#he never learned how to use a fishing rod so

[the-s1lly-corner]

can u do tadc cast (or probably just a few bc this prompt isn’t very creative) x a reader who looks like the player from animal crossing? ball hands,,, maybe weirdly good at crafting things,, gets stung by bees sometimes mayhaps. Maybe they speak animalese and nobody ever knows what they’re saying LMAO

TADC cast x reader whos like an animal crossing player!

depending on what time it is when i finish writing this, i think imma take a short break to stretch my legs and make something YAHOO!! hope you enjoy this anon!! this reminds me, i cleared out my island by making it totally flat... but i never actually... got to decorating it... huh.... commitment is scary, guys

CAINE:

i think as a funny haha gag thing, how funny would it be if he could actually understand you. like you cant talk, and the noise youre limited to is to your "emotes", but somehow someway for some reason, caine can understand you... genuinely impressed by your crafting and even sometimes asks you to make random things just to see if you can make it! expect some really odd and random requests! not at all phased that you can pick things up with your weird orb hands, hes used to the digital world and its weirdness... thinks...

POMNI:

hey at least theres someone the same height as her in this place...!/hj

tries hard to understand your funky emotes and body language but shes at a loss... i mean at least you can still pick stuff up and try to write, so at theres some method of commutating asides from simply trying to learn how to read you! though, she is a bit unnerved by your silence and how your face is mostly stagnant when you arent.... emoting.. a static smile can get a little unnerving when youre standing next to the person and understand thats its a real person.. you know?

a little confused on how you can just pull things out from thin air, but does admit that it can be useful... has probably tried to ask you to make an exit out of desperation because hey if anyone can make one it would be you so whats the harm in trying (my girl is losing it)

RAGATHA:

i think you guys bond over the crafting; since ragatha makes stuff too, like pillows and clothing and plushies and the like! sure you guys may not be making the exact same things, but you both create and thats enough to bring you two together! doesnt mind that you cant talk, in fact i think after the chaos of a day in the digital circus she embraces the calmness around you... scolds you for constantly being stung by bees, though... though she tries not to be too mean or harsh since its not like youre trying to get stung on purpose... but please just be careful... she worries about you, afterall!

honestly ragatha doesnt have individual fingers, so the fact you can function with balls hands doesnt phase her

JAX:

really touching on the fact you have an inventory that you can hide stuff in i think he would slide you things to hide for him; especially its hes going a "imma do something to someone as a prank then run and use you to hide the evidence" ... you know usual jax antics where he tries to get the reader to help him with his trickery. whether or not you actually aid him is totally up to you. probably makes fun of your short height and the fact youre always getting stung. probably points and laughs when he watches you run around while literally being chased by a swarm. promptly screams when you make a run towards him, thus bringing the bees to him. you have probably bopped him with your net after he says something particularly not-nice, me thinks... or maybe you just dont like him and youre constantly bopping him, i mean i do enjoy it when the reader doesnt like a character but you can easily ignore this little aside if you want this to be a friendship or romance!

KINGER:

OOOOO imagine you come with the basic ring/inventory of tools (net, shovel, watering can, fishing rod, ect) and you can just pull it out of no where.... oooooouuugh imagine taking your net out around him and (wordlessly) offering to go look for bugs with him,.. kind of panics when you get stung by the digital bees; probably helps you patch up... honestly i think given that kinger is all about bugs, i think its a safe bet he would know how to treat bites and stings... so hes your man if youre really bad about avoiding bees and the like! can see tropes that trope where like "whats that? little timmys stuck in the well?? (but thats not what you said/meant)" because youre like emoting and trying to direct his attention somewhere but he gets it. so totally wrong and commits to it before you can stop him. i just think thats funny

ZOOBLE:

thinks youre... odd. though... imagine you can change up your style and appearance by simple interacting with a mirror and wardrobe. i think they would think thats cool, that you can just... do that... zooble has to rip their body parts off (sounds way worse than it actually is, LMAO). probably gives you this look when you walk into the tent to show that once again, youve been attacked by a swarm of bees.... how do they always only sting your left eye...? is that just how your digital body shows the injury, or do they just... no nevermind, theyre just going to give out a sigh before taking you to caine or kinger for medicine. definitely gets onto you for constantly messing with the digital bees, though...

GANGLE:

honestly between all the characters i can easily see her being an animal crossing fan... and while she may not remember all of her old life, i like to think that subconsciously she would recognize you for what your digital body is intimidating... bonus if in the real world animal crossing was her comfort, so naturally, she instinctively finds comfort in you even if she cant totally pin point it... though, she has trouble understanding you outside of your emotes... but even then when you do an angry stamp or shed tears she cant quite pinpoint why youre upset... oooo please make her an art easel! i think that would be a great gift for her and she will be absolutely over the moon!

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x reader #pomni x reader #ragatha x reader #jax x reader #kinger x reader #zooble x reader #gangle x reader

[rottenpumpkin13]

Sephiroth brings his little brother Chadley to work!

Sephiroth and Chadley

Let's say Chadley is tasked to gather Sephiroth-related data for a week. Sephiroth uses this as an excuse to have Chadley follow him around for a week so that they can bond.

*Cue the cutest montage you will ever read*

• Chadley in his office while Sephiroth does paperwork. Sephiroth grows bored and looks up how to make a paper airplane. The pair learn how to fold them, then make several that they launch from Sephiroth's office window, laughing as they do so.

• They steal Genesis's prized copy of LOVELESS from his office when he's not there. Genesis knows, of course. He sees them place it on a bookshelf in the lounge, but opts to feign blindness. He's just happy to see Sephiroth smiling.

• Angeal makes sure to take many secret candid pictures of the pair. He now has multiple polaroids of them laughing, messing around, and comfortably leaning against each other.

• They take a day trip down into the sector 0 streets. After learning that Hojo never provided Chadley with toys either, Sephiroth takes Chadley into a toy store. They're particularly interested in the giant, blue airplane in the window. They come out with loads of childish trinkets and the big blue airplane.

• A few turks including Tseng catch Sephiroth pushing Chadley on an office chair at full speed in one of the hallways.

• Chadley visits Sephiroth's apartment for the first time and is fascinated by Sephiroth's variety of textbooks. After almost falling asleep on each other while watching a nature documentary, Sephiroth remembers a contraption he keeps in his hallway closet.

• He pulls out a telescope! Chadley is excited, but mourns how they won't be able to get much use out of it in Midgar.

• But Sephiroth has an idea.

• He's set to go on a solo mission in Mideel and takes Chadley with him. Sephiroth could easily finish the job early, but decides to stall to buy them time. They camp out in the woods and take time exploring, Sephiroth teaches Chadley how to hunt, and they even go fishing! Chadley gets too excited while casting the rod and falls into the waters.

• Sephiroth rushes in to get him out and is surprised when a hand pulls him inside. Chadley has mastered the art of pranking. That was his plan all along, and now the pair are soaked inside the water and laughing.

• They go for a swim as the sun sets. As the skies, darken, they head back to their camp and set up the telescope.

• The pair spend the night observing the galaxy, comets, planets, and even a shooting star.

• Sephiroth recounts seeing a shooting star years ago in Wutai, back when he was Chadley's age and Genesis had explained to him that people typically wished upon shooting stars.

Chadley: That's a fascinating custom to adhere to. May I ask what you wished for?

• Sephiroth looks away with a cryptic smile. Genesis had insisted that wishing on shooting stars were a very real way of having ones wishes granted. Had that younger, naive Sephiroth known Genesis had been correct, he would've wished for a family member long before Wutai.

• The week of data collection comes to an end. Both Sephiroth and Chadley are saddened. They enjoyed seeing each other every day. Chadley promises to make time to visit him every week, but Sephiroth assures him that he'll come to personally retrieve him from the labs on a regular basis.

• Chadley turns to enter the elevator, but then he stops and lingers for a moment longer. Sephiroth is a breath away from asking him if he's alright, when he's hit full force with a hug.

• Sephiroth hugs him back, lifting Chadley off the ground as the two embrace.

Sephiroth: Dare I say you're experiencing an emotional response?

Chadley: I am! Although I'm unsure of what to classify it as. I know it's positive, my body temperature has increased, and I was overcome with a desire to hug you.

Sephiroth: You'll figure it out.

• And the two part.

#ffvii #ff7 #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #ffvii crisis core #final fantasy #ff7r #chadley ff7 #final fantasy vii #ff7 crisis core #au #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley #listened to king and lionheart by OMAM on loop while writing this #highly recommend

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

very self indulgent but i keep thinking about this scenario and its so silly, may i request a reader who's been somehow isekai'd (basically transported) into stardew and is proper down bad (or in other words; a massive crush) for magnus?

I have to say, I've never been a fan of isekai (not that I don't like it, I've just never been interested in that genre). But it turned out to be a lot of fun to write about this situation. I hope it didn't come out too mixed, it's just my first time writing stories in this genre. Thank you so much for the ask, anon! 😊💕

_________________________________________

You wake up on the grass near some strange bus stop. No one is around, your head is spinning, and you can't remember what happened. Here you were walking home from a boring job late at night to have dinner, go to bed in your small apartment alone and go to work again and so on until retirement. Suddenly - it's all gone dark and now you're standing outside the bus stop.

Hello, anybody here?

"Oh, you must be [Y/n]!" Finally, at least there's someone around, it's getting lonely and- Wait, how does that red-haired woman know your name?

"I'm Robin, local carpenter. Our mayor asked me to meet you and escort you to your new home!"

New what? Alas, before you could even say anything, the mysterious woman took you to an old ruin that she apparently called "your home".

"Ah, our new farmer!" And who's that old fart? Wha- what farmer?

"Nice to meet you! I'm Lewis, the mayor. Your Grandpa probably have told you about your farm back then".

But I don't... Grandpa's farm? You tried to say something, but you were interrupted again.

"Here's your new home! There is a shipping bin nearby, you can sell your farm products. Welcome and go ahead - get to know your new community!" As you stand there in shock, both strangers walk away.

What the fuck, you thought. Why does everyone think I'm the new farmer? And why did those two bring me to an old house with no furniture except a bed and a TV on the floor? No kitchen? And no toilet??? What the hell do you mean parsnip seeds?! Am I supposed to clear this whole farm of rocks and bushes with a rusty pickaxe and a flooded scythe???

You decide not to panic and play up the situation a bit to figure out where you are and how you can get back home, because the whole thing is a huge misunderstanding. At the same time ask around to the locals, what is this area? Stardew Valley? Huh...

"Playing along with the situation" became a bit more difficult, because you had to really learn the basics of growing crops, the local fisherman gave you an old fishing rod for some damn reason, and then on the fifth day of this hell you have no money left even for food and have to pick berries in the forest (wow, what a life!). After entering the Community Centre and getting to know the "apples" creatures you already doubt your own sanity.

The next day you get an mail from.... Ras-mo-di-us? Ok, weird. Asking you to come to his "magic tower". What this locals are smoking in here is a mystery of the universe, definitely. Anyway, you have no choice but to head to that very tower.

Flowers all around, the whole room is foggy, it smells weird, and it's also hot - it looks like some kind of drug den... So where's the weirdo?

"I've been waiting for you, young [Y/n]."

Oh, no, he's hot.

You wanted to slap your head. You're lost, you don't know what's going on or where you are, you're cursing all this farm work, the locals are weird, and this is some suspicious-looking bloke, and your first thought is "oh no, he's hot"? There's definitely some weird drugs in the air...

Look, you tried to keep your voice as calm as possible, I don't think I'm from this universe.

"I know, young fool". The fuck, what now? Well, bring me back!

"Alas, I don't have that kind of magic yet, it takes time and rare resources. For now.... You should be what the people of Pelican Town think you are."

Oh, that's just fantastic!

Running after the crows that ruined your crops, pulling an old can of local cola out of a fishing rod hook, walking with tired hands after cutting down some trees, screaming in the Mines, escaping from slimes and bats, making ingots for necessary machines until night.... And you've got some kind of magic now. A quiet country life, nothing fancy.

Then there's that annoying supermarket, which reminds you painfully of that boring old office job....

Although, the locals here are mostly friendly.... They see that you're uncomfortable in your new community and try to make you feel at home. You really appreciated it, and tried your best for them in return by listening to their stories or giving those leftovers of a successful harvest. Your skills grew, you had already made friends with everyone in the Valley, and even kicked that stupid Joja company out of town. Little funny Junimos, hee-hee!

In particular you became close to Magnus (Rasmodius' first name). Even though it was hard for you to still believe in magic, but his talk about parallel worlds, his fascination with magical plants, his talking, his laugh, his looks (dilf material, oh my!), his kind heart and his pride in new spells and magical protection of the Valley from monsters.... You fell in love with him.

And after some conflicting thoughts about whether you're allowed to fall in love with anyone here if this isn't your world? But you have long been part of this world, part of this cosy and friendly community, part of this incredible and magical world.

All dreamy thoughts were gone when Magnus announced to you in a ringing voice that he'd found a way to get you home.

Home?, you repeated. But I'm already home.

And you just kissed Magnus, the die is cast. If he refuses, if he turns his back on you, it'll be hard for you to bear. But Magnus, oddly enough, returned the kiss.

"Then... The choice is made. I was afraid that... I fell in love with you as well, and that you would have to leave forever. But now... Now..."

He didn't have time to finish, because you kissed him again, more passionately this time.

Insert subtitles, ladies and gentlemen, for here is the happy ending.

#sve #stardew valley expanded #sve magnus #sdv wizard #sdv #thanks for the ask! #magnus x reader #stardew valley

[minihotdog]

Good ol' fishing boy

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x gn!Reader

a/n: idk. Simon is a big ol softie in this one

Summary: Simon learns how to fish

c/w: fake worm, maybe a swearword

Word Count: 1k

***

The weekend had finally come around. The usual hustle and bustle of the compound died down as everyone ran off to enjoy the little free time they’d been given. 

“Hey, Lt!” You beam at the sight of your superior. “Whatcha got planned for today?” You stood with your fishing rods tucked under your arm and a backpack stuffed to its brim.

“Nothin’.” He sat at the table with his morning tea. He always had such a cold look, with or without his mask, but you were determined to try and break down at least one of his walls. You’d been working for the task force for about three months now, and he was the only one who you still didn’t know a thing about.

  “You ‘otta come fishing with me. It’d be a good time, I promise.” You raise your eyebrows at him, waiting for his response.

“Not up my alley.” He swiftly declines, leaving you taken aback. 

In all my years, I’ve never heard a military man say no to fishing.

“Wha’d’ya gonna do? Sit here all day?” You say in disbelief.

“Yes.”

“Oh c’mon, Lt.! What if I fall in the water and I can’t get out and I’m all by myself!” You clasp your hands in front of you as if you were about to get on your knees and beg. He sighs at what he referred to as your ‘American dramatics’. 

“Fine, but keep the talking to a minimum.”

“Yaay!” You celebrate, causing the stern Brit to groan in annoyance.

***

The air nipped at your nose as you and Simon sat on the bank of the river. The mountains off in the distance were topped off with fresh snow. The warm sunlight would occasionally peak out from behind the grey clouds. 

“Here ya go,” You hand him a rod and open your tackle box between the two of you. You start tying your hook to the line and reaching into the box to pull out a long black fake worm. You look over to Simon, motioning to the worm, “See this little guy? Bass love this shit.” He snorts lightly but you notice him go still when he looks at the contents of the box.

“So what do I do?” He asks, a little embarrassed. Most boys learned how to fish with their dads, unfortunately, his dad had been set on being a nightmare rather than an angler. You stop dead in your tracks, eyeing the man.

“You ever been fishing before?”

“No.”

You almost drop your worm, 

“What?! Really?!”

He shoots you a look that says, ‘Cool it or else’.

“Your dad never took you when you were a kid?” You probe.

“We weren’t very close.” His eyes avoid yours and look out at the bend of the river. Simon wasn’t one to feel embarrassed about his upbringing, he saw it as something that made him the man he was today. It motivated him to be better than what he witnessed and to maybe even eliminate the horrors that many were forced to live with. But it came with a cost and that cost was the simple things other people had gotten to experience that he didn’t.

“I wasn’t close with mine either,” You sigh, hoping that you hadn’t brought up painful memories. His eyes were back on you at the revelation.

“I actually learned how to fish from the locals when I was stationed in Turkey.” You smile, recounting the memories from your time overseas. “I rented a pole out and asked a taxi driver to take me to a fishing store. The taxi driver could barely speak English but it was clear as day that he loved fishing. We talked the whole way to the store and he even went inside with me.” You chuckle, “I’d run into a group of ‘Turkish Uncles’ out fishing and they’d try to show me their tricks.”

You place your rod down on the rocky ground and motion for him to give you his. “I’ll show you,” Your words come out softly. “This part is easy.” You place the rod between your knees and grab a hook out of the box to show him. 

“Now, there are all sorts of knots you can do but I use the Y/L/N special.” You put the line through the hole at the top of the hook and wrap the loose end a couple of times around the line coming directly from the rod.

 “So you wrap it however many times, then you put it through the loop at the bottom. Pull it and then tie a knot.” He nods at you showing he understands, and his eyes examine the funny-looking knot. 

“One time I went fishing with a friend of mine. He was the Bill Dance of trout.” You pause briefly to explain, “Bill Dance is an old man in the States that strikes fear in the hearts of Bass everywhere.” Simon laughs softly at your dramatics. “But, he took one look at my knot and I thought I was gonna die from embarrassment. He was too nice to tell me it looked awful, but it works just like any other.”

You gently clap your hands together, “Moving on, you know what these are?” You point to the contents inside your tackle box. Simon shakes his head, a smirk still playing on his lips. He almost felt like a young boy again, recanting the stories he’d heard in school of the other boys going out on the lake with their dads. Here he finally was.

“These are lures, a.k.a. Fake bait. They come in all shapes: Frogs, worms, little fish. Depending on the fish, some work better than others. Bass like the worm. Snakeheads, those angry demon fish, like the frogs.” You trail off stating the different lures for different fish as you grab a black worm out of the box. 

“You can hook however you want, but I think this is what separates boys from men.” Simon’s little smirk grows briefly. He found the way you explained things to him to be endearing.

You grab the hook in one hand and hold the fake worm in the other. “You could do this,” You put the hook through the side of the worm and let it dangle. 

“But you’d probably lose your lure on the weeds or from a strong bite.” You pull the worm off. “This is what I do because I’m a big fishing man,” You joke. Simon silently laughs again. He’d hear you constantly calling yourself jacked and joking that you were as big as him. Here you sat, looking about as big as the worm in comparison to him.

You put the hook through the top of the worm’s head, coming through the side. Your now cold fingers slide the worm to the top of the hook and poke through the middle of the squishy lure with the pointy tip nudging back into it. “This way, your hook stays weedless.” You hand him his rod before hooking your lure.

“Now we can rip some lips.” You laugh at your own joke as you stand and walk closer to the water. You point to the button your thumb rests on, looking back at him. “Hold that down when you cast.” You turn back to the water and give your rod a swift jerk. Your hook goes flying out to the middle of the river. Simon follows and casts his line out, the hook barely lands two feet away. He tuts quietly.

“Here,” You place your rod down and come up behind him. You place one hand on his left shoulder and the other over his hand on the base of the rod. “Keep your body facing the water, and swat it like this.” You run through the motion twice before backing away to watch him. This time he casts without a hitch. “Right on.” You smile at him and for the first time, he smiles back.

The two of you sit back down on the log. “Give it a couple of little tugs every once in a while and reel it in little by little. Or how the Turks taught me: Reel, reel, reel, action, action, action.”

“Reel, reel, reel, action, action, action.” He talks himself through the motions. 

“Just like that. Now we wait.”

Moments pass of silence. You couldn’t complain, the view was beautiful.

“Is it true that fish can hear you?” Simon asks you, a bit of humor in his voice.

“No, I think that’s something dads made up so their kids would be quiet.” The two of you laugh. You liked this version of Simon. Relaxed, still quiet and reserved, but he wasn’t the same cold person you met as Ghost.

“Thank you… For teaching me.” He said suddenly.

“No problem, I could use a fishing partner.” You nudge him with your elbow. “Just don’t catch more fish than me or we’ll have a problem.”

#simon riley imagine #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost imagine #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #myfic

[thetomorrowshow]

knowing what the cards were

hi besties enjoy (or scream at me)

cw: past major character death (and mourning thereof), violence, blood

There's a pond in Rivendell, down the face of the mountain a little ways, right in the thick of the pine trees that grow all the way down the side. It's far enough away from the main city (and any outlying buildings) that likely few have ever even seen the pond, a place too insignificant to be worthy of any sort of attention. Despite this, the pond and its surrounding trees have always been a beautiful, peaceful location. The pond has only ever had the clearest water, carried down through a small stream from the melting snow of the high peaks.

Now, in the dark of night, water skimmers skate along the surface; a couple of frogs sit on rocks at the edge. Otherwise, there's no sign of life. No fish, no creatures poking through the trees to find a drink here.

The pond is a small, unseen place of tranquility, particularly at this before-sunrise hour, when even the owls are sleeping in their nests. The night is still, the forest silent, and the pond a dark reflection of all the unheard and unseen.

And Scott, sneaking out of his bedroom window like a guilty teenager, goes to it.

He had discovered the pond in his youth, a quiet hideaway from his brother and his parents and all their politics. He hadn't gone there frequently, only when everything really became too much and he had to get out before he exploded.

The pond had always had a calming effect, apart from the real world, a tiny piece of grace and solitude.

He chooses it now as the place not for its seclusion, nor its beauty, but for its lack of living creatures.

He doesn't know what's going to happen when he uses the artifacts.

Again, Alinar had been frustratingly vague on how to use the artifacts. There'd been something about magic, and something else about learning how the artifacts interact with him, so Scott hopes that using them before facing Xornoth in battle will be all right. He doesn't really understand what it means when it talks about interacting with him, but a test run never hurt anyone.

He already sent Gem the instructions (recipe? Scott really doesn't know a lot about magical terms) for the crystal that they need to trap Xornoth. She and Katherine are going to be working together on that, as far as he knows. Lizzie and Joel are occupied with the war. Pix has been out of contact for weeks. Pearl is maintaining neutrality. Shelby hasn't responded lately.

So it's up to Scott to execute the rest of the plan, not sure who he can even turn to for support in this. After all, only the Champion of Aeor can unite and use the artifacts to trap Xornoth in the crystal.

Scott lands carefully on the mossy ground beside the pond, wings drawing up behind him. The moon has disappeared beyond the mountain, but the sun hasn't yet begun to rise. Perfect time for experimental magic.

Scott pulls his Cod-woven bag off his shoulder and sets it down on the moss, leaning it against a small boulder, then slips off his soft shoes and sets them neatly beside it.

He doesn't much care for the feeling of damp moss under his socked toes, but a glance at the grass to his left tells him that it would be infinitely worse (and far more wet) to stand there.

Should he even be wearing socks when he puts the boots on? Will that ruin the . . . magical connection, or something?

Scott strips off his socks and stuffs them in his shoes, just in case. Then he unlatches his bag and pulls out the boots, which he sets atop the small boulder.

They glow, he realizes, the runes casting a very dim blue light over the leather and stone beneath. Scott stares at the glow for a moment, surely only bright enough to discern due to the almost non-existent light cast by the stars above, then reaches into his bag again, where his fingers meet the chilled gold rods of the antlers.

He withdraws the crown as well, sets it on the boulder. It glows as well, just the slightest bit, the gold clear against the dark background.

That's got to mean something. Maybe all ancient, godly artifacts glow like that.

There's really nothing else to wait for. At any moment, a servant could come knocking on his bedroom door, summoning him for matters of war, only to find him missing.

He should pray. Right? He is trying to get Aeor's attention, after all. 

Haltingly, Scott kneels in the grass, grimacing when he feels the knees of his black trousers instantly become soaked. He's not really any good at praying, but he can give it a shot.

"Um," Scott says awkwardly. What is it the priests always say? "O Aeor, God of us all and of those below, God of the mountains and . . . and of the snow, God of the day that conquers the night, God that now slumbers until the world is returned to thy light. Uh. . . ."

The introduction part feels clunky and must actually be more ornate than that, but Scott can't quite seem to bring it to his remembrance, even with however many years that he's been hearing it. It's good enough, though, and now he ought to continue—but the prayers differ after that, a thousand and two different ones for any situation. And Scott, after he recited the main forty for his religious tutoring, made no effort to keep them memorized nor learn any of the others.

"Aeor," he says after a few moments of deliberation, dropping all attempts at following a prayer, "if I truly am your chosen, consecrate these holy objects now in me. Show me . . . show me the way. Help—help me."

Did Alinar ever kneel alone in a forest, praying for any help that his god would give? Did Alinar ever feel entirely inadequate for the job that he was faced with, for the mantle of Aeor's Champion?

Years ago, reading Alinar's tales, Scott would've laughed at such a thought. Alinar had been foreordained, had perfectly completed every task set for him. Never was there any doubt that the task at hand was beyond his reach.

But now that Scott's in the hero's story, he can't help but hope it's normal to feel like an utter failure. Normal to be scared. Normal to feel totally, utterly lost.

Scott stands, brushes off his knees, and pulls a boot on.

It fits perfectly, of course, his foot sliding into place with ease. He laces it up as tight as he can, the boot going a bit higher than halfway up his calf. The other is no different, though his fingers fumble on the white leather of the laces and it takes him a moment to get it pulled as tight as he wants it.

Okay. He has the boots on.

Next step.

Scott straightens, and with mounting anticipation and shaking hands, he lifts the crown of antlers onto his head.

He waits.

He doesn't . . . he doesn't feel any different, so far. Maybe . . . holier, maybe?

He flexes his toes in the boots. They aren't stiff at all, the leather well taken care of but fairly worn-in.

He tilts his head from side to side. The crown feels almost weightless, impeccably well-balanced. It isn't in any danger of slipping, either, set firmly on his head, fitting as perfectly as the boots do.

Now. How is he meant to test these out?

Scott takes a tentative step forward.

There's a sudden, crinkling-crackling sound from his feet—Scott looks down—

The edge of the pond is frozen.

There's frost under his toes. The edge of the pond is frozen.

There's absolutely no way.

He takes another step—more crackling, the ice spreads another foot down the pond.

Carefully, Scott puts some of his weight on the ice.

It holds. More spreads, even.

He puts both feet standing on the now half-frozen pond.

It doesn't even crack.

Ice magic, then. The boots have some sort of ice enchantment, likely written into the runes. That—maybe he's meant to freeze Xornoth? Freeze him, so that he can't get away from the whole crystal ordeal. Or maybe use the ice to freeze him to the crystal? 

And when thou hast the daemone at thy will, binde it to the cristyl.

That . . . that might be right. Right? It's probably more than normal ice, it's probably strange magical ice. Something that can bind.

Scott crosses to the middle of the pond. He's walking on water, practically. The pond is just freezing around him, making a large path for his next step before he's even raised his foot.

Jimmy would have found this so impressive. He would've stood on the shore and sputtered, mouth hanging open. Scott would've laughed, and held out his hand, and brought Jimmy out onto the ice to stand with him. And then, gazing at his perfect lover with his permanently-messy hair and his still-shocked expression, he would have kissed him.

And it's for Jimmy that Scott is going to end Xornoth.

He can't kill Xornoth, the book had told him that much. Their souls are connected, some sort of confusing reincarnation of spirits kind of thing that Scott doesn't really understand. He needs to bind him to the crystal in a ritual that he also doesn't understand, but if the boots have an ice enchantment to freeze Xornoth in place or attach him to the crystal, maybe the crown just gives him the magical authority to command Xornoth to go into the crystal? Or something like that?

Scott points at a sleepy-looking frog. "Don't move," he commands with all the power he can muster.

The frog doesn't move. But it probably wasn't planning on it, anyway.

And part of the intrinsic elvish magic that he already has is the strength of suggestion. If he tells someone not to move, really tells them, with power, chances are they won't move.

Will the crown just amplify that magic, then? Or will it make it literally impossible to break a command given, since the power comes from a god and not just a normal elf?

Well, at least he figured out what the boots do. He really ought to get back—he's already spent enough time away. A servant could have alerted the entire palace by now if they knocked to find him missing.

Scott heads back to shore and unlaces the boots, stepping out of them and into his own shoes (he doesn't bother with his socks right now, tucking them into his pocket). Then he puts the boots and the crown back in the bag, beside a small book that looks . . . unfamiliar.

When did he put a book in his bag? Especially one that looks so . . . ancient?

Frowning, Scott pulls it out and cracks it open.

The text isn't anything like what he's used to, blue lines thick and letters big, with no discernable spaces for words. It takes a moment of staring stupidly at the large letters before he has the sudden realization that this is a book in that form of Oceanic that he was meant to give Lizzie. He's already given her the book, but he remembers that it had a smaller book inside. It must've slipped out at some point.

He'll probably see her soon, right? War negotiations have constantly been taking him or one of his advisors to and fro, so surely there'll be someone to give it to her, if not him precisely.

So Scott puts it back in his bag amongst the artifacts and takes off, flying straight back to the palace and landing on his bedroom windowsill, crawling in.

Unnoticed, the touch of his fingers on the window frame leaves frost.

-

When Scott wakes up (blurry nightmares of chains and indistinct threats), he feels cold.

He must've left the window open. He's done that before, woken up to a little bit of snow on the windowsill after a late-night flight.

And his bed's been rather cold as of late, missing the heat of another body.

But when Scott opens his eyes, his favorite blue blanket is white.

He sits up, confused—and snow falls off of him in little showers, clumping onto his blanket in the creases.

Why is there—?

There's ice on his bedside table, just a thin layer of it. Snow on the bedknobs. Snow on the rug.

And the window is closed.

The low fire that's usually still a bed of hot coals in the mornings is emitting zero warmth, the coals black and cold. The lantern on his bedside table has gone out.

Scott throws his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the cascade of snow that falls to the floor. How did—what?

The boots.

Are they still active even when he isn't wearing them? But—had something changed when he put them on? Is there a way to turn them off?

Scott fumbles around his bedpost until he finds his bag hanging, from which he pulls out the boots and turns them over in his hands.

"Stop," he says, voice still heavy with sleep. "Just . . . don't."

Nothing changes. Did it work? Are the boots still freezing the room?

Nothing really looks like it's melting, but there isn't anything new in the room, either. Scott sets the boots aside (and they feel normal, they aren't covered in frost or anything) and stands up, stumping over to the fireplace on numb feet. He stokes the coals, trying to bring any bit of warmth back to the room, but there's absolutely nothing left to be brought back.

He doesn't keep a flint and steel in his room. Usually a servant cares for these kinds of things, but he doesn't want a servant in here to find his room frozen. How on Aeor's green earth would he explain that?

He has to have a flint and steel in his travel kit in the closet, right? Scott ducks into the closet, finds his travel kit thrown on the floor where he left it after the funeral. He picks it up, rummages through it for a moment. Sure enough, tucked into a part of the leather kit is a small flint and steel, right next to a small hunting knife and needle and thread. He pulls it out and heads back to the coals. He can do figure this out. No need to panic.

There's a little pile of logs by the fireplace, which he shakes the snow off of before tossing them in, hoping they aren't too damp or anything. That would be just his luck, the inability to light a fire in a frozen room.

Thankfully, they aren't too damp. It takes a couple of tries with his numb fingers to get the flint and steel to strike a spark, and another couple tries to get it to light, but it lights nonetheless.

Once the flame takes hold, the room immediately starts to feel a bit warmer, and Scott shudders as his fingers start to tingle with pins and needles. Right, that's taken care of. Maybe now he won't freeze to death.

And then he remembers that there's quite a bit of ice and snow in his room, which will all be melting shortly.

That might be even worse than all the ice, and it's with a panicked hurriedness that Scott starts scooping up the snow in his bare hands and running it to the window to toss it out. He gets a good bit of it (at some point he lifts his blanket off his bed and just shakes it out the window) out, but it's already starting to melt and he can barely feel his fingers and the rug squishes under his feet—

Knock-knock-knock.

Scott curses, wipes his hands off on his dressing robe, and has his hand on the doorknob before he realizes he isn't wearing his veil. He curses again, doubles back to his closet. He doesn't have time to pin the whole thing on, he doesn't have time for any of his—

Scott pulls a veil on over his head and doesn't even bother with any of the pins and ties. It's a long one, meant for trips out, but he just adusts it until his eyes are in the eye-slit and hopes that he doesn't have any hair sticking out.

Then he can get back to the door (he trips over the trailing veil, it wouldn't be long enough to trip over if he'd tied and pinned it properly) and crack it open, sticking his head out.

Surprisingly, he finds not a servant, but Galidre, a junior member of his council. Galidre bows, black robes sweeping the floor.

"Your majesty," they say, straightening. "A representative of the Undergrove is here to speak with you."

"Shubble?" Scott asks, a little bewildered. What does she need?

"Not—not the ruler herself, but an ambassador. I believe they are requesting sanctuary, Milord."

Sanctuary?

That doesn't make any sense. The Grimlands haven't really mobilized anything concrete yet, and as far as Scott was last aware, Mythland and the Lost Empire were both still attacking the Ocean Kingdom.

But Scott doesn't ask questions. He just withdraws and gets dressed (properly pinning his veil this time), then grabs all the towels from the washroom and lays them on his bedroom floor to try and soak up some of the water. Hopefully nobody comes in to clean his room or gather his laundry while he's out.

Last of all, he steps into his very normal boots, pulls on his black gloves, and sets his crown atop his veil.

Perfect. He looks the pinnacle of 'king-mourning-his-fiance', no doubt about it.

He misses Jimmy.

And just as Galidre had suggested, in the meeting with the representative of the Undergrove, Shubble's people are looking for sanctuary.

"There's so few of us, your majesty," the gnome implores, twisting his mushroom hat between his hands. "Less than eight thousand at our last count. We do not ask for you to provide for us, but if we could come to just the foothills of your lands, someplace safe for our children, we promise all able gnomes will serve in your armies."

That isn't asking much. It's asking far less than Scott would have asked, had the situation been reversed, and Scott's bruised heart aches at the humble plea. Can he even bear to turn them away?

"I will . . . I will discuss this matter with my council," Scott tells him, glancing between Galidre and Aphoras, the two advisors present. "I don't wish for any to be harmed while it is in my power to stop it."

If Shubble's worried, it means fWhip is getting ready to attack. Or maybe that Sausage and Joey are leaving their battle, hoping to strike Scott in his complacency. Something's happening soon, and the Undergrove cannot protect itself.

He doesn't want to uproot the gnomes from their new home. The gnomes had appeared in his childhood, three or four thousand of them moving from some unknown, conquered land to take up residence in their own small corner of the world. They've nurtured and cultivated that corner, built a city and begun farms and families, until it became what it is—a lovely little civilization beginning to thrive. To take that away from them would be cruel.

But he has to do it. To save them the destruction of their entire culture, he has to pull the gnomes away from everything they have.

He could make the decision here and now. His mind is already made up, he won't need to discuss this with his council.

But as the gnome hops down from his too-big chair, bowing deeply, Scott knows that there's another way.

He has to end the war.

-

Ending a war is easier said than done. For one, Scott still doesn't really know how to use the artifacts. The crown remains stubbornly unforthcoming with what its use might be, and the boots. . . . Well, the boots don't stop. The next morning when he wakes up, his room is frozen again—and the morning after that. Scott stops bothering to melt it and just pins a 'do not disturb' sign on the door, before moving to sleep in Jimmy's almost-untouched bedroom. That one freezes, too, as well as the sitting room, and Scott gives up on trying to stop the boots from freezing things and just piles blankets onto his bed and puts pans of hot coals in between the sheets for when he needs to sleep. Otherwise, he just stays out of his room and pretends like it isn't covered in ice.

(He doesn't notice, but frost spreads under his desk, and his untouched cups of tea ice over, and every tear he cries freezes on his face.)

(Others notice, though. Ilphas stares when a wave of Scott's hand sends a streak of frost along a wall; a servant cleans his office and is bewildered by the ice everywhere; the eldest of the palace begin whispering rumors of Aeor's Champion, remembering the old songs.)

For another, Scott doesn't really know how or where to meet Xornoth to defeat him. Does he just go outside? Call his brother's name? Hope the demon shows up, despite the wards around Rivendell preventing his entrance?

He really doesn't want to summon the demon. Somehow, that seems like a poor idea. Some part of Scott is certain that demons have the most power right as they've been summoned, and whether that's true or not Scott doesn't want to test. And he'd absolutely rather not have Xornoth in Rivendell.

The only thing he can think to do is meet Sausage's armies at . . . well, at the border of Mythland. It would be a bold show of support for the Ocean Kingdom—he would have either to march his army through Mezelea or sail across the ocean to reach Mythland. It should only be a move to make if he's certain that he's ready to fully enter the war, or if he's certain that Xornoth will be there.

And suddenly it doesn't really matter, because three days after the ambassador from the Undergrove arrives, he receives communication that fWhip has set out for Rivendell, thousands of soldiers at his command.

His hand is forced. Scott sends Gem a quick message, asking if she's been able to create the crystal. When she responds by gushing excitedly about the properties, he tells her to meet him at No Man's Pass, on the far East border of Rivendell.

It only takes two days to mobilize the advance party of his army, prepared as he has been to enter the war. He can but hope (and dread) that Xornoth will be there.

So Scott swallows down his anxieties about not being able to figure out the artifacts (and he really has tried, but he's only had them for a little over a week), swings the Codmade bag with both of them inside over his shoulder, and rides out to meet Xornoth.

With any luck, Aeor will guide.

-

It's a cold morning when Scott steps out of his tent, ready to treaty with fWhip.

Their armies had met the day prior, and both of their generals had agreed to a meeting between leaders to see if they couldn't come to an arrangement of some sort. So Scott steps out, dressed in his most moveable mourning clothes (a short veil tight enough to be almost a scarf around his face and head, a hood pulled over that, billowy black trousers and a belted tunic with an open-front surcoat) and the Boots of Alinar on his feet, the Crown of Alinar a conscious weight in the Codmade bag at his side.

And when he enters the treaty tent, set on a cliff overlooking a rushing river in the shadow of one of Rivendell's mountains, with Ilphas at his side and two guards behind him, there are more people in the tent than he expected.

fWhip he notices first, dressed in his usual black coat and scarf, standing between two guards of his own, elytra clicking idly. But next to him is Sausage (naturally Scott wants to kill him), and next to him is Joey.

Which is entirely unexpected, because as far as Scott is aware, neither of them brought their armies—or any sort of guard—with them. They must have flown over for this confrontation in particular, as if a war wasn't currently happening, as if their own soldiers aren't dying right now.

Scott can barely muster disgust past the fear (fear of what will happen, fear that it won't work, fear because these three men tortured him again and again and if all fails, he'll be at their mercy again).

Also present is Gem, wizard's staff in one hand, a leather bag swung over her shoulder, and Katherine, wings fluttering anxiously behind her.

"I'm here to keep the peace," Katherine says immediately. "I don't know why everyone else is here."

"I'm here because Scott asked me to be," Gem pipes up.

"I'm here to see my Xorny," Joey says obnoxiously.

It's less the idea of Joey dating a demon and more the idea of Joey dating his brother that makes Scott want to vomit. Out of all the men in the world, he picked Xornoth? And out of all the men in the world, Joey is his potential brother-in-law?

Sausage shrugs in a way that makes Scott want to kill him. "I just wanted to see it all go down!" 

"Me too," a voice says behind Scott. Scott whips around—Joel's standing there, looking entirely unrepentant.

He was counting on the fact that there would be some factors within his control, such as who was present—he had only anticipated himself and fWhip and Xornoth.

"All right, this is far too many emperors in one tent," declares Scott. His feathers are standing on end, all of his nerves jangling. This isn't good. Something is going to go sour here. Especially adding Joel to the mix. Joel is hotheaded at the best of times—in the middle of a war, in a tent with the enemy? Scott doesn't trust him to keep cool.

Scott almost doesn't trust himself to keep cool.

"It's like a House Blossom meeting all over again," Sausage says, voice cheery in a way that makes Scott want to stab him through the heart.

"Hey, I'm just here—"

"This does concern me, after all, it's about—"

"Well if it concerns you, then it concerns—"

"—for everyone, so they—"

"—is that Lizzie said that—"

"My lords and ladies, your presence is acknowledged and appreciated," Ilphas steps forward, checking over their shoulder at Scott. Scott nods his go-ahead—he's never been so grateful to have political, stuffy advisors who know how to be polite.

"This is, however, a meeting between Lord Smajor and Count fWhip, and as such, no other rulers are permitted to be in the tent during the meeting."

"Aw, come on!" Sausage whines. If Scott could kill him without breaking a million laws right now. . . .

But they all clear out, even as Joel walks backward, glaring hard at fWhip.

And Scott is left alone with the man (and their combined guards and Ilphas).

fWhip nods toward the table and two chairs that have been set up in the middle of the tent, a clearly-just-unrolled red rug underneath them.

Scott waits. He doesn't plan on implying that he's at fWhip's command.

After a long moment, fWhip shrugs and sits.

It's the little things.

After waiting a sufficient amount of time to establish that he is the one running this conversation, thank you very much, Scott sits across from him.

He's about to speak. He's about to open his mouth and demand a conference with Xornoth. He's about to end this war.

But fWhip leans forward, a small smile playing on his lips.

"I heard it wasn't exactly quick," he says lowly, and Scott has a moment of confusion—quick? what wasn't quick?—before fWhip continues.

"Not as long as Xornoth was gonna make it, of course," he says, eyes fixed on Scott (and goosebumps spontaneously appear all over Scott's body as he flashes back to those six days in captivity). "If Xornoth got your little fish boy, he was gonna make it long. I heard some of his plans—something about making you watch as he slowly skinned him—?"

Before he even knows what he's doing, Scott's on his feet, hand dragging fWhip up by his collar, pulling him halfway across the table as the man lets out a surprised, choked noise.

"Milord," says Ilphas sharply, tugging on the back of Scott's robe.

Scott shoves fWhip back in his chair (which rocks onto its back legs from the force), hands shaking—whole body shaking, trembling with something like the grief-stricken rage Lizzie had shown at Jimmy's funeral. He—just to casually—casually mention torturing his dead fiance and—and Scott knows he's doing it on purpose, he knows it's to get a rise out of him, and he finds that he just doesn't care.

fWhip's guards step forward, though, weapons raised, and with Ilphas firmly pushing down on his shoulders, Scott sits back down, his gloved hands balled into fists.

He isn't going to stand for this. He isn't going to let fWhip sit there and just speak such filth about his beloved.

But he can't do anything. Not yet.

It gives him a bit of satisfaction to see fWhip ruffled, collar upturned and hair out of place. But fWhip just fixes a stupidly smug look on his face and crosses his arms.

"Scott, we both know you can't threaten me anymore," he chuckles. "Not since I beat you, whipped you, branded you with my own signet . . . there's absolutely nothing about you that I find scary. You've literally begged me for mercy way too many times for that, my friend."

Scott forces himself to breathe deeply, let his fists relax, even as the faded whipping scars on his back twinge in memory. He has to—he has to get control of himself, he has to conduct this in a kingly manner. It doesn't matter that he was tortured by this man, it doesn't matter that his fiance died mere weeks ago (over a month ago, his mind supplies, it's been over a month and the world has somehow gone on), it doesn't matter that he's only a hundred and nine, for Aeor's sake, he is a king and he has to act like one.

"We are here—" he starts, but fWhip interrupts.

"Xornoth only wants one thing. Well," he laughs a little, "a couple of things. World domination is pretty high on his priority list. But he wants you to give up the god, Scott. He already knows you're Aeor's Champion or whatever that is, so you are his best chance at finding the other one. After all, you've got a very rare direct connection to a god yourself!"

That . . . that doesn't make any sense.

The other one? Aeor is the only god that Scott knows of that happens to be living (other than Exor, who Xornoth is already irrevocably bound to). Are there others alive? Others that he's somehow meant to know about?

It doesn't really matter, Scott supposes. He's here to end this war and that's allowed.

"That subject is not the purpose of this meeting," Scott says stiffly, ignoring the chill that runs down his spine at those words that he'd heard so many times in his nightmares. "The purpose—"

"Yeah, yeah, you want me to not bring the war to you or something, trying to convince me to leave your people alone," fWhip waves. "Your people mean nothing to me. I'll kill them if you make me, but if you don't want me to do that, I have a couple of terms. So—"

"That is not what I intended to discuss," Scott says icily, smoothing out a wrinkle in his tunic.

fWhip raises an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? Then what?"

Scott leans a bit closer, all of his instincts screaming for him to move further away. "I am here to demand a meeting with Xornoth," he says, forcing every ounce of cold anger that he feels into his words. "He has tormented these lands for long enough. My business is with him and him alone."

fWhip scoffs. "If you've got business with him, you've got it with me," he says. "So, go on. Say your piece."

You know what? Sure. Scott doesn't mind killing two of his tormentors in one go. First fWhip, then Xornoth. He can absolutely do that.

But Ilphas's hand falls on his shoulder, as if they know exactly what he's thinking of. It would be very, very bad politically to kill fWhip right here and now.

"You misunderstand me," Scott says, and his stomach flips because this is it, it's time to save the world and he doesn't know if he has the strength to do it, and he doesn't let his voice waver but he does let his breath catch— "I mean to kill him."

fWhip bursts out laughing. "Sorry—are you serious? You kill Xornoth? Like, I admire the initiative, but you're the weakest person I know! At least, the weakest living person."

Scott ignores the jab at Jimmy, as disgusting as it is. He just settles back in his chair, crosses his legs.

Eventually, fWhip stops laughing, and his cheerful demeanor drops into a glare alarmingly quickly, quickly enough that it unsettles Scott more than anything fWhip's said so far.

"Your funeral, Smajor," he says darkly. "It'll be nice to get you out of the way."

The lamp on the table goes out, bathing them in a cool dimness.

Scott's heart leaps into his throat.

He doesn't dare breathe in the sudden stillness.

The lamp flickers back to life, the once-yellow flame now a deep red.

The tent, which had been almost frigid for some reason, rapidly begins to heat to an unbearable temperature. Sweat breaks out on Scott's forehead, rolling down his back, dripping down his cheek. It's like he stepped into the Nether, hot enough that his head starts to feel dizzy and his stomach unsteady.

The table begins to rattle, quiet at first, then faster and faster and louder and louder. The ground begins to shake, actually, rumbling and trembling, and the tent walls are flapping in a sudden roaring wins and Scott knows he's coming he knows he's here—

The tent pulls free of the stakes and completely flies apart, the red light spilling outward over the darkening plain, much further than a lantern's light ought to go. Scott shoves back his chair and stands, surcoat whipping around him, searching the skies for any sign of his brother.

Scott's never really seen the demon up close. He's briefly seen him (outside of their youth) twice. Once was from a distance in the End, Xornoth standing atop a tower to watch the battle to save the dragon. The other time was just a brief encounter, Xornoth appearing behind him while visiting the Overgrown close to a year ago, seemingly to do nothing but spook him.

And now, as Xornoth appears before him, Scott loses sight of all his anger. He can't feel anything but cold fear.

Again, Scott's never really seen the demon up close. And as he stares now, feet rooted to the ground, he doesn't see a single sign of the brother he once knew.

Xornoth, like Scott, is dressed all in black, but where Scott's mourning clothing is carefully fashioned and clean, Xornoth's black robes are torn, his dark armor unshined and grimy. His feet are shod with armored boots, his hands with leather gloves, and upon his head is what could either be a literal pair of black antlers or the red-streaked crown of Exor's Champion, a crude mockery of the one hanging at Scott's side.

His face is distorted, blackened, eyes bulbous and entirely maroon, mouth far too large and cutting jaggedly into his cheeks. His ears are still somewhat elvish, poking through his straggly black hair (which had always been purple as a child), which trails down his shoulders and chest.

Whatever that demon is, Scott can barely picture his brother in its place.

Yet it is his brother, here and now, and Xornoth is standing atop a boulder on the edge of the cliff, dark veins of red spreading out from it through the earth, cracking apart stone and solid dirt. Soldiers and rulers that had been milling about leap back, weapons raised.

And echoing through Scott's head and bones and the stifling air around him is a voice that hasn't haunted him in decades.

"Well, brother," Xornoth says, their blackened lips stretching inhumanly, pointed teeth bared. "You think you can destroy me?"

Scott's really starting to think he can't. The very air is thick with the stench of brimstone, so much so that members of his army are doubled over coughing, and the wind is howling and the skies are dark and there's maroon smoke rising from the ground and Scott can't breathe, he's choking on his own air and he doesn't even know what he's supposed to do—

But he doesn't fall to his knees, even as Katherine does beside him. He doesn't cover his ears and squint his eyes shut, like Joel does.

Instead, he fumbles open his bag and pulls out the Crown of Antlers, which he trades out for the crown on his head.

And Xornoth's smile falters.

His gaze travels down, down to Scott's feet.

Scott taps a booted toe against the ground.

"That's right," Scott calls out, above the whistling of the furnace-like wind and the coughing of the soldiers. "I have the artifacts. I'm going to bind you and your master, never to return again."

Almost as if caused by his words, spoken with a conviction that he forces himself to feel, the wind changes directions. The sweat on Scott's back freezes. fWhip, mere steps away from Scott, coughs, his breath appearing before him in a puff of smoke.

"You don't know how to use those," Xornoth sneers, but despite the years it's been since they last spoke, despite how unrecognizable he truly is, Scott knows his brother. He knows that when his voice becomes harshest is at his moments of uncertainty, determined to command his way out of any problem.

That means he's scared. He knows what Scott can do to him.

(Even if Scott doesn't know it himself.)

"Gem," he calls over his shoulder, and within moments she's at his side. "I'll need you to hold the crystal while I bind him, all right?" he says, quieter.

She nods, reaches into her sleek leather satchel and pulls out a huge, clear crystal, bigger than Scott's own hand. It shimmers slightly, gold specks scattered throughout that somehow shine with the sun hidden by the dark grey skies. She hefts it up, mouth in a grim line.

Scott nods back to her, then takes a step forward, one arm up to shield his eyes as the wind and heat get stronger the nearer he gets to Xornoth. Another step. Another.

There's a crack in the air, deafeningly loud, and Scott only has a moment to register that Xornoth has vanished in a cloud of black smoke before a literal tentacle bursts out of the stoney ground right in front of him, sending chunks of rock flying, and wraps around Scott's middle.

It lifts him into the air, a sizzling sound and uncomfortable heat against his body and wings telling him that it's burning through his clothes and feathers, and Scott struggles against it to try and pull his wings free but it's holding tightly to him, raising him higher and higher into the air—

And then it stops.

Ice is gathering where Scott's fists have been beating against the tentacle, gathering and spreading down, and though it melts almost instantly it simply reforms, until the tentacle begins to slowly recede into the ground.

Scott stumbles out of its grasp and onto blessed solid ground (he loves being in the air but not like that), and Xornoth himself appears right in front of him.

The demon moves, arm reaching out, mouth stretching open, Scott's arms fly up to shield his face—

"Stop," Scott gasps blindly, putting as much compulsion as he can into the one word, even though he doesn't even know what he's commanding Xornoth to stop doing.

The wind calms to almost nothing. Ice crackles across the ground. The air becomes frigid, though the terrible smell still lingers.

Scott lets his arms lower from blocking his vision, terrified of what he might find. Dear Aeor, his legs are utterly trembling, but he doesn't have the time to collapse.

And he finds that Xornoth is standing motionless before him, face twisted in rage.

"Gem," Scott says, voice too loud for the sudden silence, heart pounding in his ears. "The crystal—Gem, now—"

Gem hurries forward, holds it out, and Scott musters everything he has in him and commands, making the words up as he goes, "Xornoth, Exor, and those demons within you, I bind you by the power of Aeor to this crystal, never to be free from it again."

He waits, breath tight in his chest.

Nothing happens. Xornoth glances down, eyes catching on Scott's waist, and chuckles.

"I bind you!" Scott says again. This has to work. He has the crown, he has the boots, he has the crystal, this should be working—

He shoves all the imagined power he can through the air, as if to push Xornoth bodily into the crystal, this has to work he's getting desperate—

He's knocked backward with a sudden force, a blast of frost and ice coming from his own body, and Scott hits the ground and rolls through the dust, bumping his elbows and knees and hips, his veil getting caught under him and tearing down off his face.

He lays there for a moment—he can't afford a moment, but he can't breathe—and when he gets up, pushing himself up on his gloved hands, he sees—

Xornoth is frozen, a giant block of ice encasing him. The crystal is on the ground, twinkling under a blanket of frost.

And Gem is on the ground too, slumped as if dead, hair white as snow.

No—no—

"What'd you do to my sister!" fWhip shouts, rushing forward to Gem. He kneels down beside her, pulls her into his lap, starts shaking her.

Scott struggles to his knees, tugs off his torn gloves with shaking hands. He didn't—he didn't mean to hurt anyone, he didn't mean to hit Gem—he doesn't know what he's doing, he was just trying to fix everything but he doesn't know how and he doesn't know what to do—Aeor, please—

He stumbles up, the lace of one boot getting caught under his foot and coming entirely undone.

Ice is everywhere. Great chunks of it around the plateau, coating every bit of ground in a sheet, the one tree growing in the tough dirt entirely uprooted and frozen.

Those members of his and fWhip's armies that are closest to the treaty grounds are dusting frost from their uniforms, some of them picking themselves up from the ground where the force of the blast had knocked them.

He didn't know the boots could do this. He didn't want to do this. He didn't mean for this to happen, he didn't want this to happen—

"You—!"

And before Scott can even really process everything, fWhip is barreling into him, sending him right back to the ground with an "oof".

"I'm gonna—" fWhip starts, straddling Scott's stomach, eyes wild and face red with anger, but a CRACK! that shoots through the air gives him pause.

Everyone, slowly, trancelike, turns to where the frozen Xornoth remains, and the large crack that's splintering down the ice encasing him.

With strength that must come from Aeor himself, Scott shoves fWhip off (he ignores the way fWhip's jacket goes stiff with ice) and rolls to his feet, stumbling toward Xornoth, scooping up the crystal on his way.

And then he doesn't know what to do.

He holds up the crystal beside the frozen chunk of ice that holds Xornoth, willing it to do something, anything.

"I bind you," he chokes out, pressing the crystal through the crack and into Xormoth's chest. "Come on. . . . I bind you!"

The ice shatters from Xornoth with a wave of heat that blasts Scott back, knocking the crystal from his hand as he once again hits the ground hard on his back (all the breath is forced out of his lungs and it hurts) and slides a couple of feet, feathers turning the wrong way and getting torn out.

Scott scrambles to regain his bearings—he can't breathe and everything hurts—but before he can even get from more than a sitting position, a foul-smelling boot kicks him in the chin and his head snaps backward, sending him back down.

He opens watering eyes, blinking several times to clear their blurriness, arms splayed out at his sides. Xornoth stands over him, radiating heat, the dark clouds in the sky behind him seeming to swell.

"You think you can trap me in a little piece of glass?" Xornoth growls, and when Scott again tries to get up, pushing himself up with his arms against the gravelly ground, he again kicks him down, knocking his head against the stone.

No. No, he has to save them—he can hear people shouting, he can hear screams, he's Aeor's Champion, this isn't how the story is supposed to go—

Xornoth laughs, cruel and derisive, before bending down over Scott and gripping one gloved hand in the front of his tunic. He drags him up, up to standing, his tunic tearing just slightly.

Scott can barely even struggle. His body feels like jelly, wings hanging limply behind him, legs almost unable to support his own weight.

He tried. He tried so hard.

Xornoth's face is so close to his that Scott can smell his reeking breath, see how the points of his black teeth glisten with saliva, but he can't even find the strength to tip his head back, get away from him.

"Even your little fish boy fought harder than this," sneers Xornoth, only loud enough for Scott to hear, and Scott's heart breaks.

Jimmy.

He just wants Jimmy.

Somehow, if Jimmy had been here, it all would have been okay.

A tear slips down his bare face. Scott swallows back a sob, brings up his fumbling arms and weakly pushes at Xornoth's hand.

Ice spreads across his glove, and Xornoth hisses before throwing Scott down. He lands hard on his side, feels one of his ribs crack with a flash of white-hot pain, and he can't do anything but lie there and try to breath through it.

"I am Xornoth," the demon declares, voice echoing around the cliff, and the armies waiting on either side quiet, the only sound Xornoth's voice and the once-again rushing wind. "I am the ruler of this world. The so-called king of Rivendell tried to challenge me, and has failed. If any of you who followed him wish to feel my mercy, give up your arms now."

Scott knows his people. He knows that despite his youth, despite some unpopularity among older generations, his people care too much for him (for tradition, for his family) to renounce him.

And he can't let that happen. He's done for. He failed.

Rivendell needs to surrender.

Scott raises his head, just a little bit, some grit that had been stuck to his cheek falling to the stony ground, and looks around—there.

He catches Ilphas's eye—Ilphas, standing at the forefront of his army, their grey cloak slipping from their shoulder and hair out of place but their chin held high and stance dignified—and ignores the abject horror painting their face, then gives the tiniest, most minute nod.

They blink several times, and if Scott didn't know any better, he'd think they were crying. They nod in return, though, and turn away, calling instructions to surrender.

Xornoth nudges Scott with the toe of his boot. "This is your king," he spits. "And he is dead."

Before Scott can do anything, before he can so much as move, another maroon tentacle cracks out of the ground beside him, burning hot, and wraps around his legs.

It's all Scott can do not to scream—this tentacle is far hotter than the other, burning straight through his trousers to his skin, but before he can try to squirm away, it drags him up into the air upside-down and throws him.

Scott doesn't even have time to process the wind rushing through his ears before he slams into the ground, knocking his head against a rock in a way that makes his vision flash black and grainy and sends pain jolting through his entire head.

Xornoth stalks toward him, he sees, through blurry vision red with pain, he says something—something terrible and pulsing—Scott scrambles back, his palms bleeding against the rough texture of the cliff, he just has to survive he just has to survive—

Xornoth grabs him by the right wing, pulls him up as the delicate bone strains, Scott tries to even out his weight to his feet but he can't find his footing—

The bone in his wing snaps and Scott doesn't have the energy to scream, his breath releasing in a little gasp. No . . . no. . . .

He meets Xornoth's eyes, the world hazy.

There's no pity to be found in those dark pits. No mercy. Only satisfaction.

And Scott knows, right then and there, with a clarity that cuts through all the pain and haziness, that he's dying.

He failed.

He failed all of them.

And with a burst of hot power from Xornoth, Scott is once again flying through the air and then he's falling, down, down, the wind buffeting his back as he goes over the cliff, his right wing thrown uselessly this way and that as his left wing tries valiantly to save him but his weight is too much, and with a gross clunk and a white hot burst of pain, it slips out of the socket.

Before Scott can scream, before he can pray, before he can do anything but twist his body in the air to face nose down, he hits freezing water and blacks out.

The last thing he thinks, mind desperately spinning, is that at least he won't have to live so alone anymore.

-

His body aches, pulsing up and down, from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his toes, traveling up each limb and down each vein. Everything hurts, in ways that he can't quite understand.

The stag steps carefully through the forest, over gnarled tree roots and clumps of grass, each step rocking him from right to left.

Scott takes in a slow breath, body slumping further against the stag. The fingers of his right hand loosely grasp its hair, his left arm hanging at his side.

He just wants to fall asleep. He's so tired, and it all hurts so much that he can't even think. He just wants to sleep.

But he blinks slowly instead, watches as a squirrel skitters up the bark of a huge oak tree. A deer pokes its head out from behind a birch, its ears twitching curiously. Somewhere in the branches above, a chickadee sings its repeating song.

Scott lets his breath out in a long sigh. His body rolls with the slow trundle of the stag, jostling his various uncategorized wounds.

He swallows, throat dry.

Maybe he can sleep here. On the back of the stag. Let it carry him to wherever it intends to go.

He's so tired.

The ground below gets softer, bit by bit, the dirt becoming darker, the grass more frequent. The stag's hooves begin to leave impressions in the ground, the grass springing up after every step. A frog croaks from nearby, low and long. The leaves on the trees start hanging lower and lower, dripping down into puddles of murky water.

And then, the dirt now mud and squishing with every step, the stag stops.

Scott should see why it stopped. He should lift his pounding head, see what's before them, because surely if it's important enough to stop the stag he has to see what it is.

But he doesn't have the strength.

As his body is pushed, further and further—

After a long moment, the stag bends its neck, head dipping low in an arc, and Scott begins to slide forward, his fingers slipping from their limp grasp, his body leaving streaks of red in the brilliant white hair.

He slowly slides further, further, until he rolls between the stag's antlers, his tunic catching on a sharp antler and pulling a long tear down the side, before he slowly falls into a clear pool of water.

He sinks, red billowing up in the water around him—

Sinking, water filling his lungs, so much weighing him down and down—

Down and down, until his toes meet silty mud at the bottom.

He hangs there, in the water, letting it wash away his aches and pains and all the blood, and he sighs, bubbles spilling from his lips.

He's so tired.

A fish swims up to him—a cod—

Hands under his arms and pulling at his tunic, dragging him up onto a rocky shore scraping his back—

It noses at him, pokes him hard in the chest—

Pressing on his chest, harder and harder, again and again and it hurts—

And then swims up to between his eyes (it takes a moment to come back into focus) and stares at him, eyes large and somehow desperate.

And he sees, wavering in and out, desperate and beautiful brown eyes.

#empires smp #empires smp s1 #esmp #flower husbands #scott smajor #trust au #mas writes #102423 #hello hi there #still on hiatus don't mind me #dunno when i'll be back sorry #be kinda funny if i never came back #my scheduled fics just kinda peter out #my queue runs dry #never to be seen again... #jk i would never #anyways i'm pretty happy with this part #i really need to clean up the next few tho #umm let me count how many parts there are after this #oh wow uhh #there are only four parts after this one i think #and then a handful of short stories #anyways lmk what you think! #sandakuita'ayo #love you guys #(hi from oasis!! mas intended for this to be posted yesterday but I was out of the house all day. my apologies!! <3) #(p.s. drink some water after this one folks lol)

[yulgurr]

I felt like doing this Camille thing with @/peachiehambo's template

And some voicelines I found in one of my ancient google docs, these are the lines she says in the monastery at the beginning of every chapter of Academy phase.

Prologue

› "Camille Adeline Gautier, pleased to make your acquaintance." (automatic response) › "..." "..." › "That should be all."

Ch.1: Three houses

› "A mock battle? Truth to be told. I'd rather sit this one out." › "I wouldn't be much help on the battlefield.. At least, not right now."

Ch. 2: Familiar Scenery

› "Um.. Professor.. I have a very.. foolish.. question." › "Who do you think takes care of the owls here? What do they eat?" › "Mice?! And frogs?! But…" › "But they are cute…. *sigh*" › "Right, I should.. focus on the first mission now. Bandits in the Red Canyon, correct? I wonder what they are up to."

Ch. 3: Mutiny in the Mist

› Camille: "I.. knew Lord Lonato. Not personally, but.. when I was home a couple of years ago, I received a marriage proposal from House Gaspard." › Sylvain: "What? I never knew that!" › Camille: "Luckily it was simply a written one, so I managed to burn it before father saw…" › Camille: "Later when I heard that his oldest son was executed.. I was… Glad that I burnt that proposal letter. Were father to see it and accept it, the reputation of the House Gautier would be damaged and–" › Sylvain: "Hold on!" › Sylvain: "Forget the House, what would you do if father were to accept it?" › Camille: "I would be married into a House Gaspard. But I was 14 at the time and didn't want that kind of life." › Sylvain: "Fourteen?! And you never said anything to me?! Not even a word?" › Camille: "You were busy with your studies and I was busy with mine. I didn't want to bother you so I dealt with it myself." › Camille: "And also, we had Miklan to worry about." › Sylvain: "Eh.. well, fair enough."

Ch. 4: The Goddess' Rite of Rebirth

› "It.. may sound silly, but I recently learned how to fish!" › "I really enjoy the process of it. You stay here, with a rod, quietly, and wait. That's it! And if people walk by, they lower their voices too!" › "By the way, I've been lucky to catch some big ones!! I should show them to Sylvain just to see his face. Haha." › "Also, Professor, before I forget. I started taking additional classes with Professor Belhor. Just wanted to inform you."

Ch. 5: Tower of Black Winds

› "Miklan was.. never really a true brother to us.. And.. it's not a big surprise he would turn to banditry." › "It is however a surprise that he would steal a relic… We must take it back, at all cost."

Ch. 6: Rumors of a Reaper

› "What? Flayn went missing?! It.. must be very tough on Seteth, he cares for her deeply."

» Any thoughts on where she might be?

› "Hmm.. let's see.. I'd say that Professor Belhor seemed to like Flayn a lot, she might have more thoughts than me." › "Other than that, no ideas. I hope Flayn stays safe."

Ch. 7: Field of the Eagle and Lion

Day: › "A battle of the Eagle and Lion.. Honestly, I think I'm ready!" › "I wasn't prepared for the mock battle, but this time! I'll give it my all!"

Sunset, training grounds: › Camille: "Oh uh! Professor!" › Belhor: "Hello. This is a private session, leave the training grounds immediately." 

Ch. 8: Flame in the Darkness

› "The Battle of the Eagle and Lion went great! I'm so proud of how I've grown." › "Some things still terrify me, but overall I think I'm getting better at many other things.. I'm glad to study under your wing, Professor."

Ch. 9: The Cause of Sorrow

› "Professor!!" › "For the love of Goddess, please DO NOT choose me for the White Heron Cup!!"

»I choose you! › "NO! H-how could you? Are you sure?" › "You will regret this later, I'm telling you"

»Won the Heron Cup › "I knew this was going to happen.. well.." › "Why did you do this?... So cruel…"

»I'm not choosing you (i forgot the choices we had there my bad) › "Oh thank you!! Thank you so much!!!" › "I hope you have fun at the ball though!"

Ch. 10: Where the Goddess Dwells

› "I'm sorry for your loss, Professor. It's alright if you want to take a break and heal." › "Don't push yourself and take things slow for now." › "The wounds will heal soon. Please take care of yourself."

Ch. 11: Throne of Knowledge

› "Wow, professor! Your hair looks really cool!" › "Maybe if I get powerful, I'll do something with my hair as well!"

»How's your training with Belhor going?

› "Oh.. uh.. why do you ask?" › "Well.. it's going alright. I learned a lot of new spells from her.." › "The only downside is, she won't let me catch a breath even for a moment." › "But other than that. I feel I'm getting stronger." › "I always wanted to get stronger, you know. Back when Miklan still lived with us, I.. *sigh*. No, I better not drown in these memories right now." › "We have your ceremony to worry about! I really want to see how it goes!"

Before the invasion

› "The Imperial Army is heading towards Garreg Mach.. A big battle will take place here." › "Maybe this is my chance to…." › "Oh! Professor, I… I will fight with all I have."

#yulgurr art #fe3h oc

[cao-the-dreamer]

@artsy-hobbitses Here is he, the boy, the gremlin, the feral critter, I named... Cliffjumper!

If Ben and Claude decided to swap their clothes, nobody would notice the difference… until Claude starts spouting Cajun insults and charging through the enemy lines with a gun three times his size. Claude is often defined by his urge to fight, his stubbornness, his daredevil personality, and his habit of literally jumping off cliffs (giving numerous heart attacks to his teammates), hence the nickname “Cliffjumper”.

Hanley/Hot Rod: Yeah, you’re definitely related. Claude/Cliff & Ben/Bee: Cause we look like each other? Hanley: *raises an eyebrow since he saw Ben knee someone in the balls and Claude bite someone else’s nose* Sure. That.

Having grown up in an all female household, he finds it pretty normal to wear skirts (and they’re waaaaay more comfortable and practical). During his calmer moments, he likes to settle down and mend his clothes (often torn because of his running and climbing), just like his grannies taught him. People meeting him for the first time often mistake him for a girl, which he absolutely adores and he decides to see how long before they actually realize on their own; it took a whole week for the rebellion to notice and he finds it hilarious (he could simply tell them but… nah).

He’s also a very good bait.

Starscream: What the hell are you wearing. Cliffjumper, with a very frilly, glittery, neon-colored dress: It’s my ass-kicking outfit, BITCH *effectively acts as a distraction, drawing fire away from the rest of the troops*

Although he pretends to be annoyed when people mistake him for Bee, he will go feral if anyone threatens his half-brother and, over time, starts to view him as the sibling he never had.

(He also definitely encourages Bee to release his inner gremlin)

More of his story below!

Jean Claude Frugé, or simply Claude for his friends and family, was born of a Cajun mother — as for his sperm donor, he is an “holiday souvenir”, and the one thing he shares with Benjamin/Bumblebee, making them half-brothers.

When his mother, Lucienne, discovered she was pregnant, she dropped her dream studies so she could keep the baby. To this day, Claude still feels like he wasted his mother’s life, and tries to “make it up” for her, no matter how much she told him it was unnecessary.

Claude was raised between the bayou, the rice fields and the farms of Louisiana by an army of aunts, grandmothers, grandaunts, and great-grandmothers. He learned English at school and French at home. At a young age, he was already a wild child and spent his free time running through the swamp and fishing all by himself, so he could bring food to his maman. Imagine an eight-year-old absolutely caked with mud, his clothes dripping swamp water and holding out a fish that’s half his size, while grinning despite the face covered in dirt. Lucienne couldn’t be mad at him when he looked so proud of himself, and the grannies encouraged this behavior by showing him the best fishing spots.

The town folks got quickly used to the child walking barefoot through the bayou, but it didn’t stop the whispers about Lucienne’s broken dreams; she had lost the opportunity to get out of here and study in a renowned university/city, which was a pity in their eyes.

The whispers were quiet, but Claude heard them nonetheless.

He didn’t know if his penchant from fighting came from the hurt these whispers caused, or from the paternal genes, but his fists and sharp teeth ostracized him from the other children. Although he belonged in the bayou, he didn’t belong with the people living here. At least he had his family and their gentle love.

But sometimes love wasn’t enough.

Thus he began to leave more and more frequently, going deeper in the bayou, learning how to avoid quicksands and recognize alligators in the water, spending time with the birds and climbing trees until he was so high he felt he could touch the sky.

Sometimes, he wondered if his family’s life would have been easier in the city; he thought he would probably be less lonely with a nuclear, intact family, and he cursed his faceless sperm donor for “running away”. The spite prompted him to look for any information about his progenitor.

He was surprised to discover his progenitor had made a family in one of the big cities, and quite disgusted he was a cop. He was unable to know how to feel about the existence of a brother, and decided to drop the research.

He didn’t want to shatter the peace of this family; they seemed happy like that.

He had never been so wrong in his entire life.

As time passed and unrest began to grow through the United States, the Frugé family took on an activist side; the house became a safe haven for protesters who needed to hide from the police, and the older women wrote down their testimonies, which they then hid in the walls.

They told Claude how powerful memories could be.

When the Clampdown started and more people hit the road, Claude used his knowledge of the bayou to guide refugees through and to Mexico, stopping at his house so the Frugé women could feed and clothe the Cold Constructs, Beast Men and other refugees. More testimonies filled the walls.

One night, as he was guiding three Cold Constructs who had fled from Texas, they made a remark about his uncanny resemblance with one of their previous helpers. He would have brushed the words aside were it not for them mentioning the other one’s name.

His half-brother’s name was the last thing he expected to hear.

Knowing he was risking his life for a stranger, he nonetheless decided to look for Benjamin/Bumblebee, with whom he shared a fight. At only 19, he joined the rebellion created by Omar Parvez (Optimus Prime), Jace Zayden (Jazz) and Preston Wan (Prowl); while it was a good outlet for his chaotic energy and thirst for danger, his true reason was still Bumblebee, but he didn’t dare approach him, fearing the anger shimmering within him would scare Ben away, like it has scared so many children before.

But at some point he had to stop running away.

Time only will tell whether or not the revelation of the lineage between Bumblebee and Cliffjumper will bring pain, as both boys have their demons and misconceptions about each other, but there is no denying a tentative bond is starting to grow.

(Bonus: His color palette)

#tttb #the ties that bind #artsy hobbitses #transformers #humanformers #my art

[snazzyladreal]

Dee Twin origin headcanon

this has been on the brain lately so time to share

A long ass time ago, there was a village populated by a mix of many of the native creatures of Popstar, and one day two little waddle dees were born. And things were happy and sweet for several years, with the twins having happy lives in the farming and fishing village and learning the basics of village trade.

However, cause it was a certain star shaped planet, disaster struck. It’s unknown how it started, but the village caught on fire one day. And the entire place burned down, with an unknown number of survivors. These included the still pretty young waddle dees, although they were separated.

Sailor managed to escape on the water with a small group of other survivors, who then helped her get to another village before she eventually left and wandered out on her own. One day, she happened to be in a place the battleship Halberd was docking. So she snuck on.

Bandana barely escaped on their own, and traveled for awhile before coming across a small town. They were taken in by another family for awhile, doing basic chores in return for food and a roof over his head. But he didn’t stay in once place for long, often moving from town to town looking for odd jobs to do and places to stay.

Meta of course found Sailor hiding on his ship, and was both pissed and impressed. It took him like 2 weeks before he found Sailor hiding out. And somehow she convinced him to let her join the crew, probably by using puppy eyes and showing off how much she knew about machines.

Bandana eventually ended up jobless in a town near Castle Dedede, where the king himself stopped by during his first big ‘food theft’. DDD wasn’t the nicest person back then, but he wasn’t heartless. So he invited the young dee back to his castle with the promise of food, a home, and becoming apart of the strongest army in the land. And Bandee decided to go with him.

-time skip-

around Kirby’s Adventure/Nightmare in Dreamland, whenever DDD gives Meta part of the star rod, the siblings reunited and just instantly recognized each other. Cue them hiding out in Bandee’s room and eating sweets and talking while Meta and Dedede looked everywhere for them.

then they never stayed far apart for that long ever again :)

also they’re lowkey the reason meta and dedede started talking more and eventually flirting, but that’s something for another day ;)

enjoy lmao

#snazz screams #snazz’s headcanons #snazz writes things #bandana waddle dee #bandana dee #sailor dee #sailor waddle dee #king dedede #meta knight #I’ve been thinking about this instead of sleeping lol #metadede at the very end lmao #kirby series #kirby headcanons #The Dee twins #waddle dee twins

[luimagines]

Dream Jester!Reader is quite the character as the Chain are gonna quickly find out. Now neither Legend or they go into full detail about Koholint but explain enough to the heroes on how the two met each other.

Legend: Apparently when I lost consciousness at sea, I had been over a Dream Point. Spots that are heavily connected to the Dream World and quite easy for someone to fall through.

Sky:...I guess I better be more careful on where I nap from now on.

Reader: I'm pretty sure I can still fish you out even in the Waking World. Legend, Tulip would've fit better, was a special case as ALL of him went through than his mind.

The dream jester likes to call the Vet various nicknames that usually revolve around his lovely pink hair. A personal favorite being Tulip as it's their favorite flower. Legend calls them nicknames like Joker, Dream but he uses Jest the most. A well earned name since the dream jester likes starting mischief.

They have no neck and wrists so Reader definitely used that to scare the shit outta some Links. Everyone learned to never leave their bags or pots unchecked as the dream jester will hide their head or hands inside. The Chain learned Hyrule shrieks like a girl once he saw a disembodied head scream back at him from his bag.

Reader does have some of their powers despite being in the real world. One such ability is flight as not even five seconds later after recovering did they decide to casually float.

It's a natural ability that doesn't need magic so Reader rarely interacts with the ground since they're more comfortable in the air. Catching them nap while floating is a common sight for the Chain and something Legend already used to.

Wild: I wonder if they're comfy like that.

Legend: Jest compares it to napping on a cloud.

Sky: *tries not to be jealous*

Combat wise, Reader's abilities are more...set up than offensive. They make it easier for the Chain to take out monsters that are either difficult to hit or are in a large group. Once such ability is Paraloop, where anything they circle around get clung together and strung along like a magnet.

Great against more vicious monsters such as Lynels as it's hard to attack when being squished between objects or other monsters like a sandwich. Another technique is Drill Dash where Reader spins and moves faster akin to a drill. Not only does this make them more difficult hit but it packs a nasty punch.

Their most unique ability is Dualize, where Reader can assimilate with someone. A technique they often perform with Legend during his adventure on Koholint. In an outsider's point of view, it looks like Legend vanished when in reality he's sharing Reader's body and power. Their voices sorta overlap in this state too.

Reader/Legend, dualized: It's Showtime folks! You better keep up! *pulls out a now flaming Fire Rod*

Wind: That's so cool! I want to dualize next!

Sky: Let me do it too! You don't know how much I missed flying.

Overall, Reader fit quite well with the Chain as a fellow oddball and gremlin. Although the guys wished Legend gave them some warning to their antics. Then again, he wouldn't as they get to experience the same insanity that Reader drags him into.

...The only thing I thought of while reading this, was that when Reader is napping in mid-air that one of the chain (mostly likely Legend, come on) takes their fishing rod and hooks it onto their belt. The Link in question then straps his fishing rod onto his back and stat walking, dragging Reader with him as they travel so they don't have to wake up.

Tempted to say that one of them attaches Reader to either Hyrule or Wild so they have a pin point if either one of them wanders off. (Like those videos where they put the balloons on people while in the store so they can spot them easily. XD)

I doubt either party would appreciate it though so it would have to be in secret and make it fast.

#pinky replies #dream jester! reader

[harrison-abbott]

Hopper

My father wanted to take me fishing. I’d never been fishing before and he said it was important that I learn. He picked me up from mother’s house on the Saturday morning. Mother never wanted to speak to him so whenever he came I would run out to his jeep and get inside. He smiled at me. “Hey there Hopper,” he said, which was his nickname for me. He used to call me that a lot before the whole mad breakup thing with mother, and his use of it stuck with other people – when other folks would come around to the house. Anyway, he drove me out of down and down to the woods on the way to the river. He drank quick bolts of liquor from a flask. When I was a good I always wanted that silver flask for myself; and I didn’t really understand alcohol yet. Dad wasn’t such a bad drunkard (even though he ended up dying from it). I mean, he wasn’t mean or loud or anything unless it was way at the end of the night and he would go to sleep. And he would take me to the football games with the school; come and watch me play even though I wasn’t any good, and would cheer me on anyway. That day when we went fishing it was super hot – like it was the afternoon and not nine in the morning when we got out the jeep and took the equipment down to the river. He showed me how to fit up the rods with the nylon and it all seemed intricate but he did it real skilful. “Throwing takes a whole bunch of practise,” he said, and he lanced the string into the great seething river, “but for today we’ll just wait on the bankside. And there will be some chaps in the water for sure.” I sat next to him. It took a long time, but the wait was exhilarating. He’d told me to tell him when I got a shudder on the handles. And then I got one! And I squealed. Dad laughed. “Pull it in, Hopper! Wind it up!” I tried but it was like when I would get the ball on the field; I’d wait and wait and wait, imagining the ball coming to me and me doing great things with it: but when I actually got it, I realised imagination was far different from the brutality of sport. So I reeled the winder up … and it stuttered and jolted. And then stopped: and the force on the far end of the line had gone. “Oh. I think he got away …” I looked up at father to see what he would think from his expression, and because I couldn’t read it I said, “I’m sorry Dad.” He blinked and said, “Don’t apologise for things you shouldn’t be sorry for, Hopper.” And that line has remained with me ever since he said it to me when I was a six year old boy.

He caught a trout later that day. He yanked it out of the water and killed it swiftly with a rock to the head. I thought that was sublimed to witness because I’d never seen anything murdered before aside from in cartoons. “I will gut the fish now,” Dad said, “But I must warn you that it’s quite gory. So if you don’t want to see then you can look away, Hopper.” I replied that I wouldn’t watch and so I turned my head and instead listened as he worked with the knife, and it is crazy how small volumes can make gigantic ideas in your head: especially when you are a child. I lot it would take a long while but father was finished real quick. He threw the entrails into the river and what was left was the image of a fish as you’d see in a monger. Father had brought along a pan and some oil and he made a fire and got about cooking it. He drank some more of his liquor. I can’t remember if it was whisky or rum or gin that he drank in those days because I wasn’t knowable with any of the smells. He did smoke a lot of rolled cigarettes as well, and, as with most things he did, he was fast and deft with the way he rolled them. I really didn’t like the smoke. So he always stood up and walked ten paces away when he smoked and we would call back and forth from where he was. “Is it done yet, Dad?” meaning the fish meat as it sizzled in the pan. – “Give it a bit longer on the other side, Hopper.” I turned it over with the fork. When it was done he gave most of it for me and a little bit for himself and we ate. I wished it had been me that had caught it but I felt proud to be on the team all the same. After the food we sat by the fire for a while. And of course it was weird to have a fire on such a hot day, but I liked the colours of the embers. I knew it was getting to late afternoon and that mother always wanted me home by four o’clock. And this great sadness enveloped me. I wanted to stay with Dad. Or to have him come back home and live with us again. Eventually father put out the fire with river water and we went back to the keep and then he was driving me home. And I really, really wanted it to be like the old days when he was sleeping in the room next to me, instead of the other side of town. I’d wanted to ask him a question for a long time. A query that I’d wanted to do with mother for a while as well, but had never as yet had the guts. So I blurted it out there in the jeep. I said, “Dad. Why did you and Mum split up?” His face withered, every so slightly. And he swallowed. “She was with another man, Hopper.” I’d never known this and it was quite a barrel load to take. So I said, “Does that make you sad?” And he went, “Yeah. A lot. But, that’s for me to be sad. And not you. Okay? So don’t let it bother you. And, we can go fishing again next weekend. And I’ll see you on Wednesday night for the football game, right? We’ll be good.” I said I would see him, too. When father dropped me off home he never hugged me or kissed me; what he did was give me a handshake. And I always recall how his hand dwarfed mine with my tiny fingers and palm. Then I waved to him as his jeep whizzed off into the hazy road and it was as if, whilst the jeep got smaller and smaller, this enormous mass of pain grew larger and larger in my chest. And so because I couldn’t do anything about it I ran into the house and slapped the door shut and went into my room to concentrate on something else.

#writeblr #creative writing #prose #writers on tumblr #stories #short fiction #tumblr writers #fiction #short story #spilled ink #spilled stories

[nikofortuna]

JTTW Chapter 3 Thoughts

Third chapter for the @journeythroughjourneytothewest Reading Group!

What truly became clear to me this chapter, though was already foreshadowed in Chapter One with him stealing clothes from a man quite nonchalantly, Sun Wukong has sticky fingers! He clearly knows the concept of buying things, but if he can use his abilities instead he’ll do it.

My theory is that it is very much a monkey habit, instinctive or learned. Now being the Handsome Monkey King he likely never needed to fight much over anything, freely being given most things. However it has been shown twice now that monkeys generally do fight over things! First instance being when they moved into Shuilian Cave and fought over spaces and objects, the second being the weapons. So it would not be farfetched to say Sun Wukong internalized this behaviour as well in combination with the expectation of getting the things he wants.

Moving on to the underwater section of the chapter, the mental image of shrimp soldiers had me cackling. I really can’t take any of the seafolk serious. Though I’m sure at least a good few of them have more humanoid transformations and use them most of the time for practicality, how else would in particular the fishes carry weapons after all, all I imagine are the actual sea creatures wearing little outfits.

Now they are underwater, correct? So given the water has a higher density than air, all the weapons the seafolk carry should be even more difficult to lift on land. And since Sun Wukong is technically not in the water but in what I imagine to be an air bubble of sorts, he is lifting those weapons with their full land weight!

After getting Ruyi Jingu Bang when asking for some armour to go with it, he does get a bit unruly. Still he didn’t really ask for the best of the best, the finest armour of them all or something like that. He just wanted a set of armour that is regular quality, at least for a Dragon King, and looks the part. No need for any special magic or anything, just something fashionable. He’s already powerful, he just wants to be a fashion icon as well! He’s called the Handsome Monkey King for a reason, no? King of Fashion he shall be!

All in all he is becoming a bit of a troublemaker sure, but to be fair nobody tried just sitting him down and explaining in earnest that what he’s doing isn’t just harmless fun scaring the people a little, but genuinely upsets them. Not even in the ‘oh you’ve offended the higher ups’ kind of way, but just the regular people. He’s not a mean or malicious being, so long as it was explained in an honest and calm fashion I’m certain he’d understand. Even if he might not openly admit to his actions being out of line, he’d probably dial it down at least a little bit for the little guys.

Moving on to a little trivial on Jingu Bang, that he puts it into his ear actually has symbolic meaning as well! The German translation explains in a footnote that the Rod is metaphoric for the Yáng line in the Trigram Kăn, which is related to Water and the Kidney. It fits into the ear, because the ear is connected to the kidney in traditional Chinese medicine. So basically Sun Wukong can take out his life energy and put it away again at his leisure.

Anyway Sun Wukong making friends while travelling! We love to see it.

Another thing that shows he’s a nice person is him giving Yama the benefit of the doubt at first. He only gets angry when he isn’t treated well.

When he is treated nicely, as seen at the end of the chapter with the Gold Star, he is really kind in return.

Also love that Sun Wukong doesn’t let the Kings put the blame on the summoners, though he did turn those two into mush. He correctly looks for the error at the source aka the higher ups and the official documents. Very wise indeed.

Ox-head and Horse-face, yes singular there is actually only one of each in the Underworld, I recognized quite easily, this time thanks to an anime that featured them. Hōzuki no Reitetsu, if anyone else knows that one.

Lastly for today, I have a favourite new word that I learned from the Anthony C. Yu translation! Stratagem. A combination of the terms strategy and gem, which describes its meaning perfectly!

#xiyouji #journey to the west #jttw #sun wukong #monkey king #ruyi jingu bang #jttw reading group #jttw book club

[crystalmarred]

CONTINUED ⇢ @vierandancer

His breath comes out shaky, his body quivering from the midnight chill against his wet clothes—it's not water—and he barely notices Meiko until she is upon him. Her hands are on his shoulders, pressing the still lukewarm liquid—it's not water—against his skin as much as hers.

"I— It's— It's not—"

Nok'to has never killed anyone. At least not so directly, not so violently, not so bloody. He'd never been attacked late at night, never slashed someone's throat without meaning to, never had someone much larger than him fall into him afterwards and soak him in blood.

Finally, he manages to get the words out, if only to ease the worst of Meiko's fears: "It's not mine—"

The Lyzej family were fishmongers. He was a fishmonger. He grew up learning to wield a fishing rod.

"I— I used to use an axe and I didn't— I didn't account for how much faster— I just reacted and—"

Nok'to pauses, taking one shaky breath, then another before leaning in, pressing his face into Meiko's shoulder. He shouldn't do that; they weren't that close, not yet.

Yet he couldn't stop the way his hands shake, he couldn't steady the breaths starting to come too short, too fast. He couldn't— He couldn't—

#✧ ▌ in character : nok'to lyzej. #vierandancer #// ooc. LANNA I AM JUST. SCREAMIN'.

[nostalgicamerica]

True story:

Shortly after my folks moved to Northen Michigan I fell in love with fishing.  It is a love affair that still haunts me today as an old man.

Not far from the house we called home, there was a small pond.  If it was more than fifty yards wide I’d be shocked, and maybe it was twice as long.  One end of the green jewel was so overgrown with bull rushes and lily pads it was unfishable.  

On the other side was a dilapidated dock that someone had constructed years before.  It was falling apart and riddled with broken or missing boards, rusty nails, and it was perfect for 8 or 9 year old anglers.

A coffee can full of worms, a couple of rods outfitted with Zebco reels (which were like as not filled with 20 pound test line), and all the misplaced enthusiasm in the world were all we needed.

I can assure you the Pumpkin Seeds and Blue Gills and Sunfish we caught were not of any appreciable size - maybe the size of my palm which was considerably smaller than it is now.  It didn’t matter.  

There was joy in watching that bobber do a little dance before disappearing under the algae-covered surface.  There was joy in reeling in the line and just knowing the catch was going to be a record.  There was joy as boys learned to become men.

Who knows how many fish we caught.  The Good Lord knows I don’t, but by the time we headed home we had probably 75 - 100 fish in a five gallon bucket.

Don’t ask why we kept them, or what we were going to do with them.  I have no idea what our intent was now, and I sure didn’t then.  They were too small to eat and we didn’t know how to clean them.  I don’t recall being overly fond of eating fish anyway.

I do recall hearing Dad laughing through the window from the kitchen after he told us we’d have to clean them without his help.

What we did was fill a plastic wading pool with a hose and dump the impromptu school of fish into the heavily chlorinated water and then admired the flashing green and blue and red swarm splash around until dinner time.

I like to think we were just protecting them from possible predators - cats, maybe, or neighborhood kids, but who knows.  When Mom called us in to wash up for dinner, we slid the pool into the garage behind Mom’s car, and pulled down the door, confident our slowly dying fish were safe.

I don’t know if all 8 and 9 year-olds are brain dead, but my brother and I were.

The following morning dear old Mom and Dad piled us all into the camper and rolled out for a trip to some part of the American West.  Two weeks of seeing new things, eating bad food and puking, getting car sick and puking, and sleeping in sleeping bags and puking.  And sometimes, just puking for the sake of puking.

I don’t recall thinking even once of our pool full of fish the entire two weeks we were gone.

When the camper pulled into the driveway at home and the dirty, sweaty, stinking mess of us poured out of the tenement on wheels, Dad opened the garage door and darn near fell over from the nastiest stench I have ever smelled before or since.  It was so strong I could almost taste it.

After collecting himself, Dad made my brother and I look at the stew we had created.  The blues and greens and reds were no longer.  A thick, black and brown congealed soup filled the wading pool.  I like to think I imagined the occasional glazed eyeball staring blankly up at the rafters.  

I puked.

He made us drag the pool out of the garage and dump the mess in the field behind the house and clean the plastic shell with the hose.  No amount of hosing was going to salvage that pool and, to my knowledge, it was never again used to cool off toddlers or anything else for that matter.

Mom had been pretty stoic about the whole episode until she went to use her car.  The garage and everything in it smelled like the fetid bowels of hell.

My brother and I spent days cleaning and scrubbing the inside of her car.  Scouring and sprinkling baking soda and vacuuming and letting it air out helped a little, but I promise you I could still smell that horrid blackness two months later when Mom made Dad take it down and trade it in for something else.

-

I have fished some fantastic waters since that summer, and have caught some magnificent fish, most of which I return to the water.  

And yes, I still feel that same joy I felt as a boy watching my bobber.  

[bizkitsnuggets]

MEMORIES AND SKETCHES.

masterlist.

The teacher talked endlessly as [Y/N] drew small doodles of whale-sharks in her sketchbook mindlessly. She also drew two cigarette sticks purely because she has yet to find out Jotaro's favorite brand.

The girl of course, without realizing, drew a bluefin tuna. This time she didn't draw it just by itself. She added a person, a fisherman. The bluefin tuna was freshly caught and it reminded her of the first time she went on a fishing trip with her father.

She was seven years old at the time and it was late spring. That's usually the time where bluefin tunas become available in the sea of Japan. [Y/N] was the one who asked (forced) her father to take her on a fishing trip and he obviously had no choice but to oblige. He thought it'd be a good idea to show her just how bizarre the ocean world is.

So, there she was, in a boat with her father's crewmate. As they're doing all the work, [Y/N] sits on top of a barrel all cutely. It wasn't until a few moments later that one of her father's crewmates alerted them about some sort of big fish. The girl's father then ushered her to come see.

"Alright kiddo, don't get any closer. Just watch and learn." Her father told her before reeling his fishing rod into the water. Not long after, the rod started to wiggle, startling [Y/N] and her father. "This is it!" he shouted, his crewmate then took some sort of dart with a rope and when the fish was near the boat, he threw it. [Y/N]'s eyes widened as her dad pulled the fish onto the boat.

The fish was humongous, it was almost larger than her dad. "This is the fish they usually use in sushi, kid. It's called bluefin tuna." He extended his hand so the girl could take a better look at it. [Y/N] didn't know if it was the sun that made the fish look so majestic. Never in a million year would she expect herself to call a fish "majestic" but here she is. It was practically shining.

The girl could only look at it with her mouth open and her eyes wide. Her words were taken away from her and her muscles seemed to stop moving. It was the first time she'd seen a fish that big in real life. She would be lying if she said she wasn't a bit taken aback.

But after that, she never saw a bluefin tuna again. She'd only see it already sliced up and served as food whenever she went out to restaurants.

Well... not until one day, in her second year of Highschool, she had gone to the beach to take pictures of the sunset. She stood by the shore, holding her digital camera up and took a picture of the golden hues.

It was mesmerizing to say the least. Suddenly, she heard a flapping noise beside her. Her head turned to the sound, and to her surprise it was a stranded bluefin tuna. It was flipping around, struggling to get back in the water.

The girl backed up out of surprise. She didn't know what to do. She wanted to help, but she wasn't authorized for that and there was a possibility that she could end up hurting the fish. So, [Y/N] did what any sane person would do, she called to the fishermen that were nearby.

It didn't take long before they started running towards her. However, [Y/N] didn't know why, but she felt as if the fish was glowing. She didn't know if it was the radiant hues from the sun, but it was weirdly alluring.

Slowly, she put her hand up as the sound of the shutter camera went off. Suddenly, she felt the urge to look to her side. Again, she didn't know why. And there he was. The infamous troublemaker, Kujo Jotaro. He was a few feet away from her, looking at the sunset.

He was far away enough for him to not notice her but close enough that she could still make out his facial expression. His brows were furrowed, his face as if made of stone. He looked normal, he looked like he would every day at school. That same scowl, that same lidded eyes. But despite that, he looked remorseful.

Oh, after missing fifty days of attendance he's finally back. I wonder what happened.

That day was a core memory for [Y/N]. She never cared for Jotaro, she never spared him a glance. But that evening made her change her opinion on him a bit. He reminded her of the bluefin tuna which was stranded. Jotaro looked lost, stranded. Just like the fish.

"Ms. [L/N]? Ms. [L/N]?" The teacher called out to her. The girl looked up from her notebook, "yes sir?"

"What's so interesting about your notebook, Ms [L/N]? Mind sharing it to the class?" He interrogated her in a sharp tone.

"No sir, sorry."

#jotaro x you #jjba jotaro #jojo jotaro #jjba part 4 #jotaro x reader

[kariachi]

Who wants some Hollow Tone Pack and Plumbers stuffs, featuring Alan's dad?

Everyone's second favorite lava-dragon-person is not impressed.

~~

“So, the Hollow Tone Pack contains non-Osmosians.” For all Max was trying to treat this as a casual conversation, focused on his fishing, just an easy get-together between old coworkers, Kay wasn’t really playing the game. Max ran the local Plumbers now, he’d been running the local pack for years, and every deity knew they two of them had never been even kind of close. All this in mind, he was keeping his eyes locked on the Magister, one clawed hand dangling baited in the water like his dam had taught him.

“That isn’t anything new,” he pointed out. “We’ve had non-Osmosian members since before you knew we were here.” Fuck, when Packhead Miana had started the pack it had only been herself, her eldest, and her mate and sire, both humans.

“You could tell back then though,” Max pointed out. “You had Osmosians and you had their mates. Nowadays, we can’t tell who’s an Ossy and who you just let into the fold.” Keeping a lock on the strongly Osmosian shape he was using- there was no need to risk burning the boat down, at least not yet- Kay swung his tail once harshly against the side, watching Max stiffen as the vessel rocked from the impact.

“And it’s going to stay that way for as long as my clan runs the Pack.” The statement did nothing to ease Max’s tension, and it wasn’t intended to. Kay had been making a point to learn from his younger sire how to handle these matters and hold his ground. His dam hadn’t been a firm leader, a Packhead for lack of options rather than inclination, and between that and he and Kay both spending so long employed by the Plumbers, it had left the organization complacent. But this statement, it was threat and warning as much as promise. Miana had vanished, Kay’s dam had died, Gabe had died, but even if something were to happen to Kay there would be a preference to keep the position within his clan.

Kevin was just about old enough to take over- for all Kay would have preferred Chris- and Argit was already getting into politics. They were a combination the Plumbers would loathe to have in power and wouldn’t be able to remove without severe collateral damage and several burned bridges.

“If we don’t know who’s an Osmosian,” Max claimed, “we won’t know what rights and protections extend to whom.” Kay let out a huff of air, flashing sharp teeth.

“Guess you’ll just have to err on the side of caution then, won’t you.” Jostling his rod, Max frowned, glancing at him out the corner of his eye before looking away again.

“You know, it’d just going to make more trouble for the officers on patrol, if they have to guess what they’re dealing with…”

As if that was Kay’s problem. He’d stopped giving any sort of shit about any Plumber when they’d lost Gabe, and had been done with the organization long before that. Anymore his duty was to his family and his pack, anyone else was considered only out of his own good nature.

“Careful Max, or someone may think you’re trying to preempt an excuse for them.”

“Kay, you know I’d never-”

He knew his dam and his best friend had both died on the man’s watch. He knew that two separate chicks had been held illegally by the Plumbers, one occasion of which Max was very much complicit in. He knew that the Plumbers would back the Tennysons and the Tennysons would back each other even if bodies piled around them.

And now this.

As he waved his hand in the water, Kay made a mental note to call a meeting of Geilla Bohln’s community leaders. Seemed like it was about time they discussed whether or not the Plumbers’ were really worth having around…

#fanfic #max: we need to know who's in your pack and which are ossys #kay: no you do not

[ooofmylife]

To Grow Old

03. to keep you close.

Synopsis: Confessions under the rain ignite a new relationship.

Warnings: None.

[Xiao x F!Reader] 

[Previous] [Next]

Alatus didn’t know what kept bringing him to that isolated village, but before he realised, visiting you became a habit for him. Perhaps it was your carefreeness, that feeling of tranquillity he had around. In your company, he didn’t think about his duties as an adeptus or his painful karmic debt.

With time, he became less hesitant around you, less reserved. That day at the river, the first time you saw him laugh, it was when you saw him in a new light. 

Before then, you just thought of him as some grouchy adeptus. You never questioned why he didn’t laugh or smile. 

But even as a child, you always thought there was something sad about him,  secrets he hid deep within his soul. But you never pushed the subject, you thought that if he wanted to tell you, he would in his own time. 

So despite your impatient and curious nature, you decided to be patient with him. At that moment, you made it your personal mission to make him happy whenever you could. Your child mind didn’t exactly know how you would do it, but you really tried. 

Although it was rare, you didn’t miss the way his eyes lit up at the sight of almond tofu. Or the way he found your poor attempts at fishing to be both irritating and endearing. You’d notice that despite how he looked uninterested in whatever you decided to ramble about, you knew he was listening carefully to every word. 

Whenever he did smile, It wasn’t obvious, but you noticed. It surprised him whenever he would. It felt foreign to him, but he didn’t mind seeing your smile grow whenever he did.

The moments when he would smile or laugh, the times when it was just you two together, were the memories you treasured most from your childhood. 

Years had passed, and you become someone who he considered a friend. Though with time, change was expected. 

You were no longer that small girl who could barely reach his waist, that girl whose neck strained every time you tried to meet his eyes. You had aged, your body became more mature, as well as your personality to a degree. Though you never grew out of your bold and boisterous personality.

Even though he had no control over it, he couldn’t avoid that strange feeling he felt as he saw the changes come out before his eyes. 

Though what didn’t change, was the almond tofu offerings, you never stopped rushing up that hill with a basket that held a plate of almond tofu. Over time, you began to struggle less with the weight, not that it would matter much as the adeptus often carried it for you most of the way up.

You never grew out of fishing either, and because of how frequent you two would fish, it wasn’t a surprise when you developed a taste for it as well as a developed large array of fish based dishes. As a child, you never did enjoy the smell or taste of fish. You only gave it a chance because it gave an excuse to spend more time with your adeptus friend, and it seemed that fish was one of the other foods that the adeptus could stomach.

You also never learned to fish with a rod either, not that you minded. Over the years, Alatus had crafted you many more spears after your first one began to ware down. He considered it unusable at that point, and told you to discard it. You never did tell him that even though you stopped using it, you still kept it in a drawer, as it was the first gift you ever got from him. 

Though the most obvious constant, of course, was how Alatus stayed the same. How he looked exactly as the day you met him. 

The moment you became an adult, you dropped the ‘Mr’ from ‘Mr. Xiao’. Your excuse being that as an adult, you didn’t have to treat him with as much respect as before. You even joked about one day you would look older than him, and that he would have to start giving you honorifics. 

You never understood why he acted so angrily about the second part of your joke. He himself was even uncertain about why he acted that way, but he couldn’t deny a tightness in his chest at the thought. 

It was then when he realised he felt differently about you. He didn’t know when he began to feel that way. He just knew there was something beyond feelings of friendship and fondness. 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t had 'friends’ in the past, though he knew it wasn’t quite the same as his relationship with you. He didn’t go fishing with the other adeptus, nor did Morax ever give him almond tofu. 

None of them ever made the same effort to make him smile. None of them were happy at just seeing him happy. He didn’t blame them, he knew he wouldn't have done those things with them either. 

None did share the same bond he had with you.

With you, he wasn’t the ancient Adeptus Alatus. He wasn’t the last living Yaksha. He wasn’t a cruel monster who once served under an evil god. He was just Xiao. 

Perhaps that closeness was what made the thought of you growing old so bitter to him. 

---

It was your birthday, and Alatus had completely forgotten. 

You had come rushing up the hill of your regular meeting stop as you usually did. But he could see immediately that you were suspiciously happy that day, your grin even larger than usual as you looked excitedly at him.

“I didn’t have time to make you any tofu, I was busy doing my chores to get more time to see you! You’ll forgive me, right? How could you get mad at me on my birthday?” you teased. That last word made the adeptus freeze. 

Though you weren’t the type to get mad at not getting a gift, he knew you would be disappointed if he forgot. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he celebrated his own birthday before meeting you. He probably would've forgotten the date completely if you hadn’t intervened. 

When you were still a child, you pestered him relentlessly until he gave you his birthdate. He didn’t know what you intended to do with that knowledge, nor did he give it much thought. 

You could imagine his shock when on the day of his birthday, you showed up with an especially large serving of almond tofu as well as a small keychain of a qingxin flower. 

He thought back to when he once absentmindedly told you about his preference for the flowers and explained how infamously elusive they were, considering they’re only found on the highest stone peaks. 

“They’re really hard to find and really expensive, so I couldn’t buy one... Instead, I decided to make you one!” 

He could see that your hands had bandaged on from failed attempts of previous keychains. He found it baffling that you would put yourself through pain and make such an effort for him.

Living for so long made the idea of birthdays meaningless to him, but you made his important. And you were important to him.  

To cover his embarrassment, he coughed into his hand. “I don’t understand why you mortals care so much about such traditions, but happy birthday. Whatever you want, if it is in my abilities, I will do.” 

“Anything at all? Then you wouldn’t mind if I use your polearm to spear some fish, would you?”

And that was how you convinced Alatus to let you use his polearm, a weapon that he had fought with during the archon war, to impale fish. 

He never trusted you with it in the past, seeing as you got yourself hurt with a simple wooden spear, but he gave in when he saw how exuberant you looked.

You rushed down the hill, almost tripping over yourself.

“Hurry up, Xiao! I’ve been waiting years to do this.” you yelled, giggling to yourself as he walked behind you. 

However, before you could even reach the river, Alatus felt a droplet reach his head. He looked up to see the sky had darkened, blanketed with clouds. 

It seemed you also noticed, you also looked up in wonder at the sky. The rain didn’t stop its descent. He could see the beads of rain as they fell onto your face, and began to dampen your clothes. 

He immediately took you by the hand and dragged you away from the open sky. You could feel puddles of mud forming beneath you. 

You both took shelter in an abandoned home on the outskirts of the village. The house used to belong to a couple who moved away to Liyue Harbour many years ago. 

Not many were interested in moving to the countryside, so the house was left unoccupied and unattended. Its wooden walls had begun to mold. Heavy rain had made the house fall apart onto of itself. There was even an odd stench that reeked from the house. 

Regardless, despite the leaking rain from the roof, it kept you both try from the brewing storm. 

‘What a bother,’ he thought. The rain was no obstacle for him and he would’ve usually continued his adepts duties regardless of the weather.

But he knew that human bodies were easily susceptible to sickness. Once as a child, he had been unconcerned with you spending time with him in the rain. At the time, he didn’t understand the extent of the fragility of humans.

It lead to you being bedridden for a week with an awful cold. He was filled with guilt when he came to your home to see you lying with several blankets covering you, your skin flushed. Ever since, the Yaksha became overly overbearing about your health and safety. 

He knew you had no way of getting home dry while the storm was still in its infancy. Not to mention being alone in an abandoned house made you vulnerable. So for your sake, he kept you company. 

Some of the floorboards had been ripped off, leaving you both to stand on a chessboard of wet puddles that was sprawled across the floor. You stood near him, your sides almost meeting. You were so close, he could feel the heat radiating from your skin. There wasn’t much to do except stare out of a hollow window and look out into the rain. 

“You forgot it was my birthday, didn’t you.” 

He flinched. Behind your reckless personality, he’d forgotten how observant you were of him. You often took note of the small things he said, or his habits and quirks. 

“It’s alright. I’m not angry,” you told him softly, almost like a whisper. If not for your physical closeness, the rain might've drowned your voice. “You can have this back, I don’t think we can do anything in this weather.” 

You turned to him, holding out his polearm that you had clenched onto the entire time. 

“I’m sorry.” he didn’t know if he was apologising for the poor weather or his forgetfulness. You just smiled softly at him. 

He’d noticed that you weren’t as outspoken or jovial as of late. You always seemed distracted and in deep thought. He wanted to see you happy and carefree, but it felt inappropriate to ask. 

“Don’t apologies, it’s not your fault. But since we’re stuck here, could you hear me out for a moment? I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” 

He didn’t respond. Luckily, you had known him long enough to know his silence was a sign to continue.

“I want to thank you, Xiao. For staying always being with me all this time” 

He was frozen, unable to move. He certainly didn’t expect you to thank him. You were rarely so candid about this sort of thing. He couldn’t even bring himself to face you and stared out into the rain as you continued. 

“I was lonely growing up, the only people I had were you and granny. But when she left,” he could see tears forming in your eyes, and yet you still wore a small smile as you swallowed the urge to cry, “you were the only one who stayed by my side.” 

You paused for a moment, trying to hold back tears as you took a few breaths to calm yourself.

“So thank you for always humouring me, even when the things I said or did was really silly. Thank you for being patient with me whenever I was stubborn. Thank you for being my friend.” 

He took in your words, and held onto them, wishing he could tell you the same. 

“But I want to be honest with you. And the truth is I care about you more than just a friend would, I want to be by your side for as long as I’m able.”

Only the sound of pouring rain hitting the roof could match the heavy racing of Alatus’ heart beating uncontrollably. He could barely open his mouth or face you. 

The silence between you was interrupted by the sounds of rain slowing, and the clouds began to clear the sky. 

“You don’t have to say anything. I don’t expect an answer. But It looks like the rain stopped, so guess we can leave now.” 

You smiled at him for a moment before facing your head down as you turned away from him. 

“Wait.”

He grabbed onto you wrist, gently turning back to face him. Your eyes hesitantly stared back at him. You wanted to avert them, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. 

This friendship was just as important to you as it was to him. And if he stopped visiting you because of your new feelings, you didn’t know what you would do if you were all alone.

Alatus ignored the rapid pulsing in his chest and the heavy weight in his throat. He finally knew then what that feeling was he felt for you. The feeling that he failed to give a word to describe.

It was love. 

---

Despite living so long, the adeptus had very little experience when it came to relationships. He especially lacked knowledge in human courting customs. 

While Alatus knew he loved you, he didn’t how to love you. 

Luckily, your relationship didn’t change much, albeit awkward at times with regards to the newer romantic aspects. He was relieved that you seemed to go back to your carefree self, and how you smiled more. 

Though it became more apparent that your newfound relationship didn’t deter you from teasing him, even more than you did before. Though your quips and teasing remarks didn’t bother him, you quickly learned how flustered he became when jokingly teased him with physical affection.

Physical touch was new to the adeptus. It wasn’t as though he had someone who he’d be willing to share that sort of affection with, well, until he met you.

He was thankful that you never crossed the line and respected his boundaries. While you didn’t make him uncomfortable, he definitely needed time to adjust. 

Though he did like holding your hand. He couldn’t help but want to feel his hand around yours, the warmth was indescribable to him. It was a small gesture, but it was one he was fond of. While he didn’t often say it through words, it was his way of telling you he loved you. 

You even began to notice Alatus randomly grabbing your hand and just holding onto it. It even seemed like he was often unaware of what he was doing, and got flustered whenever you would point it out.

At some point, you just stopped pointing it out. Just so he could hold your hand for a bit longer.

---

There was a recent influx of monsters that roamed around human settlements. Alatus had been caught up in his adeptus duties that by the time he was done, it was already late in the night. He hadn’t expected you to still be awake. But there you were, lying on the grass under the tree. 

You wore nothing more than a thing brown robe. There was a light but icy breeze in the air that night. You were sound asleep, curled up, and shivering. 

He thought you were foolish to fall asleep out there that late at night. He even considered scolding you the next day, but he couldn’t stay mad. He scooped you up in his arms and began to carry you down the hill. He tried to walk steadily as to not disturb you, but It was not long before the movement woke you up.

“Xiao?” your eyes slowly widened. 

“It’s me, don’t worry. Go back to sleep.” he whispered to you softly. You hummed in response.

“I was waiting for you, I didn’t mean to fall asleep...” 

He didn’t answer you as the guilt built up inside of him. 

It wasn’t long before you both arrived at the house in the village that you now lived in alone. Though lately, it seemed to feel more like a home with the frequent visits Alatus made. 

Becoming an adult meant that you had more responsibilities, and was much busier with chores and working for an income. Alatus didn’t miss the bags under your eyes whenever he saw you.

He knew how exhausted you were, and yet you always made an effort to visit him and cook him almond tofu whenever you could. So, the adeptus decided to lift some of your burdens by coming to your home instead of having you go to him all the way from the village. 

He would also often brought you meat or wild vegetable he found while dealing with demons. And even though he found displeasure in interacting with humans, for you he would bring you groceries when he could. You’d occasionally see him sitting by your saving, counting the mora carefully to make sure he didn’t go over your budget. 

That wasn’t the only change he made.

Once you found an empty vase filled with a beautiful array of qingxin flowers. Every so often, you’d find they were replaced by a fresh set.

When you confronted Alatus about them, you could see his ears and cheeks glow red. He initially tried denying any involvement, but he became very bashful when you thanked him. 

You felt a warmth wash over you whenever you woke up to their fragrant smell. The sight reminded you of him, as though he was always with you. 

Knowing how busy he also was, and how tiresome his duties were, your heart swelled at the thought of him spending so much time into finding those elusive flowers. 

As Alatus opened the door into you house, he could see a stack of dirty dishes pilled into the sink. He could tell most carried the scent of almond tofu or fish, from the times when he would dine with you. 

The was those intimate dinners you shared were perhaps the closest thing you could consider being a date.

He lead you to your bedroom and gently laid you on your soft mattress. The moonlight shone through your window, acting as the only light source that illuminated your room. 

"Are you going to leave now?” you asked while yawning. 

“Not unless you want me to.”

“Then stay.” 

And so he sat crosslegged by your bed, leaning against your bedside table. Your room was small, like the rest of the house. There was barely any room to walk. It wasn’t comfortable, but he didn’t mind since he could stay close to you. His face almost level with yours.

“Xiao.” He looked up to your sleepy face that laid comfortably on your pillow. “You should also get some sleep.”

“I’ve told you before, I have no use for sleep.”

“Then you can just lay next to me for the night.”

He froze as he slowly comprehended the words you just said. 

“Are you sure?” 

You nodded reassuringly. He hesitantly lifted the blanket before laying beside you. He shuffled for a moment, trying to find a comfortable position. 

When he did, he looked at you and saw your eyes struggling to stay open. He sighed.

“You should go to sleep. I’ll stay by your side the whole night, and I’ll be here when you wake up.” he told you tenderly.

“You promise?”

“If you’re ever alone and need me. Just call me by the name you gave me, Xiao, and I’ll be there.” 

He was relieved when you finally closed your eyes and breathing began to slow down. It was the first time you were so close to him. Although your bodies didn’t touch, your face was so close to his, that he could feel small puffs of air reach his face.

It was rare for him to see you so serene, admittedly strange considering your personality. Your face looked so youthful and calm, he wanted to engrain that moment into his memory.

Although the Yaksha often had feelings of tiredness. Sleep was unnatural to him and he found no comfort in it. And yet with you, he felt relaxed. All of his burdens disappears when he was with you. 

As he was the one who defended the people of Liyue from monsters, you were the one to kept his demons away. You were his fortress that kept him sane from the karmic debt. 

He didn’t know when was the last time he slept, perhaps centuries ago, but it didn’t matter. His fingertips danced across your head, as he pulled back a loose strand of hair. His breath hitched when your eyes twitched slightly, before going back to a restful bliss. 

He didn’t know if he was allowed to love you, to be loved, and to be so happy. He buried those insecurities deep inside of him as shut his eyes and felt his mind drift off. 

That night he did dream. He dreamt of growing old with you, of being human.

Word Count: 3,679

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