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voidcat · 7 months

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– the moon will sing

characters: astarion, human bard mc (gn pronouns used)

notes & genre: slight angst, implied future mcd & hinted immortal/mortal relationship. the mc is originally my dnd character but there is no specific description of name, appearance or past (save for the family crest, implied nobility) so you can pretend this is x tav or x reader. lowkey inspired by a the crane wives song.

it takes a moment to look back, like a step taken a tad too late; not enough to create a great distance but one enough to make one stumble on the ground.

in the small yet grand distance, astarion watches as cheers and joy fill the air once more, mimicking those nights before, in taverns, under the stars, all spent celebrating, rejoicing with glory and gratitude; all heroic feats and gestures he does not care to– nor wish to understand.

another adventure comes to an end, one step closer to the end, the destination, the next step of the rest of their lives until they find themselves at a crossroads.

one part of astarion cannot wait for that day to come, the one that wishes to escape, to avoid the burning rays of sunlight that only intensify each passing minute, each day he finds himself stuck deeper than he already has, struggling more and more to break those ties which are yet to be formed and binding completely.

better to rip the sticky, bloody bandages off than to take it easy– just suck up the pain that comes with a loss of recent constants in his life, and grow into his newly lonely routine of not depending on anyone.

all good logic, all bright ideas, astarion finds himself giving the little-him in his mind a pat on the back; only for the idea to come to halt, the unspoken words stuck in his throat as you turn in your spot, meters, meters away from him, spot his distant figure with those eyes and send a warm smile his way.

maybe this is another plan that has already failed before he could realize, astarion begins to wonder, oh he is so, so fucked– especially when all it takes now is a smile, a genuine one that reaches your eyes and shines warm like the sun, for him to be rendered speechless and immobile.

your smile falters for a second when you don't receive the usual astarion treatment, be it a wink, a charming smile or an all-knowing smirk decorating his smug face with a raised eyebrow that seems to say "cannot keep your eyes off me, can you now darling?"

one step taken a tad too late but astarion is never one to stumble over his feet, so with a roll of eyes and smirk returning to his lips, he tilts his head to the side in a questioning manner– to which, you reply by raising the bottle you've been holding, as if to say "hey, this time the wine is not that bad actually."

seeing him nod, and with too many people surrounding and asking for your attention, you find yourself having to divert your eyes away from him, as the people seem to chant for something from you, most likely another round of recounting your latest heroic victory, astarion thinks.

soon the sound of strings vibrating fills the air with faint first few notes of music.

of course, a celebration is not complete until there is music, no matter what time of the day it is or how tired everyone is. drunkards, raspy voices and dry throats all join together, offering back vocals to the lucky bard of the night– or the day; with how busy the hours have been passing, astarion realizes he is at a loss of time.

another glance stolen at you, and the light surrounding you like a halo certainly does not help his case.

golden, like the branches of your family crest, it is no wonder the moon shines bright above everyone, reflecting off the light you provide; brightening the world for all to see, to walk, breathe, make it all easier to live.

he spots shadowheart by some trees, enjoying her drink alone, gale and wyll speaking with people, probably giving them some answers they so desperately needed. his eyes roam the grounds and find each member of their little group, all too endorsed in whatever it is they are doing; yet one thing in common– a sense of relief, rejoice, change; the traces of especially the latter is out in the open for careful eyes, or just eyes who have seen and known them long enough.

he wonders for a moment if the same can be said for him, but he knows better, that it has already happened.

the sound of music gets louder and soon suppresses the irregular chatter spread around.

the tune sounding too familiar, astarion makes the mistake of looking at the source and being blinded as a result.

because, of course it would be you with your adorable little lute, clapped on the back by everyone 'just one song, then, o'mighty bard, please!' and never one to miss such moments, you would go up in your imaginary stage and pick the one song you were sure to draw his attention, as if you don't do that enough with your presence already.

your eyes already locked on him, you do your little trick where you pretend your attention is divided equally, as if your eyes are roaming the crowd, committing every face you see to your memory when your sole focus is on him, as he is drawn to you.

astarion knows, it is utterly foolish and even a little dangerous of him to think like this, but he fears what is to come by the end of your noble and enthralling series of journeys, when your effect on him has been this grand already.

not a fun thought to entertain, certainly not at a joyous time such as this one, were it not for your current occupation, he is positive you'd have walked all the way back to him to give him a good smack on the arm, or maybe a fisk on his forehead, or a knock on his skull along with a scolding to inform he got quite the thick skull if he is sulking like this at a time like that.

is it the fear of what has become of him, or what is to come when too much time passes, he is uncertain. but it must be another way of gods' mocking him, and cursing you perhaps– of all those faces and races, why did it have to be a human, that selfish part of him hisses. all those elves in the bloodline and you just had to be fully human, didn't you? giving him a taste of heaven, only for it to be cut short.

it was supposed to be moths with short lifespans, the cycle of the moon; not the sun, with all its grace and sanctity.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #original character #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #bg3 astarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 x you #bg3 drabble #astarion drabble #bg3 angst #bg3 x tav #astarion x mc #astarion angst #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #gender neutral character

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forever-fixating · 2 months

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Some Sentences Monday?

Tagged by the ever-awesome @priincebutt

Okay, so I know this is meant for Sundays, but ya boi was destroyed from work and completely overstimulated so I had nothing in the tank. But after hibernating most of today, I am emerging ready to share a new project I have in the works. Getting such amazing response for Love on the Menu has really invigorated my desire to work, and now my mind is running with ideas. I've been toying with the idea of writing a historical AU for a while now, so allow me to introduce:

I don't have an official summary for it yet, but to overhype myself, this story has everything: childhood sweethearts separated by tragedy, rivaling nations full of political intrigue, magick because I've been dying to write a fantasy AU as well so por que no los dos, a tournament where the grand prize of the joust is the hand in marriage of our sweet Henry, a cliffhanger that I am so excited to write but that I know will enrage everyone that reads it...get ready, yall!

Below the cut is a massively long teaser. Forgive the roughness of it. I am just so geeked to share it, but just know I'll be working on it until it's ready. Enjoy! (If you'd like a soundtrack for this, might I suggest Surrender by Natalie Taylor?)

The air was perfumed with the scent of springtime blossoms. Beneath the shade of a great willow tree were two young lovers. One was flaxen-haired, his ivory skin rosy from the sun and littered with constellations of freckles. His body and limbs were slender and knobbly, still in that awkward phase between boy and man. His light blue eyes studied his companion with unguarded adoration. The other young man was shorter in stature, but rigorous exercise had already defined his physique. Atop his head was an untamed mass of sable curls, still wet from swimming. His unblemished skin gleamed a rich russet shade that his fairer companion couldn't stop touching. The pair had completed their lessons for the day and decided to take a refreshing dip in the lake near their school. They were naked, hidden among the willow branches, like two woodland nymphs from a fable and not two princes from separate nations. The dark-haired boy Alex lifted his lover Henry's hand and kissed the signet ring on his pinkie finger. The ring's face held not a family crest but their initials. A promise.

"When we are married-"

"You mustn't say such things!" Henry laughed even as his stomach fluttered at the very prospect. "It isn't proper."

Alex leaned down to press a kiss against rose-petal lips. "A man must state his intentions plainly, and mine are to marry you, cariño."

"You are not yet seventeen, cariad," Henry said as Alex trailed kisses along his jaw and neck. In this sacred space, it was easy to get lost in the rose-tinted fantasy of their future together. He tangled his fingers in Alex's curls, tugging at the roots. "Our parents would say it is unwise to speak of such things at our age."

"Why," Alex hissed as he climbed over Henry's body, "are you mentioning our parents when I am trying to ravish you?"

Henry arched his body into that of his beloved, gasping, "You have ravished me twice already this afternoon. Is that not enough?"

"Never."

As the twin suns began their steady descents into the horizons, the young lovers got dressed and made their way back to the school. Fireflies glowed in hues of pink, orange, and yellow as the pair discussed their plans for the following day. Given their disheveled states of dress, they were wary of running into Headmistress Beaufort or one of their professors as they made their way back to their dormitory. Unfortunately, fate was not on their side, and they rounded a corner and nearly crashed into Professor Wagner. He was a squat toad of a man who taught history and hated Alex for his frequent interruptions during lessons. His face held a perpetual bitter expression, as though he had just sucked on an unripen lemon. He berated them for looking and acting beneath their station and gave them detention for the following fortnight working in the stables with Gerald the groundskeeper. (It wasn't the punishment the man thought it was. They enjoyed Gerald's company, especially when he was joined by Julian, the music professor. Henry was convinced they were in love, but Alex said he was delusional.)

They scrambled upstairs to their shared dorm room to change. Dinner was already in progress when they joined their social set in the dining hall. Alex's older sister June was discussing a novel with Henry's twin sister Beatrice while their best friends Percy and Nora played cards. As Henry took his spot between Bea and Pez, his sister poked at the poorly concealed love mark Alex had gifted him earlier and teased, "My dear brother, it would appear you have been mauled by pixies. Should we alert Gerald of a possible infestation?"

Alex, seated across from him between June and Nora, snorted into his goblet, and Henry kicked his skin beneath the table. Giving his sister a tight smile that told her he knew exactly at what she was playing, he said defensively, "It was only a single, annoying pixie. Hardly cause for alarm."

"Annoying?" Henry's stomach filled with regret the moment the words left his mouth at Alex's fallen expression. He looked away from Henry. "Perhaps the pixie will direct their attention elsewhere if they are such a nuisance."

Alex would not meet his eye for the remainder of the meal. Once Headmistress Beaufort dismissed the students for the evening, Alex was up like a shot. Henry felt the disapproval of their friends and loved ones as he stood and trailed after Alex like a lovesick puppy. When Henry reached the common room of their dormitory, he found Alex chatting with Liam, the son of a nobleman from his home country. While he knew there was no danger of them forming an attachment, jealousy sparked in his chest, hot and ugly. He strode over to them and said, "Alex, I wish to speak with you."

Alex's expression was that of cool indifference. "Yes?"

Ignoring Liam and tugging on Alex's arm, Henry insisted, "In private."

Alex rolled his eyes but stood, shoving past Henry to their dorm room. Henry didn't look at Liam but hurried after Alex. He passed some of their classmates roughhousing in the hallway. Alex's ire was quick to be provoked, but Henry hoped he could dampen it with gentle words of apology and a gift. Their dorm room was on the far end of the hallway to the right. When Henry entered, Alex was sitting on the window seal. Henry closed the door.

"Cariad-"

"You would be wise not to call me that right now," Alex snapped, not looking at him.

Henry bit his bottom lip. Pushing away from the door, he crossed the cross to retrieve a parcel he received earlier that day from his bedside table. Though he protested Alex's pure words down by the lake, Henry's heart ached at the very thought that Alex thought himself alone in this affection. Henry was naturally cautious when it came to matters of the heart. While his parents had a romance for the bards to write neverending songs about and supported his inclinations, his grandmother Queen Mary still held final sway over who her grandchildren would marry. While Alex's country was a rising power, full of untapped resources and potential, Mary looked down her nose at their progressive politics and rising status among the nations. But despite the perceived impossibility of their future together, Henry found himself desperately in love with Alex all the time.

Henry knelt in front of his wounded lover and placed the parcel in his lap. Alex finally looked at him before glancing down and asking, "What is this?"

"An apology and response."

Alex picked it up and tore away the plain brown paper. Revealed was a red velvet bag. Henry's heart raced as Alex opened the bag and pulled out a small golden key on a silver chain. The bow of the key, intertwined in delicate filigree, was their initials, much like the ring that rested on Henry's hand.

As Alex studied it, Henry said, "My words earlier were foolish and hurtful. The truth is that I am afraid of the end of term. Things as they are now seem too perfect and golden. I...I fear once we are parted, reality will make you realize I am not worthy, that you will find someone more suitable for-"

"You believe me to be easily swayed?" Alex snapped. Henry looked up to see frustration and sadness in his eyes. He reached down to yank Henry's hand that held the signet ring to eye level. "Is this not proof enough of my love for you? Is it not enough that I say I love you? If this is an apology, it is a very poor one, Henry."

Henry climbed on the window seal with Alex, desperate to be understood, tears in his eyes. "It is an explanation. I am scared, Alex. I know we are young, but I know in my heart I will never feel for another what I feel for you. But when my grandmother finds out about us, she will stop at nothing to keep us apart. Does that challenge not give you pause?"

"Cariño," Alex whispered, cupping Henry's face, the necklace dangling from his fingers, "I would slay a thousand dragons, cross the Great Salt Desert, and brave the bitterest frozen peaks if that's what it took to make you mine. You may fear your grandmother, but I do not. There is no one else for me but you."

Henry took the chain from Alex's hand and placed it around his neck. Pressing his hand over the key, Henry said, "As you are for me. I want to be brave like you. I want you to know you are not alone. This key is a symbolic gesture, the key to my heart. My promise to be true."

Two young lovers, bathed in moonlight and their love for one another, making a vow as true as the gods had ever heard. Perhaps it was their youth that gave them pause, or the sincerity in which the vows were given. Whatever it was, the gods took note and, in their mercurial way, decided to put that devotion to the test.

The skies were clear that night as Alex and Henry clung to each other, but they could not see the storm brewing on the distant horizon. A challenge.

Tagging @dragonflylady77 @onthewaytosomewhere @theplayfulfairy and anyone else who scribbles and is interested.

#yall are not ready #a tournament for his heart #some sentence sunday #tagging game #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #rwrb #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #WIP

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yazzydream · 8 months

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I counted 14 mon (crest) designed for the movie.

With the Inumaki mon, that's 15 that are (kinda~) canon.

Here are some possible mon designs for the Three Great Families:

Gojo clan

Sugawara no Michizane, who the Gojo are descendants of, doesn't have a mon I can find in particular. Mon didn't really become a thing until the mid-Heian period, but he is associated with the plum blossom mon. They're used for Tenmagu shrines (dedicated to the deification of Michizane) since it's believed he loved plum blossoms.

Then there's this crest of the real life Gojo clan who are descendants of Michizane. A triple pine tree with branches.

Zen'in clan

First, I need to explain why Taira no Masakado is the Three Vengeful Spirit the Zen'in are descendants of. Basically, it stems from the saying, "If you are not from the Zen'in clan, you are not a jujutsu sorcerer. If you are not a jujutsu sorcerer, you are not human." Which is something Nishimiya quotes. That quote is actually based on, "If you are not a Heike, you are not human." The Heike is referring to the Taira clan, which Masakado was a part of. Ok, now that I've got my explanation out of the way...

The swallowtail butterfly is the Taira clan's mon. I like how it even looks a bit like (respectfully) a curse or shikigami. lol.

Kamo clan

That leaves Emperor Sutoku as the last of the Three Great Vengeful Spirits. As Emperor, you'd expect Sutoku's mon to be the Imperial Seal of Japan, a 16-petalled chrysanthemum.

But that wasn't adopted until 1183, whereas Sutoku reigned from February 25, 1123–January 5, 1142. I would've been iffy about a family adopting the imperial family's crest during the Heian period anyway. Seems kinda blasphemous. lol. But maybe if it's a modified version of it? Actually, as long as it's not 16-petals, I think it's quite possible to use it as a family crest.

#idk why i got so into this #i just wanted a clear screenshot of the sigils shown in the movie #and look where it got me #movie 0 #jujutsu kaisen #jjk meta #my jjk #gojo satoru #kamo clan #zenin clan #gojo clan #let's try to be more bloggy shall we #jjkdaily

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camlannpod · 2 months

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Character Playlist: Peredur Green

Happy off-week! We'll all pretend this one was on time. If you're new, hi! Since Camlann releases every two weeks, on the off weeks I'm posting these breakdowns of the character playlists. You can find Morgan's here and Dai's here.

This week it's time for our favourite knight, Peredur!

Brother by The Brilliance

When I look into the face Of my enemy I see my brother I see my brother

Perry's big problem is that they're a knight. And they love the other knights. They feel a siblinghood with them which is incredibly hard for them to ignore. The knights are their family, their home, their story - the place they're meant to be. But it's a family that won't accept them as they are. Perry so badly wants the knights to change their mind.

2. Battle Cry by The Family Crest

Oh, my love, my heart don't cry We were born to die But for this moment, for all time Oh, I will fight for you I will die for you

Perry's a knight! They very much see it as their duty to fight and die to protect the people they love. Right now, that especially means Morgan and Dai, who they've been travelling with since their escape from the Knights. Perry will risk life and limb to keep them safe. (This song is also about Dai. A lot of these songs are about how Perry feels about Dai)

3. Cypress Queen by The Last Bison

On and over the northwest river We go trusting in the Cypress Queen She'll keep us afloat We retreat into our fortress gold To a sanctuary in the trees That i call home

I'm 90% sure this song is about a boat? But I took it literally - this is Perry's feelings about Guinevere, or Shújūn - a woman who they certainly do not trust for us, but to whom they are drawn by their story and with whom they, deep down, have a lot of sympathy. Perry knows exactly what it's like to have a major role in someone else's narrative.

4. See You Through My Eyes by The Head and The Heart

Until you learn to love yourself The door is locked to someone else I'm just as damaged as you are

Perry is just as traumatised by the apocalypse as everyone else, they're just better at hiding it. In general their approach toward their emotions is to pack them up tightly in a box and pretend they're not happening, which is obviously wildly unhealthy. Perry spends so much of their time inspired by and loving their friends, especially Morgan and Dai, but they never open up when they need to and trust them with the more 'difficult' parts of themself.

5. Carry by Branches

I'm feeling like Moses and my arms are getting heavy Brother, would you come and lift them up for me?

Perry has been single handedly carrying Morgan and Dai through the apocalypse. They would never admit it, but this is exhausting, and they desperately need a break. Unfortunately for them, they live in a riddle-twisted landscape full of magic and monsters, so they can never truly relax. They need to stop and they can't, and sometimes they think hey, if they lost the next battle at least they wouldn't have to get up and fight another one.

6. House a Habit by We Are The Guests

Let's make this house a habit Let's make the sun shine

Partly because Perry is Permanently Exhausted, they very badly want to turn the cottage into a real, meaningful home base that feels safe. Perry has always been the kind of person to put down roots, and the last six months of trekking back and forth across Britain has really worn them down. They desperately want this place to be a real home.

7. Selkie-Boy by Spell Songs, Julie Fowlis

Go now, Selkie-Boy, swim from the shore Rinse your ears clean of human chatter And empty your bones of heather and moor And your mind of human matter

Honestly, Dai fascinates Perry. He is completely unlike them in almost every way and they find that beautiful and addictive. They've always felt that there was something ethereal about him and his ability to find hope and love in even the darkest places. Perry would follow Dai anywhere.

8. Church Key by Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Have you gone farther looking in the dark For a fire that can keep you warm Wander off the trail, lose track of all the details Till we make it to our door, where we can sleep

Oh Perry wants answers. The Cataclysm is an apocalypse of contradictions and mysteries and Perry so very badly wants to untangle the cat's cradle of stories in which they are caught. They are also exactly the kind of obsessive academic who will wear themself thin looking for the information they seek. Eventually, they just need to rest.

9. We Will All Be Changed by Seryn

We can write with ink and pen But we will sew with seeds instead Starting with words we've said And we will all be changed

The song on every main character playlist! For Perry, the apocalypse is a lesson in moving from theory to applied learning - from writing about flowers to planting seeds in the soil. It's fieldwork! In more ways than one, and in more ways than one, it's good for them, despite everything.

#peredur green #camlann #camlann podcast #peredur #Spotify

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happyk44 · 9 months

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Percy smiling at and waving goodbye to Nico at the end of the summer. The Hades cabin is spooky as hell but Nico seems happy. Some kids are calling him over. Percy is thrilled to know Nico is finally somewhere safe. Sure, the Underworld is probably good for him, more than any other person, certainly more than Percy, but it's nice to see him smiling, socializing with living mortal people, other kids his age.

So Percy leaves in the back of Paul's car, the phantom of Annabeth's kiss on his cheek, a wooden ring still clenched into his hands by Grover, and the image of Nico chasing after a few kids calling out to him.

All is good.

For two weeks.

Then he dreams. He dreams of a dark haired girl, dressed up like Victorian newsboy, glittering silver sword at her side. The moon is high. It casts an eerie hue on her tanned skin. Her eyes almost seem to glow in the darkness, like a bioluminescent fish deep below the water. Even the lines of her skin almost glow. Like she's something other than human.

Water rushes around Percy's feet. He looks down, and suddenly he's on a tree branch, staring down at the scene before him. The trees are filled with other people, young children and nymphs, and a rushing boy flies up to chuck another seven year old into the leaves.

The water is building.

"Why can't you stop her?" somewhere whispers as the boy pulls himself into the branches.

The water crests high as the girl miles below pulls to a stop in from a ring of cabins. The water looms, threatening.

"Have you ever tried to stop a hurricane?" the boy hisses back.

And the water drops.

Percy awakes with the taste of blood on his mouth and the sound of drowning screams, trapped behind doors, and the sense of violent furious rage tumbling wildly with the despair from loss.

Loss.

They killed my friend, he thinks, blearily. I was gone, and they killed her.

He breathes shallowly, trying to find focus. His friend? No. His friends were fine. All of them - Annabeth, Grover, Nico-

Brown eyes catch his mind, a quiet feminine laugh. Then a blistering sense of loss, despair. Anger. Standing alone at an unmarked grave.

No, he thinks.

He's up before he can even fully process what he's doing, already shoving open the window and calling out for Mrs. O'Leary. The shadows swallow them both up and he lands in the middle of trees.

It's dark. He can barely see.

But he hears it. A quiet groan. He slides of Mrs. O'Leary's back and runs to the sound.

Nico is bleeding. His skin is ghostly white. His eyes won't focus. Instinct hits Percy hard. Water droplets pull off grass, out of thin air, and smooth gingerly over the deep claw marks across his thin chest. Monster dust sits nearby, along with his obsidian sword. It's weakly held in his outstretched hand.

How do you create blood? Percy thinks as he holds his hands over the last healing wound. The infirmary isn't very far, but mistrust encaptures him. The drips of Nico's blood clung to his hands begins to spread, thicker, wetter. It sloughs against the water shimmering against his chest. It sinks inwards.

Nico coughs weakly, but breathes. His fingers twitch.

Who, who, who? Percy thinks. Why, why, why?

Does it matter? a voice asks him from the back of his mind. There's blood in the water. Nico's eyes flutter as colour comes back to his cheeks. It's time to eat.

Water trickles around his ankles. Mrs. O'Leary yelps nervously behind him as it builds and builds. Percy hefts Nico into his arms, cradling him close as he can. As he walks towards the cabins, the water follows, rising and rising until its past his head.

He emerges from between the trees. Water tickles their leaves. Nico's hair floats. Water floods past him, pooling around the cabins. Slowly he approaches the Athena Cabin, visualizing Annabeth's form in his mind's eye.

No one will hurt her. No one will hurt Grover. No one will hurt Nico.

His family can't drown.

How do you stop a hurricane? Percy thinks as water builds higher and higher, pressing against doors and windows. It encircles each cabin, ready to pour in. Ready to drown.

Nico finally stirs awake and blinks weakly up at him. Confusion eclipses his face. Percy smiles kindly at him, stroking one pale cheek with his thumb, then gazes back towards the cabins before him.

Windows shatter and people scream.

You don't.

#happy talks pjo #nico di angelo #percy jackson #:)#murder murder murder murder #my writing #pjo fanfic #my fanfic

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dread-red-queen · 2 days

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🚫 Do not re-upload/edit my shots/art without my permission🚫

Raven & Goro's Japanese Wedding

the 1st screenshot is them at the Temizuya where they cleanse there hands and mouth to purify themselves

I couldn't figure out how to get a shot of them offering the Sakaki (this is offering a branch from the sacred tree to the gods usually food and Saki are also offered)

I also couldn't get a shot of them during the Sansankudo

Sake drinking or sansankudo = Three three nine times is the literal translation of sansankudo. An integral part of a Shinto wedding ceremony involving drinking sake The physical act involves three cups, one small, one medium and one larger. The sake is poured from a special vessel that looks like a teapot. Each cup is poured in three increments. The groom sips three times from the small cup first, the bride follows. The bride then sips from the medium cup three times and the groom follows.

then there vows and of course Goro kissing his new bride though that bit I added myself I'm unsure if they kiss there brides like in a western wedding.

"Hai, Chikaimasu." = I promise (basicaly this is like saying I do) this is in reference to there wedding vows.

Ravens kimono would be referred to as a shiromuku (this is a pure white silk kimono) and Goro's that I photoshopped is referred to as a Montsuki (this is a formal black kimono with white inner layers usually 5 layers in total, the family crest on his shoulders is the Kanji for Bamboo (Takemura) and the Kanji for Feather nestled inside representing Raven. I took some liberty here, as they decided to make there own family crest. normally this crest would of been Goro's family crest but in my story I've gone with him not having a family crest due to coming from a poor background and Raven suggesting they make there own, in a sweet moment between them

please if I have got anything wrong let me know, I did alot of research into tradition Japanese weddings so if I have misinterpreted or got something the wrong way round or translated anything wrong do correct me in the comments

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tired-reader-writer · 25 days

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A birthday gift for my dear friend @akatsukitrash , a fanart of his OC Senju Akemi with her cousin Tsunade, based on the eighth chapter of their fic Far Beyond The Woods of Dawn. It is a beautifully written fic with exceptional characterization, fascinating worldbuilding, and immersive writing. I absolutely adore it.

The chapter depicts a ceremony to bond a Mokuton wielder to their guardian. There's a lot of symbolism in the chapter itself, but I ended up adding my own in this fanart 👀

The descriptions of their ceremonial clothing in the fic is as follows:

“Tsunade looks at herself in the mirror, fixing invisible wrinkles in her simple, light green kimono.”

“Akemi enters and is guided by a nun to the pillow in front of Tsunade. She’s paler than normal, wearing a pure white kimono. Their clothes have to match their chakra colours. It’s tradition.”

“Kiyomi kneels beside [Akemi] and caresses her hair, nicely done into a bun held by an ornamental hairpin.”

I first decided to give Akemi a hairpin adorned with ginkgo leaves, as its name in my native tongue, “tree from the dawn of the world”, immediately reminded me of Akemi as a character.

As for the other reasons I have chosen ginkgo:

“In Asia, the ginkgo is considered a holy tree and is often found near temples and other places of worship. In Buddhism, Taoism and in the teachings of Confucius, the tree has acquired great symbolic significance, representing long life, vitality, and hope. In China, the ginkgo tree is also called "Buddha's fingernail".”

“Ginkgos, like cedars, are resilient survivors. They have deep roots and can tolerate adverse conditions, including wind, pollution, and fire. Notably, these trees withstood the 1923 Kanto earthquake and even survived an atomic blast, the 1945 atomic bomb on Hiroshima, even when located less than 1½ miles from the epicenter. Despite scorched bark, stripped branches, and the destruction of a nearby temple, the ginkgo trees remarkably survived and leafed out the following spring.”

“For centuries the ginkgo tree and leaves have been seen as a symbol of peace and hope, aiding to its continued presence throughout human history.”

“Another powerful example of the importance of the ginkgo tree as a symbol for hope, is the survival of the gingko tree, known as the "bearer of hope" that survived the bombing in Hiroshima. This tree is regarded as a symbol of hope, and prayers for peace and healthfulness have been engraved into its bark.”

The Senju are Buddhist in the fic, drawing from the Buddhist imagery surrounding them in canon, and ginkgo leaves just felt appropriate for that. I shan't talk much of Akemi herself since I don't want to spoil the future arcs and chapters Idir has planned, but in my opinion... yeah. The ginkgo is very suited for Akemi in particular.

I will get to the camellia in her hair, in both their hair, later.

I also decided to give Akemi a chihaya to wear over her kimono— chihaya tend to be worn by Shinto priestesses during religious ceremonies— and in Japan there is much incorporation and syncretism between Buddhism and the Shinto faith. A variant of chihaya (or perhaps chihaya is a variant of it) was apparently worn in the Heian court by nobility, and was called “kariginu”.

And then there is the wisteria ornament in Tsunade's hair.

“The wisteria is associated with youth, love, perseverance, immortality. The Japanese name for wisteria, "fuji" can also mean "immortality" [fu: no, lacking + ji/shi: death] and Mt. Fuji's name is also tied to immortality.”

“The wisteria also features a lot on Japanese family crests too, and the "Fujiwara" were a very prominent and powerful family in the history of Japan who kept marrying their daughters into the imperial family.”

Considering Tsunade's prowess with healing, her youth and vitality, the wisteria seemed like a good fit to her. The wisteria hair ornaments I've seen typically have two colours, purple and white, but I decided to just keep it white because it's like Tsunade has a piece of Akemi in her hair, and Akemi has a piece of Tsunade in her hair, and they both have matching camellias in their hair.

It's very neat, imo.

And then! We get to the camellias.

The tsubaki/camellia symbolize gods and the divine, and apparently used in religious rituals though I don't know how. They are offerings to the gods, they're sacred, they also symbolize faithfulness and longevity though they also symbolize a noble death (associated w the samurai) because rather than losing petals apparently the entire blossom just falls off the stem, and which is why it's a terrible idea to give a sick person a camellia as a gift because the flower beheads itself, essentially.

Those who awaken the Mokuton among the Senju are thought to be sacred, closer to Buddha and the gods, and the camellias felt like a good way to pay homage to that.

Anyways, Idir, I hope you like my gift!

Some close-ups:

#rotten egg's shitty art #naruto #naruto fanfiction #naruto oc #naruto fic #senju akemi #senju akemi (oc)#akemi senju #akemi senju (oc)#tsunade #senju tsunade #tsunade senju #far beyond the woods of dawn #drag my dark into the dawn

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imnotoverlyobsessive · 6 months

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Don’t Blame My English Blood On This American Heartache

Chapter One: I Want To Break Free

AO3 info prologue one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve

All my work is 18+.

Try to color inside their lines; try to live a life by design. I just wanna be myself. I can’t be someone else.- ONE OK ROCK, Stand Out Fit In

July, 1984

Santa Cruz Mountains, Northern California

Sera’s blue animal—an owl—flew around the clearing, and she laughed with amusement. She’d been able to produce one for years now, but successfully performing a spell, especially a complex one, was always gratifying.

Taana’s horse chased the owl, and the two girls laughed, leaning back against the trunk of an ancient redwood.

“Have you tried talking to your parents about it again?”

Sera fixed her friend with a side-eyed look. “Of course not. My mom damn near had a heart attack when I wanted to go as a witch for Halloween last year, and I was mostly joking. Y’know, ‘woo, I’m about to be eighteen, it’s witch year!’ kinda thing.” Sera sighed, leaning her head back against the tree trunk, ignoring the way her curls snagged on the bark. “Any mention of witches or magic, she freaks.”

“What about your dad?”

“Same thing.” Sera sighed again, glancing up at the setting sun. “They’ll expect me home for dinner soon. I’d better go.”

“You good to relocate back?”

Sera nodded, standing up and brushing herself off.

With a wave of her hand, her owl dissipated like smoke on the breeze.

“See ya later, Ta,” she said with a smile over her shoulder.

“Later,” her friend returned.

Then, Sera shut her eyes, picturing the space beneath her house, which was raised off the ground via a deck. Then, with a crack!, she found herself exactly where she’d pictured herself.

She’d vomited the first time she’d relocated, but by now, she was used to the sensation of the displacement of her body as she was transported somewhere else.

She crunched through the bush and out from under the house, making her way up to the deck.

A soft hooting sounded from a tree above her, and when Sera glanced up at the owl, she was surprised to see that it was one she’d never encountered before. Sera had been all around the Bay Area, particularly the Santa Cruz mountains, but she’d never seen such an owl before. It was probably of average size for such a bird, perhaps a bit over a foot in height with speckled brown feathers and jarring pitch black eyes.

The most startling thing about the owl, however, was the fact that in its beak, it was holding what appeared to be a piece of paper.

Sera blinked at it in astonishment as it descended from the branch and landed on the railing she was standing next to. Upon closer inspection, it turned out the paper wasn’t only a paper, it was a letter.

The owl looked at her—although it was difficult to tell if it was looking at her or merely facing her, as its eyes were entirely black—and hopped closer, lifting its head and sticking the letter towards her.

“You… you want me to take this?” Sera asked dubiously. Predictably, the owl didn’t respond, instead choosing to thrust the letter towards her again.

Sera took it with no small amount of hesitation. The owl hooted softly at her, and she wasn’t entirely sure why, but she got the distinct impression that it was trying to be encouraging. She looked down at the letter and examined the wax seal. She’d never seen a wax-sealed letter before, let alone one so ostentatious.

In the wax, there was an ornate family crest, it looked like: two dragons flanking a shield with a very fancy-looking letter M. She turned the letter over, seeing her full name written there, complete with her address. In the top left corner, however, it read:

Ursa Malfoy Abbott

Malfoy Manor

Wiltshire, England

Malfoy Abbott? England? She knew her parents hailed from England, having moved to the US before her birth, but they’d always told her they had no family, no relatives. Yet this woman had the same name as her, just with “Abbott” on the end.

Turning the letter back over with shaking hands, she broke the wax seal and removed the letter.

It was written on a thick, old-fashioned piece of paper that reminded Sera of the pictures she’d seen of the Constitution. The letter read:

Miss Seraphine Marianne Malfoy,

I hope this letter finds you well. Hecate—the owl—is old, but she’s reliable.

Allow me to begin by introducing myself. My name is Ursa. I am the eldest child of Draco Malfoy, your great-great-great grandfather. He died in 1976 during an outbreak of Dragon Pox that wiped out much of the Malfoys, it was the result of a foolish attempt at dragon taming that my father thought was a good idea, wanting to celebrate his one hundred and twenty-second birthday with some excitement.

As you may not be aware, our heirdom is patrilineal. That is to say, they fall to all male descendants before female ones. As such, after the death of Abraxas, his son, Lucius, was the only male Heir remaining. However, he foolishly supported the Dark Lord, and was imprisoned when the Dark Lord fell four years ago. His imprisonment left me the acting Head of Household until he died a fortnight ago. It was only then that I gained access to the offices of the Head of Household, which contained the unedited family tree.

As I understand it, Seraphine, your parents, Septimus Malfoy II and Marianne Prewett, are Squibs. Which is to say, they cannot perform magic. The Malfoys are a traditional lot, and my father was no exception. He would’ve been ashamed that someone of his line was born without magic, and so he must have struck Septimus from the tree, ignoring the names that formed upon his descendant getting married and having a child.

My opinion of Squibs is rather neutral, and I don’t think less of you for being born to parents who lack magical abilities. But my reason for this letter is because I am very old, and I cannot remain the Malfoy Head of Household forever. I need an Heir, and there is no one left. There are the wives of some of your male relatives who survived the outbreak, but you and I are the only Malfoys by birth that remain.

I am writing to you, Seraphine, to ask you to come to England and learn to be my Heir. Upon inquiring at llvermorny, it seems your parents responded to your acceptance letter on your behalf, declining in favor of a Muggle upbringing. I understand that you are eighteen, but the Hogwarts headmaster is willing to make an exception due to the unusual circumstances and allow you to enroll as a seventh year student. If you have not developed your magic sufficiently for enrollment in Hogwarts as a seventh year, I am capable of any needed instruction.

The Heir to the Malfoy name would, upon ascension to the title, be entitled to all land, property, and holdings to the name, as well as the contents of the primary Malfoy Gringotts vault in addition to the one that was automatically added upon your birth.

If you choose to take this role upon yourself, please send the letter with Hecate. You may speak to her if needed; she will understand. If you consent to it, I shall respond with a portkey that will bring you here to Malfoy Manor. I advise that you bring anything you wish to have with you, as your new life will be here in England. We can, of course, arrange for your parents to come, as well.

Yours,

Ursa Malfoy Abbott

Sera couldn’t believe the letter. She couldn’t believe it. Mind still reeling, she recognized that if she didn’t want her mother’s interference, she had to respond, and fast.

She turned to the owl.

“Y— You can understand me?” she asked it rather hesitantly.

It hooted quietly at her, and Sera hoped that that meant yes.

“Please fly back up to the tree you were in before,” Sera told it, “and try not to make too much noise or draw attention to yourself. I’m going to go in the house and write a response before my parents notice I’m home. When I come back outside, I’ll give you the letter.”

The owl hooted once before swooping up into the tree without hesitation.

Unsure if her mother was home or not, Sera went around to the side of the house and climbed through her bedroom window. She grabbed some stationary from her desk, wrote a quick response saying that she’d been taught magic in secret, was fairly advanced at it, and to please come in person or work out a way for them to communicate verbally or something. There was a lot of information in that letter, and she wanted to speak to this woman over the phone at the very least.

A couple of weeks later, the owl returned with a small pouch of black powder and instructions to put her head into an unlit fireplace when she knew for certain she wouldn’t be disturbed, and to say the words, “Malfoy Manor.”

Naturally, she couldn’t very well do this at home, so she went straight to Ta’s, explained the situation, and was promptly led to their fireplace.

Sera knelt down, her knees on the cold wood floors, and stuck her head inside. She coughed momentarily before waving a hand to clear up any residual particles in the air. Then, she dropped the black powder in the grate and said, “Uh… Malfoy Manor.”

Suddenly, there were green flames surrounding her field of vision, and then… and then she was looking out from what seemed to be the fireplace in a very nice bedroom that was furnished in gold and white.

“H— hello?” Sera called out, confused.

After a moment without a response, she was about to call out again when an elderly woman walked through a set of double doors across the room.

The woman approached her slowly, looking hesitant and maybe even a bit nervous, before sitting down in a chair in front of the fireplace Sera was looking through.

“Hello,” Sera greeted awkwardly.

“You are Seraphine, I assume?” the woman asked, examining Sera’s features with keen eyes.

“Ye— Yes. I prefer to be called Sera, actually, but yeah.”

“I am Ursa Malfoy Abbott, your aunt.”

Sera stared at her. “Nice… nice to meet you.”

The woman nodded, a small smile on her face. “You look like a Malfoy, you know.”

Sera’s eyes widened. “I do?”

Her aunt—Ursa—nodded again. “Indeed. It’s your hair, you know. Oh, it’s wilder than ours tends to be. I expect that’s the Prewett in you, honestly. But the color, that white-blonde? A family trait.”

Sera smiled a little at that, pleased at the idea that some of the heritage she’d apparently been kept from was visible.

“Is it true?” she asked after a moment. “Everything you said in your letter?”

Ursa looked at her for a long moment, clasping wrinkled hands in her lap. “Yes. You and I are the only ones that remain of the Malfoy bloodline. I can’t very well have children, of course, and someone needs to take over in my stead someday.”

Sera hesitated. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to have any kids,” she admitted.

Ursa waved her hand dismissively. “We can find someone to have them for you if you so choose. The important thing is we continue the bloodline through you. As long as you consent to children being born to you, even if not from you, that’s perfectly fine.”

“What, like surrogacy?”

Ursa thought for a moment, looking a bit confused. “Another witch would carry your child, essentially. It’s done on occasion.”

Sera nodded slowly. “I’d have to think about that. But… you wanted me to be your Heir, didn’t you?”

Ursa nodded. “Indeed. It was supposed to go to Lucius, my nephew through my brother, Scorpius, but Lucius was foolish. Allied himself with a madman who would obviously fail.” She sighed. “So it falls to you, my young niece.”

Sera stared at her. “And… and I’m not descended from Scorpius?”

Her aunt shook her head. “No. Your great-great grandfather was my youngest brother, Cepheus. Both he and his wife are dead, as is their son, Serpens.”

Sera frowned. “Oh.” Just how old was this woman? She didn’t look like she was old enough to have outlived Sera’s great-great grandfather.

“In any case,” her aunt went on, “if you choose to accept, I will ensure you are able to take a placement test for Hogwarts. I’ll speak to Albus about it.”

She blinked. “Albus?”

“The Hogwarts Headmaster. We went to school together, you know. I was a few years ahead of him, of course.”

“I… see.” She swallowed, looking around the fancy room her aunt was in and trying to imagine herself inside it. “You’re sure it’s me?”

Aunt Ursa pursed her lips. “Yes, quite sure. The family tree is in my study.”

If this woman was telling the truth, if she really was Sera’s aunt, she owed it to herself to go and explore her identity, didn’t she?

“Okay,” Sera finally said. “Go ahead and send the portkey.”

“Very well,” her aunt said with a nod. “Shall I expect your parents as well?”

She tensed at the thought of her parents and their lies. “No,” she decided. “No, I don’t think you should.”

Sera returned home in a sort of daze; her parents had lied to her. They had lied to her entire life, it would seem. Now that the anxiety of speaking to her aunt had passed, fury scorched through her veins.

Sera strode over to the front door of the house, and it slammed open without her so much as touching it. Her magic was crackling in her hair and tingling in her fingertips the way it did when she was too angry to control it.

She heard her mother working in the kitchen, presumably on their dinner. “Mom,” she called out, her voice shaking in her rage.

“In here, darling,” Marianne returned.

To her surprise, her father was already at the kitchen table. He must’ve gotten home from work unusually early. This was just as well— she needed to speak to them both, and she’d rather not repeat herself if she could avoid it.

“You lied to me,” she said without further greeting. “You have been lying to me my entire life.”

“What?” her mother asked in shock and confusion. Her father’s brows furrowed, and then his gaze fixed on the letter clutched in Sera’s hand.

“Mari,” her father addressed her mother in a very nervous-sounding voice, “look.”

Her mother’s eyes found the letter, too, and then flitted back up to her daughter’s face, the way her eyes were burning with hurt and betrayal, the way her wild curls were crackling with magic.

“You knew I was a witch,” Sera practically growled. “You knew I’d been invited to attend a magic school, and you didn’t even tell me. I was forced to learn magic in secret, to hide it from you.”

The kitchen lights were flickering, the cookware shaking.

“We… we only wanted to protect you,” Marianne said shakily, taking a step towards her daughter.

“From what?” Sera hissed furiously. “From my identity? From my heritage? You don’t have any magic, so you didn’t want me to have any, either?”

“That world,” her father began, standing up to join his wife in an attempt to placate their daughter, “it’s dangerous, Sera. You’re safer here. With us.”

“You can’t protect me from anything,” she snapped. “I can protect myself a hell of a lot better than the two of you combined.”

Both her parents’ faces were ashen, and her mother was near tears.

“I’m the last living Malfoy with magic, other than an old woman. Did you know that? It’s just me. You kept me from my life.”

“Sera,” her mother began tearfully, “we just wanted what was best for you—“

“Apparently, you have no idea what’s best for me!” she shouted, her rage spiking. This seemed to be too much for the kitchen lightbulbs, because they shattered in a burst of sparks and glass. “You deceived me, you separated me from the only family I’ve got that’s like me, you denied me an education—“

“We did what we thought was best!” her father shouted, his own temper flaring up. “We hoped you didn’t have any magic, and we held out hope for it until you got that ridiculous owl post, and when you did, we tried to stop you from partaking, because we thought it was best for you!”

“Well,” Sera hissed, her eyes narrowed, “if you ever decide you can love me despite my magic, write to me in Wiltshire.” She glared fiercely at her father. “I expect you know how, Dad, as the great-great grandson of the former patriarch.” She turned to walk away, then said over her shoulder, “In case you’re interested, Dad, your parents are both dead. So’s your great grandfather and great-great grandfather.”

“W— what?” her father sputtered, having the audacity to sound upset about it. “When?”

“‘76,” Sera told him. “I’m packing and going to stay at Ta’s until our aunt sends me a portkey.”

“We won’t let you!” her mother exclaimed.

Sera rounded back on them. “And what the hell do you think you can do to stop me, huh? You can’t keep me inside. You can’t force me to do anything.” She glared viciously at them. “There is no cage you can craft that could keep me in.”

With that, she stormed off, slamming her bedroom door with a flick of her wrist.

She shrunk her belongings and shoved them into a fairly small (but magically extended) bag. Her parents pounded on her door, but they couldn’t get inside. The charm she’d used to lock them out would’ve been difficult to break even with magic.

Once she was packed and her bedroom was sparse, she relocated in front of Ta’s house with a sharp crack!

Two weeks later, Hecate the owl returned. It seemed she’d had no trouble finding Sera in the tiny mountain village Ta lived in.

In the envelope was a coin, which the letter said was the portkey. Sera said her goodbyes to her friend, promising to call, and took the portkey in hand.

She was off to England.

Beta’d by the wonderful @lilmaymayy 💗

Tag list:

@ellamaianderson @shika1200 @blackqueenstarseed1 @gatoenlaciudad @esmaada @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @softhecreator @timolaurence @timmymyluv @oddlyenoughiamweird @leecrunchybones @s-we-e-t-t-ea @almostg @leespparker @bubblebuttwade @glizzymcguirex @starberry-cake @camille-1019 @lixzey

To be added, please ask 💗

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throughtrialbyfire · 8 months

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WIP Wednesday ♥

a HUGE thank you to @dirty-bosmer @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @skyrim-forever and @umbracirrus for tagging me this week!! i appreciate it so dearly, and i hope everyone's having a good wednesday. <3

i'm tagging @aphocryphas @thequeenofthewinter @gilgamish @totally-not-deacon and @thana-topsy !! and of course, anyone who wants to do this and i didn't directly tag, please feel free to say i tagged you! no pressure as always, can't wait to see what you're all working on!

this week, i have two bits to share. one's from Cycle of the Serpent, chapter 18, and the other is a one-shot i'm slowly piecing together about athenath's mother, Lorasephona, and how she met their family friends. i like working on backstory stuff, and i hope you'll all appreciate it, as well!

Cycle of the Serpent - Chapter 18

Wind raked its strong fingers through the plains. He tugged his cowl over his head to escape the sudden chill. The scent of wood-smoke from chimneys perfumed the air, stirring up against the indigo skies. Houses lined one district of Whiterun, businesses in another. A world of grids and winding streets atop rolling hills, with Dragonsreach perched high above it all, the ground it crested like the great claw of one of those heinous beasts. All of it stuck to him, the images of the houses and trees, the stones and the wood posts, the sound of night birds and insects in their natural chorus. At one time, he'd been adrift in the world. At one time, he'd known nothing but long roads and surface-level observations of towns, and here, he became keenly reminded of that life. After all, it was one he'd sunk back into before he'd crossed into Skyrim.

Briefly, he allowed his memories to play out before his eyes as he walked cautiously through the Whiterun streets. He'd made a good living in his travels, selling wares, healing the sick, even tending to ailing animals when called upon to do so. While he'd never called himself a physick, some did. Saving a few lives would do that to a man's reputation.

As he gazed out on the city, passing through narrow streets, his expectations of Skyrim unwound from his tight hand. Did he truly expect Nurelion to drop everything and take him on as an apprentice? He scoffed at it now. Still, it was worth a shot. He did not intend to give up, quite the opposite. But for now, just for now, a larger purpose presented itself in the wingspan of a beast and the path up a mountain.

Purpose. Lives needed no purpose to exist. He'd shake his head and deny it all he wanted, but in the back of the Bosmer's mind, the longing for it remained. To be known, to have his name scrawled across academic papers and his work lauded far and wide, an alchemist who did things none else could do, who created potions none else could make, who had lived and worked with purpose.

He didn't think his life would ever involve dragons, but c'est la vie.

Guards patrolled long into the night, bearing small torches whose flames starved for more oil. One passed him as he approached the temple of Kynareth, turning his metal face to Emeros. He only stopped momentarily to take a look at the Mer, then muttered an apology upon realizing this was one of the Thanes, and marched off into the dark. Emeros wondered what had passed through his mind.

He figured he didn't want to know.

With trepidation carrying his steps, he approached the Gildergreen. The tree startled him in its stark contrast to the land; where the city lived, breathed, and buzzed, this tree was cold, a husk, discarded shell. He scanned the upper branches, peering into the dark, the torches of passing guards giving him enough illumination to glimpse the wooden carcass before him, the warping in the branches, the angles and jutting shards of the once-living center of Whiterun. He found himself on a bench, allowing the night air to take hold of him. He tugged at his cowl like a shield against the withering breeze, a reflection of the week's past events crawling up from the streams of his consciousness. A week, that's all it had been? Disbelief rattled against him, but he shouldered it anyways.

He'd heard whispers of the Civil War. He had only heeded them as rumors, something that would surely not affect him. If he made it to Windhelm, to the White Phial, he would be so engrossed in work and conversations with Nurelion that the war wouldn't brandish a single thought to his neck. He'd been crossing the border, right before dawn, the thick of night's last breath still coating layers of pink against the horizon. He could remember a struggle, words exchanged, something murky in his memory, people in blue and silver mixed frantically with red and brown armor.

Then, he'd woken up in a cart with two other elves, and quite a few Nords.

The shock of the bindings set his nerves alight and he struggled against the tight-bound leather, but Wyndrelis - apathy coating his features, defeat, even - explained that it was no use, that he had already tried. Together, an idea formed, and they attempted to pry the bindings off one another. An Imperial soldier leading another cart observed them carefully, and they realized with dread pitting their stomachs that this was no use.

Then, Athenath, the wide-eyed Altmer awoke. Last to be tossed on the carts. Last to struggle. His fearful gaze grasped each face for a sign of help, from himself to Wyndrelis to Ralof to Lokir. All of these men were certain that they were going to die. Emeros swallowed the fear. He would go to the axe with dignity. Aldmeri pride, perhaps, stemming from his father.

Of course, they wouldn't make it that far. And with their former captor now a possible ally, they'd promised to warn of the dragon, and made their careful way to Whiterun.

Emeros rested his chin in his hands, watching the dim puff of torchlight and smoke, light passing over the houses, Nord architecture steadfast and hardy, stubborn and proud, much like the people inhabiting each home. He thought back on his companions. Wyndrelis, a mage with strange eyes and a calm demeanor. Athenath, a bard with a bright, silvery laugh and a bitter temper.

And of himself? There wasn't much to tell.

One-shot (unnamed atm)

The night threatened to clasp its hard fingers around her. As she was about to give up any chance of finding another living soul in these woods, a torch landed from a tree above her, plotting down into grasses below. She closed her eyes, the image of her surroundings in flames springing to her mind, but when she opened them, she saw nothing but the torch and it's decisively controlled flickering.

"What brings you here, elf?" Came a voice, roughened against and deep inside the throat of the speaker. Lorasephona slashed her gaze through the trunks of the trees, but catching nothing, she turned her eyes upwards.

Concealed in the darkness, an Alfiq, black as night, golden eyes narrowed down at her curiously. The Khajiit swished her tail lazily from the branch she rested, comfortable, it seems. Perhaps she'd been waiting for someone, Lorasephona thought as she backed slowly from the torch. She knew better than to try to defend herself from bandits, it did more good to outrun them, and Lorasephona was a very good runner.

"I don't-" she swallowed the lump in her throat, "I don't know, I'm quite-" she didn't know why she was admitting her situation, but the Alfiq raised her chin, inquisitive in her posture. "I'm lost, dreadfully, and-"

The Alfiq woman put up a paw, silencing the elf. "Mhm," she hummed, rising to her feet, slinking down to a fork in the branches where they thickened against the body of the tree, hunching down, tail swishing down against the bark. "Ka'taaji thinks, perhaps, you are more lost than you dreamed."

Lorasephona knit her brow. "Was that a threat?"

Swish.

"Only if you make it so."

Swish.

Lorasephona frowned, brow knitting. The Khajiit sighed, and with a controlled motion of her paw, the torch levitated. It found it's way to Lorasephona's hand, nervously outstretched, fingers clasping the handle.

"This one has no ill will for you, but… Wary, perhaps. These are unkind lands, and far from home, one must be prepared for whatever comes their way."

The elf nodded slowly, strings of her blond hair curling around her cheeks. The pallor of her face seemed to alarm the small Alfiq momentarily, golden eyes widening. She wiggled for a moment, cautious of the jump, before leaping down into the grass with an elegance and grace that betrayed her possible upbringing, images of wide, sprawling woods and golden-adorned mages of Elseweyr padding around Lorasephona's thoughts.

"Are you ill, elf?" Ka'taaji asked, tilting her head. Lorasephona paused, knitting her brow.

"What do you mean?"

"If the elf girl is ill, Ka'taaji will take her to Dra'khurra. Simple."

She weighed the options for a moment, but lying felt worse in these circumstances. Biting back the urge to say yes, on the off-chance that these people had food and a spare bed, she closed her eyes and ran her fingers through a stray curl at her cheek.

"No, I'm just… I'm not ill."

Ka'taaji waited, but with Lorasephona's refusal to elaborate, she gave a small shrug. After a moment, she turned, the grass prickling under her paws. "Follow this one, you must be hungry. And take care of that torch, Ka'taaji is using much of her magicka to keep it lit."

So it was magic. Lorasephona, confusion matting her expression, decided not to question the Alfiq, and followed.

#tes fic #skyrim fic #skyrim fanfiction #ficblr #tesblr #tes v #bishop.txt #oc ; athenath #oc ; emeros #my writing #cycle of the serpent #oc ; wyndrelis #oc ; ka'taaji #oc ; lorasephona #elder scrolls

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linktheacehero · 9 months

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Ao3 Link @zelinkcommunity

The sunset paints the sky with its orange and red hues, the wind is still as if the earth is holding their breath, only the sounds of the forest’s critters are heard. Zelda continues her path, pressing deeper into the woods, she’s come here for a reason and will not stray, she refuses. Tears are pricking her eyes as she walks; memories of a man clad in green with a smile that rivaled the sun flashing in her mind. Days of bliss, wonder and love is what brings her into the forbidden woods of the east, to find the one who could bring her the peace her soul ached for.

The sound of a twig breaking caused her to unsheath her blade, eyes locking on a strange wooden creature whose eyes dimly glowed in the setting sun. A skull kid, she realized. She heard many things about them in books- of their impish nature, born from the children who got lost and called the woods home and how skittish they were amongst adults. This one however, was nothing like what she had read and seemed to be fixated on the symbol on her cloak. The crest of the royal family with the sheikah eye, a gift from her hero given just before he left. “You have the same symbol as him!” The child cried out. It ran towards her, not caring that she held a weapon that could injure it, and tugged at her cloak with desperation. “Please Miss Princess, you have to hurry! He told me you can help him!” Him? Was it possible that the skull kid was talking about her beloved? She wasted no time securing her sword to her waist and asked the Skull Kid to lead the way. The forest child leaped across the branches, each time looking back to make sure Zelda was following. Her majesty nearly tripped across the roots and stray rocks, but she pushed forward. She would not fail him this time.

The skull kid led her to a clearing where a grand tree remained. Its roots, whose thickness was the size of tree trunks, wrapped around the area like snakes. And laying by the trunk of the tree was-

“Link!” She ran to meet him, hand on his bloody cheek. He was gravely injured; his right eye was missing and there was a deep gash across his chest where broken pieces of armor remained. Blood was everywhere, staining his golden armor and the grass below; he gave out ragged gasps while trying to say her name and winced in pain each time she touched him. “Please stay with me.”

She frantically searched through her pouch only to find a singular vial of red potion; she prayed it would be enough to keep him here. Gently she poured the red liquid into his mouth, hand cradling his jaw so he could drink with ease. A few of his smaller injuries healed, but his breathing remained the same. Pressing her hands to his chest, she willed the power of the triforce alongside Hylia’s bloodline to flow and heal everything she could. He would not die, not yet.

Please let me save him, please let him live. She nearly collapsed into him, she felt her energy waver and saw her hands dimly glowing golden. She looked back to Link, his gaze was still pained but there was a softness in his eyes, one she thought she would never see again. “Y..ou came..” he breathed. A horrible cough escaped his lips, making worry knit into her heart. Had his injuries been so great that her power was unable to heal him? Had she been too late? Nonono, he has to make it, please I beg you.

“Of course I came, my love.” She pressed a kiss to his nose, hoping that would not be the last time she would do so. With trembling hands, Link pulled out the ocarina from his belt, blood coated fingers staining the polished surface. “I don’t know how much time I have but,” he raised the ocarina, and Zelda felt a sense of dread plummet to her stomach.

“Wait Link, no-” a clear note rang out from the instrument. His brows were knit together in discomfort but he did not let that stop him. The ageless song of time danced around them with the memories they held dear flickering in their minds, eras of war and peace, moments of eternal love and promises. When he played the last note, a wavering breath left him. “I love you…”

She kissed him, tasting iron and salt but she did not care. “I love you too.” She felt his body loosen in her touch. Once parting, she could see his skin grow pale, his eyelid close. She sobbed into his neck, cursing destiny and the goddesses who trapped them in a life where happiness was unattainable. “What’s the point of fighting for peace when we aren’t allowed to live it?”

Then, as faint as a whisper, she felt a pulse. Was it possible? She pressed her fingers on the pulse point and felt a slow and steady flow.

“He’s still alive, I can still save him.” She took the ocarina from his hands, she did not know how much time he had left but she refused to waste a second of it. The prelude of Light sang as clear as the growing night sky above them, transporting them into the Temple of Time.

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Link woke up with a numbing pain, lips feeling drier than the haunted wasteland and a thirst that he felt would require Lake Hylia to be drained in order to quench it. He tried to sit up but the room begins to spin causing him to press a hand to his head. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on his breathing so the dizziness could go away. Ughh I think I need a potion.

He resided to keep his movements to a minimum and checked his surroundings. He’s at the castle infirmary, no one seemingly around. As he looked out the high windows, he guessed it had to be sometime in the afternoon. His gaze traveled to his left where he saw a sight that made him believe he was dreaming.

Zelda's hand is in his, head resting on the other, while a little girl about the age of ten is sitting on her lap eating cookies. She looks nearly identical to Zelda when she was the girl’s age; slightly darker strawberry blonde hair, eyes that matched the most precious opals, and small freckles that adorned her cheeks. The girl noticed Link staring at her and gave him a large grin. “You’re awake!” she exclaims with glee, “mom, wake up, he’s awake!” Zelda didn’t wake, not even stir when her daughter gently shook her. Last night’s events had taken almost all of her energy, he could remember how she nearly collapsed after using her magic to heal him. “Hey kiddo, maybe leave your mom to rest for a little bit more, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” She nodded at him, and promptly got off her mother’s lap and tried to climb onto the bed. Link let out a small chuckle seeing her efforts. “Do you need some help?” “No I got it!” After her third try, she managed to get on the bed. “What’s your name, mister?”

“Link. What’s yours?” His hand never left Zelda’s, his thumb caressing her skin. Was this real? Or was it another trick of the goddesses? “Saria. Are you the hero my mom talks a lot about?” That caught his attention. He turned to look back at the child, she seemed to be very interested in his next answer.

“I suppose I am.”

Saria giggled with glee. “So you’re the one who gave her the Moon Tear necklace right? Does that mean you’re gonna marry her one day?”

He felt his ears burn, he had forgotten how upfront children could be. “Yes, I gave her the necklace. Um, well I would like to, but don’t tell her okay?” Saria looked at him with a sad expression, and he quickly added, “cause I want to make it a surprise!” The truth was that he wasn’t sure if he could ask for Zelda's hand. Since she had a daughter that would also mean she already had a husband.

And yet he was nowhere to be seen.

The sound of a waking Zelda brought both of their attentions to her, with Saria loudly greeting her with a hug. “Mom, Link is awake, see!” The queen gave her daughter a warm smile before turning to look at Link with such tenderness he felt like he could melt. “Yes, darling, he is.” She gently squeezed his hand, and Link found his answer. This was not a dream, he had lived and was back with his beloved. “How are you feeling?”

He responds by lifting their joined hands to his mouth and presses a kiss to hers. “Better now that I’m with you.” He loved how flustered she got with the kiss, her cheeks flushing like when they were teenagers and he had just complimented her beauty. “I am feeling a bit thirsty though, and slightly dizzy.”

“I can bring him water!” Saria piqued, running out of the room before anyone could inform her that there was already a glass of water on the bedside.

“She’s a really sweet kid,” Link told Zelda as she sat on his bed. From here he could see dark circles under her eyes and dried blood, presumably his, coated on her hands. “How are you feeling?”

“She really is. Energetic too.” She rested her head on his shoulder, careful to not put too much weight on his wounds. “I’m feeling tired mostly, and relieved. You were losing so much blood and were in a state of shock, I didn’t know what to do.” He could feel her grip tighten as she continued, “I had to donate some of my blood so you could be stable and… the doctors had to amputate your leg. You were hit with some cursed ice that wouldn’t stop spreading and if they didn’t you could have-” she didn’t finish her sentence. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. “I really believed I had lost you, Link…”

The worn hero turned his head to kiss her forehead, lips lingering before resting his forehead on it. “But you didn’t, I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.” She let out a shaky breath before nuzzling closer, like she was afraid he would disappear. He wouldn't. Not anymore.

A thought entered his mind, one that he debated if it was the right time to ask. But if he didn’t ask now, he doubted he could ever. “Zelda, where is Saria’s father?”

Link expected many outcomes; a cryptic answer, the man himself entering the infirmary to see his wife cuddling another man, or maybe something along the lines of him being distant. What he had not anticipated was Zelda giving him a mischievous smile with a glint in her eyes that screamed of trouble, alongside a simple answer.

“He died of a tragic illness a few years after our marriage. Saria was still young enough to remember him, but neither of us like to talk about him much.”

“Oh.” Link wasn’t the smartest person when it came to social cues, but he did know Zelda well enough to understand that an illness had not truly been the cause of her husband's death… an unintentional one at least. He wasn’t surprised, whatever fate the man got was a well deserved one if Zelda had deemed it so. “That’s quite unfortunate.”

“Truly. A widowed queen with a single daughter to raise and a whole kingdom to take care of, my life truly is a trial without someone at my side,” she teased, and Link had a hard time trying to not laugh. It was like they were fifteen again, making fun of the rumors that were stacked against them and dreaming of the future they yearned for.

“A struggle indeed. So if you’re a widowed queen, I wonder what your response would be to a proposition I have?”

She raised her brow at him, curiosity peaked. “And what is your proposition to this widowed queen, Sir Link?”

He couldn’t stop the grin that was forming.“One simple question is all I ask, your majesty.” He let go of her hand and placed it on her cheek, eye never leaving hers. “What if you were no longer a widow? What if someone came to ask for your hand and promised you a life of peace and bliss, where the darkness could not reach and your daughter could grow feeling more loved than any other child in the world?”

Her eyes sparkled like the stars. His breath hitched when he felt her hand gently tug his hair at the back of his head. “It’s a hard proposal to reject, Sir Link.” She was leaning closer, lips but a mere whisper away. “So I will ask you something, a simple request similar to yours…” he could feel moon tear humming in sync to the beat of their hearts, anticipation in the air. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” he breathed, and closed the gap between them. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes, my heart,” he told her through each kiss. For once in their lives, the two felt that their future was bright.

(A few years later)

It was a clear day, the sun shining warmly above them while the birds were chirping their songs in the trees. Zelda is sitting beneath the large oak in her garden, Saria sitting next to her and playing with her little brother Daru. Link, meanwhile, was play fighting with their daughter, Impa, both slashing the air, careful to not hurt each other.

“Whoa! You nearly got me there, Impa!” Their three year old giggled and put on what she called her “hero face”, which was basically her trying to copy her father’s concentration face when he trained.

“Hyah!” she yelled and tapped on Link’s prosthetic. Dramatically he fell to the ground, latching off his leg and raising it above him as he cried.

“I'm hit! Oh by Din, I’ve been struck down by the bravest heroine in all the kingdom!” He closed his eye, tongue stuck out as he pretended to be killed. Impa is giggling as she runs over to him, a triumphant grin on her face.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I Papa?” she whispers in his ear. Link responds by lightly shaking his head, still pretending. “The evil king is dead! Now the kingdom is in peace!”

“Wait!” shouted Daru, to which his twin sister looked at him in confusion. “He wasn’t evil, he was just cursed!” Impa gasped and immediately went to her mother.

“Mama come on! You got to kiss Papa so you can break the curse!” She pulled Zelda by her hand, Daru and Saria joining in by pushing her to get up. The queen simply laughed and rose from the ground.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m going.” Zelda looked down to her husband, who had now conveniently closed his mouth after hearing what Impa said, and leaned in close. Her lips were grazing his when her hand touched metal, and right as she pressed a kiss she leaned away and ran off with his prosthetic.

“HEY!” he yelled, leaving the kids in a fit of laughter as they witnessed Link trying to chase Zelda with one foot. “Zelda, get back here!” She stuck out her tongue, a mischievous grin on her face as she leaned against the tree. He knew she wouldn’t go too far, but he also didn’t mind a challenge. With previous years of battling monsters and learning how to balance, he crouched as low as he could and pounced on Zelda when she came close.

“Gotcha!”

They tumbled down into the grass, smiling and laughing while their children tried to regain their breaths. Link couldn’t tear his gaze away from his wife, their noses brushing as she wrapped her arms around his neck. To believe that only a few years ago he was near the brink of death and now here he was sitting beneath the blue sky in the arms of his queen and beloved spouse while their children stood a few feet away.

“Zelda.”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

She gave him a soft smile, whispering against his lips before kissing him with all of her heart’s devotion.

“I love you too.”

#zelink #zelink week 2023 #oot zelink #ocarina of time #my writing #Zelink week #oot

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annoyinglandmagazine · 11 months

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Elrond and Gil Galad angst

‘My king,’ and Gil Galad felt his heart grow lighter in his chest yet ache with an inexplicable pain as a very familiar figure came into his line of sight. The army, men and elves alike parted before the two of them. Elrond greeted him with a much lower bow than was necessary, considering the great portion of the army that answered directly to him rather than Gil Galad himself. Ereinion gestured for him to walk by his side as he inspected the ranks.

Elrond took his place by his side and began to speak in that clear melodic way of his, ‘The east regiment is ready, they await on your orders.’ And for a moment it was almost like it was for so many centuries, so many millennia, but it was not quite. If they had been in Lindon Elrond would not simply be walking in measured steps like the soldier he had been in most every way since far too early in his life. He would have been balancing on some tree branch or wall and spinning around on the tips of his toes with his arms extended while humming snatches of things that weren’t quite songs to himself. He’d never seemed quite solid, moving from one place to another so quickly you lost sight of him, like smoke or the spray of sea foam at the prow of a ship.

Now he looked like a soldier, no more than that, no matter how fervently he’d deny it, he looked like a king. And that made Gil Galad more devastated than ever but still more sure that he was making the right decision. If Elrond, who had already suffered so much and was still so visibly changed from the events of Eregion, was still standing here before him now he was more than strong enough to continue without him. And more crucially he looked at his closest friend and knew that he never wanted another to suffer the way he had. He didn’t want anyone else to ever have to be this strong and he knew Elrond wouldn’t either.

‘I’m ready. We ride at dawn.’ He then took a deep breath and felt every inch of all his years at last. They say Valinor’s peaceful. Peace. He supposed he’d never really known what it was really, simply living off borrowed time ever since that crown’s cold weight had settled on his head. ‘I had something I wanted to give you,’ he slowly removed the necklace that had rested around his neck beneath his robes even longer than that crown. He held it in his palm, a simple iron pendant.

‘It’s the emblem of the house of Fingolfin. I promise it’s not some trick to try and make you king or something-’ he broke off with something he tried to pass as a laugh but was really a lot closer to a sob. Elrond looked up at him with sad eyes that had seen too much, and whispered ‘Why are you giving this to me?’ though Gil Galad suspected he already knew.

‘It is the last thing I have of my father, I have no memories of him. I have no wife, no children, nor siblings but I have you. You are the closest thing to family I have on this shores, you always have been and I want you to have this.’ He clasped the small pale hand in his own and laid the pendant in it, closing Elrond’s fingers around it while not breaking eye contact.

‘Elrond listen to me,’ he said softly while reaching his thumb up to brush a tear away from his cheek, ‘Please live. Please be happy. You deserve to be happy, don’t spend your life mourning those who you’ve lost celebrate those who you still have. You will never be alone, you’re too kind to ever not have people who love you or for anyone to ever stop doing so.’

Elrond leaned up and pressed their foreheads together and his eyes closed slowly as he finally began to weep. They withdrew after what felt like an eternity and Gil Galad shakily fastened the clasp around the pendant around Elrond’s neck. In normal circumstances he would have laughed at the sight of a Nolofinwean emblem on Sindarin style armour bearing the crests of various houses of men, by someone wearing Telerin colours, Feanorian braids, holding a Feanorian sword, and marching under Numenorean banners.

As it was he merely smirked at Elrond’s choice of attire and weaponry, ‘Felt like inducing a fifth kinslaying today?’ Elrond laughed through his tears ‘I thought it was a good show of unity. No scratch that, I just wanted to see people’s faces and maybe make Feanor turn in his grave.’ They smiled for a moment and the fate looming over them was almost forgotten. ‘I’m sorry I won’t be able to see your wedding. I’d have liked to be there for you.’ That was the last time they ever saw each other on this side of the sea.

#silmarillion #tolkien #elrond peredhel #elrond and gil galad #gil galad #Last alliance

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blackbirdblackbird · 2 years

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some kind of uh princess kara/knight lena thing?

The early morning air is fresh and cool as Kara ascends the stairs from the palace garden up onto the city wall. She crests the wall, turning her face towards the warm sun and taking a deep breath mingled scents of the sea breeze and sweet flowers in the garden below.

The brief moment of piece is interrupted by her aunt Astra’s voice calling from further along the wall.

“We missed you at the feast last night.”

She’s dressed as if she’s been standing the early watch, the shining edge of a polished breastplate peaking out from under a dark cloak. Kara nods to her in greeting, then down the wall. Astra returns the greeting, then they fall into step alongside each other.

They walk in a comfortable silence for a while. “I was painting. The flowers are blooming in the high meadows, and the light was lovely,” Kara eventually offers as an explanation. Her eyes are turned out to the sea, where the fishing fleet is heading out for the day, so she feels rather than sees Astra’s stern look. “Father only said he didn’t me to go off sailing.”

“You know what he meant.”

Kara shrugs shamelessly. “You know I have no interest the tourney. I’m not impressed by pointless show violence.”

Astra laughs. “You know, I’ve been to the tavern with you. You’ve never seemed opposed to a little violence there, especially when there’s a pretty girl to impress.”

“That’s different,” Kara protests.

They stand aside then to allow a pair of soldiers of the guard to pass. Kara takes the opportunity to hide her burning cheeks from Astra, leaning over inner parapet and looking at the garden below them.

Once the guards pass out of earshot, Astra speaks again.

“It’s not like the old days. All that’s expected is you show up a couple times, and dance with the champion at the victory feast.”

“If I have to listen to the story of how my father passed you in favour of your sister after you won the melee again, I’ll scream,” Kara says blandly.

Whatever Astra says in response is lost to Kara.

This section of the garden is mostly covered in trees, with paths winding under them, but almost directly below where Kara and Astra stand is a small grass clearing. A woman stands in the clearing, practicing with a two-handed sword.

She makes a practiced series of graceful, fluid movements; a deadly dance played out in slow motion. Blocking, stabbing; turning, slashing. Each motion precise and calculated and flowing into the next. As she moves, her long dark braid sways across the back of her pale green shirt, and her boots trace out her steps in the dewy grass.

“Who is that knight?” Kara asks, too enthralled to tear her eyes away.

“Now you’re interested?” Astra asks with a laugh. “Oh.” Her surprised tone finally draws Kara’s attention away from the practicing knight. “Do you not recognize her sigil?”

Kara finally notices the leather coat hanging on a branch at the edge of the clearing. It’s folded in a way that distorts the green sigil embroidered on the back, but – oh. An intricate green tree, it’s trunk and roots formed by two back-to-back L’s. “Lena Luthor.”

Kara observes a little longer. Then she turns to find Astra looking at her with a raised eyebrow. “What? Her family cast her out.”

“Yet she still bears their name,” Astra says neutrally.

“An insult to them,” Kara speculates, feeling a strange need to defend the woman she’s never even seen before five minutes ago, and has only heard tales of.

“Perhaps,” Astra admits. She has a scheming look on her face that Kara can’t help but think will bode ill for her. “Cast out or not, I’m sure someone with the upbringing of a lady of her stature wouldn’t miss the official pre-competition breakfast. I’m sure you’ll put in an appearance as well? The great hall. In two hours.” Astra claps her on the shoulder, then is gone away down the wall before Kara can retort.

Quickly putting her out of mind, Kara turns her attention back to the knight – to Lena Luthor – and watches her carry on the graceful, meditative dance of her practice.

#supercorp #fanfic

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anon-drabble · 1 year

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beneath the branches

some fluff for our boy jumin! this idea attacked me last night as i was trying to sleep and wouldn’t let me rest.

we all know jumin loved visiting the cherry farm. what if it wasn’t just the cherries there he had his eye on?

jumin is a touch out of character to me but i just love awkard-in-love jumin so that’s what i wrote lol.

ao3 | ko-fi | twitter | masterpost

The scene laid out before Jumin was one he knew well. The cherry farm in the early morning was a frequent stop for Jumin. After all, he did business with them and was fond of the land in his own way. It seemed peaceful most days. Just acres of land laid out. Very few buildings and none that pierced the sky. Not like his own penthouse. The city had its charms but on the farm, Jumin just felt lighter, like life itself was less of a burden. His chest rose and fell with each breath and every time he inhaled, it seemed easier than the last. Like he was renewing himself and freeing himself of the many bonds that held him tight. Too tight to move, at times. In short, the cherry farm was the only real combination of business and pleasure that Jumin knew. The cat projects were fun diversions but there was always pressure to be profitable, to make it worthwhile. He knew his privilege of being the CEO’s son and that the only reason he could do any cat projects was because of his position. The cherry farm was easier. It was an established contract, something known to be beneficial. It made things easier.

As he crested the familiar hill that led to the facility that served as the main hub for the farm, he shielded his eyes from the sun. He glanced to the right, where the hills held countless trees. Each tree carefully cultivated and cared for by the farmhands. But he wasn’t truly looking at the trees. His steps slowed as his eyes scanned the spaces between, where the shadows hid a great deal but spears of sunlight would still reach the ground in a few spots. But Jumin was looking for movement. He saw a pair of legs move between the trees but the body was still hidden. But then she emerged and she smiled and waved at Jumin, as she always did.

She was beautiful, if he were one to notice such a thing. Most times, he didn’t see how beautiful any particular woman was. He simply didn’t care. But for her, it was impossible to miss. She never looked like the women Jumin usually saw. She wasn’t buried under layers and layers of makeup. Her clothes were simple, her shoes practical. But she had a natural radiance. The way her smile just felt like a ray of light itself. Her bright brown eyes always echoed the smile on her face. On that day, her muscular arms were bare. She must have been working since much earlier in the morning as it wasn’t that warm.

Jumin didn’t feel himself sigh in relief at seeing her. He didn’t notice the way her smile made him feel warm. He lifted his hand to give her a stiff wave and she retreated back to the trees. He resumed his walk to the large building ahead, pretending he hadn’t purposely slowed down just for a chance to see her. His trips to the cherry farm were for business purposes, not for some woman he barely knew. He wasn’t like his father. He didn’t make such foolish decisions or allow any women to sway him in any way.

The building ahead was partly a large barn, partly a warehouse, with a portion being the actual home of the owners of the farm. That was separated from the busiest parts of the building but it was clear to see the original roots of each part of the building. As Jumin approached, he saw an older man walk out the door and towards Jumin. He had a large, friendly smile.

“Hello, hello! Welcome!” the man exclaimed as he rushed towards Jumin.

“Hello, Mr. Pin,” Jumin said calmly as he reached the man.

“Please, please, I’ve told you! Call me Sang. We’re practically family now!” the man vigorously shook Jumin’s hand. “We have great stock from this harvest for you! But I thought you weren’t to pick up until next month?”

“That’s correct. I came in the hopes of expanding our partnership. We have recently acquired a supply vendor, one that could easily be paired with a gardening venture. I thought we’d speak about selling snippings of your trees or other crops you have,” Jumin explained.

Sang thought for only a moment. “I believe we can probably reach an agreement for that. We will have to adjust our fields if you wish to sell cuttings. They need to be propagated a certain way. We will have to dedicate a portion of the land to this project.”

Jumin nodded. “We can detail everything in the contract. Once I get back, we will draft the documents and we can fully outline this venture.”

“We can discuss this then. Come, come, see our harvest! Take some home with you! I guarantee our cherries will make your girl fall in love on the spot!”

“You know I do not have anyone. However, I will gladly take fresh cherries home. They are the most delicious when I come here directly.”

Sang clapped his hands. “Perfect! Yes!” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Jiya! Are you around?” he yelled into the trees.

Jumin tried not to react to the shouting in his ears. But when she emerged from the trees again, Jumin couldn’t help but stare a bit. She smiled at him again and he felt a lump form in his throat.

“Mr. Jumin here would like our best cherries! I told him we’d show our harvests!”

Jiya nodded and pulled out her phone. She pulled up something and consulted it for a moment. “Field 17 yielded the most. But I would suggest we bring Mr. Han to Field 12, I believe he will appreciate those.”

“Jiya has taken over our record-keeping. My mind can’t keep up with it these days. She’s got it all stored in that phone there.”

“That is very practical,” Jumin said approvingly.

“Ha! In my day, we just knew it in our bones. Now we have to rely on those things for everything!” Sang laughed but he was already leading the way through the trees.

Jumin and Jiya followed only a second later. Though Sang was older, he still moved quickly, so full of life. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Han. Appa didn’t tell me you were coming or we would have prepared a basket that you could bring home with you.”

Though they knew each other, they hadn’t spoken that many times before. Jumin’s dealings had mostly been with Sang, as he was the owner. But now, if Jiya was actually working on the farm, would they possibly have more interactions? “I did not tell him. I happened to have time and he had mentioned a fruitful harvest so I thought I’d come myself.” They continued walking, Sang still ahead and frequently chattering to other workers they passed. “Are you considering staying with the farm, now?” Jumin suddenly asked.

Jiya looked surprised by the question. “Oh, um…” she stammered.

“Your father mentioned that he thought you might prefer to leave and find a different job,” Jumin said hastily.

She smiled and he instantly relaxed. “Ah, I’m sorry. I know he wants me to run the farm once he dies but… Well, I’m still not sure what I’ll do.” Jumin nodded. “I do love it here, though. I wouldn’t want to leave but there’s…” she trailed off again and awkwardly fidgeted with her hands. “I just don’t know yet.”

Jumin thought for a moment. “There are many options for you. The world is not simply one place but many people, places, and experiences.” She looked at him and smiled. She seemed relieved that he understood what she didn’t say. “My world is very different but I find this place to be one of my favorites.”

Jiya laughed and Jumin’s stomach did a flip. He denied it every time it happened. Just a coincidence. It had nothing to do with Jiya. “Someday I want to see a city. I don’t think I’d be happy living in one but just to see it.”

Immediately, Jumin considered inviting her for the contract signing as Sang would have to come to C&R to sign the new contract. But then he thought of seeing Jiya in such an environment and got a little sad. So he said nothing.

The rest of the walk through the trees was mostly silent, with Sang and Jumin occasionally speaking. Eventually, they crested a hill with more trees laid out all around them. Jumin could not tell any difference between the rows, nor where one field ended and another began. But this was not his world. Sang and Jiya knew this but they could not navigate the double-speak and the carefully-worded promises that in truth promised nothing of the business world. Their lives were here. And no matter how many times Jumin might visit, it was always just a visit and he’d soon enough have to return back to his world. He glanced over at Jiya and wished his life might change. But he refused to acknowledge that and kept it locked in his heart. Where his other impossible dreams lived.

Now in the proper area, Sang and Jiya led Jumin down the rows of trees, speaking of all manner of things, such as the bark of each tree, the way the leaves had grown in a certain direction All things apparently led to more delicious cherries but Jumin did not know agriculture and many of their explanations would be forgotten on his flight home. At the base of some trees was a basket of cherries recently picked. But Jumin could see many cherries still on the branches. Jiya reached above her head and pulled down a bundle of fresh cherries from the nearest tree. She held them out for both Sang and Jumin. Jumin took the fruit carefully. He certainly didn’t intend for their fingers to touch as much as they did. Jiya didn’t seem to care about the brush of their hands. Of course she wouldn’t. It wasn’t intentional. As they ate their cherries, a man approached and called Sang over to attend to a matter in a nearby shed. He left and Jumin purposely avoided looking at Jiya. It had been morning when he arrived, though it was now the afternoon. The sun was less angled through the trunks of the trees and more overhead. It led to deeper shadows at ground level.

“So?” Jiya asked. “What do you think?”

Jumin had to consider for a moment before he realized she meant the cherry. “It was delicious. Very juicy,” he answered.

She grinned proudly. “I knew it! You always seemed to like the juicier ones the best. I was right to give you these.” She pulled another bundle down and pulled apart an equal share for herself and Jumin. “Not everyone likes the really juicy ones. My dad always said you wouldn’t like them because they’re messier.” As she spoke, Jumin bit into one and felt the cherry juice dribble down his chin. She laughed at the timing as she saw it happen. Jumin was relieved she wouldn’t see a blush in the shadows. In fact, was it darker now than before?

Jumin looked up at the sky between the leaves. “Is that a storm cloud?”

Jiya followed his gaze. “Oh, shoot, it is. Storms here come and go fast. There won’t be time to get inside but the trees should keep us dry.” Right on cue, the rain began. She huddled under the tree to remain dry. Jumin felt the rain hit his back and took a step forward. He was forced closer to the tree by the rain. Closer to Jiya. They stood very close now. She was looking up at him and he met her eyes. “It’ll be over soon,” she said softly. He nodded and noted her averting her eyes from his. She was acting almost shy now. While they weren’t friends, he’d never seen her so skittish around him.

The rain began to fall harder and both Jiya and Jumin took another step closer together. She quickly pushed a cherry into her mouth, desperate to act normal. The juice fell down her chin, just as it had done with Jumin a moment before. He wiped it with his thumb before he realized what he was doing. Jiya finally met his eyes again. “So… You still like it here even like this?” she asked, chuckling uneasily.

“Nothing is more beautiful than this,” he answered honestly.

And then he was kissing her. Neither of them had moved first but they came together at the same moment. He could taste the cherries on her lips. He felt her soft breath come out her nose. Her loose strands of hair tickled his face. He never wanted it to end. Eventually their lips parted but Jumin felt her slip her hand into his own. She smiled up at him a little and his heart thundered. There was no use denying anything now. There wasn’t much use for words between them. He could see that she was just as happy with the kiss. She lifted her head and shut her eyes in invitation and Jumin immediately obliged. Their lips met again, more purposefully this time. He felt her squeeze his hand and he reached around her back with his free hand, pulling her even closer. He felt her lips smile even as they kissed and he knew he was smiling too. Once again they parted and she still smiled at him.

She blushed a little, though it was nearly invisible in the shadows. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” she admitted.

“Kissing?” Jumin asked, confused.

She laughed a little. “No! We barely know each other, that’s all. I normally don’t kiss strangers. I don’t kiss anyone I’m not dating.”

Jumin squeezed her hand a little. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. If you wish, this can remain just between us and the cherry tree.”

Her face fell. Her hand released his and he let her go. Had she gotten the wrong idea? He didn’t want to rush her but he very much wanted more time with her. “I understand. It’s for the best,” she said quietly, taking a step away from Jumin. The rain was already slowing, the spell over them entirely broken.

Jumin watched her distance herself and he knew he’d done something wrong but he didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t know what to say. “I don’t-” he began to say when Sang’s voice cut through the trees.

“These summer showers! They come so quickly!” Sang appeared before them again, seemingly oblivious to the awkward atmosphere. “Mr. Jumin, you are satisfied, yes? We have a delicious basket ready for you, whenever you are ready to leave. No rush, of course.”

“Excuse me, Appa, I should get back to my work,” Jiya interrupted and quickly left the two men.

Sang watched her walk away and slyly looked back at Jumin. He grinned and Jumin braced for the worst. “She only leaves that fast when she wants to hide something. You know, these cherries lead to love! I told you, share my cherries and any girl will be yours! Although I did not realize my daughter was your target, but there are worse men out there!” He laughed loudly, patting a hand on Jumin’s back.

“It is not like that,” Jumin protested but Sang wasn’t listening. Jumin cleared his throat and straightened his tie. He stood like the CEO he was. “You have the wrong idea. There is nothing between your daughter and me. I must get back but I look forward to our further business together.”

That silenced Sang as Jumin was usually far more polite and not so cold. Sang led Jumin back to the road and watched him leave. Jumin had returned to “normal” after announcing that he was leaving but Sang was still suspicious.

It took many months to ready the contract for the next venture with the cherry farm. As soon as it was ready, Jumin made arrangements for Sang to travel to C&R to sign the contract. The day of the signing, Jumin was waiting in the meeting room for Sang to arrive. Jaehee had gone down to the ground floor to welcome him and bring him to the meeting when he arrived. As the door opened, Sang entered first and Jumin had already extended his hand to shake Sang’s when Jiya entered behind him, with Jaehee following. Jumin faltered a moment when he saw Jiya as he had not expected her. Sang, however, was his usual loud self and took Jumin’s hand as he greeted him.

“So good to see you again! We are very excited to begin this new side of things! We have prepared our fields already, isn’t that right, Jiya?”

Jumin’s gaze had not left her since she entered but she briefly met his eyes. “Yes, Appa. The land is ready to begin for next planting season.” The spell on Jumin finally broke and he composed himself from the shock and looked to Sang to address him.

Sang grinned with a slightly mischievous glint in his eye. “Jiya has agreed to step up at the farm and she will be overseeing our finances and business partnerships now,” he said with a knowing smile at Jumin. “So I brought her as she will need to sign as well.”

Inside, Jumin’s mind was racing. He could hardly even hear what was happening around him but he knew he couldn’t dwell on her too much. But suddenly he was back on the farm, underneath the cherry tree, her lips kissing his, her body heat against his. He remembered every detail, though he’d tried to forget. Thankfully a part of Jumin the businessman was still there, and he heard himself speaking though he didn’t remember forming the words himself. “I am glad you decided to stay with the farm,” he said, echoing his words to Jiya on that day.

“My father convinced me. I couldn’t leave after all. It’s too beautiful,” she said and Jumin scanned her face. Had she meant to say the same thing he had that day? But she remained unreadable.

The actual signing lasted for some time as there were many pages and they had to adjust some portions for Jiya’s new position. However, they soon finished. Sang pushed the cap back onto his pen as Jaehee signed, acting as notary for the deal. Once she finished, he stood. “Miss Kang, please help an old man out, Is there a restroom I can use? Can you please show me?”

“Of course, sir. Right this way.” Jaehee led him out of the room, leaving Jumin and Jiya alone.

Jiya gathered her things and her father’s belongings as they were planning to leave now that the signing was done.

But Jumin couldn’t let her go without saying anything. “So how does the city compare? To what you thought?” he asked, immediately regretting the words. He’d wanted to apologize as he was quite certain whatever had gone wrong between them was his fault.

Jiya looked towards the windows in the meeting room. “It’s a lot like what I expected,” she said. She walked over to the window. She was next to Jumin but he knew that hadn’t been her intent. She just wanted a better view of the window. “The people are exactly what I thought they’d be like.”

“Were you treated poorly?” Jumin asked, worry in his voice. Had someone said something rude to her?

She actually smiled and Jumin’s knees threatened to buckle. She looked so differently from how she looked on the farm. She had makeup on this time. Her clothes were clean and pressed, if plain. Her hair, which was usually up and out of her face on the farm, was down now, falling past her shoulders. She was still the most gorgeous woman Jumin had ever seen. “No. I was talking about you,” she said with a laugh.

Jumin frowned, trying to discern what she possibly meant by those words.

“You know, my dad is convinced something happened between us when you last visited. I told him nothing did but he seemed like he knew,” she said.

“I assure you, I did not tell him. He suggested something similar as I was leaving but I told him he was wrong. I thought you would prefer him not to know.”

“You’re right about that,” she said. “What happened between us…”

“I need to apologize for my behavior. I had the wrong idea. I thought perhaps you felt as I did that day and I should not have kissed you so suddenly,” Jumin was suddenly blurting out. He was not the type to ramble but he had to try to explain to her.

Jiya turned to face Jumin. “I wasn’t upset that you kissed me,” she interrupted, confused as to why he was saying that. “I was upset that you brushed it off so quickly. I told you I didn’t usually kiss unless I was dating a guy. I wanted you to ask me out. But you basically said it was just a kiss. You’ve probably kissed a dozen girls on a dozen other farms so it didn’t mean much to you but it meant more to me. But I wanted to clear the air because if we have to work together, I don’t want you to think I’m interested in you like that. I am not a fling and I’m not going to be treated like one.”

Jumin was stunned by her words. That wasn’t at all what he’d interpreted from their conversation that day. That was why she’d been upset? Because she thought Jumin was like his father? He felt sick to his stomach. He shook his head. “You misunderstood. I thought you did not want to move so fast so I wanted to assure you we could take it slowly or not at all, if that was what you wanted. I…” He felt a lump in his throat form at his words. “I knew I liked you and wished to know you better and I wanted you to know that I was not going to rush you at all.” He sighed. “I am sorry I gave you the wrong idea. I wish I had spoken more clearly as there was nothing I wanted more than to know you. And now I can see that our moment has passed due to my blunder.”

Jiya took a step towards Jumin and looked up at him. “Who said our chance was gone?” When he met her eyes, she smiled a little. “We’re going to be working together more often now. We’ll naturally get to know each other that way, right?”

Jumin shook his head. “I didn’t mean in that way…” he said, feeling helpless.

“I know,” she said softly. She reached forward and took Jumin’s hand, just as she had done that day. “I’ll tell you again. I don’t kiss unless I’m dating someone,” She was looking up at him, her eyes silently urging him to take the hint this time.

“Would you…like to have dinner with me?” Jumin asked, not quite sure what was happening except that it seemed to be what she wanted him to say. And it was what he wanted to do, to be with her.

She smiled up at him. “It’s about time you asked,” she gently teased.

#mystic messenger #jumin han #jumin/mc #jumin x mc #jumin/oc #jumin x oc #fluff fic #jumin han fluff #mysme #mysme fanfic #jumin han fanfic #a writing egg #i totally forgot that the actual cherry farm character in the game had a daughter #i love being accidentally close to canon lol

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solitaire-sol · 9 months

Text

03: Pursuit

For: @prongsfoot-microfic

Month: March 2023

AO3: Link

Notes: Fairytale/Fairytale-inspired AU.

The peasants claimed that the woods were protected, safeguarded by a powerful spirit who took the form of a stag with golden eyes, twice as large as any other beast and far too strong and swift for any hunter's bow. This sounded like a challenge to Lord Sirius Black, to whom the woods and the surrounding demesne would one day belong, which explained how he'd come to be crashing through the thick brush in the wildest part of the forest, his horse lost, his quiver almost empty. But he'd shot the damned thing, Sirius was sure of it, and when the stag had fled with his black-fletched arrow in its shoulder, Sirius had given chase. When the trees had become too thick for his horse to squeeze past, Sirius had dismounted and continued on foot.

He paused, gloved fingers lightly tracing the leaves of a nearby shrub, glossy green stained dark with blood that gleamed almost black in the canopy's shade. Sirius frowned, brow furrowed, and cast a glance about him: He wasn't concerned about any possible dangers, but the branches around him grew low on the trees, hung thickly with vines and lush boughs. The stag he'd seen had indeed been a magnificent creature, its antlers at least ten points and the span of his outstretched arms-- How could such a beast have struggled through this part of the forest when Sirius' horse could not?

Sirius refocused on his task and stumbled out of the trees, emerging into a clearing where a trail of blood, scattered across the grass, led to the foot of massive oak tree. Sirius expected to find the stag there, his knife already in hand to grant it a quick death, but what awaited him in the clearing was no stag at all: Sirius beheld a man, whose back rested against the trunk of the great oak as he half-sat, half-sprawled among the tree's vast roots. He wore the garb of a common hunter, lean and sinewy, yet there was an air about him that made the network of roots seem almost like a throne. Blood seeped sluggishly from a wound in the man's shoulder, a black-fletched arrow lodged deeply in his flesh.

The man looked up, his expression defiant despite the pallor beneath his wind-tanned skin, hazel eyes flashing gold in what little sunlight dripped through the canopy and into the gloom. Sirius halted, his fingers clenched around the handle of his knife, the breath catching in his throat. These woods hadn't always been part of the Black demesne: Once, not long ago, it had belonged to the Potters, whose Lord and Lady and Heir had perished, as common wisdom held it, in the coup that had seen their lands and their treasure claimed by the House of Black. The Potters, Sirius vaguely recalled, had a stag worked into their family crest, and their benevolence had given rise to a saying among their bondsmen-- That the Potters had eyes as golden as their hearts.

#prongsfoot microfic #prongsfoot #bambibelle #starbucks #james potter #sirius black #fics by sol

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thejollyroger-writer · 1 year

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These Are the Risks - Chapter 3

SUMMARY: Special Agent Emma Swan has been working with her partner, world-renowned forensic anthropologist Killian Jones, for just under five years. Together, they have solved hundreds of murders, brought criminals to justice, and found a family in their coworkers at the Hyperion Research Institute. Their newest case sends them to the small town of Storybrooke, Maine, where they must go undercover as newlyweds in hopes of solving the eerie, unexplainable recent deaths. When they find something that science cannot explain, they only put themselves in more danger, and a final situation that makes them face the feelings they’ve been hiding since day one.

A/N: Welcome back to my 2021 Captain Swan Supernatural Summer entry! It’s a combination of a BONES au (with Killian as Bones) and supernatural dark magic – I hope you enjoy it! Special thanks to @eastwesthomeisbest for her AMAZING art, the other mods at @cssns for making this event happen, David Boreanaz for being one of the nicest humans, and my faithful readers. (If you’re not on my tag list and you would like to be, please let me know!) Yes, okay, I know it’s taken me a whole year to get here. Life happened – and believe me, no one is more upset than I am about the time it took to get here. Anyway, here’s chapter 2!

Read/reread chapter one here / on AO3

Read chapter 2 on AO3 / tumblr

Read ch 3 on AO3

"Ruby," Graham breathes, then takes off through the forest. A silent beat passes, Emma and Killian sharing a glance.

Killian shrugs.

Emma takes a small breath, her shoulders rising and falling, and then she takes off, dipping between the trees. For a moment — but no longer than a moment — she wonders if leaving Killian with the body was a terrible idea. And then she half-trips over a branch and catches herself, losing the thought with her footing.

"Graham?" she calls, cresting the hill, but calling out isn't necessary. She sees him right away, the crisp white of his dress shirt standing out against the dark colors of the forest. And there with him, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, is Ruby, still sobbing. Beside them, an older woman with a head of white curly hair stands with her arms crossed, the shake of her head visible to Emma even from yards away.

"Goodness, Ruby, all of this crying is unnecessary. It's not like I'm dead."

"But you could have been! You've been missing for days, no word from you, nothing!"

"So why are you so upset?"

"I'm not upset, Granny. I'm thrilled."

Ruby slips out of Graham's arms to smother this woman — Granny — with a hug. Now that she is only a few steps away, Emma sees the roll of Granny's eyes — but also sees the smile that the woman allows to appear for only a moment.

Her glare when she notices Emma for the first time, though, is something that she does not even try to hide. "And who the hell are you?"

Emma is more than used to being talked to in this manner, but hearing the words come out of the older woman's mouth take her aback, if only for a moment. But that is long enough for Ruby to supply an answer.

"Granny, this is Emma! She and her husband are here on their honeymoon, they know Graham."

She hums, like she can see right through Ruby's lie, narrowing her eyes at Emma. "And where is your husband?"

Emma gestures towards the top of the hill, the direction she came from. "I left him up there, he was looking at the—" She stops herself from saying dead body. "View.'

Granny still doesn't believe her, she can sense it with her whole body, but she thankfully drops it.

"Well, let's get back to my restaurant. I'm sure you've taken very good care of it while I've been gone."

"Actually, Mrs. Lucas, if you don't mind, I would like to ask you some questions about where you've been." Emma is thankful for Graham at this moment, asking the question that she so desperately wants the answer to. But the daggers she shoots Graham through a half-lidded glare are sharp enough that Emma feels them in her chest.

"I'm not going to give you answers you're satisfied with, so you might as well just drop it."

Emma watches his mouth open, the words caught in his throat, but he says nothing. Instead, he nods at her.

"Yes, ma'am," he says.

Satisfied with his response, she turns away, taking off through the woods in the direction of the town.

"Would you like a ride, Mrs. Lucas?"

She grumbles something, not even turning around, and continues through the trees, Ruby half a step behind her.

For a moment, the only sound around them is broken sticks and fallen leaves under Ruby and Mrs. Lucas' feet. Once the sound subsides, the silence that sits between them is almost deafening.

Emma so desperately needs to break the silence, something about the silence of the forest seeping deeper into her bones with each passing moment. There is something eerie about these woods, something that Killian would try to explain with science and logic, but she somehow knows that no such explanation exists.

"So that's Mrs. Lucas." She remembers a little from the thorough packet of information Graham sent them, plus the bits and pieces she has picked up since then. Beverly Lucas, owner of Granny's diner, has certainly been around long enough to know the darkest secrets of Storybrooke. Whatever is going on here, Granny at least knows something, Emma is sure of it. But getting the old woman to tell what she knows is not going to be easy, especially given how she responded to Graham trying to question her.

Graham just laughs in response. "Yeah, that's Granny."

"She knows something."

"She knows everything."

"She's been missing for, what, six days? That doesn't just happen. Whatever is going on here, she's either in on it or knows about it."

"I have no doubt you're right, Agent Swan, but it's going to take more than a gut feeling to get Granny to talk."

"And you're okay with that?"

"You really don't know much about small towns, do you?" He chuckles softly but doesn't give her a chance to respond. “We should go find your husband — uh, partner, and my mortician before there's another murder on our hands."

She knows he is trying to be funny, but the idea of another death in this small town, a place already so affected by loss, sends a shiver down her spine that has nothing to do with the breeze coming through the trees.

Thankfully, Killian and Dr. Whale seem to have taken to silence over arguing, but she can tell from the look on Killian’s face, from his posture as he sits on a nearby rock, that he is none too happy about this development. When his eyes met Emma's, the incredulity on his face grows, dark eyebrows raising farther up his creased forehead,

Emma just smiles, moving to sit beside him on his chosen rock.

"Any news, Victor?" Graham asks, standing behind the man as he continues his examination of the body and the scene around it.

Victor doesn't even look up from the body. “I’m not going to call it for sure until we get a blood test done, but I am fairly certain this is Isaac Heller. Hard to tell with the exsanguination and mummification, but as far as I can remember, he’s the only one that’s missing that fits this body type.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, I mean, he’s frozen. And not even trying to thaw, which is, of course, incredibly odd.” Nothing in Dr. Whale’s voice makes it sound odd, though; his voice is a steady monotone, an accent that Emma cannot quite place.

She doesn’t like him. She can’t say what it is, but there is something about the doctor’s countenance that tips her off just a little.

With a small smile, she sits down beside Killian on his rock. Playing his part, he wraps his arm around her, moves his lips close to her ear, but instead of pressing a kiss against her cheek, he whispers, “There was a weapon, which seemed to throw the doctor off.”

Not sure what to do with this information, she turns her attention back to Dr. Whale, turning the body back onto its stomach as it was found.

“How are we getting him out of here, sheriff?”

“Do you not think a regular gurney will work?”

“Of course it’ll work, but how do we push it through the forest?”

“You carry it,” Killian says, needing to be a part of the conversation — plus, it's the obvious answer. “Not a gurney you can roll, but one you carry like a pall.”

Both Graham and Dr. Whale turn their eyes towards him, Graham already trying to figure out how he is going to explain this knowledge and Whale’s eyes burning with anger.

“You expect me to help carry a mummified, frozen body out of these woods?”

“Why wouldn’t you help? It’s part of your job as a coroner.”

“How do you know anything about my job here, Mr. Jones?”

Doctor. Emma can feel the words catch behind his teeth, begging to correct Dr. Whale, but with a flex of his jaw, he stays silent.

“There is nothing to argue about, gentlemen,” Graham says, trying his hardest to diffuse the situation.

Killian is absolutely right, of course: once the coroner’s van manages to get as close as it can via an access road, the only option left is for four of them to carry the gurney between them, moving slowly and together to avoid tripping on roots or otherwise harming the body. They only have to move it a few hundred feet, but it’s rough, rocky terrain.

Sweat drips from Killian’s brow and through Graham’s dress shirt by the time they reach the van, and the other two young men helping haul the gurney are just as exhausted.

It's easy enough to convince Dr. Whale to let Emma and Killian follow them to the small morgue: they came to the woods with Graham and would otherwise be stranded. Emma can tell he isn't thrilled by it, though; in fact, he barely tries to hide his displeasure with their presence.

"Why did you say you're in Storybrooke again?" he asks, pointing his camera at a wound on the body's left arm.

"We're here for our honeymoon!" Emma replies, trying to sound as upbeat as possible, but it just draws a raised eyebrow from Whale.

"Don't see many people attending autopsies when they're supposed to be celebrating their marriage."

She's sure they're a sight: Whale in his scrubs and apron, slowly photographing the body as it sits, still frozen, on the table in the middle of the room; Emma and Graham seated by the counter on the only two chairs in the room, each with their own notebook on their lap; and Killian, standing on the opposite side of the gurney as Whale, watching his actions like a hawk, all while pretending not to be engrossed. His hands are clasped behind his back, a too-small white apron tied over his torso, and Emma is certain that there is not an action done by Whale that Killian will not be able to describe in full later that evening.

His attention to detail has always been astounding to her, especially watching the specific way he combs through a crime scene or senses the smallest change in someone's countenance. She could spend hours watching him work, the sleeves of his sweaters pushed up to his elbows, bright eyes collecting every piece of what is happening around him. It is the same attention that she has seen him pay to numerous autopsies during their time together, but this is the first she can remember that he is paying just as much attention to the man performing it than to the body itself.

"I have always been a thanatologist," Killian replies, taking slow steps around the table that mirror Whale's, always keeping as much of the body as possible between them. "A passion like mine does not disappear just because I'm celebrating."

Whale looks up, narrowing his eyes at Killian through his glasses. "What the hell is a thanatologist?"

Killian chuckles, finally raising his eyes to meet the doctor's. "I study death in all forms. Historically, medically, forensically."

They're getting awfully close to revealing what Killian actually does, which Emma wants to avoid at all costs — but Whale just laughs.

"No wonder you think you know more than I do about all of this. I am so far out of my league here, it's not even funny. I was never trained for death, I went to school for pediatrics. But here I am, doctor, surgeon, and mortician in this town."

"Have you always lived in Storybrooke?" Emma asks, hoping to veer away from the subject, and Whale turns to face her.

For a moment, he seems angry about her question, but then his face softens. "No, I moved here as an intern in medical school. The hospital is small enough that they only take two or three, and I was one of the lucky ones. Then something kept drawing me further in and it was almost like I couldn't leave."

"Do you have family around here?" All basic questions, but all helping Emma get a better idea of who Whale really is.

His face darkens again. "I had a brother, but I lost him a few years ago."

"I'm sorry," Emma says. And she is. Even though she has never really had a family, she has grown close to some people that she cannot imagine living her life without: David and Mary and Belle — and Killian, though her feelings about him are much more complicated.

"Yes, well," he mumbles, then turns back to the body. For a few minutes, the room is silent, save the sounds of Whale working: the scraping of his shoes against the linoleum floor, a small metal crash every time he sets the camera down on the steel table. Graham begins to flip through the crime scene photos, newly printed from the computer behind them, and Emma glances over his shoulder at them, taking notes on the pad she keeps in her jacket.

Finally, Whale clears his throat, untying the apron around his waist. "I won't be able to perform an autopsy on the body in this state. It needs some time to thaw, so I'll just keep it here — locked up, of course — and come back this evening."

If he wasn't sure the body was frozen solid, Killian would have found this decision suspicious; but after watching Whale attempt multiple instruments and fail to break skin with any one of them, he agrees that he would have come to the same decision. As much as he would prefer to be present for this autopsy — especially after seeing the pictures from the others — there would be no feasible reason for them to return that evening without blowing their cover.

So, instead of pushing, Killian nods his head, grabbing his jacket off a hook by the rear door, then wrapping his hand around Emma's as they exit the basement morgue, all the while hoping that this man can prove useful enough to provide some helpful information for their investigation.

“You’re here late,” David says, trying to keep his voice as soft as possible. If he hadn’t known she was still here, he never would have noticed the single desk lamp in their workroom shining over the desk furthest from the corner. Despite his attempt to be quiet, Mary Margaret still jumps, the book in her hands almost falling on the floor. David can’t help but chuckle. “Sorry, I was trying not to scare you.”

The hand pressed to her chest just proves that he didn’t succeed. “There’s something eerie about being here once the sun goes down,” she replies, closing her book and setting it on the desk in front of her. “You’re one to talk, though, you don’t even work here. What brings you here past sundown?”

“I had a meeting with Rob, a short video chat with Emma and Jones, and then we just got caught talking about—” He literally has to bite his tongue to keep from telling the truth: they were talking about her, his plans to propose, ask her to move in with him. “Some things.”

“Have you eaten yet?” she asks, either missing his almost-trip-up or choosing to ignore it as he crosses the room to stand beside her desk.

He smiles. “Lucky for you, I was waiting for my overworked girlfriend to call me.”

“Great,” she mumbles, letting him help her to her feet before turning off the light above the desk, the only light in the room spilling in from the hallway.

They share a quiet moment, a soft kiss before Mary presses her cheek to David’s chest. And that’s when they hear it: shoes against the linoleum of the hallway floors, the very sound that Mary Margaret failed to hear as David approached.

And a voice.

“Yes, they said they’d be sending my resume to Dr. Jones today, but I have the position already.”

“Who do you think—” Mary Margaret starts, but David puts his finger to his lips, shushing her.

He needs to hear this.

“I signed the paperwork this afternoon then spent some time acclimating myself to the space, just like you suggested.”

David recognizes the voice vaguely but he can’t place it. Thankfully, between the lack of light in the workroom and the lights in the hallway, they can see perfectly through the window-wall without fear that the owner of the voice can see them.

“Yes, as long as it doesn’t happen for a few days, I can intercept the package when it arrives from Storybrooke.”

Mary Margaret gasps. She’s read the case files — the smaller, condensed version that Robin put together for the team.

David stares down at her, eyes wide. She pinches her lips shut, pressing her face into his shirt again.

He recognizes him through the window. Devin Skyler, the newest intern. He has to tell Robin, once they’re not hiding in the shadows. Devin Skyler is working with someone — they just have to learn who.

He's been here before, Killian realizes, looking around him. Recently. He can't wrap his head around what day it is, nonetheless how long it has been since he was last in these woods, but they have a sense of urgent familiarity that he cannot shake.

He puts his hand out ahead of him, as if something were going to stop him from entering the clearing just on the other side of the tree line. With his hand still ahead of him, he takes a step towards the clearing, then another — but stops in his tracks when he focuses on a movement beyond the trees.

His father. That's impossible, he knows. Because even if the man were still alive — which he doubts — there is no way he would ever come here.

Storybrooke. That's where he is.

Lowering his hand, he slowly moves his foot to take a step back, but freezes when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Where are you going?" the voice asks — a voice that he recognizes immediately. Another that he knows to be only a ghost. Seven impossible things, a small voice in the back of his mind mutters, remembering a line from a book his mother used to read them.

His mind is full of ghosts today.

“What is he doing here?” Killian asks, ignoring the fact that he knows the man he is speaking to is dead.

“I don’t have the answers, little brother,” Liam answers, his voice echoing in the forest in a way that shouldn’t be possible.

“Come here, boys,” his father calls, and he turns away from Liam to glance at his father. But when he turns back, Liam is a boy again, younger than when they left England. Killian somehow knows that he, too, is also a boy.

“We can’t.” Killian finally remembers his last experience in this forest, but Brennan smiles and holds out his hand.

“You can now,” he says, and Killian somehow knows he is right. He looks down at the ground as he steps through the tree line and notices a dark line on the ground, his whole body shuddering as he steps over it.

“What was that?” Killian breathes, simultaneously excited and terrified.

Liam is the one who answers: “Magic.”

Killian shakes his head. “There’s no such thing as magic.”

“What if you’re wrong?” a voice — a female voice that he knows he recognizes — whispers in the back of his mind.

“I’m not wrong,” he insists, and feels himself growing, feels the years pass as he crosses the clearing to Brennan, who holds out his hands to embrace his son, except they’re stained with blood.

No, they’re dripping blood.

“What if you’re wrong?” the female voice asks again, and he feels pulled away from Brennan, like he should turn and run.

“The rarest kind of magic.” This time, it’s his father who speaks, his words having the same eerie echo that Liam’s had before as he reaches out to take Killian’s hand. “You know this, son. Why are you running from it?”

“No!” he yells, pulling his arm out of his father’s grip, though he loses his footing and falls to the ground.

Keeps falling.

And jumps awake, sitting up in bed with a gasping breath, trying to pull himself together.

Storybrooke. Mummified bodies. Science. All things he can understand, all things with explanations that he and his interns will find through their inquisition.

“Jones?” Emma asks, looking up from her cell phone from where she is sitting in the corner of their room. “Are you okay?”

He nods, running his hand over his face. It was just a dream. Just the first dream he has had about his father for years, though every part of it felt so familiar. “Just a bloody weird dream,” he mutters — then shudders at his word choice, remembering the blood dripping from his father’s hands. “Just a dream,” he says again, this time only to himself, as he pulls himself out of bed.

#these are the risks #cssns #cssns 21 #captain swan #captain swan supernatural summer #bones au

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