#**makes dandelion join for my own sense of peace**

[chocochipclaire]

the hansa never missing a breakfast together in toussaint 🧀🥐🍳

#**makes dandelion join for my own sense of peace** #the witcher #the hansa #dandelion #cahir #geralt of rivera #angouleme #emiel regis #milva barring #art #highkey sick of looking at this <3

[vitaminseetarot]

Last Quarter Moon PAC: What Are You Harvesting? 🌗🍓🍹

Welcome, one and all, to my last chapter of the four-part moon series! In the beginning, all we had was the seed of potential. We then added some tender love and compost, tending to its stretching stems and budding leaves. We then sat back and witnessed the colorful flower blooming forth, reflecting our work well done.

Now it's finally time to take a look at what will be harvested from this growth. How will it sweeten your life? How will it ensure that more growth can continue to the next month? What blessings will at last be bestowed that will, with careful preservation, last through the winter and beyond?

Take a peek at the three packages of fruit you see down below. These are of the frozen kind so they will last for many smoothies and muffins to come. (Brand names are blotted out for your convenience.)

Pile 1 - Chilly Blueberries Pile 2 - Snowy Strawberries Pile 3 - Frosty Plums

Pile 1

Cards: Four of Swords, Three of Cups, Nine of Cups; Dandelion Wish, Avocado - Prosperity, Scorpio Moon - Camouflage, 6 - Freedom

I guess it works that I called this the Chilly Blueberry pile cause it seems like you're just looking to chill. You've been through the long haul this last month, and for you the growth hasn't come easily. Now you're being greatly encouraged to kick back and relax for the last few days of the season remaining.

You've been spending a great amount of time working on your internal issues. This pile has done some immense shadow work, and perhaps you sense that you're still in the thick of it, laying low and addressing some old fears. These fears may have to do with something you've been wishing and longing for. There's almost a feeling of treating shadow work as a full time job, wanting to purge and clear as much as possible to make room for desires. Which isn't a bad thing! It can be the recommended thing for many people (like one of the other piles, per example wink), but there's also such a thing as overdoing it. Sometimes you get to a place where you've squeezed out every tear cried out and felt the rock bottom of rock bottom, where you're hitting impenetrable bedrock. Pile 1, this is your reminder that you've been doing GREAT work improving yourself, but now it's time to breathe.

You're going to be harvesting peace, relaxation, a chance to decompress and distract yourself with good times. Your friends could be trying to pull you out of the house or into a discord chat -- join them! Don't let yourself get distracted by the heavy emotions at this time. Not all shadow work is productive, like with anything it can be habitual and keep you ruminating in a little loop. You are protected as far as social relations are concerned. You're being given the space to relate your deep inner work with the work others have been doing. I can't tell you how refreshing it is to be in the thick of some deep karmic issues, only to find out a close friend or even acquaintance has been going through a similar ordeal.

Right now, even with all the freaky planet shit happening out there, don't think that the next few months will be like your last few. You're gonna undergo a subtle transformation on your own naturally after this harvest. You'll be moving into a place of wish making and abundance. This may even boost your sense of financial freedom. It could be that some of your shadow work involved money, but I'm really getting abundance in general with this pile. You don't have to overwork yourself to get to that place, pile 1, you're already approaching it. There's no need to get a 100% completion rating on your spiritual practice. You're not being rewarded for hard work, you're being rewarded because you're in the right place and time to be receiving the abundance coming for you. The shadow work is to help you get in a better mindset and receive without letting old baggage get in the way. It's not a forever thing.

Pile 2

Cards: Five of Pentacles, King of Pentacles, Page of Cups; Turtle Creek, Strawberry - Affection, Leo Rising - Shine, 5 - Heart Healing

How awesome is it that you got the strawberry card for your strawberry reading?! Maybe you just really like eating them; the card does talk about affection after all! With Leo Rising, I'm feeling that this pile has been really affected by the Leo Venus retrograde. Lucky for you, the planet will station direct in a few days, gradually bringing back in a feeling of overall sweetness to your life like a tide coming in.

It could have been that your self-worth took a small hit in some way. Some things may have happened that tested you just a little too much. You wanted more out of your circumstances, but when you ask and ask your spirit guides and higher self and nothing seems to happen on the surface at the end of the day, that can really wreck confidence over time. You'd hear things like "maybe it's just not meant for you," to which you'd respond, "then what is?" You're about to gain a lot more clarity as to what is for you, and that no matter what your doubts say, pile 2, you deserve this!

That belief is very important--it keeps you from creating blind spots where opportunities lie. I felt relief pulling the King of Pentacles in the middle. The King does not think at all about what he deserves, he simply has it. He listened to that one random shampoo commercial's message "because you're worth it, baby" and stuck to that philosophy for the rest of his life. He needed this confidence because with Pentacles (and as hinted by your Turtle Creek card), success doesn't happen overnight. Sometimes it can be hard to tell if something is going to work out in the long run. We often have to wave our hair around like supermodels and strut our stuff as though we know it will anyway. (I just got "Good As Hell" by Lizzo in my head. You might benefit from pampering yourself a little to remind yourself of your worthiness.)

There's going to be a moment of inspiration that comes to you this harvest, like an artistic idea or emotional epiphany that will flood through your slow moving creek. Page of Cups doesn't see you as really stuck, but will help push you along either way. Your lack mentality is being restored to a fullness mentality, and with this comes a strong wave of emotional resolution. Letting yourself feel the hurt of lack for just a moment in time can help you clear it out of your system to make room for healthier and better feelings that actually stick. You're allowed to set down your doubts for now and be more vulnerable and open to giving and receiving. It may not seem so, but vulnerability is important to creating flow, and flow is when we sense that we are moving with life and not against it, so that naturally things will work out for us. When you're ready to open your doors to life with softness and tender affection, so will the doors to what you've been dreaming of.

Pile 3

Cards: VII Chariot, Queen of Swords, Ten of Cups; Cottage Hill, Watermelon - Fun, Sagittarius Rising - Adventure, 9 - Self Acceptance

Before I flipped over your cards, I looked at the Cottage Hill card and imagined how cozy you've been for the last while, maybe a season or two where you stayed home and felt comfortable. I even channeled a feeling of enjoying old familiar songs and games. Then I turned the cards around and got the exact opposite message!

Your cards are nudging towards pushing yourself out there and taking in the goodness of life without getting muddled in the details. You've been in a state of analysis (paralysis?) for some time, and the only thing you're harvesting, whether you like it or not, is the chance to go out and enjoy yourself. It doesn't have to involve others, it can be just you looking to try something new (maybe rock climbing isn't in your taste, but there are many other things to explore). Forgive me for saying this, but we all know what dried plums are: prunes. And what do prunes help with? Of course, getting things going! The Chariot isn't always a card of traveling, but you are specifically having your travel experiences sweetened this time around. A dash of spontaneity and whimsy has been added to your harvest. There is stuff out there waiting for you to see it and experience it for yourself.

Please don't think that this time to run around and enjoy yourself is a waste of time, pile 3. Do you know how hard it is to want to move ahead when you have 6-8 planets in retrograde? Cut yourself a bit of slack. Being a successful human being doesn't mean never allowing yourself to feel content with the present, especially since for many people being successful means exactly that. You also never know what these greater experiences could bring you in the long run. A good time spent away can be like a shower that prepares you for the next big thing to tackle. It could be hiding blessings in between, waiting for you to seize them.

The Queen is Swords approaches everything with discernment, so you can work with her energy by finding out what sort of thing you would like to do or see next. It doesn't mean planning every single thing out. The best itineraries keep you from getting lost from point A to point B, while also leaving room for exploration. Maybe you'd be interested in joining a computer programming class, for example. It doesn't mean you have to sign up for the full major. Taking things a step at a time can really help you determine what's better for you further down the road. Self-Acceptance card talks about how to deal with our tendency to self-contradict. There's a part of you what wants to move ahead, and part of you that wants to stay put in the comfort zone. Plan out your "itinerary" so you're not caught in black-and-white thinking. If you're feeling the resistance to move, just try it a little at a time. You'll have a lot more fun this way.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2023, @VitaminseeTarot ™

#tarotblr #tarot #tarot community #general reading #pac #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a pile #pick an image #psychic readings #intuitive #intuitive reading #free tarot #tarot cards #astro tarot #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #divination #tarot reader #last quarter moon #psychic #oracle #tarot spreads #oracle reading #harvesting #berries #blueberries #strawberries #plums #pick a fruit

[fanfic-fanfic-everywhere]

In the Clouds

Felix Volturi X Reader 

Request for @prettyinblack231  

Word Count: 2,306 

One thing was for sure, word spread fast in the supernatural world. The Cullen’s had successfully escaped a stand off with the Volturi with their entire coven intact. You had meant to go be a witness for them, you really had. However, your fear, like many others, prevented you from that. Now with the fear of your immortal life ending gone, you had to see this strange child for yourself. 

That’s how you found yourself standing in their backyard hesitantly making your way up their steps. 

A large man met you at the door, “Hi, can I help you?” He smiled a half smile to appear less threatening. 

‘Emmett, it’s her!!” a small woman suddenly appeared at his side. She was smiling like you were the best thing she had ever seen. Your knitted brow must’ve reminded her you were out of the loop. 

“My name’s Alice! You’re (Y/N), right?” She grabbed your hand and pulled you into the doorway. 

“That’s me,” you nervously smiled. 

“Well, I know you’re just here to meet Reneseme, but I really think you’re going to like it here!” She chirped. 

And she was right. Once you had met all of the members of the Coven, you had fallen in love with their family. And three days later, when Carlise asked you if you would like to join them, you swore you cried on the inside. From there began two months of changes, mostly to your diet, laughter, and just overall peace with the Coven and within yourself. 

In the first week of March, Alice had a vision. Edward, Carlise, and herself kept it very secretive; you would catch them whispering in tones so low you only caught bits and pieces. 

None of what you caught raised much alarm in you, until you caught a very key phrase,” If the Volturi are coming…” 

“The Volutri are coming?” you asked in alarm without thinking. 

Nine pairs of eyes were immediately on you. 

Edward heaved a big sigh as Carlise smiled gently at you, “Yes, (Y/N). They’re just coming to check on Renesemes growth and our Coven. As far as we know, it’s just the Upper Guard, so they won’t be much interested in anything, but her.” Little did you all know that he was so very wrong. 

Two days later you found yourself standing in the backyard, where your time with the Cullen’s had begun. The guard was coming, and you weren’t very good at hiding your anxiousness from your family. 

Rosalie smiled over at you and rubbed your upper back,” It’ll be fine.” 

You offered her a small smile. In your almost 15 years of being a vampire you had never met any of the Volturi. Your situation wasn’t uncommon. Most vampires who follow the laws and lay low enough may never meet them, you only wished you had been so lucky. 

When they broke through the clearing your eyes immediately darted around in an attempt to not look them in the eyes. You settled on staring at a small dandelion by your foot. It was nearly spring now, so the common weeds were starting to pop through what grass had decided to grow back. You made a mental note to talk to Esme about spraying around the house with weed killer later. 

“She’s grown,” came a smug yet feminie voice. You spared a glance upward to look at its owner. This was Jane no doubt. She stood at the front of a small diamond formation the four of them had decided to make. To her left stood a boy who looked identical, only slightly taller, you were for sure this was Alec. His gift was to be feared more than his sisters in your eyes. The mere thought of feeling nothing, seeing nothing, and just not being able to sense anything made your immortal skin crawl. 

“It was expected that she would.” Edward's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you watched as he shifted himself slightly in front of his daughter.  

“It was merely an observation,” said the man to Jane’s right. This must’ve been Demetri. The greatest tracker known to your kind, able to hone in on exactly where anyone is in the world by just the tenor in the voice. He was also a casanova from what Rosalie had told you. 

“You’ve added to your coven,” a deep voice that nearly floored you with how smooth and inviting it sounded observed from behind Demetri. 

Panic set into your chest as Carlise turned to smile at you, and then back to the guards. 

“This is (Y/N), she was looking for a place to stay and joined us about two months ago.” He explained. 

“Where are you originally from, (Y/N)?” the same voice inquired. You hadn’t met his eyes or looked at him yet, but you knew who he was. The whole vampiric world knew who he was. The executioner. 

“New York, a nomad changed me by accident.” You replied, looking up at him finally. You met his eyes in a bold move, and if you had still been human the wind would’ve been knocked right out of your lungs. He was gorgeous with a face you swore was sculpted by the Gods themselves. He gasped as if he had felt the same gut punch you had and the playful glint that had been in his eyes disappeared and turned into anger. You weren’t quite sure what you had done, so you stumbled a step backward to only bump into Jaspers chest. Jasper wrapped a hand around your upper arm and held you in place as your family, and the remaining guards, watched Felix turn and storm back into the woods from which he had come. You weren’t sure why, but this action from him panged your heart as if he had hurt you. 

You tore your eyes from where he had disappeared into the woods to find a mix of red and yellow eyes on you. You felt the panic rise your chest again, and the familiar twangs of a panic attack set into your body. You barely felt Jasper speeding you into the house and up to your room. Shouts from outside rose into your room, forcing you to listen to the confusion and then the outcry from Jane and Alec as they realized what had just happened. 

The executioner had found his mate. Felix Volutri, who was determined he’d never find his other half, had found it in you. 

A breathless sob that seemed to go on for minutes wracked the Cullen household. It seemed to shake the windows, and rattle your bookshelves. Once it ended you only then realized it had come from you. 

Gentle hands your shoulders, and on instinic your own hands flew up to grab their forearms. 

“What just happened?” Your eyes shot up to meet Esme’s. 

“You found your mate,” she half smiled in the motherly manner that made you miss your own mother so much, “The feelings that come with it are powerful as you can tell. I’m sure he’s just overwhelmed. He’ll come back.” 

Esme’s words seemed logical. It felt as if your whole world had been flipped upside down. The ground from under your feet had been ripped away like a tablecloth in a bad magic show. You were now standing on the gray clouds that plagued the Washington skies, and the only person that could ever stand on them with you was Felix. 

Only, he never came back to stand on the clouds with you. He left you to swelter in the storm that came slowly in the following months. And as it started to rain from your feet, you felt the burning in your heart. It only started to thunder the day you received a rather strongly worded voicemail from an Italian number. The thunder was his words. It rumbled in his voice telling you that he would rather be torn to pieces than be mated to you. A vegetarian coward, he had called you. You’re just too scared to own up to the fact you’re damned whether you kill humans or not, he had told you. And then the lightning started every time you listened to his voice. His words startled you like the thunder, but the sound of his voice electrified you from the inside out. Eventually the skies grew darker than they ever had been, and so did your eyes. What was the use of feeding if the very person made for you didn’t want you to exist. 

The winds turned violent the day Bella had grabbed you to try and force you to eat. You grabbed her hands off of you and threw her away from you. The moment you had realized what you had done, you ran and didn’t stop. 

You picked back up your human diet and in a violent way. You were turning reckless, and you couldn’t force yourself to care. If the Volturi wanted you dead maybe he would do it. Maybe you’d hear his voice one last time, and in your final moments feel his hands on you like you craved. Your craving for him had far out wayed your craving for blood anymore. Several times you had almost booked a flight to Italy, but then you listened to his voicemail again. He clearly didn’t want you, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t tell him how you felt. 

So as you sat on top of a building looking down into Times Square, you hit redial. It rang for several seconds until you heard a click. No voicemail message blurted out at you. Someone had answered; how your dead heart hoped it was him. 

“I don’t know if it’s you,” you began,” But if it is please listen to me. All I ask is for two minutes.” 

No one answered, and yet no one hung up. You let out a shaky laugh. 

“Why would you just leave? All you know is my name and where I’m from. You know nothing of my past, just like I know nothing of yours,” you breathed out,” But what’s done is done. I’m drowning. I left Cullen's months ago. I’m more violent now than I ever was as a newborn. I picked my human blood diet back up; I was only vegetarian because I was with them.” 

You swallowed hard, and paused, hoping for a response.

When you got none you sighed again,” I’m reckless. I feel like that's the only way I’m ever going to see you again. I listen to your voicemail and the hurtful words you say to me because that's the only time I feel anything anymore. I want to do something stupid like exposed myself in hopes that you and the guard come find me and kill me. Because even though I don’t know you, I can't live without you.” 

You were dry sobbing now, “If this is goodbye forever, Felix, then so be it.” 

Heaving a great sigh you quoted,” I love you with so much of my heart, that there is none left to protest. Much Ado About Nothing, Shakespear, Act 5 Scene 1,” and pressed end. 

You fell back onto the roof and studied the night stars. You laid there until early in the morning when the peaks of the sunrise came from above the buildings. Gathering yourself from the rooftop you made a short walk in the alleyways to your apartment. Jiggling the keys in the door you swung it open to only stop and stare. 

There he stood. Felix. His chocolate hair was shaggier now, it suited him better as it framed his face. The black sweater he wore was form fitting showing almost every single detail in his arm muscles. The Volturi crest hung from his neck and landed in the middle of his chest. You raised your eyes to meet his pained ones. 

Pulling the keys from the door you shut it behind you, and placed your keys on the kitchen counter beside the door. Then did you notice his suit jacket draped over your kitchen chair, and a black phone sitting, abandoned, on the counter. 

You tore your eyes away from the phone back to him, “You’ve been here all night.” 

He nodded, and reached out a hand to you. You slipped yours into it; it felt right, you were sure nothing would feel more right. Until he pulled you into his arms. Your hands were placed firmly on him; one on a firm mass of muscle on his shoulder and the other firmly squeezing his hand. You were sure that if you let go he would disappear again, only this time forever.

The only thing keeping you from thinking that this wasn't a hallucination or death, was the way his arm firmly grasped your waist and pulled your chest into him. You stared into each other’s eyes and swayed to the invisible music that flowed in your heads. 

He looked regretful, “I’m so sorry. How can I make it up to you?” 

You smiled softly,” We have only forever to make up for this time lost.”

 He looked thankful as you leaned your head into his chest. You felt his cool lips lightly brush your forehead, as you continued to sway. The morning sun was now beating into the windows, and on to both of your skin. The room filled with rainbow specs, as he twirled you once, only to pull you back in. You stilled with both hands now on his chest. He covered your hands with his own and squeezed. 

A dazzling smile was flashed at you as he quoted from the same Shakespearean play you had only hours earlier, “And, I pray thee now, tell me, for which of my bad parts did thou first fall in love with me?” 

-Admin Magda 

(I honestly love Felix, and would die for this tall boi! As always thank you for reading, and request are open! Comments and feedback are always welcome!) 

#volturi #felix volturi #felix volturi imagine #twilight imagine #imagine #imagine twilight #twilight #volturi imagine #the cullens #request open #please send request #FEEDBACK PLEASE #twilight blog

[riviae]

so anyway... did anyone ask for a regis-centric character study set during his time in beauclair in ‘lady of the lake’ ft. angouleme? no? well i wrote it anyway lol:

Beauclair was a fairytale place—that much Regis was certain of. However, even fairytales bore monsters, gave blood and bone to things that were better off not existing at all. And, more often than not, fairytales gave birth to monsters in the shape of men. 

The land was an illusion of peace, a mirage of vineyards and bustling cities that fed the monsters that thrived there. Where there was peace, there would also be strife. Where there was laughter, there were also tears. Where there were innocents, so also were there those who sought to spill blood. Regis had not spilled blood in a long time, but some of his more... tumultuous memories resurfaced during the full moon, the urge to fly high above the castle battlements and walls giving way to more long-repressed desires. 

He wanted to fly. He also desired a drink—though this wasn’t confined to full moons. He settled on walking and humming the melody of some tawdry ballad that Dandelion had composed when they reached the Sansretour Valley. Regis could have misted through the cobblestone streets as a barely perceptible fog—in fact, it was how he had favored to travel before his encounter with Geralt and his rag-tag hansa—but his time spent traipsing the narrow pathways of Beauclair with his companions had made him oddly nostalgic. Walking at a human’s pace allowed him the chance to reminisce, to commit the sprawling array of shops and houses to memory. 

To his right, he saw a row of apartments painted a soft peach, dark green ivy climbing over an overhanging trellis and up the façade of the building. In the mornings, there was often an elderly woman that sat on one of the stoops with her cat. She had a faint Nilfgaardian accent and spoke animatedly with Cahir, who, to Regis’ surprise, smiled and laughed brightly. Regis could count on one hand the number of times Cahir had laughed in his company, which was only once more than Geralt. 

Without the winged helmet and cape, Cahir looked almost boyish, his tan, freckled skin and dark hair giving the impression of someone who worked hot summer days on his parent’s farm. In truth, with just his sword at his side, Cahir did not look like a soldier or even a knight. It was only in his most basic mannerisms such as the way he postured himself as he walked, the subtle way he mapped a room with his gaze, his back always pressed to a wall, that betrayed his years of service as a soldier. War had not yet taken the kindness from his eyes or the gentleness by which he spoke to Milva, Angouleme, Regis, Dandelion, and, at times, Geralt. So, along with his politeness, it was only natural that he would be popular with the older generations. 

Regis stopped in front of the elderly woman’s door, his eyes shining silver in the flickering lamplight. In the dark, he could see that she did not choose to close her window, the drapes within the first-floor bedroom moving almost imperceptibly due to the mild draft.

In a fairytale, a monster would materialize from the shadows to crawl through the window. It would approach the woman’s bed, its rows of teeth poised over her, only to have its head lobbed off by some kindly knight. 

The vampire approached the window. He could hear her snoring loudly, heard her shaky intake of breath and then a brief stutter. It was a moment where she had stopped breathing, but Regis was not worried. Most sleep apneas were generally harmless and he did not hear any other telltale signs of more serious ailments such as excess fluid in her lungs. In fact, her lungs and even her heart seemed strong. It was likely nothing more than apnea brought on by the muscles of her throat relaxing, something that could be treated by learning to sleep on her side or abdomen. 

Quietly, and without difficulty, he misted into the room. He locked the window and closed the drapes before disappearing again, this time the dark fog of his incorporeal form crawling underneath the space between the stoop and the door. When he reappeared, he was human-shaped and he suddenly felt the lateness of the night tugging at his eyelids. Sleep was not always necessary for his kind, but it was a luxury he had been spoiled with ever since coming to reside in Beauclair castle. 

It had become a habit thanks to Angouleme’s insistence on sleep being a ‘good fucking elixir to any ailment’—her diction taken, more or less, from Regis, but sprinkled with her choice of vulgarities. It was quite endearing. And it also explained why he spent some afternoons in the shared common area within their wing of the castle, tome in hand, dozing now and again on a wide chaise lounge while the flaxen-haired girl snored in his ear. Sometimes even Milva would join them, though she took to the adjacent sofa and either played cards with Cahir or sharpened her arrowheads. Geralt, on the exceedingly rare days where he wasn’t tangled up with Fringilla Vigo or taking on a contract, sat in the armchair and scribbled in his own personal bestiary, gazing now and again discreetly at his dozing company with an expression that could almost be described as tender. 

Perhaps he truly was getting old even for vampire standards, he thought, returning to the present. Giving a very human yawn that he covered reflexively with his palm, Regis turned away from the apartment and immediately met the gaze of two teenagers. One of which who had brandished a small, curved hunting knife. 

If they had seen Regis reappear from a spindle of smoke, neither teen acted as if it mattered. As if all he had done was but an elaborate parlor trick, as evident by the way that more muscular teenager pressed the blade silently and fervently to his neck. The vampire allowed himself to be pushed into the nearby alley and against a brick wall as the blade pressed deeper into his skin. 

A few beads of red dripped down the knife, splattering onto the ground in a star-like shape. The pain barely registered to the vampire, though his nostrils flared at the scent of sweat and alcohol. The teenager with the knife to his throat was sober, though possibly high on fisstech if his dilated pupils were any indication, but the other boy, lean and dressed in black with a sabre at his side, had definitely been drinking. He smelled of cheap beer and blood—many people’s blood. 

“Looks like you’ve caught us a meddler, Boris,” said the boy with the sabre. He pulled a metal flask from his belt and took a swig, wiping the excess with the back of his hand. “Listen here, grandpa, we’ve been casing this place for weeks. So instead of worrying about some elderly wench, you should focus on yourself.”

Boris flashed a grin that sent a sinking feeling to the pit of Regis’ stomach. It was a wholly familiar grin. One that he had given long ago, so long ago that it felt like he had dreamed it. “This guy looks like a fucking tax collector, doesn’t he? Hey, gramps, you’ve got any coin on you? You must, it’s Beauclair, after all.” 

“I’d bet he has more coin than common sense. Only a senile old coot would walk around alone at night, ” the other boy added, snickering. “It’d be almost a mercy to kill him.”

It was, disturbingly, like looking into a mirror of his youth. The jeering, the recklessness, the utter lack of respect or dignity for life—they were young, stupid, and thought the world owed them something. Something that they had no qualms taking violently. 

This is what I was like before, he thought to himself. I only cared about myself. I lived to drink—and died for it, too. How pitiful.  

His inner thoughts were interrupted by a swift strike to his cheek. Boris had dropped the knife in favor of using his fists, one hand curled around the vampire’s throat while the other prepared to punch him squarely in the jaw. Regis fought the urge to snarl, settling on a frustrated huff. If they realized he was not human, he would likely have to kill them. He did not want to—bloodshed no longer suited him. At least that was what he kept telling himself whenever the option for violence arose. 

Regis did not fear many things. He did not fear fighting or war or even death, really. But he also knew that there were many fates worse than death. He feared returning to the habits and mindset of his youth, of losing the respect he had for others that had taken centuries to come to fruition. Regis was not naturally kind; kindness did not come easy to him. But he was naturally good at learning through observation and, like any skill, kindness could be cultivated—even in the worst of people if given the time to change. Or so he believed.

“Listen to us when we’re talking to you, old man,” Boris hissed none too kindly, this time reaching to tug at Regis’ greying hair. “Vinny, let’s just kill the guy already and go rob that wench.” 

“No,” Vinny replied, his tone almost playful. “I’m just starting to have some fun.” 

The words echoed loudly in the vampire’s ear, alchemizing into a voice that he recognized as his own. 

“I’m just starting to have some fun,” Regis remembered himself saying as he rose from the barstool, lips pulled into a sneer. In a blink of an eye he had crossed the entire distance of the tavern to seize a drunken man by the scruff of his neck. 

“Now, now, there’s no need for tears, my good fellow,” he said calmly, pulling the man closer. “We’re just having a party and need your… contribution.” Fangs met flesh then, the man’s outcry cut short as Regis dug his teeth cruelly into his neck. The vampire rolled the body away from himself when he was done, barely sparing it a second glance. He was already thinking of where he could get his next drink now that the last human patron of the tavern was dead, adding to his morbid pile of bodies. 

Back in the present, the lean, dark-haired teenager had traded places with Boris, choosing instead to point his sabre directly at the vampire’s Adam’s apple. 

Again… must I always have swords pointed at my throat? 

Vinny blinked, dark eyes widening in surprise. “Huh, well I’ll be damned. The old man’s got a sense of humor.” 

Regis, who had not realized he had spoken his previous thought aloud, hid his own shock with a hum of agreement. “Amongst other things,” he said, voice calm and polite. “Anyway, I’d be more than willing to part with some of my coin if you would be so kind as to lower your weapon. I am not in any mood to fight.” 

“But what if I’m looking for a fight?” Vinny goaded. 

Regis sighed. Perhaps he couldn’t talk his way out of a confrontation. He was tempted to use hypnotism, to simply have the pair fall into a drunken slumber beside the nearest gutter, but there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t prey on some other innocent citizen the moment they awoke. “I’m sorry,” Regis began, tone and expression severe, “But a fight with me is equivalent to courting death.” 

“This old fuck must be on something…” Boris muttered, a full-body shudder wracking his muscular frame at Regis’ tone. “Let’s go, Vin. Something doesn’t feel right about all this.” 

Before Vinny could respond he was cutoff by a distinctly raucous laugh from the mouth of the alleyway. “Hey, uncle!” a familiar voice chirped. “Need a hand?” 

“Angouleme?” Regis breathed, watching as the teen approached, both hands shoved casually in her pockets. 

As she approached, her grin grew even wider. It was an expression that very much reminded Regis of a feline who had gotten its claws hooked into a canary. “Oho, now look at what the cat dragged in! Vinny and Boris, it’s been awhile, you whoresons.” 

“Angouleme,” Boris greeted, giving a nervous look to Vinny. “What are you doing all the way in Beauclair? Thought the Nightingales didn’t travel this far south.” 

“They don’t—I’m not a part of their shit gang anymore. They’re also all very, very dead.” At this, Angouleme flashed another wide grin, giving the two boys a wink. “So maybe don’t bother my Uncle Regis anymore if you don’t wanna end up in the ground.” 

“Fuck this,” Vinny groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He lowered the sabre from Regis’ throat with a frown and stepped away. “Ang, we were just casing some house when your uncle or whatever showed up.” 

Regis took the brief interlude to fix the collar of his shirt, smoothing out the creases in the dark fabric. His gaze then returned to Angouleme who had now stepped in front of him, acting as a barrier between him and the two teenagers as much as her petite, lithe frame would allow.

“I’m sure you were,” Angouleme agreed. “But y’know what else I think, Vinny? I think you’re just out looking for someone to kill. Steal from whoever, I don’t care—but watch your blade. Too many murders in one area and people are bound to notice.” 

“Almost sounds like you’ve gone soft, Angouleme,” Boris said, tone neither accusatory nor playful—as if he was only stating a very obvious fact. 

“Almost sounds like I should’ve let Uncle Regis kill you two,” Angouleme replied icily. Her right hand twitched, ready to reach for the blade she kept hidden in her boot—a gift courteous of Milva after she had lost her own. “No one’s going soft, especially not me. Go find some drunk in a ditch to rob if you must and then get the fuck out of Beauclair.” 

“And what if we don’t want to leave?” Vinny asked with obvious bloodlust. “What’ll you do then, Ang? Because I don’t believe for a second that your geriatric, grey-haired babysitter could even throw a punch before I have him gored on my sword.” 

Angouleme cackled, a feral glint in her eyes. “Since uncle doesn’t like resorting to violence very much and I’m feeling particularly nice tonight, I’d be sure to kill ya both myself. And since we used to run in the same circles, I’d make it a quick death too. You’d both be bleeding out before you even had a chance to piss yourselves in fear. Call it a friendly discount—two quick, painless deaths. Hell, I’ll even bury your bodies so the birds don’t dine on your insides.” 

“Now there’s the girl I remember,” Vinny said, whistling appreciatively. “You always had a way with words. You were all bark and bite. But now I wonder if you’ve been muzzled; why else would you be traveling around with a man who looks like a bank teller?” 

“If I may interject?” Regis asked, raising a hand politely. Angouleme whipped her head back to shoot the vampire a confused look. 

Regis cleared his throat. “I think there’s another way we can settle this. Without bloodshed.” Not waiting for a reply, Regis turned his gaze to Vinny and Boris, sighing. He addressed the dark-haired man first. “Vinny, was it? You like killing, don’t you?” 

Vinny nodded, tone expressionless. “It’s fun. I like hearing ‘em scream. Why do all these people get to live cushy, painless lives here in the city? What’d they do to deserve a good life? Nothing. I’m just here to settle the score. Be the monster all these rich folk told me I’d be growing up. It’s a bonus that I enjoy it.” 

Boris gawked at the other teen. “What the fuck? Why’re you admitting all that? Have you gone fucking mad?” 

Regis continued, ignoring Boris’ outcry. “So you feel that you have some right to kill? Because you were wronged in life?”

“Yeah, I do. I’m good at stealing and killing. It came with practice. Do anything long enough and you learn to develop a taste for it.”

“I see…” Regis trailed, now turning his attention to the other teen. “Boris. Why do you follow Vinny? I can tell that you have less of a stomach for murder than him. Though it seems as if you are fine with violence… within reason. ” 

“He’s a right bastard but he’s also my only friend. I can’t abandon him no matter how much I want to sometimes. He likes getting into trouble—starting brawls, drinking till he pukes, murdering when he doesn’t have to, racking up as many bounties on his head as he can without it being chopped off—and it’s up to me to keep him from going too far. From getting himself killed.” 

Regis smiled sadly. “You think you’re helping him. But in actuality, you are enabling him. I don’t blame you, however; it’s often difficult to tell the difference.” 

“So what’re you gonna do with ‘em, uncle?” Angouleme piped up, eyes wide with admiration for the vampire. “Wish you could teach me how to hypnotize people… seems like it’d come in handy,” she added, kicking at a loose stone. 

“Hmm… well, I’ll actually leave that to you, Angouleme. You know them better than I do. Do you have a solution? We can’t just leave them to their own devices.” 

At this, Angouleme paused, brows furrowing. She deliberated for a few moments, tilting her head from side to side until she snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it! Keep ‘em still for a second, uncle.” 

Regis nodded, focusing on keeping the two teens in place. 

Swiftly, and without any preamble, Angouleme landed a solid kick to Vinny’s right arm, relishing in the loud crack that followed. The teen howled then, the pain freeing him from Regis’ influence. 

“Fuck!” He cursed, falling to his knees to curl up into a ball. His outcry was jarring enough to snap Boris from his own trance, panic flooding the teen’s face at the sight of his friend curled on the ground. 

“Hey, Boris,” Angouleme drawled casually, smile curling even wider at the way the larger teen steps back instinctively in fear.“ Do me a favor, will ya? Take Vinny and get out of here. Help him heal and teach him how to control his anger. Not everyone in the world is out to get ya; you don’t need to take a swing at every person you come across. So if I hear about you two causing any sort of ruckus I’ll make sure to break more than an arm. Got it?” 

With a shaky nod, Boris helped Vinny back to his feet. In mere moments the pair had disappeared, skittering out of the back alley as fast as they could. 

“Thank you, Angouleme,” Regis said, smiling in his own gentle way, the tips of his fangs peaking out from beneath his lips. “You were able to defuse the situation rather brilliantly—with no bloodshed. Impressive.” 

At the genuine praise, the flaxen-haired teen looked away, embarrassed. She didn’t want Regis to see how her cheeks had reddened at his words. Praise was rare; before joining Geralt’s hansa, she had only been praised for her prowess at killing and stealing. This was different. She wasn’t doing something because she wanted the praise or attention or the safety that came with being stronger and more dangerous than her peers—she was simply doing what she thought was right. 

As they walked back to the castle, Angouleme gave a contented sigh, tilting her head up towards the full moon. 

“It’s a nice night, isn’t it?”

“It is, my dear Angouleme. It certainly is.” 

Angouleme smiled, gaze softening. “Think we’ll get more nights like this?” 

“I hope so,” Regis replied, voice thick with something akin to melancholy. 

At that, Angouleme snickered, nudging the vampire’s shoulder playfully. “Heh, you sounded so sentimental there. Don’t tell me you’re gonna miss going on long walks with a brat like me. ” 

“…I’m going to miss a lot of things about Beauclair. Mostly, though, I think I’m going to miss all these fragile moments of peace.  I know even good times must end—we still have a quest to complete, after all. Geralt’s ward is still in danger. But being here was nice. And I especially enjoyed our walks, Angouleme.” 

Together, they walked the winding road back to the castle. Home, Angouleme thought a moment later. They were going home. It was the first time that she had ever thought of a place as home. There had been houses, small huts and backwater inns that she had lived in, sure—but home implied belonging. She had a place where she belonged with the friends she now saw as family. 

And if Regis noticed the few stray, happy tears that brimmed in her eyes, he politely didn’t mention it.

He too was busy reminiscing--his life had changed the moment he decided to follow Geralt, to join his company and work to save his ward. Even if it amounts to nothing but ash, Regis thought, I won’t regret my choice. Here, with everyone, is where I know I belong. I don’t know if this story will end like a fairytale or a nightmare, but at least I won’t be alone. Not anymore. 

#emiel regis #angouleme #other hansa characters are mentioned but it's mostly these two #can't believe i wrote something that primarily ignores geralt lmaoo but here we are #this is kinda all over the place but i did try i promise ;v;

[anemotos]

[ x - accepting / @asterites​ ]  ❝ i wonder, if you do the right thing, does it really make everyone happy? ❞ // pre-estrangement ?

     Upon the sweetest of whispers did the wind pass through the leaves. The sun, it bathed the land in its warm embrace - glistening upon the snow strewn earth who reflected it in kind. The birds, they sang. Foxes chirped and yipped in symphony with the melodious breeze. T'was the image of perfect tranquility… yet even it could not withstand the weight of the question posed. The sheer gravity of such musings, a thought Barbatos knew to be no idle wonderance.

     Strings strummed dolce came to a halt, nimble fingers poised above the windborne lyre as once closed lashes lifted to gaze upon the archon at his side. Regality in human form, a maiden of frost and love whose people she adored, and adored her in turn. Whose heart shown through with blinding sincerity, even beneath the pensive mask she wore. ( Dear sister of mine, where oh where is your head this fair eve? )

     Swift, were reassurances to bound to the forefront of his consciousness. Inspiring platitudes and boundless support... that held only as much comfort as could be expected of a glass of water thrown against a raging wildfire ( the inferno of a troubled mind. ) The like of which could soothe the heart, yet was but a temporary salve for a weary soul.

     Downcast eyes found the instrument betwixt idle hands, as one note was plucked, two. A mindless action, from he whose thoughts lay elsewhere. For the truth she sought existed in shades of gray, not black, not white. Not yes or no, however simple it would be to lie say as such. However easy.

     " Once upon a time, I wondered the same... " Slow, was the admittance. The lyre strummed, a wistful hum adrift alongside a soft exhale. " I once looked at Mondstadt, and saw only a nation that deserved to be free. For the winds that shrouded them from the world to be redirected - to be blown open, and guide them towards a brighter tomorrow... But the future I saw, it was not a vision shared by everyone. "

     Another note rose to join the somber tune. Beneath the poor facsimile of a smile, beneath eyes that saw not the strings but echoes of ages long since past - of decisions still questioned to this very day. " There are those that, rather than freedom, see abandonment. A godless land; weak, disgraceful - to be pitied like an orphan begging for scraps. Those who'd rather the order of a god and the - “ tyranny it risked, but the bitter words did not make it past the tip of his tongue. “ The authority it would bring. Who seek the uniformity of the known, where life has clear sense and purpose, rather than the unknown - a future of their own making. " His head, it shook. A sigh on the precipice of release, but one that had yet to break free. " Even without me there, there are some like the church who have created testaments of my will, many of which have never came from my lips. Yet these false commandments bring them a sense of peace all the same. " Facets that drew the god’s concern, for the shackles - the restrictions, the sorrow - such holy guidance tempted. No matter the happiness he saw on their faces, no matter the praise that bellied otherwise. Alas…

     " Alas, where some cry displeasure, others respond in jovial cheer. Who, like me, believe the wind should not be a storm whisking one off their feet to a future of which they have no say in, but a gentle guide, an opportunity to be taken or left behind. " For Mondstadt was free, and thus free to make their own choices, even those that he did not abide himself. " Not everyone agrees with what I've done. Infact, the second I step outside of Mondstadt all I hear is criticism this, criticism that. But I like to think I've made more happy than I have not. And, really, what more could I ask for? " A smile lifted one corner of his lips, a small little thing. ( Hopeful, even when the deed had long since been done. ) " I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat… but I have learned that the world is not as black and white as it appears. You can't please everyone… but in your heart, you will know what is right. "

     With that said…

     Der Himmel dispersed with the wind which had created it, anemo particles left to fly akin to dandelions seeds in the sky. All the while its performer rose from the stone that had been their seat. To turn and face his friend - nay, his sibling in all but blood. With a beaming visage; warm enough to melt even the coldest frost, yet gentle as the breeze. He laid a hand upon her shoulder, a minute gesture of comfort, but one all the same. " My dear, I won't claim to know why it is you ask, but I will say that wherever your decisions take you, I will be by your side, no matter the tempests you face - or would a blizzard be more fitting here? “ He winked. “ You could never displease your big brother, after all... “

     A pause.

     “ Well, " oh, how the corners of his smile twitched. Where once was heartfelt sincerity, did the tell-tale glimmer of mischief now dwell. " Except for that one time you froze my lyre. Oh, or when you totally ripped off my outfit. " ( And had the audacity to make it better than his own. For shame. ) And yet. The sound of a giggle followed suit, though the gleam in his eyes did soften. " But, I mean it. I'm here for you, if you need to talk. You need not but ask. "

#╰ ✧ ･ ❝ let’s follow the wind #shall we? ( IC ) #asterites #( me: pre estrangement can't hurt us #also me: /sOBBING/ )

[gayregis]

I've listened to the part where Geralt talks with a very ill Cahir about Ciri and vengeance... it was one of the most emotional parts of the book by itself but also thanks to your take about the lost innocence of Ciri ! I felt it thrice hard in the feelings! Also, do you have thoughts on the declared love of Cahir for Ciri? Personally I see it as disturbingly romantic, let's say. Thank you for your commitment to the books and sorry to bother you

omg thank you for the ask. first of all i have to say you’re not bothering me!! tbh i have been loving getting asks because it gives me an opportunity to like bring more discussion to the witcher community... 

i feel like although reblogging pretty gifs of characters/landscapes from tw3 and any good fanart i can find is nice, my FAVORITE thing to do is write or read a really long textpost about the witcher books, i really like the discussion aspect of fandoms where people post their reactions and opinions to the content they like, because you get a bunch of shared reactions and differing opinions.

so no this is NOT a bother at all, and its nice especially to get asks about topics that i have strong feelings about but have not made posts about yet, like this one

ok, as for the actual topic: i hate forced heterosexuality, so you KNOW i hate that canon cahiri! it was out of line from sapkowski and imo, it came out of absolutely nowhere in tower of the swallow, it wasn’t something built up to or foreshadowed at all, so it felt not only weird in context but weird for sapkowski as an author.

my main problem with canon cahiri: i think it’s super creepy!

first of all, let’s discuss the age difference. cahir in baptism of fire is estimated to be “not over 25,” which i see as putting him around 20 to 25 years old, and i usually take the median of this which is around 23. while this “not over 25″ comment is said in the context of the hansa to remark upon how young cahir is (i believe it’s thought of by either geralt or dandelion, and geralt is around 60 years old and as a witcher he looks 45, and dandelion is 38 in tower of the swallow), and how cahir is described as a young man in time of contempt to illustrate that he has a sense of innocence to him as ciri cuts him down, his age gap with ciri is super innappropriate for anything to occur between them, since she is 10 or 11 during the massacre of cintra (as stated by geralt in something more), so she would be around 14 at thanedd, and 15-16 during baptism of fire to lady of the lake. so sapkowski deemed it fit to pair a 23 year old man with a 16 year old girl. this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this, what with essi being “not over 18″ and shani also bein around 18 / college age, and yennefer canonically looking around 20. listen, the man has some messed up values when it comes to women’s ages. we have to take it upon ourselves as people who like the not-weird parts of canon to understand how worldviews and personal biases affect one’s writing, and change it for ourselves to make it right so we can continue interacting with it, if we so choose (tldr: retcon some shit when it’s fucked up in canon).

now, before someone argues that “it’s fantasy medieval world, medieval relationships between men and women were just like that,” believe me, i am aware. i study ancient greece/rome and men who were in their 30s were most often paired with women in their teens as part of their arranged marriages. that is how their ancient societies functioned more than 2000 years ago. the issue is that this is a fantasy world, in which societal norms and laws do not have to conform to real-life earth history, and this is the work of a modern writer writing in the 1990s. it’s not “just how the times were,” it’s deliberately choosing to include an age gap like that to be something canonically acceptable by their society/ies.

also, one could argue that the age gap would be fine once they are older, like, when ciri becomes an adult she is already medievally-style betrothed to cahir so they start dating when she’s like 20 and he’s like 27. eh... that’s still an uncomfortable age gap, at least for when they’re in their 20s. people in their older 20s have more life experience than people in their younger 20s. but at least it wouldn’t land cahir in modern-day jail.

it’s still just an uncomfortably large age gap, and if you think about it, it’s even creepier considering that cahir met ciri when she was a helpless child around 10 - 11 and it just makes the bathing scene excruciatingly creepy too if you put it in the context that he eventually would fall in love with her. it even begins to not be about strictly age, but about life experience, development, and power imbalance within the relationship. i mean, he did literally kidnap her.

cahir in tos calls ciri a “woman” when she is like, 15 or 16 (with the rose tattoo) (to anyone reading, please don’t come at me with that “the age of consent is 15 in poland, just because it’s 18 in the US doesn’t mean your laws and culture apply to everyone” ... please do not try and justify this with laws, legality is not morality. only saying this because i’ve seen it in other posts). like.... hm! don’t like that! she is a teenager... he is in his 20s... this should not be occuring.

sorry for the loooong explanation, but every time someone brings up the subject of age gaps on tumblr it turns into crazy discourse with everyone trying to justify it.

but yeah, CANONICALLY cahir would have been 16-21 (median 18) when he met ciri at 10-11, and 20-25 (median 23) when he declares his love for her at 15-16. that’s ... not good ... to put it more into perspective, these are their ages on a traditional school system path: a 18 year old is a high school senior, an 11 year old is a 6th grader. a 23 year old has been out of college for 2 years, a 16 year old is a high school sophomore. ITS NOT GOOD

my other problem with canon cahiri: it’s boring and contradicts sapkowski at his own game.

all of the witcher is about taking fantasy tropes and inverting them, like you can’t have some random peasant kill a dragon, you’d need a professional, and also guess what, the dragon isn’t evil but a dad trying to protect his wife and child.

all of the characters in the hansa (as well as the four main characters of geralt, yennefer, ciri, and dandelion) are inversions of the tropes they represent. for some examples, milva’s trope is something like the hot action girl who only exists to be the only girl in the company and to be sexy eye candy. instead of falling into this, she is actually an action girl, not bothering with sexiness and appeal to the gaze of a male audience but a “get shit done” type, who also dresses and acts “like a man.” regis’ trope is all vampire tropes ever. he/vampires in the witcher doesn’t/don’t fall into any of the traditional european vampire myths like burning in sunlight, needing to drink blood to stay alive, being disdainful of humanity, having aversions to garlic, belonging to a super-secret orderful society that lurks in the shadows and controls everything like puppetmasters, etc... instead, he is the epitome of redemption arcs and overall “goody-goodiness,” understands humanity perfectly and does things out of his good nature. i already talk about regis too much, so i’ll quit it. 

cahir is an inversion of every knight trope ever, particularly the evil knight. he scars ciri’s memory as a night terror, but actually is not ... a bad person. he’s just some guy, pressured by his family and his society to do what he saw as an assignment like a college kid might see their final essay assignment posted on canvas. except you know. the final exam was to kidnap a girl. and he got an F on that and failed the course (ie got thrown in prison). ANYWAYS, cahir is meant to be this inversion of the knight tropes, so WHY, WHY, WHY make him become the knight trope of being the one to romance and to save a hapless princess? if we’ve learned anything about ciri, it’s that she’s the inversion of the princess trope! she KILLS PEOPLE. she ALMOST KILLED CAHIR. she can defend herself and kill for herself, she doesn’t need the knight trope going to protect her! 

heterosexual romance as the Big Reason and Motivation behind all of a character’s actions is tiring, annoying, boring, and not well-thought out. it’s so base and not unique, it doesn’t fit in with everything else about the witcher.

how i would fix it: not make them fall in love.

cahir already HAS a motivation to find ciri and to help her. he needs to APOLOGIZE. he needs to say, hey, i’m sorry i kidnapped you and ruined your life, i made peace with your dad, he doesn’t wanna kill me anymore, i can only hope that you can forgive me too after i SET THINGS RIGHT. 

as opposed to regis’s arc (i swear i am not playing favorites with regis, i just tend to compare and contrast regis and cahir’s redemptions because they are quite different yet they join the hansa side by side so they’re bound to be compared), cahir actually can find the one (not many) people he wronged, and set things right on his own accord, not go forth with a larger mission to assist all humanity, or whatever.

i think cahir also had this WONDERFULLY UNDERUTILIZED anti-imperialist message as part of his character that pains me to see being swept under the rug for some cheap lame romance story. sapkowski already created some anti-war sentiments with the battle of the bridge in baptism of fire, and he tried to create anti-racism sentiments throughout the book/at the end of lady of the lake. anti-imperialism fits with the rest of the saga as a message.

the fact that cahir was instructed by his family to hate the northern kingdoms, despite the fact that they were related to northerners, is really profound as something to happen to a character, and holds a lot of meaning in today’s society. the fact that he broke, finally, after he lost ciri, just completely lost his mind and had to be restrained because he was wailing so hard, because of the pressure that this society put him under to succeed and achieve pride for his family, is such a great example of the tragedies of society. then he speaks out against his leader and is jailed... and yet, after this, he gets to learn from his mistakes and redeem himself as a good person, and his character has developed SO much. he is not doing what his country wants him to do, he is not doing what his family wants him to do. he is doing what he wants to do because it is the RIGHT thing to do. that already is such a powerful message, he doesn’t need anymore character motivation!

so yep that’s my thoughts on why cahir is a good character asides from all that forced romance biz

#ask #cahir #ciri #master-dellamorte

[taizi]

a life in your shape

the moomins pairing: moomin/snufkin word count: 2290 read on ao3

x

“Oh, my,” Moominmamma says, pressing a hand to her mouth. It doesn’t quite manage to hide her smile. “Someone looks comfortable.”

“Shh, don’t wake him!” Moomin whispers. He can feel his face warming at everyone’s attention but he scowls around at them anyway. Hunching his shoulders and hovering protectively, Moomin insists, “He’ll be embarrassed.”

“He should be,” My says immediately. But there’s no heat to it, and she nudges Sniff with her boot none too gently when it looks like he’s about to say something else. “Let’s start a new game. I’ll be the dealer.”

Moominmamma sets a folded blanket within reach of the sofa before she moves back toward the kitchen. Snorkmaiden is grinning, bright and full of mischief, but she reaches over to take Moomin’s playing cards without making fun.

The moment Moomin’s hands are freed, they gravitate automatically to the mumrik on his lap.

Snufkin makes a noise in his sleep that is entirely contented and rolls over so that his face is smushed against Moomin’s stomach. Oblivious to the muffled giggles from the other side of the table, thank goodness, and dreaming deeply.

He gets this way sometimes, when it’s warm and sunny and the air is sweet. Moomin can’t count how many times he’s nearly stumbled over Snufkin having a nap in the middle of the garden or the flowering meadow. Typically, Moomin is quick to crawl in and join him. It isn’t strange at all!

But he’s never done it here before. On the sofa in the drawing room, with all their friends around, right before lunch. Snufkin nodded off with his cards still in his hand, slumping over onto Moomin’s shoulder.

“Oh, Snuf, you’ll ache all over if you sleep like that,” Moomin had said right away, thinking little of it. To be fair, there was a patch of sunlight pouring right over them from the window, which made their seat the perfect spot for an afternoon nap. “Lay down properly, I don’t mind.”

Half-gone already, Snufkin promptly did as he was told. He took off his hat, scooted far enough away that he could lay down with his head on Moomin’s leg, and was out like a light. That was nearly twenty minutes ago, and Moomin has lost every single game he’s played since. To say he’s distracted is, perhaps, an understatement.

It’s just-- Snufkin is very soft when he’s asleep. He’s solid but not heavy, and warm like a hot water bottle. Every other breath he takes catches on a faint purr, so quiet Moomin is probably the only one in the room close enough to hear. Snufkin’s arms are curled up by his chest, the sleeves of his weathered smock riding up, and his dappled wrists are like velvet where the dark fur of his paws meets his much paler forearms.

Moomin smooths his fingers over one of Snufkin’s wrists with unending care, marveling at the texture. He’s very different from a fluffy moomin or a snork. Even his half-sisters don’t have paws or a tail or eyes that shine like lamps in the dark. He’s a creature all his own, as far as Moomin knows. Even if there were others just like him out there somewhere in the big world he so loves to travel, Moomin can’t imagine they’d hold a candle to his Snufkin. No one ever could.

“He’s really tired,” Sniff says through a mouthful of one of the cinnamon rolls leftover from breakfast. When did he filch those from the kitchen? Moomin didn’t even see him get up. “Winter must have been hard on him last year, huh?”

Moomin’s mouth is already open to scold Sniff for hogging all the leftover sweets, but that draws him up short. He blinks, and says, “I dunno. He didn’t tell me anything about it being hard.”

“He wouldn’t, would he?” My says impatiently, glowering at what must be a losing hand of cards. “You’d worry, and he would feel bad, and then he’d have to make it up to you somehow. He saves himself a lot of hassle by only telling you about the good stuff.”

Stricken, Moomin blurts, “I make him feel bad?”

“That’s not what she meant, Moomintroll,” Snorkmaiden jumps in. She looks like she’d like to pat his arm, but doesn’t want to reach over the sleeping Snufkin to do it. She settles for an affectionate smile. “She just means he’s considerate of your feelings. He would be really sorry if he hurt you, so he’s careful not to, that’s all.”

Little My says, “That’s not what I meant, you’re putting words in my mouth,” and Sniff loses interest in the conversation in favor of another roll, but Moomin thinks about it. He can’t stop thinking about it. He turns it over and over in his head, even as he goes on carefully petting one of Snufkin’s wrists.

Truly, the only things he knows about the world and Snufkin’s journeys are the things Snufkin tells him. Snufkin has sometimes told him about little things that have gone wrong, the days he only had mushrooms and berries to eat because the fish wouldn’t bite, the nights his tent leaked or let mosquitoes in. But surely he must get tired sometimes. Surely it storms, surely he gets lost, maybe he even gets hurt.

Moomin can feel his stomach turning at the idea, and realizes My has a point. If Snufkin ever told him something terrible had happened to him when he was away and all alone, Moomin would probably be sick with worry every time he left from then on, and it would turn every autumn sour.

But-- he isn’t a little child anymore. He knows better. After all these years, he knows that the three quarters of the year Snufkin stays in the valley is more of a compromise than Moomin had any right to ask for or expect. It’s blatantly going against his nature, to stay so long and return every year, but here he is for yet another summer. Here he is, deeply asleep while his friends talk and play around him, closer to them than he’s ever let himself get before, a companionship he had to learn.

Moomin thinks of how little he’s given in return and bites down on an unhappy noise before it slips out.

“Lunch is ready, everyone,” Moominmamma says from the kitchen, her voice a bit softer than usual. “We’re eating out in the yard today.”

Papa must have set up the table and chairs already, or Mama probably would have asked Moomin to help. As his friends lay aside their cards and get up to file outside, Moomin says, “Mama, can I eat later?”

“Of course, dear. I’ll put a plate aside for Snufkin, too.”

When the door closes behind her, Moomin and Snufkin are alone in the house. It’s quiet, the mealtime chatter muffled through the walls and removed from this peaceful, sun-filled room. Everything is touched with gold, dust motes winking in an out of the light.

Moomin has never been so happy to sit still. He’s a little hungry, and his leg is starting to itch, but he doesn’t want to move an inch.

“I don’t ever want you to feel bad, Snuf,” Moomin tells his sleeping friend, petting the dandelion puff of Snufkin’s hair into order with his fingers. It takes some work, since Snufkin very rarely wants anything to do with brushes, and Moomin bends all his attention to the task. “You’re always looking after me, but I’d like to look after you, too. Every now and then, at least. You hardly need it, but when you do, I’d like it to be me.”

He doesn’t want there to be a line between them that Snufkin thinks he can’t cross. He doesn’t want there to be things Snufkin can’t tell him.

Moomin will never be happy to see Snufkin leave, and he’ll always miss Snufkin when he’s gone-- but a few weeks out of the year is small change, really. And it’s always such a delight to see him in the spring that it makes the time spent missing him worthwhile. It makes Moomin’s heart race, to hear that harmonica drifting over the hills for the first time in the new year, to run headlong down the hill and crash into Snufkin’s waiting arms, to love until he aches from it.

He doesn’t think he would ever want to give up those moments of meeting again. Yearning desperately for someone isn’t a pleasant feeling, not all the time, but the giddy expectation of seeing them again is sweeter than apricot jam. Moomin is suddenly much closer to understanding part of the reason why Snufkin is so adamant about leaving in the fall.

Most of it has to do with the manner of creature he is, the wanderlust in his heart and the hungry curiosity that drives him from place to place, but perhaps some of it has to do with how nice it is to miss someone you love and be missed by them when you’re away.

“Oh,” Moomin says, very still. “Oh, I see.”

“Hmm,” Snufkin murmurs, barely rousing. “What do you see?”

Moomin shakes his head, pushing the untidy fringe out of Snufkin’s slitted eyes. The touch lingers, because it has no reason not to, his friend a familiar shape beneath his hands. “Just thinking about how clueless I’ve been, that’s all. We can talk more about it when you’re awake.”

Snufkin blinks a few times, giving the words a moment to permeate. Once he’s made sense of them, he agrees, “When I’m awake.” A pause. “You don’t look very comfortable.”

“I’d rather lie down with you than sit up anymore,” Moomin admits.

So they shuffle and maneuver themselves into a different position, a well-practiced ritual from all the stormy nights Snufkin was bullied into sharing Moomin’s bedroom over the years, and Moomin remembers the blanket Mama left for them on the table by the sofa.

The sofa’s not really meant for both a moomin and a mumrik to nap there together, but they manage. Snufkin can sleep in impossible places, and he fits really anywhere he puts his mind to. He’s mostly laying across Moomin to consolidate space, and the weight of him, and the weight of the blanket, and the weight of the sunlight touching down on them from all the windows, makes staying awake for very much longer a Herculean task.

Still, Moomin doesn’t want to sleep yet. He touches Snufkin’s hair, distracted by it, and Snufkin says, “I should cut it.”

“If you want,” Moomin says agreeably. When Snufkin cuts it, he cuts it all the way gone, and his head is left covered in an uneven fuzz not unlike the dappled fur on his wrists. Moomin likes that as much as he likes having this ridiculous mane to mess with. There’s not much about Snufkin that Moomin doesn’t like, really. “Or we could try braiding it. Mymble probably knows how.”

Snufkin makes a noise of interest at that. He’ll hold off cutting it, now. Moomin smiles at knowing him so well, and bumps his nose to the top of Snufkin’s head.

“You’re silly,” he says fondly. “Go back to sleep.”

He would chafe at this, if it were a few years ago. He would want every second of Snufkin’s attention he could have, and he would want to fill those seconds with adventures and games and memories for Snufkin to take with him into the wider world when he left, as if begging don’t forget me.

Moomin is a little embarrassed to have been that child. He was kind and thoughtful without a doubt, because he was raised that way by kind and thoughtful parents, but sometimes he was very greedy, and never more so than with Snufkin.  

Snufkin, who would never forget him. Who has seen the whole world and then some and chooses their little valley to return to, year after year. Who wrote Moomin a song of his very own, the happiest song Moomin’s ever heard, and plays it in both greeting and farewell.

One doesn’t have to be present to be here, Moomin thinks. To say Snufkin is truly gone is to say he’s not there in Moomin’s heart, and that is a lie and a falsehood and every horrible thing in between. And it’s okay to miss him, because loving him while he’s away isn’t quite the same as loving him while he’s here to hold, but it’s nothing to be sad about.

In fact, he’s rather lucky.

“Don’t forget, though,” he says, blinking through a wetness in his eyes he can’t explain. “I want to talk to you about something when we wake up.”

“Something important?” comes the mumble, muffled against Moomin’s shoulder.

“Oh, very. I have an apology for you. And an epiphany to share!”

“The apology I don’t need. But any epiphany of yours will be an inspiration.” Snufkin’s tail swings once, lazy, where it’s hanging over the side of the sofa. He stretches like melting rubber, all languid limbs and self-satisfaction. “We’ll write it into a song.”

Absurdly touched, Moomin says, “You don’t even know what it’s about yet.”

“A poem, then. A secret one, for you and me. Can you tell me what the theme will be, or am I meant to wait for the rest of this very important conversation?”

“You’re silly,” Moomin says another time, because it bears repeating. He noses Snufkin’s hair again. “I suppose I can tell you now, since it’s nothing you wouldn’t have guessed. The theme will be love.”

“Ah.” Snufkin sounds pleased, but not surprised. Moomin can feel the shape of a mumrik smile pressed to his fur. “The very best one.”

#the moomins #moominvalley #snufmin #moomintroll #snufkin #moomin #my writing #moomin fic #springdove

[caffeinatedfantasy]

The Seal pt 17: Emotions Running

{ Chris: [bio] [Prologue] [Story in Tumblr] [ AO3 Link From Beginning ] 

--

I was a little surprised that I'd managed to slip away from the entire house the next day. I'd kept glancing over my shoulder, expecting Mammon to pop up behind me as I walked through Devildom, but... Nope. Even glancing at my D.D.D., none of them seemed to have noticed yet. It was a relief, but also... I couldn't help the twinge of pain in my chest. I pushed aside the familiar voice saying that's what I should expect, That of course none of them would notice. They only pay attention to you at all because they have to... Between Diavolo putting them in charge of me and the pacts, there's really no other reason for them to even--

I cut off the thoughts abruptly, tapping my forehead with the edge of my DDD a bit harder than necessary. I couldn't let those thoughts get started. I'd made a point to make it so that they wouldn't notice me for awhile, so it only meant that I was succeeding. That was how I should look at it. I took a deep breath to steady myself. I needed to hit up the Library, that's why I was out. Getting some peace and quiet to finally look at the case I'd gotten was the point. I'd left it with Belphegor perhaps too long and that worried me. I didn't know if he'd gone through it or taken anything out, and I didn't know if that even mattered.

But it was mine and had been given to me and there was a part of me rather reluctant to let them see it. What if it was something I shouldn't have? What if Lucifer got mad about it? At least the Library wasn't far and it wasn't long before I found myself a corner to hide out in, getting some books for my classes on the way. I pulled out all of my things for my homework, but that wasn't what I was there for. I just wanted an excuse set up. [I winced. Some habits were hard to break.]  I sighed, finally pulling out the leather case and placing it on the small table behind the stacks of books.

It was like an old soft-sides leather briefcase my dad had had when I was younger, but the handle at the top had broken off, leaving it to look almost like a mailer instead. I could feel... Something from it. And I frowned a little bit. The risk of handling it myself, without telling any of the others about it, was that if the magic inlaid in it was dangerous, I'd have no way of knowing about that, much less how to protect myself if it were. I'd started to sense magic in general, but this. I frowned. And went for it anyway, struggling with the buckle for a moment as it seemed keen to stay shut.

I hissed when the metal bit into my skin, drawing blood that smeared along the leather strap. And with a faint glow and a silent 'pop', it opened. Maybe Belphegor hadn't managed to open it before?

Undoing the other strap, I slid the contents onto the table. Inside was a journal, a sealed letter, a couple pouches, a pack of cards [they didn't look like tarot, but I was unfamiliar with anything except playing cards] and, at the very bottom, a small pendant on a silver chain. My hand shook as I picked up the pendant. It had a sigil on it. One that I recognized from when I'd looked into the Seal. I instinctively touched the tattoo on my stomach, wondering if somehow the witch had been able to sense it. I could recognize what the sigil was for, but...

I slipped the pendant down my shirt, tucking it, chain and all, into my bra before I sorted through the other things. Dried herbs in one pouch, crystals in the other. I recognized some of both. Dandelions, star anise and lavender stood out to me. And then opal, turquoise and amethyst of the stones. I didn't remember their properties, but they seemed like things a witch would have, at least. It didn't make sense why she'd give them to me, though. Maybe it was just not wanting the police to have the stuff. And since it had been her not-apprentice that had killed her...

I flipped through the journal briefly. The notes were all in English, and seemed to be instructions for spellwork and potions. She must've thought me a witch or something. I wasn't even sure if any of this would help me, since I couldn't really do magic, but... I guess it was still nice? Sliding the other things back into the case, I was left with the letter. The wax seal [with a stylized 'G' stamped into it] was still intact, and there wasn't a name on it from what I could see. I wanted to know, but I hesitated breaking the seal. More bad habits. But I ducked into my bad and pulled out a small knife I'd gotten and a lighter. Heating up the knife briefly, I slipped the edge of the blade under the seal, melting the wax enough to pop open the envelope.

Sliding out the letter, I scanned it, hoping it might have some more information for me, but unlike the journal, this wasn't in English. It was... Latin, I think. The strange thing was that it started with 'Chris'. My name. She'd shown that she could see the future, but how could she have known this would go to me? It bothered me. And I wanted to know what it said, but it had been a long time since I'd really tried to read much latin. I sighed, slipping it back into the envelope and using the knife to re-seal the wax. I put that with the rest of the things, slipping the entire care back into my bag. No real answers. It just seemed to be a witches kit. Except for the letter.

I needed to ask someone. I was slowly coming up with more and more questions and I didn't even know where to start on any of this. It wasn't my world. The only magic I knew was from stories. And D&D might not be the most reliable here. I was getting more and more involved in all of this and if the other night had been anything to go by, I was already well past what I could handle on my own. I hadn't even known what Belphegor had done. Or what I had. [I felt a flush of embarrassment remembering it.] And he'd called me an empath. If that hadn't just been me having a sex dream, what did that even mean?

Leaning back in my seat, pushing my glasses up and pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes, and I groaned to myself.

"Come now, the homework can't be that bad." I jumped, knocking my glasses askew at the voice. I recognized it and, after adjusting them to sit properly on my face, I found Simeon standing there, smiling gently at me. I chuckled nervously at the comment, straightening out and staring down at the papers I had splayed out on the table as my "cover".

"No, I was thinking of something else." I apologized, looking up at him. I could ask him in theory. He was an angel, after all. They were supposed to be good... But for some reason...

"Can I help?" I shifted awkwardly at the question, glancing down at the papers and sort of shuffling them for something to do with my hands. He probably could help me, to be honest. But guilt welled up in my chest at the idea of even asking. I hummed, trying to play it off.

"It's fine. I wouldn't want to bother you with it." I swear it wasn't meant to sound as self-pitying as it came out to my ears. I winced at it, but sent him the most reassuring smile I could. He opened his mouth, looking ready to speak, when I interrupted him. "Anyway, I'm about done with homework ether way."

A pause. That was not my best deflection. And he was watching me, that calm smile still on his face. It made me nervous and I glanced down at my DDD to see if an excuse to change the topic had popped up in the form of a text from one of the brothers. But no, that had been too much to ask apparently, as there was still nothing on my screen. Just me and Simeon. I set it down, not wanting to be rude, and looked back up at him. His smile brightened, spreading across his face and making me want to return the expression without even giving it a thought. 

"If you're done, would you like to join me for lunch?" I hesitated. I had no reason not to. And he'd never been anything but nice. [And it would do me good to maybe not worry about the brothers for a bit. I shrugged.

"Let me put these away, and then sure." It took a few moments, and Simeon helped, but it wasn't long before we were headed out of the library, my bag thrown over one shoulder and having to jog a little to catch up to the angel. [How on Earth did he move so fast without looking hurried in the least?]  We were making small talk, though. Our classes. How I was adjusting. It almost felt like a normal sort of conversation, really. I was nervous enough around him that I wasn't entirely retaining much of the conversation.

"Luke is quite fond of you." He commented, and that perked me up far more than anything else he'd said. "Perhaps you should come over sometime. He's told me you like baking as well."

"He's a sweetheart. And he gets too riled up by everyone's teasing!" I laughed, puffing out my cheeks a bit as I thought of it. The demon brothers did the same thing to Mammon, but he was far more used to it, it seemed. He didn't take it as seriously as Luke seemed to. Or perhaps stay as affected by it. "Was he not used to it before now?"

Simeon shook his head, looking quietly amused. "No, he always stayed close to Michael, and he's too serious for that."

"From that tone of voice, I'm assuming that you tried." He was making it much easier for me to forget he was an angel, talking about Luke and Michael this likes. Especially when he chuckled at my assessment, looking far too guilty.

"For the most part, jokes like that go over his head." The idea of a mighty archangel that Michael was supposed to be not getting jokes was immensely funny to me. I didn't know what Michael looked like, but I could still imagine the expression well enough. [In my mind, he looked like Luke's older brother, with how the younger angel spoke of him, that's simply how I saw things.]

"Hopefully Luke is picking up some humour while here." I chuckled. While it was fun to tease him, it would be much better if he didn't get quite so upset about it.

"That's what I'm hoping for, at least.." Simeon nodded, giving me a soft smile. He looked like he was about to keep telling me about Luke when he looked up abruptly. Something passed across his face that I couldn't quite make out before his familiar smile reappeared and he turned his attention towards the restaurant we were approaching. "Ah, here we are."

"Chris! You're feeling better, I see!" I was greeted by Diavolo's cheerful booming voice and nearly tripped over my feet. Simeon's steadying hand appeared at my arm.

"Dia--Lord Diavolo! Simeon didn't mention I was-- Yes, I'm feeling better." I didn't entirely know how to act around the Demon Lord. Which should be silly since I lived with the 'Seven Rulers of Hell', and spent much of my time giving them more shit than was really appropriate. [I suspected any demon wouldn't get away with it.] With Diavolo, I don't think it helped that he was so fucking hot. And I'd seen him in his demon form and I swear it had come straight out of one of my wet dreams. I hadn't been able to look him in the eye since. But I did my best as he led the way into the restaurant.

At least Asmo's insistence on making sure that practically all of the clothes I owned here in Devildom be nice was keeping me from feeling too out of place. I ordered something small. With some wine because fuck it, I was going to need something to survive this. Diavolo was largely making small talk with Simeon for awhile, talking about the angels, mostly. And how their communication had been going. A pang of envy hit me. Was I the only one not allowed to contact home? [No, I couldn't think like that. What the fuck was with my emotions today?]

I was starting to zone out from their conversation, draining my first glass of wine and starting to look about when my D.D.D. rang. I nearly dropped my glass at the sudden noise. And the sudden looks. I felt like they were annoyed at me as I scrambled for it, pulling it out and immediately clicking the 'don't answer' button before I noticed the name on the screen.

Lucifer.

Shit. He wasn't going to be happy about that. I didn't remember hearing my DDD go off before, but this hadn't been his first time calling me, either. I frowned slightly. He'd called, and so had Mammon. And some texts from them-- Why hadn't my DDD been working and-- I glanced up, feeling their eyes on me.

"Sorry. Uh. Looks like I forgot to let Lucifer know I was going to be out..." Diavolo's eyes narrowed a little bit at that and -- oh that's right he could tell when people were lying. I winced. I almost expected him to get angry at me, but he beamed instead and waved over a waiter.

"Get a picture of us." He told the waiter, plucking my phone from my hands and handing it to him. The demon nodded and Diavolo started pulling me in towards them before he even explained. "You can send him a picture. I've seen you send them to him before..."

Yes, when I was just hanging out with Mammon or Levi or Beel and feeling far too lazy to say that I was still doing exactly what I said I'd be doing. Not like this. But I was practically pulled onto the Demon Lord's lap, with Simeon barely leaning into frame, and a couple pictures were taken before my phone was handed back and I was red. I could feel the heat in my face so keenly that my eyes were starting to hurt and I moved back to my seat. Diavolo was still grinning as I sent the pic to Lucifer with a message. 〈Went to the library. Ended up at lunch with these two.〉 And because I couldn't help myself. 〈Tell Levi if I die from a nosebleed not to mourn me.〉

The three little dots popped up. Disappeared. Popped up again. Disappeared once more time before. 〈We'll talk when you get home.〉

Iiiii was definitely in trouble. I shot a quick message to Mammon too, since it seemed like he was going to be in trouble too. 〈sry luv u don't be mad〉and sighed, putting my phone back into my bag.

"It's good to see you're getting along with them!" Diavolo's deep voice was warm and pleased. He had talked so much about wanting the three worlds to get along, after all. And considered us to be guinea pigs so to speak. But I couldn't help but smile. Because I was quite fond of them, at least.

"It's strange for me to be in a house with so many people, but it makes it hard to feel lonely, at least." Which... Was actually very true. And something I hadn't even realized was true until then. Save for today, when I had gone out of my way to avoid them, I couldn't recall a specific time feeling lonely down here in Devildom. And that made me smile.

"That's fantastic. I was worried when Lucifer told me that you'd said you wouldn't get involved with any demons while here, but it seems like you've changed your mind." My eyes went wide and I stared for a moment. First off, Lucifer had told Diavolo that and second off-- Was Diavolo under the impression that I was involved with--

"I-I mean. I'm-I'm still not getting involved. Not like. I mean, I'm doing the pacts, but I'd meant that as in like. Dating or sex or anything and--" Oh dear God now he looked confused and that confused me and I looked over at Simeon for some sort of help, but he didn't seem to be offering me any. It was as if he was waiting to see how this would go. "Is that, uh. Is that strange?"

"A little bit." Simeon did finally answer. He was calm, amused. And I couldn't read his voice. "Especially since you made a pact with Asmodeus."

"But it's just a pact, it's not like we're married or anything..." I was trying to blow it off like I was joking, but Diavolo still looked a little confused, though not angry.

"No. Perhaps you're right, it wouldn't be that strange to humans, would it?" Diavolo answered, humming thoughtfully. But he shrugged. "Still, I am excited to hear that you've become close friends with them."

I smiled back at that. I did consider them friends. And Diavolo started asking me questions about them and I happily answered. I realized the confusion at what I'd meant must be even stranger considering I freely shared a bed with Mammon and Beel at times. Or how I'd stayed up, more than once, baking for Beel. Or hung out in Levi's room and simply sat together playing games [on different consoles]. Or Asmo's pampering and cuddling and helping him apply lotion and.

Oh dear lord. I was acting like I was dating them. Just without the sex. The more I talked to Simeon and Diavolo about them the more I realized how attached I was already getting to them and hadn't that been the other part I'd wanted to avoid with that rule of mine? Getting too attached? Because at the end of the year this would be over and I'd never see them again.

But... I focused on talking about them instead, finally relaxing into the conversation with Diavolo and Simeon at least, despite the feelings gnawing at my chest. I'd made pacts with four of them. And they were mine. There wasn't any other word for it.

#obey me #the seal obey me fic #obey me fic #obey me mc #obey me mc chris #i have mixed feelings on this chapter

[pleckthaniel]

ok so. @xbloodywhalex tagged me in 2 ask games and i forgot abt them both til now so im just gonna do em both at once FKJDHFJK under the readmore so you dont have to scroll past smth crazy long

first one:

name: murphy! but you can also call me like. any variation on my url sldjfks

zodiac: snake/gemini so basically im a hoe ass bitch

favorite musician/band: hotel mira! beach bunny and juice WRLD make close seconds tho. i’ll also always love taylor swift, owl city and queen 8)

favorite sports team: CHIEFS

other blogs: this is the part where i admit i’ve had @waspwhisker for like 3 months and still haven’t figured out what to do with it slkdjflsdk

do i get asks: once in a blue moon

how many blogs do i follow: like 1200 i think?

what i’m wearing: pajamas haha

dream vacation: well it USED to be vegas bc i got a friends and family discount at caesars properties but SOMEBODY had to go get laid off so I GUESS i’ll have a DIFFERENT vacation

dream car: the only time i have ever cared about cars for more than 5 seconds was when my ex spent like an hour on the mercedes-benz ‘build your own luxury vehicle’ site and would not speak to me about anything other than cars for the entire time

favorite food: idk raspberries probably

languages: english (fluent), spanish (conversational)

celebrity crush: jeanette mccurdy

random fact: i’ve never broken a bone :^)

and the second one;;;;

name: ^^^

nicknames: technically the name i go by IRL (mina) is a nickname of my legal name

zodiac: ^^^

height: a doctor said i was 5′6″ so i am legally allowed to say 5′6″

languages: ^^^

nationality: american babey

favorite season: probably fall but like early fall, fuck november

favorite flower: never thought about it before but... dandelions??

favorite scent: i have almost no sense of smell 8)

favorite color: green!

favorite animal: fish 4 sure

favorite fictional character: look at my blog description and ask me that again

coffee, tea or hot chocolate: tea always

average sleep hours: 8-9 now i’m at my parents’ house, was more like 6-7 at school

dog or cat person: dog person ironically

number of blankets you sleep with: 2 max

dream trip: ^^^ but also more seriously i’ve wanted for years to join the peace corps and work in south america (preferably teaching!) which is a big part of why im still in spanish classes even tho ive completed academic requirements ;P

blog established: uuuh postlimit couldn’t find my oldest post but it was definitely sometime in 2015, probably between june (when i turned 14) and august (when i started high school/returned to public school)

followers: 179

random fact: this is more of a story but one time i had a friend over and offered him some pineapple juice and he went, ‘no, i’m allergic to pineapples’ and i thought he was joking so i went, ‘haha, no but really :)’. he was not joking

i tag whoever wants to do this! :) i know sometimes i dont do stuff when people, write that bc im worried like ‘oh but they didnt mean ME’, so this is also to say, yes i do mean you, if your reading this and want to do it then just do it!! ily!!! :D

#scout talks

[wildroseofarran]

Good Morning, Cont. || Caldias

Guildias: "I love the way you say my name. I'm going to make you say it a hundred times before you leave this bed."

Guildias sat up so his husband could witness the growth of his fangs.

"Where shall I sink my teeth first?"

Callum: And what an incredibly arousing sight it was. "Here," he whispered, pointing at his neck. "I want you close." I want to hold you. Breathe you in. Play with your hair.

Guildias: He saw no reason to deny him. He crawled back to those lips and captured them. Their hips pressed together with equal need. His canines teased against his tongue, threatened to puncture.

Callum: Callum moaned softly into the kiss, locking his ankles behind his husband's back to keep him right where he wanted him and doing some teasing of his own with short, calculated movements.

Guildias: Callum would hold his husband at bay for only two minutes of intense kissing before Guildias rolled them over. Their kiss was finally broken, taking the druid by the hair, he sank his teeth into flesh and began to drink at his leisure.

Callum: Guildias' reward was a long, soft, very nearly whimpering moan. If Callum hadn't been awake before, he certainly was now.

Hands came up to cradle his vampire to him, immediately disappearing into silky dark hair that was lovingly petted.

Guildias: Every little dulcet noise was an absolute treasure. His wound was licked clean to health. His dark hair nuzzled into.

"I want you to use me. Ride me for my viewing pleasure. Can you do that for me?"

Callum: Complete peace settled over Callum as his husband fed from him. It almost felt like they were floating along in a dream, private and safe and wrapped in warm, languid comfort.

Even the closing of the wound felt like the most erotic thing in the world.

He gave his husband a slow grin. "Aye, love," he whispered, pulling Guildias into another kiss. "I can do that."

Guildias: He wrapped his arm around his husband's waist and pulled him closer. He was possessive. This man belonged to him and him alone.

He then sank into the mattress, cock hard and waiting. "The lube..."

Callum: Callum didn't mind one bit; it made his heart happy when they were so close it was hard to tell where one of them ended and the other began.

He placed one more kiss on those beautiful lips before reaching across his husband to get to the bedside table. "I've got it. Here we go." He produced a small bottle. "Which of us is doin' the honors?"

Guildias: "I believe it is my honor. Shall you sit on my face? Shall I press you into the bed?" The bottle was traded between hands. "How do you want me?"

Callum: Guildias would be able to feel the shiver that went through Callum's body at the first suggestion.

And see the blush it caused, which didn't happen too often these days.

Guildias: Of course Guildias was observant. "Sit on my face, Daisy. Whichever way you desire. Let me have you and prepare you."

Callum: Callum could feel his whole body flushing and growing warm. Not to mention very, very aroused.

The only position he could possibly chose was one where he could see his husband's face.

So he stole a kiss for bravery, face red as can be, and carefully straddled his husband's face.

Guildias: He smiled into the kiss, relished the warmth from his blush, caressed perfect skin. He would pay the most attention to his scrotum, to the subtle seam in a near perfect line towards his cock. Two lubricated fingers greeted between his cheeks. His middle finger invaded while he kissed and nibbled. His index finger joined when teeth gingerly teased his thigh.

Callum: He didn't know if it was the new angle or the new position or the situation in general, but Callum felt particularly sensitive to even the lightest of Guildias' touches.

His husband's finger hadn't even breached him and already Callum was holding on to the headboard to keep himself upright, soft, needy little noises escaping any time Guildias touched the exact right spot.

Another shiver ran through him as his vampire's teeth grazed his skin. This was so intimate. He felt completely exposed and protected and tense and relaxed all at once.

Guildias: "Do you like that?" his Setite purred against him. From his angle, seeing Callum's expression was impossible; those noises explained what he had yet to articulate. He smiled, hummed, and licked from scrotum to tip. Both fingers dug as deeply as Callum's body allowed, come-hithering within.

Callum: Callum gave a jerky nod, hiding his face in his arm to muffle the nearly obscene moan that wanted to come out. He could feel his husband's smile against his erection, could picture it in his mind.

He didn't realize his hips were moving in time with Guildias' fingers, trying to make them brush against his prostate and crying out the moment they did. He wanted more. Wanted his husband deeper.

Guildias: "You're so beautiful," he praised. "Look at yourself. Look at what you've done to me."

Though it was not his end request, having Callum in his current position was satisfying in its own right. Another finger filled him. His free hand explored his thighs, his stomach, the head of his erection.

"What if I make you cum right here and now?"

Callum: The only response Callum gave was a whimper that wanted so very much to become a moan. Which it did when his husband's hand found his shaft again.

He could feel himself start to leak, feel a familiar desperate tension building in his legs and groin and lower back.

Callum bore down on his vampire's ringers. "Guildias...." he managed, voice sounding strained.

Guildias: Callum would find no relief from his husband. His tone was nothing if not coy. He had every intention of sending his man into a sexual frenzy. "What is it?" Again, his fingers pressed and coaxed his prostate.

Callum: The delicious shock of pleasure prevented him from speaking again.  Callum was bearing down in earnest now, wordlessly begging his husband for more while the whines and whimpers that fell from his lips warned that he wouldn't be able to handle much more before crying out and spilling all over himself.

Guildias: He would fulfill his true intention. Today, the ethereal druid would tax all energy. Just as his husband desired, he would become incapable of standing, let alone leaving the bed. Spill your seed. Cry out as loudly as you require. My fingers will not cease until you have given me every last drop.

"Beautiful." He nuzzled into his scrotum, squeezed the last tear from his tip.

Callum: Callum gave one final whimpering moan as Guildias drew the last of his release from him. His skin felt hot and sensitive and sweaty and every one of his muscles felt like jelly.

He took a deep breath and swore softly in Gaelic as he leaned heavily on the headboard, trying to catch his breath.

"Can't move," he said with a soft chuckle.

Guildias: "Not at all?" His husband played dumb. "I have you. Relax." Carefully he was pushed back, sitting up along the way until Callum was safely in his arms, in his lap. "There you are."

Callum: "Couldn't relax any more if I tried."

Callum melted into his husband's embrace and settled in, humming softly. "Here I am." He kissed Guildias' chest. "I love you."

Guildias: "I love you." That beautiful face was caressed. Absolute angel.

"My sweet Daisy, you have less energy than I anticipated. I'm afraid you'll be getting only one orgasm this morning."

Callum: He smiled softly up at his husband and leaned into his hand. "Still wakin' up. Give me an hour and I'll be brimmin' with energy."

Guildias: "So you're telling me I must make you breakfast in bed?"

Callum: "If the spirit so moves you it would be terribly rude o' me to disoblige," he said with a grin.

Guildias: "You manipulative daisy. Are you sure you're not a dandelion?"

Callum: He laughed softly. "I'm only a dandelion if I don't offer ye breakfast in return. And wear somethin' pretty for you while I do it."

Guildias: "I would prefer you in nothing but a flower crown."

Callum: "That can also be arranged."

Guildias: "Let's see how quickly," Callum was flipped onto the mattress on his belly, "you can make one while I cook."

Callum: Another laugh followed the change of position.

He reached for the vase of flowers that he always kept on the bedside table and selected his flowers.

Guildias: Guildias headed into the kitchen, naked, assembling the ingredients for a simple omelet with mushrooms, herbs, and whatever else he could find in the fridge. Leftover chicken made sense, probably.

Callum: Callum made himself comfortable on the bed, idly weaving daisies and heather together as he thought of his husband.

When Guildias returned, it would be to Callum with the completed crown on his head, dozing peacefully.

Guildias: His breakfast was carried in tray...and set aside at the sight of his sleeping husband. Quietly, he climbed back into bed, pressing himself against Callum's back.

Callum: His eyes cracked open the tiniest bit as he felt the bed shift with Guildias' weight.

"Well hello there," he murmured softly, snuggling against his husband.

Guildias: "Hello, Daisy. Asleep this whole time?"

Callum: "Just driftin'." He smiled. "Do you like my flower crown?"

Guildias: "I wish I could paint you."

Callum: "I'll bet you could."

Guildias: "It would be quite abstract."

Callum: "I'd love to see yer abstract interpretation o' me."

Guildias: "Someday, muse." He kissed between his eyes and sighed.

Callum: Callum hummed softly, nuzzling his husband. He inhaled. "That smells bloody amazin'. What did you make me?"

Guildias: "Ah. What you smell is a hobo's farm omelet. Chicken, herbs, mushroom. And just a touch of...whatever...that white cheese was in the fridge."

Callum: He giggled. "Did you just say 'hobo'?"

Guildias: "I did say hobo. The chicken is leftovers."

Callum: "Is that the hobo part?" he asked, covering his lap before setting the tray on it.

He took a bite and immediately smiled. "Amazin'."

Guildias: "I never in my human life had leftovers." He stretched out on the bed with his hands behind his head

Callum: "Really? I've always loved leftovers. My da will get a pizza and no' touch it until the next day."

Guildias: "What's the point in that?"

Callum: "He likes it better when it's leftover."

Guildias: "But what does that mean? What difference does it make?”

Callum: "Fairly big one. Leftover pizza is fantastic and hard to describe."

Guildias: He shook his head. "It's congealed cheese." Shame on you, druid.

Callum: Callum giggled again and kissed his husband's cheek.

Guildias: "You're rewarding my criticism," he smiled.

Callum: "I just can't get over you sayin' 'hobo'. Such an unrefined word for my beautiful, sexy, refined husband."

Guildias: "The dish required a name. When one uses leftovers, one must resort to unrefined," he teased.

Callum: “Unrefined and absolutely delicious.” Guildias was given another kiss.

Guildias: "You're spoiled. Eat your breakfast."

Callum: “I am spoiled. By you,” he added with a smile, finishing off his food. “I approve of the hobo omelet.”

Guildias: "What else shall I serve you, Daisy?"

Callum: "Hmmmm....." Callum made a great show of pondering his husband's question. "I think I'll have....a kiss."

Guildias: "I meant grocery shopping or sex on the beach, but..." Callum's chin was taken, pulling him into what he desired.

Callum: He hummed softly against Guildias’ lips. “Sex on the beach is good too. We’ll do that later.”

Guildias: "And on the docks behind your house, and in the river."

Callum: Callum chuckled. “And in my boat, and in the moonlight garden.”

Guildias: "Our weekend to-do list," he smiled.

Callum: “Where should we start, husband mine?”

Guildias: "The furthest out and work our way in?"

Callum: “Sounds good to me. We’ll sail out somewhere nice and private.”

Guildias: Sooner rather than later. "You're finished with breakfast?"

Callum: “Aye. Ready for a sail?”

Guildias: "How far shall we go?"

Callum: “Just far enough for complete privacy.”

Guildias: "How many times will you lose your wits today?" The vampire smiled, and stretched out over the disheveled bed.

Callum: “How many times will you make me lose my wits, husband mine?” Callum replied, stretching out beside his vampire and snuggling against him.

Guildias: Oh yes. They were indeed moving at snail speed.

"As many times as it takes until your legs tuck from under you."

Callum: He chuckled softly. “Goin’ for a record, are we?”

Guildias: "It's long overdue."

Callum: “Mmm, yes it is.” He sat up and grabbed his robe from where it hung on the bedpost. This was all he planned to wear today.

Guildias: "To the docks? On the boat?"

Callum: He simply nodded, easing off the bed with a wicked grin. “The benefits of havin’ yer own private dock.”

Guildias: "With nothing underneath that?"

Callum: “With nothin’ underneath that.”

Guildias: "Let's not waste the waking hours, then." His rear was given a firm slap on the way past to the master bathroom.

Callum: “We’re goin’ to make the best of every second,” Callum chuckled.

Despite his desire to remain in only his robe, he made sure to grab a blanket before they went out on the boat, purely for comfort’s sake. Along the same vein, sailing naked required slightly more care than sailing clothed but he liked to think he made good job of it, even going so far as to take them to a tiny, secluded island a good ways into the sound.

Guildias: Guildias tied his hair into a bun for the occasion. Callum, clad in his birthday suit. His husband dressed in worn jeans, black shoes, belt, and red sweater. The sweater was insurance, should Callum find himself too exposed. A pair of swim trunks had been neatly folded and tucked away as well.

"I cannot swim for long today. I'm almost out of my ointment."

Callum: "Along the western side o' the island there's a cove that's shielded by rocky shoreline. Hopefully the sun won't be as be as bad there." He leaned over to kiss his husband. "And if it is I'll just make it cloudy."

Guildias: "Does the forecast call for clouds this week? You're giving every weatherman a terrible reputation in these parts."

Callum: "He's used to it," Callum chuckled. "But in this case, aye, there are some in the forecast. Supposed to storm as well."

Guildias: "Well, his integrity will remain intact today." Just beneath a thin smear of ointment lay a patient frenzy. The jar slid about in its hidden compartment on the small boat.

"Cold?"

Callum: "It will indeed." Already Callum was going through the ritual of letting his magic in and calling the clouds, a sight Guildias would've witnessed on many occasions.

"No, I'm fine. The air is on the pleasant side of cool."

Guildias: "It'll worsen the more you breathe your spells."

Callum: "I've got the robe and blanket if it gets too bad."

Guildias: "And this sweater."

Callum: “You wore that sweater for me?”

Guildias: "You know I did."

Callum: Callum smiled and offered another kiss. “I’m fine, love.”

Guildias: "For now. And when you're not you will be."

Callum: "I will indeed with you lookin' out for me." Just one more kiss before he devoted his attention to the sailboat once more.

They were approaching the island and he needed to start carefully maneuvering the rocky shoreline.

Guildias: Guildias turned his attention towards starboard, resting on edge until brought to a full stop. With no docks, he turned and smiled. "Shall I throw you in?"

Callum: Callum grinned back and shed his robe, naked as the day he was born once more.

"If you can catch me!" he said before diving into the water.

Guildias: "Really?" he laughed. He did away with his sweater and jeans, and into the water he followed. The white salty froth carried with it dead leaves and a fresh scent not found closer inland. The vampire leaned back and soaked in the morning sun denied to him for so long.

Callum: "Yes really!" Callum called, making a lazy lap around the boat as he waited for his husband to join him and swimming over to him as soon as he had.

"Is the sun too much?" he asked, kissing Guildias' shoulder.

Guildias: "I feel it, itching my chest, my lips. I took so long, so much ointment for this swim. It was worth it. Next will have to be at night, though."

Callum: “Is it somethin’ I could make more of for you?”

Guildias: "The ingredients are from all over the world. One item in particular isn't always available. The ointment hangs on it's availability."

Callum: "Is it a plant or plant derivative?"

Guildias: "I'll show you when home."

Callum: "Please do. I'd love to help you if I can. In some way other than blockin' the sun."

Guildias: "I know the temptation is great, being a druid, but I don't want to burden you."

Callum: "It's no' a burden. Ye're my husband and I have magic."

Guildias: "For all I know your healing touch will cause the opposite effect," he smirked.

Callum: "Never. I can harvest moonlight."

Guildias: "Would you - Do you think you could create your own recipe?"

Callum: Callum nodded. "Definitely. Maybe even create an amulet for emergencies."

Guildias: "I know Matheus has been out and about without ointment. A charm, I believe."

Callum: "Then it's definitely possible. I'm more than confident we can do the same for you."

Guildias: "Do I want to put my faith in a witch, or continue with science?"

Callum: "No' a witch. A druid and science."

Guildias: "Oh yes. You take offense to that," he grinned.

Callum: "No' nearly as much as Bronwyn," said Callum, smiling back.

Guildias: "More witches have been coming to this town as of late."

Callum: "Magic attracts magic. Why do you think I first decided to stay?"

Guildias: "In an Elysium made by a vampire that wanted to collect you."

Callum: "Stayin' lead me to you."

Guildias: "I suppose. Lives are just a collection of moments leading to another."

Callum: "Listen to you, speakin' like a druid." Have another kiss.

Guildias: "I don't want another debate of fate as I had with your cousin," he chuckled.

Callum: "Those debates she has are formidable. But never mind all that. We're here together swimming in this beautiful ocean. That's all that matters."

Guildias: "All that matters?" What strong words from a man with such a gentle face. He was pulled closer by his waist as he floated towards shore.

Callum: "In the here and now, aye. All that matters."

Callum closed his eyes and let himself float along, utterly content.

Guildias: When they came upon the shore, Guildias remained still. He didn't want to break the spell between them, fragile as it were. Soft kisses were places wherever was nearest.

Callum: Days like these were made for fragile, loving spells. For morning sails and soft kisses.

Callum's smile was everything serene, and in that serenity he gave his husband the same affection.

Guildias: The day was exactly as he expected. Callum was drowned in a sea of kisses. He was insatiable, just as he knew he was, just as they should be. He would make love to him on the shore, mouth between his legs, mouth on his neck, mouths together. I love you, he would say, he would praise in every aspect of the man in his arms. This was only the beginning of their hedonistic marathon.

Callum: Out here, surrounded by nothing but Guildias and the sea, Callum let himself be absolutely free. No moan was restrained, no desire kept silent. Here he wasn’t self-conscious, wasn’t shy about begging for his husband’s touch or his kisses or his cock inside him.

And nor was he shy about letting his vampire know exactly how much he loved every moment of it. Had Guildias breath, Callum would be doing his very best to kiss it out of him.

Guildias: Again, as several times before, Guildias had to remind himself that this relationship was nothing more than a beautiful mirage. This love was his, but this love was temporary. Eventually, Callum would have to be returned to his rightful partner.

This perfect man underneath him. This man, this druid, this god. This gift.

"Are you spent, Daisy?"

Callum: Had Callum known of such thoughts he would've chased them as far from his husband's mind as he had his own. What was true in a previous life and what might be true in a future one he didn't know, but in this one, the man on top of him had the whole of his heart.

"In the best way," he murmured, bringing Guildias down for a kiss. "I love you so much."

Guildias: Fingers caressed from forehead to chin. "How much strength do you have?"

Callum: "Give me a few minutes and I'll rarin' to go again." Until then, more kisses, please. He truly did feel insatiable today.

Guildias: "I promise you we will go again, but it's not that."

His arm was brought to view. Rapidly burning a dull shade of pink.

Callum: That brought Callum out of his daze. Oh, that kind of strength.

Fortunately, that tank was full.

He looked around for his robe, draping it over his husband before he went through the ritual of relaxing, letting his magic in, and concentrating on drawing dense gunmetal clouds across the morning sky.

Guildias: He allowed himself to be covered and offered his gratitude the moment the scorch subsided. With the swim and their sexual escapade, much of the ointment had come away, replaced now with thicker darkened scaled skin.

Callum: The electric blue glow didn't subside from his eyes until the sunny sky had turned gray and just dark enough to both soothe his husband's skin and turn the whole atmosphere cozily dreary.

"Better?" he asked a few moments later, pressing gentle kisses to the scaly skin.

Guildias: Not often was Callum allowed to see the serpent skin beneath the glamour. Affection was carefully monitored.

"Better," he echoed. "We should go." Though he didn't bother to move.

Callum: The rarity of seeing such a personal part of his husband only served to make Callum that much more tender and loving with his affection. Just allowing Callum near with his skin in this vulnerable state was the ultimate display of his husband's trust.

"Good." He nodded, placing the next kiss on Guildias' lips. "Are you okay to get back in the water?"

Guildias: "My ointment is on the boat. I have no choice in the matter." Though he braved peeking out from the soaked robe for another kiss. "I should be lazy, and turn myself into a serpent and ride your shoulders."

Callum: Callum smiled softly. "By all means. Easier to hide you from the sun that way."

Guildias: "But then there will be no sex."

Callum: "We have many locations still on our list. The boat will keep until after sunset."

Guildias: "You want me to turn into a serpent?"

Callum: "If it'll make gettin' back to the ship and back home easier on you and yer skin, then aye."

Guildias: "Can you swim with me wrapped around your neck?"

Callum: Callum nodded. "Aye. Just need my arms and legs free and ev'rythin' will be fine."

Guildias: "Fine. Turn around, then."

Callum: "Okay." He'd turn and give his husband some privacy after one last kiss.

Guildias: He didn't want Callum to see his arms disappear, skin sheen, hair slip away. It had been years since his last metamorphose. It was as liberating as it was dangerous. One would become spoiled, as with all disciplines.

The druid would find his vampire bunched in his boxer briefs.

Callum: Having watched Pete turn every full moon for months, Callum couldn't help but wonder if Guildias' transformation was a similar process or if it was different, and if it was, how. At the end of the day it really didn't matter; his husband had his reasons for wanting it to remain private and Callum wasn't going to question it.

He turned back and smiled at the sight of his vampire, gently gathering him up and letting him get comfortable.

"Come on, love. Back we go."

Guildias: Guildias wound himself around Callum's shoulders and clung for dear life. From the perspective of a snake, the swim back to the boat wasn't nearly as calming. Still, the thrill of it all! He was suddenly reluctant to change back. Perhaps this should be how he spends his final days. The humiliation of Rötschreck and frenzy...he could live in some relative peace.

The snake rested its head against the druid’s shoulder, seemingly relaxing.

Callum: Callum couldn't remember ever having swum as carefully as he was now. He made sure to go slowly, keeping as much of his shoulders above the water as possible.

"We're almost there, love."

A few moments later he was climbing back up the ladder on the boat.

Guildias: The snake could not speak in this form. Truth kept to himself, he did not understand every aspect of this form as he would like. More evidence of his laziness. He would wait for Callum to set him aside before returning to form. There was no rush.

Callum: Even though the sun had been hidden away, Callum would continue to take his precautions. He carefully set Guildias down in a spot that would be shaded by the sail should the sun reappear so he could change back safely. His robe was placed behind his husband also.

"There we go. Let's head home and hope no one's lookin' at the naked man sailin'."

Guildias: With his back turned, Callum would not see or hear the transformation. He would feel hands on his waist some minutes later. His back pressed to the vampire's chest. His hair was kissed, chin resting on his shoulder. A feat for one so tall.

"Home already?"

Callum: He hummed softly and leaned back against his husband, basking in his nearness.

"No' yet. Won't be too long though, the wind's pickin' up." He turned his head to press a kiss to Guildias' temple. "How was yer transformation?"

Guildias: "My arms and legs tingle afterwards. Always." The kiss was returned in kind. "You control the wind. Why is it so restless?"

Callum: Callum smiled. "My control is used sparin'ly. Like givin' the town snow and protectin' you from the sun."

Guildias: "So the wind is not your doing?"

Callum: "It is no'," he said with a shake of his head. "Just the clouds. If the wind gets strong enough it'll blow them away."

Guildias: "We can't have anything blown away," he nodded, softly biting Callum's shoulder.

Callum: "We certainly can't." He nuzzled his vampire. "We're almost home. How does yer skin feel?"

Guildias: "Warm. I'll last to the house, or the next place you want me."

Callum: "Definitely the house." It was already coming into view. "Drape my robe over yerself."

Guildias: "No sex on the boat, husband?" The robe was used as a short cloak.

Callum: "No' until the sun goes down."

Guildias: "That's too long," he smiled with devilish eyes.

Callum: "We've got plenty to do to fill the time," he chuckled.

Guildias: "What do you want to do?"

Callum: "Kiss you all over."

Guildias: "It won't end in kisses." Much like his own, kissing up to Callum's ear.

Callum: “I’m countin’ on it,” he said with a grin, tilting his head to give Guildias better access. “But rest assured, I’m goin’ to take my time with you.”

Guildias: "Well into the night, I hope." He squeezed his pectoral muscles. Teeth threatened a bite. "I feel so insatiable today."

Callum: The silent threat was met with a shiver of anticipation. He would've spurred Guildias on if he wasn't trying to dock safely. "Into the night, into the day, maybe into another night. We should just have a sex marathon until we're both so spent we can't move."

Guildias: "That's my intention," he chuckled. "And then I must nurse you back to health."

Callum: "Yer intention is well met. I'll be naked for days and you'll be verra well fed."

Guildias: "Just as that day underneath the house, in the rain, surrounded by the scent of your flowers. I was already in love with you."

Callum: Callum’s face went soft with fondness and reminiscence.

“Then?” he asked. “When all I’d done is be shy?”

Guildias: "You were and are as your flowers. Something to be cherished."

Callum: He turned to kiss his husband. "I love you."

Guildias: "How often do you prefer telling me that?"

Callum: "A million times per day, although only a few are verbal."

Guildias: "Do you feel actions speak louder than words?"

Callum: "I just don't want to start seemin' like a broken record or...annoy you by constantly sayin' it."

Guildias: "But is it what you want to do?"

Callum: "I'd tell you all day long every single day if I could. Any time I think of you and it bubbles up inside me."

Guildias: His husband smiled. "Try it for a day and see if you feel exhausted."

Callum: "You won't mind a bunch of 'I love you' texts?"

Guildias: "Not at all. They will be evidence weighed when I do something horrific."

Callum: Callum chuckled and kissed Guildias' cheek again. "Or simply somethin' that makes you smile."

Guildias: "You make me smile." Nothing more to add. With or without the words he understood Callum's affection and devotion.

Callum: "Such a romantic he is." One more kiss for his husband before he had to prepare to dock. They'd returned home, and just in time. He could see patches of blue sky in the horizon where the wind had blown his clouds away.

Guildias: "We see romance differently," he smirked, sliding his tongue from neck to ear. "Must we leave the boat?"

Callum: "Yer skin will burn if we don't," he said dreamily. And yet he couldn't bring himself to move away from that naughty, seeking tongue. "I need to anchor the boat."

Guildias: "I'll anchor if you give us thirty more minutes."

Callum: "Mm, what do you plan to do for those thirty minutes, husband mine?"

Guildias: "Swallow you whole?" he grinned.

Callum: "In half an hour?" Callum grinned back. "Verra ambitious husband."

Guildias: "Half an hour to make you cum? Of course I can. I can do it in five."

Callum: "You seem verra confident." And very correct. Callum had no doubt his husband could do it in five minutes. Maybe even less. "I think we're goin' to have to put yer theory to the test. For...science."

Guildias: Then he would turn around, quietly, and drop anchor. And then he would drop to his knees.

"Come here to me."

Callum: Callum glanced toward the horizon while Guildias secured the anchor. No matter his lust, he wouldn't risk exposing his husband.

Luckily the blue was still merely a sliver, so he obediently stepped closer to his husband. Naked as he was there was nothing to conceal his anticipation over what was to come.

Guildias: "Hands behind your back," he whispered, waiting with patient eyes for obedience.

Callum: Obedience was immediate, though his eyes betrayed his disappointment at the prospect of not being able to touch his vampire's hair.

Guildias: Such obedience would not be abused. This was all in good fun. The thrill of restraint only to unleash when the yearning overwhelmed all sense.

"Close your eyes."

Callum: Eyes closed with a smile.

Guildias: "Spread your legs by two feet."

Callum: He couldn't tell whether it was two feet, but Callum spread his feet. Would another command follow? Or would commands be replaced by Guildias' mouth?

Guildias: He would feel a lingering kiss just below his navel. The area in which he had bitten years ago.

"You are my Daisy."

Callum: The memory had been lovingly preserved in Callum's memory, just as an image of his namesake was etched into his skin not far from his husband's lips.

"Yes, I am," he murmured. "And proudly and happily so."

Guildias: Kisses circled around the mark painted mindfully into his skin, while hands caressed and pulled him into embrace.

"For the rest of your life, you will be my Daisy."

Callum: Callum’s hands itched with the need to touch his husband, to take that beautiful face in his hands and cover it with kisses.

“I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I’ve been thinkin’ of gettin’ an anemone on the other side.”

Guildias: "So far away from you?" he smiled.

Callum: “I could be really cliché and put you over my heart.”

Guildias: "Do you not care what people might say?"

Callum: “No’ even a wee bit.”

Guildias: "Put the tattoo where you want."

Callum: “There might be a bald patch in my chest hair for a couple of weeks.”

Guildias: "But you want it on your hip."

Callum: “Eventually I plan to have an entire garden on my body, filled with many anemones.”

Guildias: "And daisies." Another kiss to his stomach, this time to the very tattoo.

Callum: “And daisies,” he repeated softly, bending to try to kiss his husband’s head.

Guildias: "What are you doing?" he purred.

Callum: “Kiss in’ my husband.”

Guildias: "Did I say you could move?"

Callum: Callum straightened and bit back a smile.

Guildias: "Who do you belong to?"

Callum: "I belong to you, husband mine."

Guildias: Good man. "Touch yourself. Slowly. Tell me what you imagine."

Callum: Callum freed one hand, tentatively taking himself and not quite stroking. If he stroked this would be over far too quickly. How far he'd come from the shy man letting a stranger pleasure him in the rain.

"You," he whispered as his cheeks flushed a pale rose. Then again, maybe not so far. "I imagine you, wrapped all around me."

Guildias: "All around you?" Fingertips traced from thigh to scrotum and across to the other side. "Am I holding you from behind? Am I warm?"

Callum: "Aye." Guildias' touch was infinitely more arousing than his own and his body came alive in response. "No, no' from behind. On top of me. My legs are wrapped around yer waist, yer skin feels like the ocean on a hot day."

Guildias: "You're always so warm and yet soft as your petals. Especially here," around his inner thighs. "Am I kissing you?" Like this, soft deliberate kisses against his cock, stomach, and hip. He couldn't tear his gaze from his astounding beauty.

Callum: Soft yes, and sensitive as well. The gentlest touch had the muscles underneath jumping in anticipation.

Callum moaned so softly it was almost a sigh. His eyes closed, brow furrowed. "No' there. Only yer hand is there. Yer lips are on my neck and ye're feedin'."

Guildias: Only his hand. He would mimic the fantasy, tightening his fist around the tip as he stood, kissing and nibbling his husband's throat. "Like this?" He would feel the smile against his skin.

Callum: He moaned in time with the increased pressure of his husband's hand. His body's reaction to Guildias' lips was immediate; he seemed to melt, tried to press closer, always closer into those hands, against that beautiful body. "Just like that." The only thing missing was the bed.

Guildias: "Are you ready to use your hands now?" Now, as fangs lightly caressed and threatened his artery. Now, when he mirrored Callum's firm need with the expenditure of vitae.

Callum: No matter how many times they did this, no matter how many times his husband fed from him, that tiny, gentle pressure of fangs against flesh would always make Callum's breath hitch.

"I'm ready," he said, nodding slightly as he finally tightened his grip and his hand began to stroke, slowly but with purpose.

Guildias: The amount he could drink without harming his husband was down to a science. Years together, and he knew that hitched breath, the tightening of his abdominal muscles, the throb of his cock. His limit would soon be reached, and his reward of lips swiftly given. The white marks of claim would cover his body and face, sullying his pristine image as he dropped back to his knees.

Callum: There was something deliriously beautiful about the simultaneous familiarity and thrill of his husband feeding from him, of the rush of pure pleasure and tenderness he felt giving Guildias what he needed while also indulging himself. He would never, ever tire of it.

Callum let himself get lost in his husband, feeling his impending orgasm but not feeling any of the urgency. He wanted to savor all that Guildias gave him, from his bite to his touch and finally to those beautiful lips giving his body what it craved. His vampire was rewarded with soft moans and even softer whimpers and within moments, with Callum's release.

Guildias: His husband smiled up at him, appeased by the sexual offering, though as Callum would know, his satiation was temporary. He would demand more before sundown. For now, he tasted what he had gathered from his chest. The druid was strong, but he was ready to catch him should his body fail him.

"Are you alright?"

Callum: Callum gave an absent nod, smiling back at his vampire. He was swaying ever so slightly on his feet but he was still upright.

"We should go in. The sun's comin' for you, husband mine."

Guildias: "Allow me to gaze a few more moments. Had I a heart it would still at the sight of you like this."

Callum: He gave a breathless laugh. "You do have a heart. I just happen to have it."

Guildias: "Are you insinuating you stole it?"

Callum: "A wee bit. It has a verra nice home in my chest next to mine."

Guildias: "No. It's not there. I have your heart."

Callum: “Well we’re just a couple o’ thieves, aren’t we?”

Guildias: "I am a thief, and I'm proud of my kleptomania."

Callum: “And I’m infinitely glad for it.”

Guildias: "How is your body; are you drained?"

Callum: “Literally? Aye. Figuratively? I feel bloody lovely.”

Guildias: "Then I still have more to steal from you."

Callum: Callum laughed again. “Och, aye. We have the whole day planned, remember? Come on, let’s go in.”

Guildias: "Lead the way, Daisy."

Callum: He gave his husband a quick kiss and took his husband's hand, only pausing to make sure the boat was tied securely before leading them back inside the house and away from the encroaching sun.

#anedendarkly #wildroseofarran #Good Morning chapter

[bluerosesburnblue]

So a while ago I made bios for my Hogwarts Mystery avatar, Seren, and her older brother. I figured it was only fair to do one for my KHUx keykid, too, especially since I made her first (and actually made her a character instead of just a self-insert weeks before I made Seren)

Now, in honor of Kingdom Hearts III coming out in 23 days, here’s some info about my starlight girl

Name: Blue. It’s a nickname (Yes, she has a real name that is not my name, I just don’t want to say it quite yet. I guess I can give you a hint, though. Starts with an “S”)

Union: Vulpes

Title: Unchained Starlight (“Light’s Apprentice” before the Keyblade War)

Top Keyblades: Starlight*, Divine Rose, Missing Ache

*Like most KHUx avatars, Starlight is her Keyblade’s default form

She always introduces herself as Blue, and then appends “It’s a nickname” to the end in a single breath. It’s almost a running joke among people she knows now. The Moogle Shop owner will call her Miss Itsanickname just to rile her up

So, just a general headcanon, but my personal timeline is that it takes about three years from the start of the Foretellers recruiting for the Keyblade War to happen

They recruit people anywhere from ages, like, 11-19. The Keyblade War was fought primarily by people from ages 17+ (the “older kids” and people who joined as kids but were adults when the war happened) and the Dandelions had a disproportionately large number of “younger kids” from ages 11-14, but people of all ages participated in either the War or the Dandelions

So Blue joined up at age 15 almost as soon as they started recruiting, right in the middle of the age group, and was about 18 by the time the war happened

I also headcanon that most of the kids in Daybreak Town were, like, runaways or abandoned or just otherwise had nowhere else to go (which is why the town is solely populated by unsupervised kids) who found themselves drawn to the light of Daybreak Town

Blue was of the “runaway” variety, and didn’t have any real friends back home. Small town, the “friends” she did have only really hung out because there were few kids in town

Her first real friend in town was @anheiressofasoldier‘s keykid, who went by “Heiress” at the time. Based on how anheiressofasoldier and I met, I imagine that Heiress dropped a journal with her writings in it somewhere in town, and Blue found it and dropped it off at the Moogle shop’s lost-and-found. Heiress hunted her down to thank her and one thing led to another and then Blue became a part of the party Heiress was in and that was that

Personally headcanon her as the youngest person in the party at the time, which makes her eventually being one of the oldest Dandelions and oldest “member” of the Sewer Squad more significant

Player is canonically kind of quiet. Blue doesn’t really go out of her way to chat with people, she mostly keeps to herself. But if you’re her friend, well, get ready for just a constant stream of philosophic ramblings, dorky Keyblade facts, and rants about the Moogle shop

Snarkmaster extraordinaire. Her Chirithy had to get his tendencies from somewhere, after all

Dramatic statements delivered in a deadpan tone. Most of her sense of humor is just downplaying the weirder things that happen to her

Flip-flops wildly between being a pretty chill, helpful, and quiet person and being THE MOST DRAMATIC PERSON YOU HAVE EVER MET IN YOUR LIFE depending on how emotional she is in the moment

Wise well beyond her years. Always has been, but it becomes more pronounced the older she gets and the more open with advice she gets

She probably keeps a few plants in her room. Strelitzia would’ve liked them

Her big thing is Keyblade forging. Crafting Keyblades? Designing the weapons? Running around town for days trying to get the right materials for just one more refinement to her perfect recipe for each keychain? Yuuuuup

Headcanon that she’s the one who created the design for the Missing Ache Keyblade in a fit of sadness after Ephemer fails to show up for their meeting (because it’s unlocked in Proud Mode three missions after he disappears). She started designing it while waiting for him at the fountain about an hour after their meeting time

“Chirithy please, I just need one more Electrum Ore.” “You haven’t slept in two days please stop.” “But I’ve almost got it, buddy!”

She might be the last person left in the Dandelions who knows anything about creating and refining Keyblades and keychains

She frequently takes her forging materials to the fountain or up on the rooftops to work, just because the scenery helps her relax. The Keyblade is a weapon of the heart, so if your heart’s at peace, you’ll get the best results

Related, she likes heights. If you can’t find her, she’s probably on a roof somewhere, either reading, Keyblade crafting, or watching the sky

Would probably die for her Chirithy and then realize later that if she dies so does he and she instantly regret everything. He is, no joke, the best friend she’s ever had and she loves him more than anything

She’d really love to collect souvenirs from every world that she visits, and was really disappointed when the ones that she picked up disappeared when she got back to Daybreak Town. It only made sense later, when she learned that the worlds she was visiting were illusions

I could see her deciding to try foods at each location she visits and deciding to collect recipes on her travels

She’s probably a decent cook. She does live by herself, after all

The fact that she’s not actually visiting other places is the most disappointing thing to her, because she’d love to travel and it turns out she hasn’t been

The Moogle who runs the Moogle Shop is her eternal rival. He makes some really good food and drinks, but his medal banners are NONSEEEEENSE and she refuses to spend money on them. They are constantly heckling each other about it

Clothing-wise, she hates skirts and she hates having her fingers covered. She sighs dramatically every time her reward clothes have a skirt, and cuts the fingers off of any pair of gloves she owns. She used to hate midriff-bearing shirts and sighed when she got them, but tried one out when she got older and they just kind of stuck as part of her style after that point

Started wearing hats to hide her face and her little spiked piece of hair that she was super self conscious about (“It’s the one piece that won’t stay down!”). Stopped wearing them after Ephemer saw her take her hat off and told her the little spike was cute

Frequently throws her Keyblade during fights, and one of her favorite combat techniques is throwing it and letting it fly around and hit things while she goes in for some magically enhanced punching and kicking. Her Keyblade is out of her hand as much as it is in her hand during the course of a fight

Most of my commands tend to be either ice or thunder-based, so I’d say she specializes in Blizzard and Thunder based techniques, with some light-based magic attacks and dark-based physical attacks on the side

She’s good at changing up her battle style on the fly (based on Player’s ability to easily swap Keyblades and employ magic, power, and speed attacks on any setup in any order)

That being said, she does favor magic, then speed, then power in that order

Very hard to keep down. If she were in a main series KH game, she’d get Once More and Second Chance pretty early on and maybe even Auto-Life by level up

The encounter with Nightmare Chirithy deeply affected her, because it really was the personification of all of her sadness, anger, self-loathing, etc... and yet it made good points that made sense to her and were honestly things she’d been thinking of for a long time. She took its talk of relying too much on the Foretellers’ powers to heart and started training herself to use her own power not long afterwards

She respected Ava a lot. Even when she was starting to get frustrated with all of the Foretellers for just doing what their Master told them to without question, she still had faith in Ava, and spent at least part of the War trying to convince her to just help her stop the fighting, and it broke her heart when Ava refused to help, but told her she was proud of the Keyblade Wielder she’d become

Blue used to actively reject her darkness at the start, but as she started questioning the Foretellers she started being more conflicted about it, shoving it down until Nightmare Chirithy became a problem. She spends a lot of time post-War in a weird depressive state where she can’t remember the war but still feels the emotional effects of it and can’t figure out why, and will eventually become this post once she comes to terms with her emotions post-War. She enters into an almost Riku-like state of being chill with her own darkness, though in her case it’s more of a “just let the emotions happen and use whichever element matches” thing

I’ve named her Spirit after Missile, best doggo and top Pomeranian from Ghost Trick, and I’ve been trying to make the spirit look like him ever since. In-universe, the Spirit dog’s name is Missile thanks to the Blast trick

Ephemer took a liking to her pretty fast because she was the one person who wasn’t even a little lost during his infodumps. And she contributed to his theorizing. She was practically perfect friend material

Mentioned that I ship Ephelayer recently, but I honestly can’t see Blue developing romantic feelings for him unless she sees him again and gets to know him better. She knew him for a day, and while she liked him a lot, that’s not grounds for a romantic relationship. I think of it more as a “they could be good together in the future” sort of thing. As long as Ephemer communicates with her

Ephemer was really special to her, because he was probably the first friend that she actively made on her own. Heiress was the one who hunted her down, but Ephemer was the one that she went and saved on her own and befriended on her own. Which is why it hurt so much when he didn’t show up

Headcanon that meeting Ephemer happens about two years after recruitment starts, so she was 16/17-ish when that happened, and he was about the same

Since time moves weird in the datascape, she may actually be physically older than him at this point since he would have entered it first, about a year or two before the war

Skuld is also one of the best friends she’s ever had, but she can’t remember most of their time together post-War, so she’s not entirely sure why she misses that black-haired girl she barely knew

She starts off as pretty awkward and shy, but by the time the war comes about she’s the Ultimate Big Sis, helping out all of the younger kids and being really nice to the kids who come up to her asking for help

She’d probably have adopted Strelitzia and Ven as younger siblings in a heartbeat

Strelitzia’s crush wasn’t romantic, it was definitely a “cool older kid” crush. Strong “I wish that person was my sibling” vibes. Especially since Blue and Lauriam are probably close in age

I... am not sure that she even knew the Sewer Squad before entering the datascape, so that’s all with 18-year-old, tired and jaded post-War Blue

Her memories being rewritten have actually messed her up way worse than Ephemer, Skuld, and Chirithy were expecting. She can’t remember how old she was at any given point during her time in Daybreak Town anymore, who her old party was (since... I think Player’s whole party canonically dies in the war? So they’ve gotta get erased before Player starts questioning what happened to them), what her life was like before Daybreak Town, or even that Blue isn’t her real name (the last one being what tips Chirithy off that they may have messed up). Her sense of time no longer exists, either

She also sleeps a lot more after the war, which worries Chirithy a lot

Even though they’ve overwritten her memories of the war, the scars still exist in her heart. So it’s honestly worse that she can’t clearly remember, since now she just feels extreme guilt and grief with no discernible source and hides it behind a cheerful facade most of the time since she, like... can’t even justify her own sadness to herself. And she can’t fix the problem by dealing with the trauma because she’s not even sure the trauma existed

She’s not technically a Dandelion, but believes that she is because it’s how her memories have made sense of the whole thing

I called the Sewer Squad her surrogate younger siblings in my post about the Halloween Event, and that’s true. She’s older than all of them, and not even technically a member of their party. She’s an honorary member, and they call her the team Big Sis whenever she joins them

How she takes getting her memories back is going to entirely depend on the situation she remembers them in

#liz art #kingdom hearts unchained x #kingdom hearts union x #khux #keykid #blue (it's a nickname) #i blame my ocs sunny and skye for the fact that all of my avatar characters have to have names that start with s now #but my pokemon avatar saga who i have never mentioned on this blog is technically the one who started the trend #saving the name for something closer to kh3 release date

[thejapanesehousefmp]

The Art of Japanese Life (House)

Much of domestic life is informed by aesthetics. The activities performed in the house are performed with precision and grace. Japan’s population is now 127 million people which means they can’t all live in the traditional house, most of them live in tiny flats. 100 years ago, 85% of Japan’s population lived in the countryside and a few of these houses still remain. These were called minka; vernacular houses once lived in by most Japanese people. Minka were designed to combat the extremes of the climate; the thatched roofs were steep enough to wash away the heavy rains and snows, the buildings were often lifted off the ground to create ventilation. The geography dictated the way it was built. This was also down to use of material. An abundance of wood was used as wood is plentiful in Japan and they are safer in the event of an earthquake.

Japanese craftspeople pioneered a consummate form of carpentry unequalled in the West. They are able to construct houses without screws, nails or glue. These techniques are still in use today at Nakamura Yoshiyaki’s Kyoto workshop. Nakamura is a well-respected sukiya-daiku (master carpenter). What is interesting is that Japanese tools are made to be pulled towards you whereas in the West our tools are made to be pushed. Matches are the same – in the West we push but in Japan they pull. The Japanese are thinking of the other person and not trying to hurt them. Respect is the basis of the sukiya-daiku’s philosophy and even applies to the materials. Wood is more than just a commodity. According to Shinto, it comes from a sacred, living organism and has to be treated with reverence. European architecture goes against nature whereas Japanese architecture and nature coexist claims Nakamura. 7000 years ago in the Heian period, you created a house like a tree, the roof was light like the branches, the tree trunks were the pillars and the roots were the foundation. They thought of themselves as living under a great tree. This attention to nature reflects the Japanese attitude towards architecture.  The apprentices work with such precision and focus in his workshop. They measure and re-measure to get it all right which is something I find ironic as other elements of the culture embrace imperfection.

The Rinshunkaku house in Yokohama is a great example of a traditional Japanese house except for the additional second storey which is unheard of in Japanese architecture. It consists of low eaves, wood raised from the ground. The inspiration refers back to the minca of Japan’s rural past yet it has now been refined and elaborated. It was influenced by the simple aesthetic of Zen Buddhism which can be seen in how the rooms are open plan and free from clutter. The exterior walls are shoji screens which is a paper surface that infuses the home with soft light. The floors are tatami which dictate the size and proportion of every room. Ma is a Japanese concept which is fundamental to Japanese aesthetics and its way of life. It refers to the negative spaces between things. The most obvious example of it is silence. It appears in many Japanese art forms such as painting, calligraphy, drama and martial arts and the home. The floorplan is endlessly flexible and the partitions slide to open up the rooms which results in one continuous space which extends to the outdoors. This house is light, functional and versatile and is a lesson in domestic design. It went on to influence modern architecture and architects such as Frank Lloyd Wright, Charles and Ray Eames, Walter Gropius and Le Corbusier. This house was modernist architecture that happened to be thousands of years old. This can be seen through the open plan and clean lines which became the very principles of 21st century living in the West.

The tokonoma is the one place reserved for extravagance in the home and is often seen as the heart of the Japanese home. It contains some carefully selected objects; a scroll with calligraphy joined by ikebana.  Many Japanese people are obsessed with flower arranging. Ikebana is not just a hobby but also a highly personal form of self-expression. Its origins lie in religion – it was first created by a Buddhist monk, Ikenobo in the 15th century. Each arrangement in ikebana serves a different function and was a different meaning. Manabu Noda is an ikebana master who says in the programme that the other name for ikebana is Kado which means ‘path of flowers’ but he says the path has no end so even if he trains for the rest of his life he will never reach perfection which is a common philosophy among the Japanese. He discusses how Ikebana is not only about trying to create a beautiful arrangement but what is more important is the process of making it. Ma in ikebana is the space between the branches. To show flowers at their best it is about arranging the space around them.

The concept of impermanence is an important part of Japanese culture. Through ikebana we learn that it’s the same with humans, to be alive means constant change. The flowers provide a talking point and through it the arranger and guest can connect. There are specific guidelines about looking at ikebana. Position yourself one tatami mat back from the tokonoma, make sure you’re face to face with the arrangement, breath and start by looking at the base where the plants first emerge from the water. This is an important part called the mizugiwa (the water’s edge) which is seen as the origin of life itself. Then begin to raise your head and follow the line of the plants upwards till the top, when you reach the top, breathe again and then appreciate the whole arrangement.  It is also often referred to as a shoka arrangement (living flower). The arrangement is often about the life story of the flower and nature which leads you to then reflect on your own life and the transience and the hardships of it. Ikebana is a domestic art form full of style and symbolism.

The other object in the tokonoma is the hanging scroll which contains shodo (calligraphy). Japanese artist Tomoko Kawao practises the calligraphy of ancient shodo masters and she talks about how to create each character there is a set order of strokes which was a rule she felt she could work with. She discusses how you can tell the emotion of people through the brushstrokes as the writing can reveal their personality. Shodo is said to express the human heart, what you feel in your heart flows through your arm and is expressed on paper. In shodo you have one chance to get it right so it is a very pure process.

Japan’s rapid urbanisation has made domestic life very difficult. In Tokyo, more than 6000 people inhabit every square metre which has meant that the homes have become much smaller and more expensive. The average Japanese home now lasts only for thirty years.  Now there is lots of experimentation in the architecture there such as elements such as sharp edges, repeated forms and concrete walls. These new modern houses are an attempt to make spaces that are beautiful, ordered and peaceful among the chaos that surrounds them.  Zenimalism is a trademark of Japan’s most famous architects including Tada o Ando, Toyo Ito and Kengo Kuma.

MUJI is Japanese minimalism for the mass market. The name is an abbreviation of mujirushi which means no brand  which is ironic as image is what it’s all about. There are nods everywhere in the shop to ancient Japanese aesthetics and architecture. However the documentary discusses how the new Japan is not zen, it now consists of chaos, urban clutter and small messy homes.

Kyoichi Tsuzuki is a photographer and journalist. He has been documenting the homes of Tokyo’s youth. He talks about how today in Tokyo, the average size of an apartment is 60 square metres which is equivalent to 36 tatami. In his 1993 book ‘Tokyo: A Certain Style’ – he photographed portraits of one hundred people not by capturing their faces but their flats.  He is documenting the lives of city people who had been ignored. In these tiny apartments, there is no space for space or ma. These homes epitomise all that is wrong with Japanese life. People forgot this zen attitude or philosophy and lost this classic aesthetic and it was a negative view towards modern life and this artist wanted to change that. There is a famous saying in Zen which Tsuzuki mentions in the documentary “You only need a half tatami to meditate – only one tatami to sleep” so he goes on to say that more than that is just a luxury. I found this really interesting as we in the West see Japanese minimalism and zenimalism in the culture and the architecture as so simple, freeing and unluxurious and unobtrusive when in reality it is actually quite a luxurious thing and isn’t what it actually is real life. He shows a style that is and isn’t Japanese yet is also democratic. Minimalism is to hide your personality whereas small places are a representation of people’s everyday life which Tsuzuki thinks is more interesting.

Teronobu Fujimori is a Japanese architect but not in the conventional sense. He has created these crazy tea houses one of them in particular is the ‘flying mud boathouse’. His houses are eccentric but grounded in some of Japan’s oldest beliefs. He says that “Shinto is a religion that believes in the spirits within nature. That’s very important to me and my life. And as an architect I think it’s important to live in harmony with nature”.  ‘Dandelion House’ is one in a series of buildings he has done that sprout all manner of plant life. He did this with the aim of bringing nature back into Japanese homes as he believes humans need to be close to natural elements. The more high-rise buildings we build, the more we need the opposite, smaller buildings connected to nature he states. A home is a place of shelter and it’s about making a safe haven to call one’s own.

The host of the documentary talks at the end about how there is a precision and elegance in so much of what the Japanese do as it is a culture that cares profoundly about detail and getting the little things right. Even in the most ordinary places, beauty can be found.

[thefreckledone]

Pompeii 44

Sakura bit her lip. “You aren’t worried about getting in trouble? I know that the Senju are your family.”

Tsunade snorted, looking to Shizune with a fire that simmered over. “Blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb.”

“How...human of you,” Sakura said, picking her words cautiously as she rolled the proverb over in her head.

In Pompeii, she knew, family was the deepest bond; the roots that entangled and ensnared an individual’s very soul. People didn’t speak out against family, which left people like Sakura, Kin, Yamato, and Zaku falling through the cracks. Unwanted. Unneeded. No value.

Tsunade’s lips twisted and her flashed with emotion. “Humans, for all their failings, have much to offer us. Their lives are fleeting; the snap of a Polaroid before they are gone, fallen as dead leaves.” Sakura suddenly recognized the emotion for what it was: pain. “They burn brightly, brilliantly during their lifetimes. How can one like us keep from being drawn into their light like moths unto a flame?”

“Tsunade…” Sakura began, knowing there was a story in that agony, there had to be.

Tsunade merely held up a hand, shaking her head. “Unlike the rest of this town, my coven interacts with the world beyond our borders. We embrace the places without magic, learn from them, and the greatest lesson I’ve learned thus far is that there is a little magic in all places. Perhaps not the supernatural kind that my brethren are so accustomed to, but a different sort. An ordinary sort.”

Sakura nodded, listening closely as Tsunade’s cadence took on that of a teacher as Shizune watched them both with a pleased expression. It was nice to discuss something other than the doom and gloom of Pompeii’s situation.

“You’ve a magic of your own,” Tsunade said. “It isn’t loud certainly, subtle in comparison to the cacophony that is Pompeii.” Her gaze went distant and remote and, for a moment, Sakura felt like Tsunade saw right through her. Her neck prickled uncomfortably as something washed over her. “It’s a natural form of magic; steady and slow. Nothing like the violence of the forest.” She sneered. “If those fools at town hall would just listen--” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “In any case, there is no doubt in my mind that, though you are a fool, you are not cruel.”

Sakura smiled, heart lightening. “If that’s the case--if you know definitively that it isn’t me--can’t we tell the others?” Her stomach sunk as both Tsunade and Shizune shook their heads. “What? What’s wrong?”

“They won’t believe it,” Shizune said. “They’re willfully blind.”

“I’m an outsider, despite my familial ties to the Senju,” Tsunade said. “Besides, there’s quite a bit of circumstantial evidence stacked against you; the Uchiha brat has fallen ill.”

“Sasuke?” Sakura asked, heart heavy. Even though they’d parted ways with bitter words, she still cared. “How is he?”

“He’s doing poorly,” Tsunade said, blunt as always. “Worse even than the Uzumaki twins. Tobirama is quite ill as well and his brother is baying for your blood. The ones who are the worst off--Sasuke, Itachi, Menma, Tobirama--have had public disagreements or altercations with you. People who have had private disagreements with you, such as myself, have been left untouched. It’s heavy-handed and crude, but someone is setting you up.”

“You think someone is framing me?” Sakura asked, aghast. “What would they have to gain? I had little status in the town even prior to the onset of the illness.”

Shizune and Tsunade exchanged unreadable looks. “Perhaps it has to do with your position?” Shizune ventured. “The previous doctor...well, you heard of him from other residents. He was cruel and capricious, treating patients inhumanely and experimenting on them without consent.”

“Kabuto Yakushi,” Tsunade muttered. “He was the star pupil of Orochimaru a few centuries ago. Pompeii ran him off, but he wasn’t killed.”

“You think he’s responsible for the trees?” Sakura asked.

“It would make sense,” Shizune said, warming to the topic. “Tsunade wasn’t in Pompeii at all during Kabuto’s residency, but I was. He is an expert in creating toxins of all sorts. He specialized in airborne ones, but I saw him use water as a catalyst at least once…”

“He was responsible for the pollution of Lake Icarus,” Sakura said, realization striking like lightning. “He hurt so many people...but what did he have to gain from the lake?”

“A practice run,” Shizune said, eyes hard and cold.

Sakura shivered.

“Enough,” Tsunade said, clapping her hands to dispel the silence that had overtaken them. “There is naught to do with such speculation. I am a woman of action and I believe I promised you some assistance.” Sakura nodded hesitantly. “Come,” Tsunade said, stepping past her further into the clinic. Sakura exchanged a commiserating look with Shizune at the way Tsunade swept through the clinic, smiling despite herself. She followed Tsunade, obeying as she patted the examination table. “Let me take a look at that seal on your stomach.”

Sakura tensed, hands splaying to cover the dead seal in an almost protective gesture. “Why?”

“According to Shizune, it was drawn upon you by Minato,” Tsunade said with a surprising wealth of patience. “All seals are imbued with some of the sealer’s energy. Even in a dead seal, Minato can still track you.”

“Really?” Sakura asked, frowning down at her stomach. “I thought only the sealer could remove it.”

“I’m a Senju and a witch besides,” Tsunade said, pride curving her mouth into a grin. “Namikaze is no match for my skill.”

With a brief glance at Shizune who nodded her encouragement, Sakura lifted her shirt, leaning back against the table. The ruined seal stood out starkly against her skin, an unspoken symbol of her current status within Pompeii.

Tsunade brushed her knuckles over it, shaking her head as she tsked. “This has Namikaze’s signature all over it: clumsy and blunt, no elegance.” Her eyes shifted from honeyed brown to a brilliant gold as Sakura’s stomach began to tingle. “He’s certainly been keeping tabs on you, though it is faint. He can only tell if you are in or out of Pompeii. If Mito or Kushina completed the seal, they would’ve been able to truly track you.” Sakura’s skin warmed beneath Tsunade’s fingertips and she resisted the urge to squirm. “A few minutes more and there will be nothing left.”

Sakura watched silently as the black lines of the seal began to curl away at the edges, collapsing in on itself around her bellybutton before winking out of existence. “It’s gone?”

“Minato will be most displeased,” Tsunade said, a satisfied grin upon her face.

Sakura sighed, putting her weight onto her elbows. “Undoubtedly this will be considered a part of that ‘circumstantial evidence’ of theirs.”

Tsunade laughed, slapping Sakura’s knee as she hopped to her feet. “Oh, to be sure! I’ve no doubt they’ll be calling another town meeting soon enough.”

“Just another reason for them to hate me.” Sakura frowned as she straightened her clothes.

“You don’t have to stay here,” Shizune said softly, after casting her mentor a dark look. She smiled, warmth and encouragement in her eyes as Sakura looked up, startled. “There are other places to call home. More welcoming ones, certainly.”

“Moving requires money and a stable, paying job,” Sakura said, bustling around to tidy up the examination room. She kept her eyes down, embarrassed to speak about her finances. “Of which I have neither in abundance.”

“That can be changed,” Tsunade said, clearing her throat. “You don’t work as a physician for a number of centuries without making some connections. I could...put out some feelers, call some friends and see if there are any jobs on the market.”

“If not, we will make some,” Shizune said, chin jutted and stubborn.

Sakura bit her lip again, gaze wavering between the two women. Something hot prickled her throat as she nodded. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

“Sakura.”

Sakura tensed, clutching her bag and journal closer before looking up at the interloper. Sasori’s cool gaze met her own, an elegant brow arching at her defensive position. She’d brought the bag up between them almost as a shield.

Sakura coughed, scooting to the side of the bench so he could join her. She wasn’t used to people coming out this way, being as it was between the town proper and the logging front. This had once been a garden, but it’d long been abandoned and overrun with a bounty of dandelions. It was nice and it was peaceful, away from the prying eyes of the town. Except, apparently, it was not.

“How’d you find me?” Sakura resisted the urge to wince at her accusatory tone.

Still, Sasori sat down with an unearthly grace, head lolling back slightly as he regarded her. “Wasn’t too hard to do,” he replied, choosing not to let her know that he’d tracked her a few times as she made her way through the forest. He was unaffected by the presence in the forest and he needed to collect wood for his art. If he happened to trace along Sakura’s path to the abandoned logging town, well, that was his business. “You’ve been avoiding town recently.”

Sakura chuffed, a bitter, crackling sound. It hurt something deep within Sasori to hear it. She was sallow, gaunt. The stress of the town’s suspicions upon her was clearly leaving its mark in the dark rings beneath her eyes. “I wonder why,” she murmured, hands clenched white around her phone case.

Sasori swallowed, though it was a gesture that was merely symbolic; a last vestige of his humanity. “I am sorry for how you’ve been treated,” he said softly.

“As am I,” Sakura said, finally turning her gaze to him. Her expression was just as flat as his. “What are you doing here, Sasori?”

Sasori stayed quiet. Why was he here? Something had been gnawing at his gut for weeks, months even. Ever since that fateful decision to stay his hand with the genesis tree…

Guilt.

It festered within him, unfamiliar and heavy within his gut. He hated it, the way it gouged him out and left him empty. Well…emptier than usual.

“What do you want, Sasori?” Sakura demanded, the bite of her voice drawing Sasori out of his reverie.

“I...I want to apologize,” he said.

“For what?” Sakura asked. “You haven’t been involved in this...upheaval.”

“The upper echelon of Pompeii is blind,” Sasori scoffed. “You aren’t connected to what’s happening in the forest. I, on the other hand, think that I might be involved.”

Sakura stiffened, getting to her feet. “You did this?”

“Not this exactly,” he said. Sasori caught her hand, not caging her precisely, but trying to keep her from running. “I do, however, think I may have catalyzed this event.”

“How?” she asked as she pulled her hand away from him. “Why?”

“It wasn’t purposeful,” Sasori snapped, tetchy at the way she shied away from him. “I think that this all may have started with the genesis tree.”

“The genesis tree?” Sakura said. “That was months ago! What the hell does it have to do with the recent events?”

“I didn’t exactly cut down the genesis tree,” Sasori revealed. “I may have used another in its place.”

Sakura blanched. “Why on earth would you do that? The genesis tree is important. You were the one who told me that!”

“I…” What could he say? The genesis tree had reminded him of her. It was a paltry excuse in the face of her exhaustion and frustration. “The significance of the genesis tree was lore; a myth told throughout Pompeii to celebrate the Senju legacy.” His lips twisted. “Who truly believes that a tree can embody the Maiden and her sacrifice?”

“Well look what’s happened since then,” Sakura said, gesturing around her to the trees. “Obviously there’s some truth in the protection offered by the genesis tree!”

“I know that now,” Sasori replied.

Sakura scowled at him, shaking her head. “Have you told anyone else about this?”

“No, not yet.”

“You should,” she said. “Tell the Senju or the Uzumaki or someone. There’s very little I can do with this information.” She moved to go, jaw clenched. “You should attend the town halls, speak up there.”

“Sakura, I’m...I’m sorry,” Sasori said.

Sakura turned back to him, eyes flinty. “Sorry isn’t enough, Sasori, not for this.”

It remained unspoken but understood between them that the decision he made those many months ago might have completely unmade Sakura’s life in Pompeii.

Sasori watched her go, something burning at his eyes. It was an unknown sensation and Sasori brought a hand up to his eyes. His face was dry but he knew that, had he his old body, tears would streak his face. As it was, Sasori stared after Sakura, long after she was gone, futilely cursing the clearness of his vision.

Now, more than ever, Sasori knew the differences between him and the others.

Was this...regret?

“What business do you have with the Sound degenerates?”

“Good to see you too, Yagura,” Sakura said drily, closing her journal. She hadn’t been getting very far on the pros and cons list in any case. She ignored the way his eyes drifted over the movement with interest. “You seem well. How may I assist you today?”

Yagura flushed a bit beneath Sakura’s steady, unwavering attention. “I’ve received information that you’ve been visiting the old logging grounds. What business do you have with the transients who reside there?”

“What business do you have asking me such questions? Or tailing me as you’ve apparently been doing,” Sakura snapped, disliking the arrogance with which he strode into her clinic. She may be nearly run out of town, but this was still her territory. “What do you want?”

Yagura scrutinized her for a moment, before sauntering forward and taking a seat in front of her. “You’ve changed.”

“I don’t know if I’d say that,” Sakura replied, leaning back and examining him in turn. “I’ve been under constant speculation and allegations by this town and its people for the past few weeks. What I am is tired. And angry. And perhaps even a bit fed up with people coming into my clinic and making demands and accusations of me. So yes, Yagura, perhaps I am, in fact, a bit different from the woman I was when you last saw me. It’s been months since we’ve last interacted in a meaningful way.”

Yagura bit his tongue. Sakura’s anger didn’t burn hot and bright like his own or those of his colleagues; instead it ran cool and steady, the rage of a waterfall rather than a flame. She was distant, timeless in an inexplicable way.

In this moment, Yagura felt utterly inadequate and foolish in the face of Sakura’s composure.

“I...apologize,” Yagura said, voice soft, his earlier irritation extinguished. “I have heard of the goings on in town but I did not know they’d reached this extent.”

“What has Kiri been up to recently?” Sakura asked, frowning. “I haven’t seen anyone from your side of town in quite some time.”

“We’ve had some dealings out of town,” Yagura replied, crossing his arms. “Been working with some Kappa to clean up the pollution of Lake Icarus which has been a hell of a mess. Between the magic necessary and the legal tape we’ve run into with jurisdiction issues…” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s no matter.”

“And no one has fallen ill?” Sakura asked, curious despite herself. “No one’s fallen victim to the forest?”

“No,” Yagura said. “The only sickness we have has sprung up from interacting with the polluted water of the lake.”

“Strange,” Sakura murmured. Something niggled at her. “About the lake...I believe the pollution may have been caused by Kabuto.”

“Kabuto,” Yagura said, eyes flashing. “Thank you for the tip. I’ll look into it.” Sakura shivered. “As for the lack of sickness, we’re a hardy folk,” Yagura said, a proud tilt to his chin. “Not weak and lily-livered like the Senju and Uzumaki in town.”

Sakura nodded absently, her frown thoughtful. An entire branch of Pompeii was unaffected by the encroaching sickness of the forest. There was something important in that fact, though Sakura was not sure what it was.

“Have you told the others?” Sakura asked. “Revealed this information at the town hall meetings?”

“Why would we attend those meetings? They’re set up to stroke the egos of the Uzumaki and Senju. I refuse to pander to them.”

“Would you consider it?” Sakura asked, hating the near begging quality to her voice. “Please? I think it might help.”

Yagura frowned at her. “Is it truly so bad as that?”

“It certainly isn’t ideal,” Sakura replied, stung but resigned to his callousness. She should have known better than to expect anything different. “If things continue as they are...I don’t believe I’ll be able to call Pompeii my home. Not any longer.”

Yagura scowled, looking down at his fisted hands. He wasn’t used to the buzzing, nagging feeling within his gut, urging him to do something, anything, to keep her near. He didn’t understand it, but Yagura was disinclined to ignore his wants. “I will see what I can do,” he said finally. Sakura’s smile in return was more than payment enough. “Be careful, if you do choose to carry on with the Sound transients.”

“Why?”

“They’ve a chip on their shoulders,” Yagura replied, standing and draping his coat across his arm. “Whether or not it is deserved is a question for debate another day. You know as well as I do that the people of Pompeii hold grudges longer and deeper than the very foundations of this country. Do what you can to avoid being caught up in it.”

Sakura sighed, her breath crystallizing in the chilly air as she opened the door for Yagura. “I’m afraid there’s no avoiding it now.” She shivered and ran her hands over her arms. “They need help and I will gladly give it.”

Yagura stepped close, cupping her face in a warm hand. His eyes were sad as he said, “Do not give more of yourself than you have to offer. You’ll burn yourself out far too quickly like that.”

With that, he bundled into his car, leaving Sakura feeling cold and bereft.

She had the sinking suspicion that it was far too late to take heed of his advice. “At least I’ll burn out in a blaze,” she said to herself in a paltry attempt at comfort, before moving back into the clinic.

“Where are you going?”

Sakura turned to Yamato and Sai. They were all in the living room, watching some of Sakura’s favorite Christmas movies as they began to wind down for the evening. All were dressed in their coziest of pajamas, Sakura even donning her poker playing dog robe over hers. Currently, The Nutcracker Prince was on.

“To the kitchen?” Sakura said, her answer coming out as a question in response to Yamato’s nearly angry tone. “I was going to check on the brownies.”

“Not that,” Yamato said, body positioned like he was about to pounce. “You’ve been looking at other jobs, other cities in other states.”

“I saw the pros and cons list you’ve been making,” Sai added, jaw tight with anxiety. “You’re leaving.”

Sakura glanced between the two of them, taking in their frustration and fear. She slumped across the couch across from them. “It is something I’ve been considering,” she admitted.

“Why?” Sai asked.

“The situation here is getting more tense by the day. The clinic has been attacked and, soon I’m afraid, I believe I will be as well.”

“Let them try,” Yamato growled, a rage in his eyes that startled Sakura.

“No,” Sakura said. “I’d rather they did not. There’s little that I can do about the situation. Pompeii is a magically founded and magically run town.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I’ve looked into it. The jurisdictions that apply to most other places don’t carry over here. What human government will stand before a supernatural population and attempt to curtail them? Many have tried, and history remembers them as some of the greatest tragedies.

“If something happens to me, the punishment, if any, will be but a slap on the wrist. And, with so many people falling ill, I fear that the extreme solution, eliminating the perceived threat, becomes more and more attractive.” She curled in on herself, tucking her hands into her flannel robe. “I don’t want to die.”

Two sets of arms were thrown around her. The movements were a bit awkward, certainly hesitant, but they were warm.

Sakura looked up into Sai and Yamato’s resolute faces.

“We won’t let you die,” Sai said.

“We’ll fight for you,” Yamato said. “We’re family.”

Sakura nodded, throat a bit too tight to respond. Instead she relaxed into their embrace, enjoying the simple sensation of being held. They huddled together in silence, basking in each other’s presence.

“If you leave, we’re going with you,” Sai said abruptly.

That caught Sakura’s attention. “What about your jobs?” Sakura scrambled to sit upright. “Pompeii has been your home for centuries. I can’t be your reason for leaving that all behind.”

“There isn’t much to leave,” Yamato said, voice warm but firm. “Nothing ties me to Pompeii aside from the two of you.”

“If you leave, we’ll follow,” Sai said in that matter of fact tone of his, tucking his cold nose against the back of Sakura’s neck. “Pompeii is just a place. You are our home.”

#my fic #our fic #weird wednesday #pompeii #yagusaku #sasosaku #saisaku #yamasaku #sakura haruno #sai #sasori #yagura #yamato

[riviae]

I love Regis' and Geralt's friendship with all my heart, but then I remember that Regis will outlive him and most of his other friends. Is anyone else thinking about this or is it just me?

oh anon, you’ve got a storm coming because i am /always/ thinking about this: 

—

Mourning does not come naturally to their species, that much Regis knows. Nothing is lost forever. Only the truly ancient vampires, the ones old enough to recall a time before the Conjunction of Spheres, know what loss is. 

Or so it goes for most higher vampires. But Regis has never quite been an ordinary higher vampire. 

As a youth, he chose to ignore the parts of himself that yearned for genuine connection. He made a reputation as a rabble-rouser, someone good at creating superficial ties between vampires who didn’t quite fit in–they were the lonely ones, the wild ones, the ones who took to drinking in excess, pouring drinks in favor of talking about anything important at all. The superfluous charm he had as a storyteller, a vampire whose drunken escapades were revered and shunned in equal measure, made it so he always had someone, some company to entertain. He was never alone with his thoughts so he never had to face the consequences of his actions, the families he destroyed, the ugly addiction that made him irritable and callous when sober. 

And then he died–or came as close as he could to death. Dismembered and buried under layers upon layer of dirt, all he had to pass the decades of slow healing was his mind. His memories repeated over and over behind his eyes an innumerable amount of times. Burned villages. Empty bassinets covered in blood. Laughter–his own, he knew it had to be his own, but it sounded unfamiliar. Foreign. As if his sense of self had been neatly cleaved in half. There was the monster that he was before his regeneration, and then there was the monstrous man who took its place. Not a monster–not anymore, but perhaps still the relic of one. A relic of monstrosity learning to be a person, something not quite human, but as close as his distinct biological structure allowed.

In the years that followed he felt the burden of his prior choices, allowed them to age him, to steal the dark from his hair, to mark his face with lines and age-spots. The first step to being something human, he surmised, was to age. So he did. It suited him, Regis thought, to wear a different appearance after his regeneration. One that more easily brought to mind that of a kindly barber-surgeon. 

He traveled the continent for centuries, acting as a barber-surgeon on the battlefield (because there was always a war somewhere, wasn’t there? bloodshed somewhere. a constant reminder of what he denied himself floating through the air, as sweet as honeysuckle, as pungent as copper.) and a door-to-door physician at whatever village he chose to settle down in as winter took hold once more. Regis preferred to travel the human way, using a donkey that he always gave a rather obvious name to, and he would not lose a good animal because of frozen roads and waist-deep snow. 

It was during the particularly long and chilling winters that Regis felt the cold sting of loss. Humans could die in so many horrifically tragic ways. He had helped bury babies and mothers and young children and young couples and elderly widows and everything in between. But in the winter, it was as if Death walked amongst them, pacing the doors of the young and old with equal ferocity. First, the livestock died. Then, as the snow continued to fall, as the ice grew more solid and insidious, the weeks turning into months, food storages dwindled. People grew hungry. Disease spread. And Regis could do nothing but act as a comforting hand, a gentle voice in the dark once the tallow ran out, nothing to make candles from. There was no cure for hunger or cold in those days, not when there weren’t any animals around for miles, when Regis spent most of his waking hours at dying people’s bedsides, watching as the life trickled out of them, heard their heartbeats slow and slow until everything grew silent. He thought he might grow mad–so many deaths in so little time, people he had joked and played cards with in the fall, whose homes he had been invited into with the promise of a hot meal and stimulating conversation, were now cold and dead, gone to a place he could not follow. 

And then, just when he thought he had enough of it all–humans die so quickly; why did he think it was worth it? this pain? this bone-deep ache when they inevitably took their last shuddering breath? his penance was never abstaining from blood; it was this wellspring of grief he felt at every severed connection, every life cut short in a world that damn well seemed devoted to inflicting as much agony as it could before finally pulling them into a shallow grave–he met Geralt and his company. 

He knew he shouldn’t get close. He could taste their deaths in the air–knew that they would likely be gruesome, drawn-out events. Deaths that would never leave him, not entirely. He knew that if he lingered, allowed himself and his damnable curiosity to take hold, he would never be able to leave. A logical vampire, one that traipsed through society in the shadows, who only formed bonds with other vampires, would have let Geralt and his company get drunk on mandrake moonshine and leave them there in his home amongst the ruins of the elven graveyard. He had thought about doing that. Saw their pink, dozing faces, saw how easy it would be to lull Geralt into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

(He also saw how easy it was to love them. Geralt and the brilliant mind he hid underneath a facade of indifference and stoicism. Milva and her golden heart–so strong, so lovely, so dedicated to living life as free as a red kite, a bird of prey. Dandelion’s passion for art, for music, for all the beautiful things that humans could make–a scholar, a romantic, and a loyal friend, this much was obvious to Regis.) 

That was why he left Dillingen, wasn’t it? Not because of the encroaching war (though the thick scent of blood nowadays only made his spine curl in revulsion as he associated the scent with loss, his days of playing the demon long behind him). But because he was tired. He wanted solitude. Peace. A time to heal. A time to devote to his studies. A silence not gifted by death. 

But if Regis had what would eventually be called a fatal flaw, it was this: from the beginning he had been drawn to humans in a way most vampires were not. He hadn’t known it in his youth, so blood-drunk and warm, so far gone out of his faculties, that he would have been just as satisfied with a night-long conversation with any of the charming humans he encountered then a goblet of their blood, or their body sprawled in his lap, drinking his fill and more. 

He hadn’t really ever seen humans as beneath him–even when he killed them. Their deaths were just an unfortunate price to pay for their sweet, addicting blood. Something he had not been able to stop drinking until his head was severed from his neck. 

Now, knowing that he would likely lose his new company much too soon, Regis joined in their journey to rescue Geralt’s daughter. He wanted to do something good. He wanted to make friends, to have people to share stories with, to eat with, to doze with in front of a small campfire. A sense of belonging, even if brief, was better than centuries of living in the dark, cold and alone. He’d brave anything for that warmth. 

Or so he thought.

—

He had survived the hansa’s death at Stygga–it had taken blood and time and the hope that, at the very least, Geralt and Yennefer had survived, had saved Cirilla, and made a home for themselves somewhere. And for once, fate was kind to him. He reunited happily with Geralt and Yennefer, and Cirilla, now a young witcheress, no longer bound by the destiny in her blood. He had even gotten to see Dandelion and Zoltan again, his visits to the Chameleon his favorite holidays away from Beauclair. 

In fact, the years after the events in Beauclair, after tempering Dettlaff’s fragile state into something that could, one day, trust humanity again, were the most peaceful years of Regis’ life. Beauclair was a warm, wine-drunk place, almost as if out of a fairytale. It made him complacent. Lax. Lulled into a sweet daydream.

Regis had forgotten that he wasn’t living in a fairytale. It was what made the tragedy all the more painful. 

He was here now, in front of a single gravestone. 

There were a string of lilacs surrounding the grave, as well as a wooden sword, the size a small child might wield. Regis placed his own offering: the last bottle of moonshine they had shared together. 

The vampire surveyed the graveyard, looked at the cloud of ravens that had flocked to him in his grief, their dark, questioning eyes boring into his prone figure as they perched in the pines above. Regis waved them away with a hand. He did not want the company. Not now. Perhaps never again. 

He felt his bones creak as he moved to sit behind the gravestone, leaning his back against it. If he focused hard enough, he could almost pretend that it was him, not a cold slab of rock. 

“Hello, Geralt,” Regis says, knees curled up against his chest, fingers toying with the strap of his satchel. 

He was met with silence–not that he expected anything else. 

“I’m… I’m not sure if I believe in an afterlife,” he starts, because what else was there to say? Geralt was dead–it would always be a one-sided conversation now. For eternity. “But I hope there is one. Wouldn’t that be grand? You could see everyone again. Milva, Cahir… even dear Angouleme.” 

The last name drove another achingly sharp stake into his heart. “So young, they were all so young. I failed you all then. At Stygga. I couldn’t keep them safe. I’m immortal and I can’t even keep one human safe.” A weak chuckle escapes him. 

What was the point of power if you couldn’t use it to protect those you cared for? It was a sad thought–how they should have all been at their safest with him beside them; but they had died as he flew across the battlefield, their deaths part of what sent him into a whirlwind of rage when he spotted Vilgefortz. Why he had gone for the mage’s eyes instead of his throat–he had wanted Vilgefortz to suffer. To feel even a passing inkling of the pain Regis had felt as he flew to protect Geralt and Yennefer from the mage’s wrath. 

The memory only increased the pain. “Wherever you are–or aren’t–know this, my dearest friend: you are so deeply loved. You thought yourself a monster, well, here is the truth. You had a monster weep for you. I miss you, already. It’s only been a few days, but time moves so slowly. I sometimes think of coming to Corvo Bianco, to sit out on the porch with you and Yennefer like before. She’d be pretending to read a book, you would be sharpening a blade–or perhaps attempting to write a letter to Cirilla. I would be regaling you both with some tale or another. You’d sigh that familiar sort of fond sigh that means ‘Regis, I wish you’d shut up already,’ while Yennefer would try to hide her smile behind the pages of her book. And then, just as it started to grow dark, the sun making its slow descent below the horizon, Marlene would call us all inside for dinner. I wish I hadn’t taken those days for granted. If only I had known just how little time we’d get. Years, yes, may seem long to some–but for me, it was like the blink of an eye.” 

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the approaching hooves. Didn’t hear as the rider swung off their horse, their footfalls growing louder and louder as they drew closer to him.

“Regis…” a voice called to him sweetly, their tone achingly gentle. It reminded him of how he spoke to patients on their deathbed, when they had but only a few moments and he comforted them as best as he could. 

(”It’s safe now. You can rest. That’s it, I’ll be right beside you. Close your eyes, my dear. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”) 

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” Regis replies, hollow. He would cry, if he had the strength to. If it were possible to cry anymore than he did after seeing Geralt’s lifeless body at his crypt door. Still, it was almost a selfish thing to say; no one important to Geralt got to say goodbye. He regretted saying the words immediately. 

“I know.” Cirilla crouches down beside him, their knees knocking together as she mimics his position. If she is offended, she doesn’t show it. Her green eyes are lidded with grief, their usual bright spark dulled by a death none of them expected. But when was death every expected, really? Even the old expected to wake the next morning from their sleep. 

“I wish I had. If I could go back in time–if I could have stopped him from taking that contract…” he trails, biting at his lip. 

Ciri shakes her head sadly. “There’s no point in thinking like that, Regis. You couldn’t have known what would happen. You can’t blame yourself.” 

“But I can. Did you know that when I woke up that morning, I had the oddest sense of dread? I couldn’t shake it at all. And then the sun was setting and I was feeling relieved because nothing bad had happened. Then, just as I smiled to myself, I heard the thud outside. The sound of Geralt falling in front of my door.” 

“That still doesn’t change the truth. You are not to blame. No one is,” she paused, voice going soft again. “Regis, I know what you did. I saw his body before it was burned.” 

The vampire’s gaze fell to the ground. “Then you know that I failed him–both as a friend and as a barber-surgeon. He could have survived if I had been just a few moments earlier. He was still warm. If I had gotten a raven to alert Yennefer faster, if I hadn’t spent precious moments in a state of panic over the sight of him, then… then perhaps… perhaps he’d be here. Sitting with us. Not laying in the dirt below us.” 

(Ciri had seen it–the extent at which Regis had tried to bring Geralt back to life. The way he had performed chest compressions again and again, creating a series of post-mortem bruises across the man’s otherwise pale skin. How he had then tried to massage the heart into beating, to coax out a rhythm as he reached into the exposed chest cavity. How he had no human blood on hand to replace the blood Geralt had lost so he ripped open his own veins, pouring his own blood into the witcher’s mouth from his wrist.) 

Regis startles at her touch, at the gentle hand covering his own. This was the first time he could ever recall being comforted. His occupation as barber-surgeon usually had him taking on the role–but here Cirilla was, mourning her father, and she had chosen to carve out her time into comforting a centuries-old vampire. 

“Regis, it’s alright. We know you did all you could. We’re not upset with you. And I know Geralt isn’t upset with you either. Although, he’d probably be upset to see you moping by his grave so much.” 

Regis laughs and it almost sounds happy. “You are certainly right about that.” 

They are silent, for awhile. Regis listens to the sound of the leaves skirting over the ground, he listens to Cirilla’s heartbeat, its steady rhythm a balm of sorts. Geralt was gone. He wasn’t going to come back. But he still lived on, in a way. In the bonds he forged. The family he chose. In the way Cirilla stood up abruptly, dusting off dirt from her trousers, sporting a familiar grin, one hand offered to him.

“Now, come on. I came to invite you to dinner at Corvo Bianco. Yennefer will be upset if I come back empty-handed. And, Regis… you’re allowed to grieve with us. We’re a family. It wouldn’t be right for you to grieve alone. Not when we’re all still here.”

Regis, smiling, takes her hand and lets himself be lead back home. The ache in his heart is dulled, somewhat, and for now, it is enough. It has to be. 

#Anonymous #emiel regis #geralt of rivia #the hansa #[me: i'm not emotional] #[also me: sobs while typing] #tw death #tw blood #tw medical #also i meant to tag ciri but just realized i didn't ughhh #cirilla fiona elen riannon #wow this is like the angstiest thing i've written in years??

[officialleehadan]

Goblin Armor- Chapter 1

Okay peeps, I promised you a new novel, and here it is! Return Again is wrapping up, and Goblin Armor will begin posting for my $2 patrons on November 20th!

https://www.patreon.com/LeeHadan

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“My daughter, it is time that you joined me on the council. Our people should learn who you are, before you are queen, and must lead them.”

-Bramble, king of the Faerie Realm, to Snowbell, just after her coming-of-age.

***

Snowbell could see the Shadow Wold from the window beside her desk. The line of trees-towering over the Faerie Realm in the distance- always drew her eyes when she looked east. 

The home of the Goblins, and a growing threat to the faerie Realm.

Snow read through the morning reports between sips of flowery tea. Another noble- this time a renowned Elvish duchess- had been found murdered in her bedroom with a goblin blade in her heart.

She was the third in less than a month, and the twelfth in the last year, despite their efforts to track down the culprit. 

Courtiers were flooding Boulder Castle, terrified of the danger on the eastern border and a killer no one could catch.

“Time to dress,” Teasel said from Snow’s closet. The experienced maid appeared with her arms full of delicate pink satin, embroidered with trailing jasmine vines down the hems. Used to her princess’ morning routine, Teasel braided up Snow’s hair while she worked, to save them both time. “The council meeting is in less than an hour.”

Together they got her into the heavy gown. Snow lifted her wings out of the way and Teasel laced her in tightly. A glittering belt puled the whole thing together neatly. 

“No jewelry today,” Snow decided after examining her appearance in the mirror. “It’s just the council. I don’t need court-jewelry for it.”

“Are you sure?” Teasel asked, running a perfectionist’s eye over her charge before nodding once, firmly. “You are sure. Well, you’re as lovely as I can make you. Go and do battle.”

“It’s a council meeting, Teasel, not a war- and we have them every other week. But have my sword ready, I might need it before the end of the day.” 

“You’ve never held a sword a day in your life, and they’re blowhards- the lot of them,” Teasel responded pointedly. She was a head of a noble family herself, and knew the counselors as well as anyone could. “Except Rowanwood. She’s got some sense.”

“We could always put you on the council,” Snow suggested mischievously and laughed when Teasel’s expression twisted with distaste.

“Don’t you dare,” the orange-winged faerie told her, and shooed her towards the door. “Get. His Majesty passed me in the hall when I brought your tea.”

“Thank you, as always,” Snow said, and took her tea with her when she swept out the door towards the family dining room. As she expected, her sister was there before she was, ready for the day and cheerfully telling their father, Bramble, the Summerking of the Faerie Realm, all about the dream she had that night. 

“And then the caterpillar said-” Tansy bubbled, and looked up when Snow walked in. Her expression morphed to one of delight. “I saw it on you during fittings, but it was only half-finished,” she said, her blue eyes- a match for Snow’s own- dancing over the gown with appreciation. “Oh good, you already have tea. I don’t suppose you ate as well?”

Snow smiled and kissed the top of her sister’s head as she passed.

“Teasel brought me breakfast earlier. You look lovely, Tansy,” she said in return. Her sister’s hair fell loose in golden waves confined by little emerald clips that matched her simple, green gown. “Your work is stunning, as always.”

When Snow joined their father on the council, Tansy took charge of her wardrobe, and made sure Snow didn’t go about in rags- for which Snowbell was endlessly grateful.

“How was the dawn shift?” Bramble asked, fond eyes lingering over his eldest as she took her seat at his right hand. The king was tall and stout, with a little paunch from years of good living and peace. His face was care-lined, but his blue eyes were kind. “Anything I need to know?”

“Sad,” Snow told him as she refilled her teacup. She hated to give him bad news first thing in the morning. “Duchess Wintergreen Canarina.” 

“Damn,” Bramble said grimly, and settled back into his favorite chair, the sun on his monarch-orange wings filling the air around him with a warm glow. Like her, he was dressed for a council meeting, regal in deep indigo that made his wings seem even brighter. “The same as the rest of them?”

“A goblin dagger, like the others.” Snow tried to be delicate about the details. Tansy was pale already, and didn’t need the details. “No sign of a struggle, and her guards never heard a thing.”

“I’m going to have the council evacuate the border,” Bramble decided, and got to his feet. “The few who haven’t already left, at any rate. Shall we?”

“Better to get this over with I suppose.” Snow tucked her hand into the crook of her father’s arm. The hallways of Boulder castle were elegantly carved with murals of summer flowers that made good use of the crystal-studded granite, and the floor had been polished by centuries of Faerie feet. “They’re frightened.”

“We all are. Good morning, my friends,” the king  raised his voice upon entering the soaring council chamber. The ancient throne was carved from a single piece of glowing maple wood and polished until it shone, and Bramble took his seat with practiced ease. 

The huge, oddly-shaped table was carved with a map of the kingdom, and each council member sat at his or her slice of land with Guildmasters between them. While not the highest-ranking nobles in the faerie Realm, they were responsible for the matters that needed a more personal hand than the king’s.

“How fares the kingdom?” Bramble asked when everyone was seated and drinks brought in. “News from the west?”

“An anthill has been discovered not far from Seafoam,” Lady Rowanwood Acorus was a serene Elvish noble and had been the Counselor of the West for three centuries. Of all the council, Snow liked her best. “We sent soldiers to burn it out. If we need Crown aid, I will request it formally.”

“Don’t hesitate- I am always willing to send aid if you need it,” Bramble told her earnestly. “I would like a formal report once the matter is settled. News from the North?”

“Nothing of note,” Lord Myrtle said lazily. As always, he munched on a handful of dandelion seeds- his favorite snack and the reason the old faerie was too fat for his own yellow-and-black wings to carry him. He often wore black to try and disguise his bulk. “The harvest looks good this year. We’ve started pulling blossoms early for wines.”

“Medicines as well?” Snow asked, drawing his gaze. The oldest of the councilors, she struggled to overcome his memories of her as a child and the inadvertent disrespect that came with it.

“It is barely Spring, Princess,” Myrtle chided her fondly, and she hid a sigh. Bramble was working on him, but every council seemed a step backwards, as the old faerie resisted the idea of his princess being the king’s right hand. “Our stores will be bountiful by the time Autumn comes in.”

“All the same,” Bramble interjected before it could become an argument. “If we have more than we need, all the better. Put up all that you can. News from the South?”

“A hawk has been sighted high over the mountains,” Duke Fireweed Majalis was the highest-ranked councilor, and from one of the oldest families in the kingdom. The pixies ruled themselves for the most part, and small wars between their Duchies were not uncommon. Every few years, Bramble flew out with his generals to settle the fiery pixie Dukes. “We’re watching to see if it hunts over the mountains or our hills before we do anything about it.”

“You will call for us if you need flyers?” Snow asked him, careful not to let her tone take on any hint of doubt. Pixies could be sensitive about their wings, which were rarely large enough to carry them in true flight. “A hawk-“

“We know we can always call on the crown for aid,” Fireweed assured her smoothly and sat back in his chair. She had a tentative truce with him- mostly due to her childhood friendship with his son, Sagebrush, although she hadn’t seen the younger pixie in years. “We will report if we see it again. More importantly, I believe Lord Alder has news we all should hear.”

Which meant he already heard it, Snow thought sourly. He loved to corner the nervous counselor for news before these sessions. Of course, Alder had every reason to be nervous. He stood for the East- and the border they shared with the Goblins.

“As you saw in my report this morning, Lady Wintergreen has been found dead with a goblin dagger in her heart,” Alder stuttered as he stood to give his report. He bobbed a little bow in Bramble’s direction as he spoke, always overly formal. “She is one of many, and I request Crown Assistance for my people.”

“You have it,” Bramble promised him sincerely. “Evacuate your people, counselor. Boulder Castle will take them until the danger is ended.”

“Thank you,” Alder took a sip of his tea to brace himself and squeezed his eyes shut. His green wings twitched frantically with his nerves. “But that is not- Sire, it’s the border.”

“What about it?” the thin Faerie suddenly had the king’s full attention. The last time there was word from the border, it was the beginning of a short, brutal war. That was well before Snowbell’s time. Bramble, however, remembered it all too well. 

“It has been cleared, Sire,” Alder fumbled, one hand clutching his cup and the other twisting anxiously in the red hem of his tunic. Deathly silence swept over the table. “Ten minutes- flight from the border, all the way from the mountains to the sea- it’s been cleared overnight, and there are watchers in the trees.”

There was silence for long minutes, and then the room thundered as everyone began to shout their questions, each clamoring to be heard. 

Overwhelmed and at the very last his nerves could bear, Alder fainted dead away with a crash of shattering porcelain. 

Snow watched the chaos though a haze.

Cold dread filled her heart and pooled like a knot in her stomach. The Goblins were moving on the border, and that could only mean one thing. 

War.

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#writing #writers #spilled ink #goblins #fairy #faeries #romance #fantasy #novel #nanowrimo #lee hadan

[shade-without-color]

Camaraderie 5+1 witcher Fanfic: Chapter 6: Together

Note: So amidst the lightness of my Toussaint fic,this one is a little more angsty which I deal with Cahir and Milva ,two quite fascinating characters who have a quieter moment just talking. So it is a little more challeneging but I hoped I nailed their voices and personalites (Mostly Milva as she is my favourite besides Regis). So I have fun doing these chapters a lot. So what is next for Witcher fanfics is more Regis-centered stuff which I have some ideas. So this is not the end guys!

Regis traced the rim of the bottle “We were so wide-eyed then,expect we did not know what is in store for us.” Regis bemused slightly “I suppose I understood Cahir’s paranoia on what is to come. I recall on that last assault,I watched him grit his teeth as he fought against one of the deadliest bounty hunters. Leo Bonhart will ring a bell to you” 

Dandelion sipped slightly “Heard all about from Cirlla and Geralt. Know about that clause,Cahir fought a good fight I supposed. And Milva’s penance?-“ Dandelion bemused slightly. “I think she has fell in love again,you know Toussaint being the city of lovers,but I supposedly she did not find that peace.” Regis nodded quietly “She just made her mind that she will fight for Cirilla,that poor girl did not deserve such hardship. In fact we all do not need to go for that exposition at all. I could have stayed in the courtyards of Dillgen minding my own business.” 

“But you intervened as always.” Dandelion chuckled slightly. “Your heart is always walking for the weak and hoping for penance.”Dandelion grew somber as Regis recounted that that moment in the castle Stygga “Bless Milva-“ 

“Yes indeed-“ Regis simpered slightly as he sipped the shot bemusedly “It is good for her to take the breather.” 

“And what for some reason,do you make this conclusion.” Dandelion swayed his cup back and forth “is because of your many years in history watching how the tides move back and forth.” as he took out the feather from his cap and pen his musings,after all a man must be able to catch up to all of the madcap memories they have in this wild city.  Regis swallowed slightly on that liquor,it was different he has seen Milva changed in that city of Toussaint,and so is Cahir,as always in his dreams-he become the silence and the quiet. “I think somehow in their heart they somehow connected one another.” 

Perhaps they could think how they would spend evenings in Toussaint. It was that particular night,Regis cracked a small eye to glance at Cahir fiddling through his hair,moving the strands from his eyes. There is that melancholy that writhed in his heart. He burnt in Toussaint,he become the shadow and the dark. He seems to stare by the movements of time. His ears drummed to Emhrys' warning on his failure. "You seems rather glum Cahir." That calm reassuring voice broke out from his dreamy haze,perhaps he was pondering on his silence. "You should relax young man,no one is watching us." Regis smiled bemusedly. There is that strange reassurance with Regis,he seems to echo his essence of his father resting in Vicacavo "I can reassure you that." 

Cahir cleared his throat slightly as he gave a bemused laugh "You can be sure." as he placed his helmet down on the table "You know that Geralt being ill temepred he nearly killed me three times when we met. Supposedly I have whoever it is alive that my head is not displayed in front of the Black Sun." "I cannot take your better judgement of that." Regis simpered quietly "Yes Geralt can be rather brooding but I know his heart,he is a good man and perhaps he judged your heart for ensuring Cirlla's safety which is noble and kind of you." as he rolled his shoulders slightly. "Perhaps some camaraderie will lift your spirits." 

"Geez Regis stop tormenting Cahir with your infinite knowledge" Milva came in,she was no longer in that stuffy dress,corseted to her waistline. She seems much freer and if not have a slight skip in her step. Regis grew silent on Milva's shot back,he indeed learned it the hard way the last he interrupted her "Well Cahir." as she swung her arm unto him "Let's just unwind Cahir,you always seems so stiff in with your declarations. A little drink would help. Just ignore Regis eh?" 

Cahir smiled slightly,Milva is slowly getting back to her usual self,as she tried to get away from the heartbreak "Perhaps." Cahir mused slightly "At least you did not dictate who and when like my father." 

Those words triggered flashbacks in her mind. Milva could recall how her father would teach her how to extend the bow,her little fingers curling with his. She grew silent again. Cahir dropped that remark "You seems pale." Milva swallowed her pain,her hands tremble slightly. "I should be alright." "Come I will treat you to a shot." Cahir mused slightly "You needed solace as I do." 

These two souls passed through the maddening crowds of Toussaint,Milva smirked slightly-she could see why Angulome would go for extended periods just wandering through the streets. Each day,a new face beckoned that young face,a different scent of lemons and roasted pigeon could make her mouth water. For Cahir Toussaint simply become the ghosts of his home. He could see traces of his mother,brothers he never fenced over and sisters whom he could see traces. Milva gave a slap to Cahir "Stop drifting damnit." 

Cahir's eyes widened slightly,as if Toussaint's alluring haze burn in his blood. Milva bit her lip slightly as if out of disdain. A small bar perked their interest. "You wanna come in." Milva muttered slightly.  Cahir raised an eyebrow as he saw a patron tossing,singing an old song. Milva simpered slightly “Suppose it works.” 

No surprise that Toussaint boasted the most wondrous wines and fruit. Their senses burnt with the mouther-watering sights of good mead and wine “Seems we lived over two different worlds altogether-" Cahir bemused slightly,as he tried to curl his fingers into a mug but it has that stiffness. “A spy working with the most feared archer of Scotiael,an odd pairing eh-“ Milva held her glass high “not to mention a prophet who is a vampire.” as she drank the shot gently.  "Old injury eh -" 

"in contrary recent..." Cahir simpered slightly "got into a fight with Cirilla during a coup. She is fast as the blinking light, slashed through my fingers." Till this day I could not bend my fingers well.” 

Milva noticed his slight twitch,it could be a secret agent from the emperor's gaze watching over Cahir. Milva could hear him mutter his words "Shit" under his breath. “Stop worrying Cahir-“ Milva bemused slightly as she fiddled with the drinks “We will be fine,no one would recognise your damn mug,after all in the posters. They will only see you in the helmet.” 

“I am not!-“ Cahir blurted slightly. “You cannot trust people that is what I learn the hard way I suppose. We have to stand guard.” 

“That is all nothing but bullshit.” Milva’s lip curled slightly as she sipped her shot slightly. For that one still moment she could hear a still heartbeat in her stomach. It could be a different human. She could feel his or hers feet and hands gripping hers. “We do not rely on ourselves,for our sake..” Milva bemused quietly. “we will fall for others over and over again.” That flash again,when she rejected the proposal how his aqua eyes flash with bemusement and she withholding herself to the calmness. “I am afraid we are just human..hate to say it.” Milva just stared by,looking at the passerby smiling one another. Perhaps a wench got lucky to find a man of her dreams. But it is all but temporary.“But we all have to move forward somehow or some matter.” Somehow that proposal played in her mind. It could be different in a parallel timeline and space. For now she barely spoke but to drink another shot. “Something troubling you.” Milva shook her head slightly. “Nothing…” “Come on,something must be troubling you,you went back to your moody self since the battle of Rivia.” 

“…It is nothing.” 

“Quit with all that bullshit.” Cahir simpered slightly “I think you are thinking of your companion-The Baron? What is his name…” Milva rolled her eyes slightly “Shut up-“ Cahir grew silent on that matter. “ I supposedly you do not want to talk about that matter.” Milva nodded slightly,as she watched him squeeze her hand tightly “But should you be up to it,whatever happens let me know. I am here for you.” Milva lit up slightly with a small smile “Thanks…do you recall how we rest at that one point,it was the forest that evening. Geralt managed to get his wits to let you in.” 

“Much later,you guys just stared with me that I was with child,thanks to Regis’s observations. Hate to say that he actually saved my life."Cahir could recall that night at their resting point how he was woken up by the hurling sounds of Milva and Regis gently lifting her up gently and feeding her with liquids “Regis is always a better peacekeeper,supposedly he is more level headed than Geralt.” There she took a shot “Well I still cannot forgive you for kicking me when we have to sleep together. Not to mention that Dandelion can be a loud snorer.” “I supposed we all have each other's’ demons,Regis has many.” Cahir sighed bemusedly “Hated to quote him,fate leads us to different paths. We all joined Geralt just to quell them. We have to find it somehow." 

“All for the same cause-“ Cahir and Milva bemused together in sync. For once they do share that same ideology Regis could be the glue of that rag-tag team,all with the same clause. 

At that one moment, Cahir glanced at that same stranger again,watching them muse by. A soft voice rang in there “I suppose you have finished pouring our hearts out.” Both Cahir and Milva’s eyes widened with horror “Have you been listening to us for the whole entire time?-“ Milva barked slightly. Regis took Cahir’s arms tightly “Seems that someone has caught our trail,rest up. Tomorrow we will be leaving.” 

“Whose orders is that.” 

“Geralt." 

“Perhaps. I do not have a connection with Cirilla not by blood,but I know it was the morally right thing to do” Regis simpered slightly “I could say that I shudder that thought of being melted in mid air. All I could recall are the cackles of Vilgetroz. That kept me up at some nights.” as he drank again. A lump is stuck in his throat. Dandelion held his arm to his shoulder as he watched him slumped slightly. “Perhaps Cahir and Milva know what they are getting themselves too. They paid the price,you did much more and he will be in your debt.” Regis smiled slightly “I supposed so. I wonder what did happen to Milva.” 

“She fought valiantly. As Geralt recounted.” Dandelion simpered quietly “Perhaps she could meet that child again.” 

The pub went silent, perhaps it was in the memory of an archer named Maria Barring and The Black Knight Cahir.

#writing #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #the witcher #fanfic #cahir #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #milva #Maria Barring #angst #emiel regis #Dandelion #dandelion witcher #creative writing #Andrzej Sapkowski