corvicides]

[proxycrit]

What if I redesigned some horses to fit MY favorite narrative trope: fallen gods and forgotten myths of old? Anyways.

Twilight’s mentor is a strange one. In a world of twilit planes forever shrouded in mystery, the older unicorn Lest and her adopted student Twilight are one in many common travelers, migrating the pitted wastelands and eeking survival within settlements that spring up around the glowing meteor shards. Despite living with Lest for the last four years, Twilight can’t help but seek answers to where her brother has gone— and in the process, perhaps dig a bit too deeply into the complexities of gods far older and dangerous then she can truly fathom.

On the otherhand, Celestia “Lest” Sol is having a terrible millenium. Her sister is no longer her sister, her student teleported herself halfway across the continent, and she got herself kidnapped by an old rival trying to attune with the elements of harmony to overthrow the current ruler of Equestria.

At least she gets a toxic yuri moment.

Meanwhile, Chrysalis is having a great time. She’s got kingdoms to conquer and people to feed and a waning god to taunt.

(The Selene Grace hates the sun monarch they deposed five centuries ago as they stay chained to their post, keeping the lunar and solar bodies from crashing into each other. Luna misses her sister, and the easier world where they haven’t hurt each other beyond reparation. Nightmare Moon misses their monstrosity, trapped in a host who’s grief has poisoned them with empathy.

Things are bound to tip. The celestial bodies are not bodies, but prisons, and the amalgamations we call alicorns the key. And something desperately wants to be freed…)

Anyways:

My mane 6 redesign here!

And my luna and celestia redesigns here!

[mediumgayitalian]

prev chapter

———

A shrieking ring pierces the air, and Nico damn near ascends, he jumps so goddamn high.

"What the fuck," Will hisses, panting. 

The ring sounds again, louder, this time, and through his disheveled, half-conscious flinching, Nico recognizes it as the vibrating plastic phone right next to his eardrums.

"What kind of fucking hotel," Will mutters, rolling back over and pulling a pillow over his head. "Leave it!"

Nico stares. Something twinges in the dead center of his chest. Slowly, all on its own, his hand reaches out and wraps around the handle, pulling the receiver to his ear. He doesn't bother with hello.

Will's pillow lowers.

“You know,” drawls the voice on the phone, “runaways pack their things.” A pause, a yawn. “Fugitives do not.”

Nico swallows and says nothing. The pause stretches, until it becomes a silence, until it becomes a line, drawn from him to the Keys, woven threads pulling just before they snap.

“Imagine my surprise when I ring the cellular phone your mother so graciously bought you —”

The words shove their way out of his roughened throat on reflex.

“My mother is dead.”

Will, kneeling on the rumpled sheets, startles, eyes wide — his Italian may be bad, but he has read enough medical textbooks and paid enough attention in Spanish to recognize Mamma and morta.

Hades continues unbothered.

“— and the buzzing leads me right to your bedroom. Which is a mess, I should remind you. I expect it clean by Friday or I’ll hire someone to clean it and do not care what they keep.”

Friday. Nico doesn’t even know what day it is, frankly. Wednesday? Maybe? They left on a Monday, he thinks. He sees Will mouth out ven-er-di, nose scrunched up as he tries to place the world. The ghost of a smile flashes on Nico’s face, despite his straight back, despite his clammy hands; Will could live in Venice for twenty years and still not get it. Italian eludes him. It’s the Texan, Nico is pretty sure. His mouth cannot for the life of him retain the sounds.

There’s a flinty sound from the other end of the phone, a crinkle, and then a long, smooth breath. Nico’s nose twitches and he coughs slightly, glancing down at the holes in the receiver’s plastic, half-expecting smoke to pour through.

“I’ll be too busy Saturday morning, but meet me in my study after noon when you return. I need to give you the papers for your new card, some stronzello stole yours and is buying things up in Georgia.”

Nico goes very, very, still. His breath goes stale and hard in his lungs, and his blood turns to concrete.

“Father,” he says, very carefully.

“I cancelled your old one but you really must be more careful, Nicolò. I was not so brazen and thoughtless at your age; I am successful now. Consider.”

The line clicks, and the stretched out whine of its deadness echoes in the twilit hotel room. Nico hears it run in parallel to the rushing of his ears, to the uptick in Will's breathing.

"Nico?" he whispers, quiet, urgent. "Nico, what's going on?"

Quickly Nico glances at the dusty alarm clock, balanced dangerously on the bedside table between them. 5:12 blinks, blinks, blinks; 5:13. He glances out at the window. 

Four hours. Sweat dries along his temples, next to the bruises under his eyes. 

"Will," he says, or hears himself say. He feels the shape of the word, for maybe the first time, really feels the weight of the w and the drag of the vowel. He breathes, quick and shallow. 

When he looks over, he finds Will already staring, blue eyes light with the brightening sky and wider than the heavens.

"We gotta go," he murmurs. He breathes in again, inhale, inhale, shaking himself at the final click of the echoing phone, the deafening silence. He pushes off from the stiff hotel mattress and stumbles to his discarded sneakers, half-hearing Will's whispered, jumbled questions. 

"My father," Nico answers, finally, mouth dry. "He -- my credit card. Our funds."

Will gets it, he thinks, before he finishes, before he says it. He inhales sharply, quick and silent, and stands without a word, sliding his flip-flops on and grabbing the keys. 

"Hey," he says. Nico jumps at the sudden heat of his wide hand, curled around his clammy one. He glances up and freezes at the warmth of his smile, the gentle scrunch of his nose. Will squeezes their hands. "Let's move fast. There's -- it's a chain hotel, there'll be a fire exit we can duck outta somewhere. We'll take the stairs."

He stares at the door, waiting and breathing, willing the air to come all the way in and go all the way out, feeling the jerk of their hands every time Will grabs something, loading bags and maps and a sleeve of Ritz crackers on his long arms. One more jerk and this time Will is pulling, dragging him gently through the barely-open door and inching it closed behind them.

"C'mon."

Will has never been coordinated. Not in the myriad of sports tryouts he dragged them both to every season, not dashing across the giant dead 2 a.m. roads across the ice cream parlor, cackling, not dragging himself upright, face burning, across the commencement stage to hollers and jeering, not damn near falling two stories down a flower lattice. But he is quick down the carpeted, liminal hallways, lightfooted across doorways and hand gentle small of Nico's back, nudging him through heavy emergency doors. 

He trips down the stairs though, once. Over his damned flip-flop.

"Shut the fuck up," Will hisses, face flaming hot enough Nico could count each freckle clear as stars in the night sky. "Shut up, do you want to get us caught --"

He doesn't, but he can't stop, crouched over cracking concrete and gasping into his hands until tears drip down his face, until the pass of air through his mouth is completely soundless.

"Nico, dude, the breakdown has to wait to the car, okay, you gotta pull it together. Choke it back. Get up. Oh my God."

"Every time," he wheezes.

"I am going to leave you behind --"

But he doesn't, because he wouldn't, and eventually Nico gets ahold of himself or at least mostly and manages to limit himself to a giggle and half the next time Will trips. It's over the doorway, anyway, so Will can roll his eyes and shove Nico through, herding him into the night and running until he's giggling, too, until the barely-rising sun and frigid morning air gets to them both and they're bent over in the stupid fucking empty parking lot, and it's not funny, it's not, and if they're caught they're so fucked, because Nico didn't check the card reader all that closely but he knows that hotel chains starting with H, despite the dankness of this specific location, are not particularly cheap, and neither of them are technically independently wealthy nor incredibly adept at weaseling their way out of trouble. 

"Okay, fuck, oh my God, just -- get in." Will stands first, still holding his stomach, tossing their shit into the (still open, oops) back and swiping a hand down his face to force away the smile. "Okay, Jesus, fuck." He untwists their fingers and reaches for the passenger door, holding it open, and it takes Nico a half-second too long to realise he is waiting. 

"My car my drive," he blurts, stumbling backwards. 

"Wha --" Will starts but Nico darts forward and snatches the keys and crawls straight over the gearshift, settling against the seat, missing the ignition three times before sliding it in.

Will straightens to his full height. He cross his arms across his chest, and when Nico makes himself look over he is scowling. 

"No."

"My car," Nico repeats. "I'm driving."

"In a few hours, sure."

"Will," he says, exasperated. A light catches their attention -- a window labelled 'OFFICE' brightens, a shadow passing along it. "Fuck. Get in the car."

Will hesitates. Then sliding front doors open and a uniformed figure steps out, and Will jumps forward, slamming the door shut; "Oh, fuck, go go go --" and Nico stands on the gas, yanking the gear shift as hard as it will be yanked and tearing out of the parking lot, engine revving above shouts for them to stop.

Nico holds his breath along the roaring highway, waiting for Will to fall asleep.

He doesn't.

The needle slowly dips past quarter tank, then damn near drops to zero the second it passes an eighth tank, because the fuel gauge is a piece of shit no matter how many times Nico has replaced it in the last two years. He waits for the prim direction next to him, telling him which exit to take, but nothing comes. He hits the turn signal and coasts down the first one he sees, watching Will out of the corner of his eye. He looks resolutely ahead, straight through the windshield, eyes sharp and mouth pulled into a thin line. 

He pulls his credit card out on reflex, climbing out of his car. He doesn't realise until he's already at the counter with the card reader in his hands, cashier tapping her long nails on the edge of the register with increasing irritation. 

"Oh, fuck," he mumbles, "I can't --"

The bell rings at the door. Nico and the cashier both turn around to face it, and Will walks up to the register, handing over a few bills. 

"60 on register seven," he says lightly. "And, uh --" he reaches over, grabbing two spotty bananas and a couple of hot rods. "These too, please."

The cashier rings him up quickly, yawning, nodding out the window when the payment goes through. Will leaves without another word, walking over to the Jeep and climbing into the passanger seat, arms cross, eyes trained to the side.

"Yeesh," comments the girl. "You're in trouble."

Nico scowls. "Am fucking not."

He stomps out the store, knowing he is.

He takes his time pumping the gas, which he has done maybe never, really shaking the pump and ensuring every drop of the expensive bullshit drizzles into his stupid tank, pressing the cancel button a couple times when he's done, even though he's already paid. He really twists the gas lid back on. It would suck if it popped open on the highway or something. 

"If you don't get your ass in this car in the next five seconds, I'm gonna whoop your ass."

Nico exhales heavily, swinging into the driver's seat and turning the key. It is not in the ignition. Consequently, Will is facing him, keyring tight on his finger, pinky tapping on his bicep. He feels, a little bit, like he is in the principal's office. His stomach flips, something hot churning in his guts. He shifts in his seat. 

"You couldn't beat me up if you tried," he retorts.

Will does not dignify that with an answer, because it is true. His fingernail reflects the sun a little bit, tap, tap, tap.

"Nico," he says, or warns. 

Nico scowls. "Don't talk to me like you're my mom."

"I'm not -- trying to!" He throws his hands up and damn near tosses the keys with it, finally, finally cracking, face heating, shoulders snapping. "I'm just -- I'm frustrated, Neeks! And I'm nervous! We just -- we committed fraud, technically, okay, and I've never done that before, and also I don't think I'd do very well in jail. I'm kind of picky and I think I would die in a shiv fight. I would just -- God, I'd get stabbed, wouldn't I. First day in. Rest in fucking peace."

"That's what you're stressing about," Nico says, fighting back his smirk and failing. "You're -- stressing about shivs."

"I don't know how to make a shiv, di Angelo! I tried to follow the YouTube tutorial and failed!"

"You're not serious, Solace!"

Will's shoulders droop. "I am, a little bit. I don't know. I'm all over the place." He screws up his mouth, glancing over. "And I've had a full night's sleep."

Nico winces. "Look."

Will waits.

Nico says nothing.

"Look?" Will hedges, leaning against the window. He reaches behind the seat and grabs a banana, flipping it upside down and peeling it from the bottom.

Huh. He, uh. He really would get shived immediately, wouldn't he.

"Look what?"

Nico sighs.

"I don't need all that much sleep, Will."

"False. You do not have Short Sleeper Syndrome, you were late every single day for homeroom for four straight years."

Nico opens his mouth. Will raises an eyebrow. He closes it.

"Touche," he manages, finally. Will nods haughtily and takes a bite of his banana, carefully avoiding the bruised bits. "I just -- you don't even like driving, Will. I do."

"You were freaking," Will points out. "I would say anxiety attack but you're gonna get all scowly and defensive if I do, so I won't. You were just coincidentally hyperventilating and sweating and shaking et cetera."

"Only nerds say et cetera."

"Oh, look, there's the defensive mocking. Right on schedule."

"No, I'm just -- I'm just." Nico drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "I don't like you driving my car."

"I am not that bad, Nico."

He can hear the hurt in Will's voice and winces, rushing to double back.

"I don't mean it like that. I just mean that I." He takes a deep, rattling breath. "If something happens, I want it to be my fault."

"..Oh."

For a hot minute there is nothing. There is the wind rustling through the open windows, and the sound of their breathing. There is the rush of the highway a mile away. There is the click and quiet calamity of the gas station. There is the sound of someone trying to very quietly chew a banana.

Nico looks over, unbelieving. Will very slowly peels the second banana.

"Are you serious."

"I'm -- hungry!"

"Can you not for two sec -- is that my fucking banana."

"Um, none of this breakfast is yours, on account of the fact that I bought it."

"You? Fucking hound?? Give me a fucking banana??"

"No! Get your own!"

"Give me the fucking --"

He lunges, and Will shrieks, and he is longer and taller but he has the combat instincts of a pretzel stick and just kind of flops his free hand in Nico's direction, which is easily dodged, and when Will keeps squirming Nico scowls, pinning him against the window so his elbows are pressed against his chest by both of Nico's hands and his mouth is free to lunge forward and snap up the fruit. Nico chomps down, snapping half of it up and chewing victoriously.

"Ha," he brags, garbled. "You would die in prison, you selfish dope."

He tears off the rest of the banana and looks over, smirking, and as he chews he feels the rapid rise and fall of Will's chest, and the jackrabbit pace of his heart, and his very, very wide blue, blue, blue eyes.

Nico throws himself back at the speed of light and sound.

"So!" he shouts, voice cracking. "So, there, and give me the second hot rod too. Fucker."

Wills hands it over without looking. Nico tears it open, freezing right before he bites it and ripping a piece off instead, eating that. Will's hotrod remains in his lap. 

Or -- the fucking. The meat stick. 

The processed pole of plastic-wrapped pork. 

Jesus.

The thin snacking sausage. 

The. The fucking. The elongated beef jerky. 

Nico throws the rest of his snack out the window. Will follows suit, aiming for the trash can, missing, opening the door, walking over to the fallen -- snack, picking it up, walking to the trash can, throwing it out, and standing there facing the wall of the convenience store for several minutes. 

When he finally returns, sliding into the passenger, they both stare straight ahead, arms to their sides.

"Alright," Nico says, clearing his throat. He shifts. "We gotta -- plan."

"Right."

Neither of them moves.

"You know you can't, like...stay here," calls a voice, head popping out of the convenience store doors. "It's a gas station. You're meant to leave."

"Sorry," Will frets, ears burning again. "We're, um, we're just finishing up."

The cashier raises her eyebrows. Nico turns his eyes up to the heavens and prays for death.

"Okay, she's gone, look at me."

Nico turns his head to the side and Will is red again, around the ears and splashed over his cheekbones, and Nico's own cheeks are still pretty hot but he smiles, anyway, he can't help it; there is the little furrow of determination in Will's brow and his eyes narrow every so carefully and Nico is reminded of every midterm, every exam season, every forced library study session and pinching fingers every time he complained. Some of the weird, thick air between them drains away. 

"This is the plan, okay? We got -- 300 or so miles on this tank. I know where we are. And I, uh, I know a place." Will swallows and keeps his eyes trained on the gear shift, ignoring Nico's tilted head. "So what you're gonna do is switch with me. And I know --" he holds up a hand to Nico's protests -- "I get it. I think." He looks up, finally, meeting Nico's eyes. The determination in his face softens into something much sweeter, something gentle and prodding all the same. "I know it sucks," he says softly. "To -- think of her." He reaches over and brushes his fingers, barely, over Nico's tight knuckles. "To blame yourself, believe me."

His hands don't linger for long. The heat of them does, thought, and Nico loosens his hands, exhaling, feeling it. 

"Just a few hours," he says, finally. "Okay? And -- I can't promise I'll sleep."

"That's cool." Will smiles. "For what it's worth, I'll be careful. Okay? I'll drive slow and in the right lane and everything."

"I know, you grandma." Nico opens the door, heading around to the passenger seat. "I trust you."

———

next chapter

[nell0-0]

I forgot if I added the anon thing, but yeah, I will take all the fic recs I can get from you about L.U, or just Mask being Fierce's favorite kid (Which IS SO VALID!!! He's son shaped! I just know Fierce would burst into tears seeing how grown his son is :( - Fierce Anon

You didn't add it so I'll only answer this ask since it's about the same thing.

So! Fic recs! I'm only gonna share 10 fics for now but I hope you like them ^^

• Dissatisfaction by Sinnatious

Time wears the mask, and is consumed by the Fierce Deity. The rest of them try to cope with the overpowered stranger in their midst. Linked Universe fic.

• Dwell Not in the Past by nowheretogobutdown

Time knows well of the split in time he had caused, the branching paths of his legacy. The world flooded with water or twilight, his successors in the sailor hero and the humble farmer.

He used to have no idea of the third.

• They Grow Up So Fast by LettersByTheLake

"The man with the scar through his eye is instantly familiar to Warriors.

There is no doubt in his mind that he is the same as the child he once called ‘Little Brother.’"

A look at Warriors' and Time's relationship across two separate time frames.

• About Trust And Honesty by meefling

They could hardly hear each other’s voices over the roaring rain and thunder, but it seemed they shared a single-minded goal of getting the hell out of the weather they’d found themselves trapped in. The bright lightning illuminated their bodies every few moments, followed by closer and closer claps of thunder.

Until…

Well, maybe it wasn't such a good idea to travel in the middle of a thunderstorm.

AKA The One Where Two Dissimilar Links Swap Bodies And Try To Hide It From The Others

• The Woods Lost to Time by Iffondrel

The younger heroes of the chain have been split from the others during a portal shift and now find themselves in an unfamiliar forest. No doubt, it's the Lost Woods, but nobody knows who's era it is or why they ended up here. Not only that, but there's a hero they've never seen before: a Link with a fairy companion and the Master Sword on his back. Something about him is familiar, but he acts strange. With none of the adults around, he's their only guidance. But there's a darkness in the forest, and this new Link is oddly tight-lipped about it. What secrets is this hero hiding, and what needs to be done before they can reunite with the others?

• Lettuce Heart by rebornofstars

“We're looking for the Hero of Time,” the kid says. The words have a funny intonation, like it's a title he's used to talking about in a different, more formal context.

Link stops walking.

“The Hero of Time is dead,” he says evenly.

Time has never liked haircuts.

• Roots by Gintrinsic

Twilight blinked, clinging tenaciously to consciousness, and was disturbed by the way color seemed to leech from his surroundings—swathes of greens, blues, and twilit golds spilling away like sand through an hourglass. He blinked, imagining he could still feel the metallic slide of the Iron Knuckle’s battle axe, the buttery-smooth way with which it parted his skin. He blinked… and was overtaken by a gray shroud.

Fog thickened the air, a wispy, humid cascade that swelled from the ground like sweat from a waking beast. Twilight startled upright and drew his sword, gritting his teeth in anticipation of pain, but none came. After waiting several tense seconds to make sure he wasn’t about to be attacked, he glanced down and saw that his tunic was intact. Slipping his waist guard aside and lifting his undershirt revealed healthy skin.

Yet the words drifted by once more—an echo dissipating as it stretched. His wound isn’t healing.

• Tear Streaked by RosemaryRiddle

"How many times is this?" Wild asks, giving him a small smile as a greeting.

Time sighs. "The last one."

"And how many times have you said that to me?"

It’s said matter-of-factly, not overconfidently, and Time hates that Wild knows that it’s not his first, second or even third reset.

And to think all Time's current problems would be solved if Wild just got out of his way.

A.K.A. Unstoppable force meets immovable object.

Or the Sans boss fight but the only stake is Time's sanity. And maybe his life. But mostly his sanity.

• A Glitch in Time by pelicanpig

Time is no stranger to moving through the course of his namesake. He has meddled with the flow of time often enough that he should have expected something like this to happen at some point. Still, when he finds himself face-to-face with a much younger, much less scarred version of the champion, he is taken a little by surprise.

• let me lose on losing dogs by Anonymous

Monsters’ bodies are slow to fade into smoke, sometimes. Especially when there are so many in such a small area. But the littering of monster corpses across the battlefield does not disguise the sheer amount of Hylian bodies. Nor does it distract from the oppressive presence of the figure standing in the middle of it.

It stands over seven feet tall. Its armour shines under an invisible sun, gleaming brighter than should be possible – like it's not quite on this plane of existence. The large helix sword is idly resting in one hand; it weighs nothing in the warrior’s grip. Even with its back turned to him, Link feels as though its eyes are on him, weighing down upon his shoulders, a condemnation. A judgement.

And then it turns to meet his gaze, and that sick mockery of his kid’s face is staring back at him.

----

Obligatory Fierce Deity angst fic

[nightghoul381]

Ellis Twilight~ Main Route Chapter 4 Premium Avatar Challenge

Disclaimer for route warnings | Masterlist

Additional Content Warnings: Ellis' sprite at the beginning is a bit unsettling

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

Ellis: “How happy are you right now?”

I answered the question posed to me from the twilit-light with a big smile.

Kate: “I feel like my life could end right now!”

Ellis: “…I see.”

Ellis: “Then, how about I end it?”

(Eh…?)

Suddenly, cold ripples spread across my dreamy heart, as if a drop of darkness had fallen.

(End it…)

(My life?... He’s kidding, right?)

I couldn’t tell from the tone of his voice whether he was joking or serious, so I tried to focus on Ellis’ expression.

However, his face was obscured by the illumination of the setting sun and I couldn’t see it.

The strange feeling I had the night when we met came back to me.

It was as if the person who was laughing next to me just moments ago was a different person than the one in front of me—I had a strange feeling in my chest.

Kate: “Ellis…?”

At that moment, the sun completely set behind the building and the light suddenly disappeared—

Ellis: “mm?”

Ellis and I were swallowed up by the same shadow.

Then, I finally was able to see his expression.

Ellis: “…Kate? Is something wrong?”

(Oh it’s… it’s Ellis as usual.)

Ellis was smiling the same smile I knew.

Kate: “Hehe… please don’t make such a joke all of a sudden. I was shocked.”

Kate: “Right now, I’m so happy I don’t care if my life ends…”

Kate: “But tomorrow might be happier, so it’s okay.”

Ellis: “…I see.”

Kate: “I should return to the castle to properly report on my first mission.”

Kate: “Also, I have to thank you, Ellis, for making me so happy.”

Ellis: “Me?”             

Kate: “Please tell me about what you like, Ellis. Then I can make you happy tomorrow.”

Ellis: “…”

Ellis’ eyes widened a little in surprise, then he smiled softly.

Ellis: “…Yeah, thanks.”

Ellis: “But Kate, the formal language has come back.”

Kate: “Huh?...Oh, right.”

(Just now, he seemed like a different person… I guess I just got defensive.)

(The reason I felt that way was because I was fooled by the twilight.)

Kate: “So, Um… Can you tell me about what you like, Ellis?”

Ellis: “I like looking for a delicious restaurant… I guess.”

Ellis: “If I know a lot of different shots, I can introduce them to a lot of people and make them happy.”

As I had learned over the last two days, Ellis gave a familiar answer.

(I guess I could say it seems like Ellis, but…)

Kate: “Is there something you do to make yourself happy, regardless of other people’s happiness?”

Ellis: “—No.”

(Eh…)

He didn’t seem to think or hesitate even for a moment.

Ellis: “What I want to do is help others.”

Kate: “Right, okay…”

He stated it clearly and I nodded, even though I was confused.

Considering his actions, it was a natural response.

(But—Is there nothing he wants to do for himself, not for anyone else…)

Perhaps something happened that made him want to be of service to others so strongly.

(If we stay together like this, maybe someday you’ll tell me.)

(If that day comes, I’ll be happy.)

Anyway… What I want to do now is thank Ellis for taking me to the play I wanted to see.

Kate: “So, what’s your favorite food?”

Ellis: “I’ll eat anything… but I especially like buttery toast and cranberry jam.”

Kate: “Hehe, I like that too. I’ll make a note of it.”

Ellis: “Oh, and I also liked the baguettes from the shop you had recommended, Kate.”

(Ellis likes toast with lots of butter, and cranberry jam.)

(And the baguette from the shop I recommended… huh?)

Kate: “Ellis… did you just answer in a way that would make it easier for me to thank you?”

Ellis: “I didn’t…. It’s all true.”

Ellis: “I was happy when you told me earlier that you wanted to make me happy.”

Ellis was smiling as if to reassure me.

The last light of day is sucked into the horizon, and the light of the street lamps emerges from the gloom.

Even the beguiling remnants of the twilight sky were completely swallowed by darkness.

(For some reason, it suddenly got dark.)

My anxiety grew as the darkness approached, and I walked a little faster.

Ellis: “…”

Suddenly, slender, supple fingertips touched my hand.

Kate: “Ellis…?”

Ellis: “We’re lovers who have proven our love, so let’s hold hands and go home.”

Kate: “Lovers?”

(That’s right…)

Kate: “…like from Bill’s show, right?”

Ellis: “Exactly.”

The fingertips that touched me entwined with my hand, wrapping around me as if to protect me from the darkness of the night.

Ellis: “If you don’t like it, please let me know… But if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep connected like this.”

Kate: “…Why?”

Ellis: “So that you won’t get anxious.”

The way Ellis held my hand was gentle, almost soothing.

Just a moment ago, during the show, he reassured me when I was anxious.

Ellis: “…You don’t like it?”

Kate: “Uh…”

There’s no way I wouldn’t be happy about the kindness shown just for me.

(I can’t imagine not liking something like this.)

Kate: “No… it’s okay.”

Ellis: “Hmm, good.”

The warmth of our connected hands felt so good that my heart began beating fast.

Ellis: “I thought this earlier today too, but your hands are so small, Kate.”

Kate: “Is that so? Maybe your hands are just big.”

Ellis: “I see, I’m big.”

The innocent conversation was somehow funny and laughter naturally flowed between us.

(…it’s strange.)

(When I’m with Ellis, my heart races but I also feel at peace.)

Kate: “I should have asked you sooner about the things you like, Ellis?”

Ellis: “Why?”

Kate: “If I had gone shopping while the store was open, I could have said thank you tomorrow morning.”

Ellis: “… I quite like holding hands with you.”

Kate: “Huh…?”

Ellis: “As a thank you, this might be fine.”

My grip tightened, and my heartbeat became faster again.

Kate: “I don’t think it’s enough to thank you… for the theater tickets…”

Ellis: “Really? I don’t think so.”

Ellis: “… You don’t have to be in such a hurry.”

Ellis: “There’s still time until the promised month is up.”

Ellis: “Me too… I’ll do my best to make you even happier.”

Whispers like sweet, sweet jam and the warmth of palms pressed together.

I walked down the street at night with thoughts like that filling my head.

Leaving behind the memories of twilight.

Next Chapter

[pastelwitchling]

Could you write a story where Michael finally gets to visit his home planet and he of course takes Alex with him. Every one on the planet is just absolutely smitten with Alex and Michael is so damn proud? ❤

@ashleymarie1684

***

At first, Michael had thought it was a joke. His brother had come to his and Alex’s house, sat down with a solemn expression and a promise in his eyes, and asked him if he wanted to go to Oasis.

“There’s a lab,” he’d explained, “below the throne room. A portal here and back closes every week. Liz and I were looking into it with Dallas’s help, and we think we can open it on this side. Just the one time, and then when you come back, there’s no chance of opening it again or we risk sending all of Roswell through.

“And Michael,” he’d held Michael’s gaze here, reassuring, “the palace is safe for humans. It was part of Nora and Louise’s experimenting when they were making me, they knew I’d need to adjust to different climates, and their air filter’s just been running the whole time. If you’re still worried about Alex getting radiation poisoning again, I’ll just heal him when you guys get back anyway, so he’s at no risk.” His fingers interlocked, his knuckles white, Max had said, “What do you think, brother?”

Michael hadn’t known what to say, what to believe, but Alex – his always-steady, controlled, loving Alex – was pressed to his side; he took Michael’s hands, which he hadn’t realized he’d been clenching hard enough to carve his nails into his skin, and interlocked their fingers, giving him something else to cling to.

“We’ll leave as soon as possible.”

That was how Michael found himself now, staring out a large arched window in an even larger room, overlooking a landscape of shimmering trees, bushes, and a mountainside that all glittered like the pieces of his spaceship. The scientist part of Michael wanted to go outside and test the grounds, see if they felt anything like his alien glass. The bigger side didn’t dare leave Alex out of his eyesight, and if he was being honest with himself, just didn’t want to go without Alex, period. It was strange, not what he’d expected. They’d been here two days, the initial shock overshadowed by the palace full of people who knew him and called him by a name he had a hard time remembering seconds after he’d heard it.

They’d known of Max, but it was Michael and Isobel who they’d remembered as children. Michael didn’t remember any of them, but they didn’t seem to mind.

“You’ve got that look,” Alex sighed, leaning against the wall on the other side of the window, his arms crossed.

“What look?”

Alex smiled, amused. “That ‘I’m-stuck-in-my-head-and-can’t-get-out’ look.” He tilted his head, his bangs falling over his beautiful eyes. “Talk to me, baby.”

Michael swallowed. They were alone now, still dressed in their flannel and jeans and winter jackets, and Michael stole glances at his husband, checking for any sign of black veins peeking out of his collar or sleeves. He’s fine, he kept telling himself, he’s safe.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he murmured, eyes searching the eternally-twilit sky, hoping that the stars or the planets and multiple moons he could see from here would give him some answers. He kind of wished he could just go up to the roof and map them out, but the rest of his charts weren’t here. They were back home, covering the coffee table of their living room because he always got swept up in his work, marked with dark rings from Alex’s steaming cups of tea, forgotten when Michael would take him inside to ravish him.

“Nothing,” Alex said loyally.

Michael’s lips quirked into a small smile despite himself. “Well, thank you. I guess I just . . . I don’t know, I thought I’d get here and feel . . . right, you know? This is where I belong, this is what I’ve been waiting for, this is what I’ve been working towards. Now I’m here and . . .”

Alex watched him quietly, waiting. His steadiness helped Michael breathe a little easier; he had no idea how tense he was until he exhaled shakily, the knot unraveling in his shoulders.

He shrugged, a little helpless smile tugging at his lips. “I miss our home.” Alex’s eyes softened, but he didn’t look particularly surprised. Now that Michael had started, however, a dam opened and he huffed, “I miss our lazy Sunday mornings, and dinner on the living room couch, and smelling coffee when I wake up because you’re always up before me, and everything just feels so much more alive because . . . because it might not have been the home I had been working for, but it was the home we’d been working for, and now it just kind of feels like I’m a visitor in the place I’m supposed to be, and I don’t know what to do with that.”

“You’re supposed to be with me,” Alex said easily, like it was just fact. “And we’ve only been here two days, Michael. If you wanted to spend a longer time, years, until we created another home here, we can do that.”

Michael pursed his lips, eyes burning. He couldn’t voice his mess of thoughts, so he just shook his head. No, he silently said, I don’t want that.

He couldn’t stay here without Max and Isobel, he couldn’t stay without Walt and Dallas and even the Ortecho sisters and Valenti who he’d deny were growing on him. Most of all, he couldn’t trap Alex here. He’d never be able to go outside, to explore, to see anything beyond the walls of the palace which he’d been doing since they’d gotten here. The closest his husband would ever get to fresh air would be this; standing by a window. He couldn’t doom the man he loved to that, and even if Alex was fine with it, Michael would never be. Alex was his heart, his thoughts, the air in his lungs; how would he ever be able to breathe knowing that he was yet again someone in Alex’s life that forced him to settle for good enough?

“Let’s give it another week,” Alex said, taking Michael’s hand. “Get your fill of the place, and then if you still want to leave, we’ll leave. Where you go, I go, Michael. As long as you’re here, I don’t care where we are.” His smile widened, like he was fighting off a laugh. “And stop scanning me, I’m fine. If I had any trouble breathing, I promise I’d tell you.”

Michael swallowed, running his hands over Alex’s chest, just to feel his beating heart. “I know, I know that.”

“Do you though?” he said, definitely laughing now.

Just like that, the weight on Michael’s chest dissipated, and he smiled, about to retort when –

“Mr. Guerin,” a butler, Jeremy, glided in, and Michael almost jumped. Everyone was so freaking quiet here and softspoken. The whole butler thing had also taken a minute to get used to, but someone had to mind the palace, he guessed, especially since its rulers had been sent to earth.

Yeah, Michael wasn’t going to start unpacking the truth of that either. Oasis had thrived without them, and he believed the people he’d met were legitimately good. They aided those who came to the palace in need of any food or shelter or supplies. Honestly, Michael had kind of felt like he was getting in the way when he’d arrived. Still, Jeremy had been so attentive and kind that he had a hard time feeling unwanted here.

“Yeah?” he started, but Jeremy was already hurrying towards Alex.

              “Mr. Guerin,” he scolded as much as a softspoken man could, “you forgot your scarf! The weather is terribly cold for a human, you could get sick!”

              Alex smiled, a little bemused as he’d been since they arrived and everyone lavished him with attention. “Thanks, Jeremy, but I’m fine.”

              “Fine doesn’t keep the body strong, does it?” he demanded.

              “Oh, Mr. Guerin!” a tall woman appeared, Sofie, mittens on and a tray of what looked like rainbow cookies in her hands. Michael tried to answer, but she’d come right up to Alex as well. “I made your favorites! You said you liked Germanium cookies, didn’t you?”

              “Is that what that flavor was?” Alex blinked. “Yeah, uh, I loved them.”

              Sofie beamed, her face red. “I’m also making clam stew for dinner! We fished them just this morning out of the river for you, so they ought to be –”

              “Excuse me, Sofie,” Jeremy said, “but I believe I was speaking to Mr. Guerin first.”

              “You’ve gotten your fill,” she openly whined. “I want to look at him – er, talk to him!”

              “Does anyone care I’m here?” Michael muttered when the two started politely arguing for Alex’s attention.

              “I care,” Alex said, once again ready as though nothing mattered to him except Michael knowing how important he was.

              “Mr. Guerin!” another voice boomed, this one belonging to a large man, Marian, with a stethoscope around his neck, except this one had jewels at the end of it and was mostly made of glass. Michael didn’t even bother acknowledging the summons this time as Marian came to a stop in front of Alex, panting. “Mr. Guerin, please, you must watch your blood pressure here! This atmosphere isn’t always safe for humans, you shouldn’t be standing next to the window, of all places!”

              Alex smiled kindly and thanked everyone for their attentiveness, and they all swooned and softened in a way people only did for Alex, and Michael watched on, hiding a secret smile.

Despite his teasing, he had been beaming at the love Alex had received since they’d gotten here. He might stick around another two weeks just because he’d felt bad about leaving Oasis in the first place – though that hadn’t been his fault – and he wanted to give these people someone to adore, at least for a while. He got Alex for the rest of their lives. He supposed he could share his husband for a few more days.

Just as long as everyone kept their hands to themselves; he was kind, not a saint.

***

Happy Malex Monday ❤️

[tw1l1te]

:0

I'm so happy you write for those two. I'm a FD simp and he hardly ever gets written for :,). So, could you write something for him, please. I don't mind watching you write, just as long as you have fun with it.

This one is a lil short, but I kinda love how it turned out :>

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

He couldn't remember the last time he felt alive.

More than just a cursed object, stuck behind an old piece of wood.

When you had freed him from his confines, he swore to condemn Hyrule unto his wrath. He swore it.

He thought he did.

But you... you were so peculiar to him. So fragile and weak, like a lamb lost in the darkest woods, inches away from being dragged into the abyss. But he couldn't let that happen.

He couldn't.

Not when you begged him to come home with you so you could feed him.

Not when you offered to take care of him and his soul, cradling them in your small hands.

Not when you brushed through his snow-white locks, placing a warm kiss on the crown of his forehead, promising to follow him till the ends of time.

Not when you were blissed out and vulnerable underneath him under the Lady Moon, begging him to stay.

He... needed you, in some impossible way.

Gods didn't need anything, they had everything. They were everything.

But you... curse you and your innocent eyes and the snort of your laugh and the small cut across your nose and your sleepy smile and the pout you had when you were focused and-

"What's on your mind, darling?"

"Oh nothing at all, my little doe, nothing at all."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

[forgedroyalseal]

Life a bit to the left

Chapter Nine

The first few weeks as Halt’s apprentice were hard, harder than he had anticipated in all honesty. Will was used to working long, strenuous days in the fields and getting by on little food and sleep, but the relentless physical training paired with the mental toll of learning so many new things left Will a lifeless lump by the end of each day. He was so tired that he could barely find the energy to worry about what his father was getting up to when he left the house each day.

But by far, the worst part of his apprenticeship was the daily reading and writing lessons.

“I’m never going to figure this out!” Will whined and let himself flop on to the table.

“Yes you will. You just need to focus.” It was late and Halt’s patience was wearing thin. He was struggling to stay calm in the face of Will’s complaints.

“That’s easy for you to say, you understand what all this means.”

“Because I learned. Just as you’re learning now.”

“Don’t you think I need to practice riding more?”

“Will.”

“Why do I even need to know how to read? Plenty of people can’t. In fact, nearly everyone I know can’t. I’m not even sure my father ever learned.” Will grumbled.

“We’ve gone over this Will. Every ranger needs to know how to read and write. How else will you send and receive messages if you are away on an assignment? What if you found enemy plans, but couldn’t read them in time to put a stop to them?”

The dramatic groan wasn’t much of an answer, but Halt figured it was the best Will could manage. Even he had to admit it had been a long day for the boy. He had been practicing his aim with the bow from dawn until midday, and they had been working on improving his literacy ever since. The sky was now turning a smoky, twilit purple and Halt decided the boy had done enough for the day.

“Pack it up. I can’t stand another whine out of you tonight.”

Will smiled and hurried to gather the sheets of parchment, quills, and books they had spread across the table.

“The harvest festival is tomorrow.” Halt said as he stood to pour himself another mug of coffee.

Will didn’t stop his cleaning as he responded. “Is it? I guess I didn’t realize it was that late in the year already. Not working in the fields has blurred the ends and beginnings of the seasons together I suppose.”

Halt hummed. He had thought Will would be chomping at the bit to go to the festival, just as every young person in town was. “I don’t think one missed day will affect your aim too terribly, so you can go, if you’d like.”

Will looked at him and tilted his head. “Why would I?”

“I think you mispronounced “thank you for the day off, I greatly appreciate it.””

“But, I don’t need it. I’m not selling anything at the festival. Why would I go?”

Halt lifted an eyebrow. “I think the general idea is to have fun.”

“I don’t…” Will trailed off with a frown.

Right, Halt thought sourly, he has no understanding of the concept of “fun”.

How could he? Will didn’t have the good fortune of a typical childhood. Since he could walk without falling over, Will had been the responsible one in his house. He wouldn’t have had time or funds for trivial things like festivals.

Trying a new approach, Halt added, “It would be a good opportunity for you. The public needs to see us among them, so they know we are observing. If a fief never sees their ranger, they might not worry as much about committing a crime. Or worse, they might not seek him out for help if they need it.”

Will perked up slightly. “So you’ll be going with me?”

“God no. But I’ve been here for years, they are well aware of my presence.”

Halt could still see a cloud of hesitation casting a shadow over Will, so he added, “The Baron’s wards will most likely be there. You could have a chance to speak with your peers. Compare who has the best mentor or whatever it is you young folk talk about.”

That drew a smile out of the boy and he nodded. “Alright, I’ll go. It might be nice to actually get a chance to speak with them. Well, some of them.” Will’s nose scrunched at the memory of the less than favorable impression the apprentice knight had made.

“Good. I’m glad I managed to convince you to take a day off.” Halt rolled his eyes, but still slid a couple coins across the table to Will.

“For tomorrow.”

“I can’t take that Halt. And even if I could, there’s no way I could waste it on-“

“Yourself?” Halt interrupted. “I disagree. You’ve been working hard, you deserve to have a nice time tomorrow. If it makes you feel any better, spend it on food.” Halt knew that food was still a heavy concern of Will’s, even though Halt made sure to provide at least two square meals for the boy every day. Usually Will would be the one to prepare them, but Halt kept his shelves stocked for the boy.

“Okay.” Will pocketed the coins, knowing better than to argue to matter with Halt. “Thank you.”

Halt grumbled, “Can’t have people thinking I’m an unfair master. Won’t be able to get a decent apprentice after you get out of my hair.”

“Sure.” Will smirked, seeing right through Halt.

“Get out of here. I want you home before it’s dark.” He shooed him out.

Will paused in the doorway and gave him a soft smile. “Thank you Halt. Have a good night.”

The cabin became quiet and still once more, and Halt found himself missing the thrumming energy Will brought with him. In the weeks he’s been Halt’s apprentice, he’s seen the boy come out of his shell little by little. He was no longer weighed down by the seemingly endless cycle of struggle he had been stuck in. At the very start of his apprenticeship, Will had been reserved, always complying without hesitation, only calling Halt “sir” or “Ranger Halt”, never speaking without being spoken to. But now, he’s grown comfortable with Halt. He’s learned to trust him enough to complain and push back a bit. And “sir” has seemed to disappear from his vocabulary, at least in reference to Halt.

Halt sat out on the veranda with his coffee, taking in a crisp evening air. He wished, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, that Will could be free of the burden of caring for his father. Halt’s hand clenched the handle of his rapidly cooling mug at the thought of all Will has had to endure because of his father. Halt had only personally known the boy for a matter of weeks, but he already felt fiercely protective of him. He couldn’t understand how the boy’s own father could be so neglectful and abusive. He could only hope that the closer Will drew to the rangers and their lifestyle, the further from his current circumstances he’d pull.

[summertimemusician]

Linktober Shadow Day 3

Twilight

Definitely self indulgent, just a small thing I managed to throw together after a sleep deprivation filled day.

My Twilight Princess lover side definitely comes out on this one, as well as some vague headcanons in a short drabble, as always can be read as platonic or romantic.

There was something special, you think, about the way autumn came in a howling moonson of glory into the Era of Twilight, heralding the coming of the temperate strokes over the woods in flowering tones of russet, bronze, maple and amethyst in gilding gold over the evergreen of Hyrule’s eternity in warmth even as the weather turned ever colder, the late afternoon sunset fleeting in it’s mercurial transition into the hour of twilight, only matched in honor to the abandoned forests of the Era of Sky, the enduring wealds of the Era of time and the untamed thickets of the Era of Wilds. Oh so contrasting to it’s hero but no less lovely for it was a perfect balance, when you first met Twilight (or well, got properly acquainted, really, but that’s a story for another day), it was clear he was no less captivating than his homeland, as steady as the oaks and pines stretching towards the heavens and with the kindness of it’s people, was it any wonder then, that you found it easy to love the man with the loyalty and eyes of wolf to match the divine beast in his soul?

So it was why through a long, long period of trying to make the true extent of your feelings as unseen as a dream after waking hours and trying to hide just how enamored you had slowly become, that you became well acquainted with the tells that showed something weighted on his mind as you left Ordon’s Spring after washing Epona for the long road ahead tomorrow. The way his head hang just a little, ears lowering to match the way Wolfie’s would when he gently nudged one of the members of the Chain into holding him after a nightmare as his walls attempt to come back up, as solemn as a wolf in mourning.

Ever so responsible, ever steady. Trying to take the world onto his shoulders as any hero would.

He should have know it wouldn’t work on you, not after all you’ve been through.

“Rupee for your thoughts?” Your tone gently broke through the stillness of the stream as you fed Epona an apple, Twilight’s ears twitch as he turns towards you, softening as he notes the way the twilit enchanted sunlight lingered upon your visage in a most ephemeral way, shadows holding affectionately and brightening the stars of your eyes and the liminal nature of this moment and how Epona neighs, gently nudging the side of your hand for more rubs or maybe apples he knew you loved sneaking to her when he wasn’t looking, making your airy, fae like laughter free to be taken by the breeze.

“Reminiscing, is all.” He answer you, tone a low rumbling of the fall winds and like handling mirror shards into something new and beautiful as he privately holds onto the memory of your smile, holding it with claws and teeth for he can never quite be sure for how long he’ll have it, “It feels like a lifetime ago since...”

Since the start of his journey, since the beginning of his new one in the throes of attempting to settle in Ordon to lick his wounds after the lingering shaded reality of another realm settled into the crevices of his soul and marrow after grabbing the neck of the beast inside his being and biting down onto the hackles had left the injury open to bleed again.

Since losing Midna shattered his heart and killed him all at once, leaving him to live a life of haunting his own existence until you looked at him, all of him, and guided him back to life. Picking the shards of his heart and slowly putting them back together with the care of someone he’d seen mourn for an unfortunate nightingale on the road even as you cut yourself when he attempted to push you away.

You nod, gently resting your head on his shoulder, your gaze flicking to the Shadow Crystal, you don’t press about Midna and Twilight feels so, so warm, breathing out, you were both working on it, slowly but surely. Midna may not be dead, but he knew her absence left you haunted too, “Does it still hurt?” The twisting of reality upon his form, drawing from a well of ambition from long gone spirits who’d attempted to grab at the Goddesses throat, and the way the darkness so fiercely claimed any part of his he could touch. Making both of your shadows darker as the veil between worlds thinned, refusing to allow anything else to attempt a claim.

He shakes his head, gently putting his chin atop yours, “No, not anymore.”

You hum, gently nudging his chin in a sweet, adoring nuzzle, “I’m glad, then.”

You both remain on the spring until night falls, basking into one another’s presence and soaking into the timeless moment of learning to love one another as you can.

Twilight silently wishes that, just this once, he’s allowed to keep this the same way the Twilight Realm still keeps the old him.

[kheprriverse]

Hello may I ask about some info on Tehoka? He is very pretty.

Thank you! I'm very glad you like him <3

I apologize for the wait on this as well. I decided to make him a proper ref so i can answer this ask :'D

Tekoha is part of my Twilit-Link au and he'll be added to the main one eventually as well! I've got a lot of neat stuff planned as well so I can't wait to explore it and share everything!

[thedeafprophet]

Great Game people who send Alex encoded missives is such a funny in game thing for me to think on. Alex can barely process the regular letters he receives, I promise you he cannot understand a word of what you're trying to tell him

The game keeps trying to drag him into things (twilit smuggler, scheme of the phoniex) and I'm telling you this man's only answer is arson

[asharaks]

the same flat language

wyll/astarion, act 2 no content warnings 700 words

Throat-click-swallow and he doesn't need to breathe but his breath hitches all the same, eyes to Wyll's neck just like the blade, and Hells, that was a long time ago — days stretched thin over the ribcage of his memory, taut skin ready to break — before he looks away again, shrugs one shoulder. Elegant, uncaring.

“Not everyone deserves you, you know.”

Wyll laughs, hyena-bark, breaking sharp in his throat.

“It's not about that.”

“Why not?”

Eyes on him again, not his throat now but his face (his scars) and he stays still, lets Astarion examine his profile for as long as he likes. Finally, another sigh: he almost laughs, almost says (stop it), says (you don't need to), and he remembers:

two hundred years.

He stays quiet.

“You're breaking yourself apart,” voice measured, disdain creeping in, charm turned sour, and Wyll (heat in his spine crown of thorns on his brow something in my eye something is my eye) clenches his jaw and looks down at his hands, “and for what? These people won't thank you. They never do.”

Deep breath (sometimes they do) head back stars overhead a collapsing ceiling, and he says, again, like a prayer:

“It's not about that.”

Another sigh, exasperated, frustrated, affected, too heavy on the dismount, he tosses his head and turns away and—

—waits.

Wyll exhales slowly. Spreads his fingers in the dirt beneath him, winds blades of grass between them until they snap, fragrant-sharp.

“I don't get to decide,” he says at last, when the silence gets too much, when he can make the words make sense. Untangle the knotted, thorned truth that leaves his fingers bloody. “I don't get to make that choice. Not for everyone else.”

“Well, why not?” A note of derision, now, sharp-sneering, a splinter under his nail, a jagged edge pressing into his skin. He breathes out through his nose and clears his throat, and Astarion's breath hisses between his teeth. “Why not? It's not like they know what's good for them.”

Overhead, the sky is cool and blue. He tips his head back, watches the early stars that gleam at the razor-edge of the sunset. So different from the blackred clouds of Avernus, the stink of sulfur and terror and bodies bodies bodies.

“No wonder Karlach stargazes so much.”

It's a moment before the words reach his ears; another before he recognises his own voice. Astarion (gearing for a fight, voice turned outwards jagged) pauses.

“I'm sorry?”

“It's still down there,” he says in place of an answer. Closes his eyes — briefly, just a second, and the world is red and glowing once more — before he opens them to the cool evening. Blue, blue, blue, like he's drowning.

“What is?”

Impatience, irritation. Astarion doesn't like being off-balance.

Wyll smiles.

“Hell.” Voice lowered, instinctively, like saying it summons it. Summons her. “It's still— at the end of every road.”

He's not sure when his jaw had clenched so tight, tendons wound up like rusted wire. When the taste of metal had filled his mouth.

“Red skies and blood, and you can’t imagine the noise.” He clears his throat, swallows down the I don't want to go back—

Turns to the man at his side, the angelwhite devil on his shoulder. “It's… I can't— it's lives, Astarion. Real people, real lives. I can't take their choices from them.”

A moment, in which Astarion's eyes are empty. Dogstar-red, examining his face like—

Wyll closes his eyes. Bites back the anger — two hundred years, his time in the Hells a blink of an eye in comparison — and touches a hand to his horn. Doesn't say what he wants to say. Doesn't say I can't be trusted (not with Mizora at my back). Doesn't say you can't be trusted (not with Cazador at yours). Bites back the frustration, the rotsweet dread in his stomach, and  opens his eyes to face Astarion's silence.

“Fine,” Astarion says at last, and the curl of his lip is too real, the flash of his fangs too bright in the twilit blue. “Do whatever your conscience tells you. I'm sure it will be a great comfort when we're all tentacle-faced freaks.”

And then he's gone, a rustle of fabric, the lingering scent of jasmine and blood.

[mynameisjessejk]

Ullswater and Kirkstone

Gradually, the land tilted down again under Ember's hooves, growing mossy and lush around the hardpack dirt of the trail.

The clouds thinned slowly, and then seemed to vanish in a breath, leaving them in a verdant valley, looking over a deep lake.

Ayas fluttered his wings, and then launched himself from Ember's saddle. He caught an updraft and arced high overhead.

Celyn gave Ember his head as they picked their careful way down to the beaten road at the water's edge. The skies had resumed their normal shade, and the sun hovered on the eastern horizon. They'd missed the whole night in that strange twilit land—or no time at all.

Whatever strength or magic had kept Celyn strong through the wind was waning. He could feel his side throbbing and his head drooping. He didn't realize how far he'd listed, though, till Ayas landed beside him in a flutter of wings and smoke, and in his human guise tilted Celyn back fully upright on the horse.

"Careful," Ayas chided, but his hands were gentle.

"Thanks," Celyn murmured.

With a soft sigh, like Celyn was a great inconvenience to him, Ayas clambered awkwardly back onto the horse behind Celyn. "Lean on me," he grumbled.

Celyn did so, and closed his eyes, trusting Ayas and Ember to get him where he was bound.

"Kirkstone?" Ayas asked after some indeterminate time.

Celyn hummed, mustering himself to open his eyes. There was a fork in the road, signpost surrounded by brake fern. One path turned toward Matterdale, and the other kept to the shore of the lake and would bring them through the Kirkstone Pass.

Celyn nodded weakly in the direction of the pass.

Ayas hummed, and Ember's hooves resumed their steady plod. Celyn let his head loll back on Ayas' shoulder.

Ayas cursing drew Celyn alert again. "What is it?" he asked, and his voice came out a drymouthed slur.

Ayas swore at him without answering, and slithered off Ember's back. He caught Celyn as he listed, and eased him gently to the ground. Ember danced sideways away from them, leaving Ayas room to work. "Drink," Ayas ordered softly, and held the waterskin to Celyn's lips.

Celyn swallowed a few mouthfuls, and then had to stop, stomach rolling.

Ayas, meanwhile, had busied himself with the bloodied bandages around Celyn's waist. He continued to grumble curses at the wound, Celyn, the slow pace of the sun, and Ember's walk as he tended, and what herbs he bound into the wound Celyn couldn't identify.

That might have been his dizziness and his wound, or it might have been strange herbs. Celyn couldn't rightly say.

Ayas rebound the wound tightly, and for a little while Celyn had to lie and breathe through the pain.

Then Ayas tipped his head up. "Drink," he ordered, and there was something desperate in him.

Celyn did his best to swallow the warm, bitter liquid. He blinked blearily. Ayas had lit a fire and made tea. Ember was untacked and grazing. "Oh," he said.

"Can you eat?" Ayas wondered.

Celyn hummed. "I can try," he decided finally.

Ayas fed him stale bread soaked in the tea and dried meat in small bites. Then he bundled Celyn so tightly into the blankets Celyn wouldn't have been able to move even if he'd had the energy. Ayas turned into the brindled hound, but rather than crawling into the bedroll with Celyn, he stood watch, eyes, unlike the lake, reflecting the stars despite the mist.

Celyn let himself sleep, knowing he was safe.