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naho-monogatari · 2 years

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Soriku - Forest

Riku has been his trying to make things work over the last couple of years, he’s managing but he’s so lonely.

He and the rest of organisation XII live on a reservation as a rag-tag group of werewolves trying to work as a cohesive pack, despite not being related by blood.

Most of the time they’re in human form, but they love to let loose on occasion and roam the forest as wolves.

They love their forest, It’s a huge part of their heritage and werewolf identity. But with deforestation and the old magical ways being forgotten, their surrounding forest is slowly beginning to fade away.

They can all feel it, Roxas particularly is worried. He’s always had a deep connection to the woodland.

It’s hard to ignore, the fruit trees are barely blooming, the animal population is shrinking, even the bird songs seem to have turned sorrowful.

And to add to that stress, fox hunters have started trespassing on their land.

Being werewolves, organisation XII could easily chase them out, but they’d rather avoid being mistaken for a fox and getting shot at. They’ve been trying to think of a more ‘human’ approach to keep them out.

It’s October, the rainy season.

The hunters have been coming lately more and more. going deeper and deeper into the wild spaces.

The wolves stick close to them but out of sight, they need to make sure the hunters stay off their sacred land and burial sites.

On one night, all the members hid in the surrounding bushes, watching the hunters.

After a while, Roxas detached himself from the group, he noticed a strange string of mushrooms growing towards a nook in the trees.

Are these… star shaped mushrooms??

He wasn’t sure whether to be happy or concerned. On one hand, this was the first new sign of life in the forest for years! But on the other hand, aren’t mushrooms poisonous to the forest?

He didn’t have much time to think before he heard gun shots.

They had a plan for when this happens, scatter. Hide far away in wolf form. If you manage to get back to the house, call the police. Do NOT get caught by the hunters.

They acted swiftly, Riku was the fasted.

Riku hid around a dip in the ground, it looked almost like a big rabbits burrow. From here, he couldn’t hear or see the hunters, he was safe for now.

In his periphery, he clocked the strange mushrooms, when -

- a twig snap -

Riku was immediately alert. In his wolf form his ears were twitching towards the nearby sound.

He thought it could be just a regular woodland animal but something felt off.

He creeped closer to inspect, for some reason this part of the forest has luscious thick leaves and grass, making his visibility poor.

As he snuck in the bushes, he could tell that the creature was shivering, it was scared - probably by the gunshots.

Riku managed to get a clear view of -

A boy?

The boy was shivering and curled into a defensive ball. He was barely wearing any clothes, the ones he was wearing appeared to be made out of leaves.

Any observer would assume this was a child lost in the woods and got spooked by the noise.

But Riku knew this was different, the air was… strange. The boy didn’t seem human.

And weirdly, the forest seemed to be protecting him, folding around him in a blanket of leaves and bushes. Riku himself felt partially drawn to the boy.

Then there was silence. The boy looked up.

And Riku was left breathless at the sight of the ethereal tanned creature.

He was almost elf-like with his spikey hair and slightly pointed ears. His blue eyes were like a water oasis that could bless anyone he peered at.

His arms had markings, like intricate henna tattoos, Riku immediately knew what this creature was.

A forest spirit!

This was fantastic news, with a forest spirit residing on the reservation, that could save the forest! New plants, animals and the constant stream of underground magic could make the forest thrive like it did thousands of years ago!

IF you could get the spirit to set up their home there, that is. Spirits are only bound when they set up roots.

With that knowledge, Riku retreated home to the rest of the pack. It turns out Lea called the police and one of the hunters was arrested, but now they had bigger things to deal with.

Riku filled them in on his encounter and operation ‘home-sweet-home, spirit’ was born.

(Everyone hated the name but Demyx was set on it)

Over the next two weeks the wolf pack spent every day trying to make the forest more inviting.

They cleaned the ponds of any toxins (Demyx fell in a couple of times), cleared away dead tree debris (larxene swore for an hour after breaking a nail), planted a bunch of live flowers everywhere (the current flowers were wilted), and they set up offerings for the forest spirit.

In the old texts, it states that forest spirits tend to set their ‘home’ as the largest and oldest tree available, so the rest of the team made that tree the epicentre of their operation.

Offerings of nuts, berries, vegetables and even sweets (‘Xion, why would the spirit eat human food?’) were laid around the tree to make it as enticing as they could.

Nothing was working, it had been raining and there was no sign of the spirit or it’s movements. The offerings were soggy and pathetic by the end of the week.

But luckily those star mushrooms kept popping up along the paths, the spirit was still here.

The organisation was sat around a table in their makeshift house/ shack debating their next move when Roxas burst through the door -

‘Hey! Guys! The offerings worked!’

They dashed out to look - and the offerings were a mess. Clearly the raccoons had got at the berries and nuts - half eaten bits were everywhere.

But where the sweets were - all that remained were the plastic wrappers and underneath were tiny triangle mushroom buds. They were so fresh that the star shape hadn’t properly formed yet.

This was a huge success. They decided to keep a constant reserve of sweets by the tree at all times.

One rainy night it was Riku’s turn to put out the sweets, they discovered the spirit liked to eat at night. Riku was hoping to catch another glimpse at the boy.

He put down the sweets on a blanket and covered them with the cloth so they didn’t get wet.

He then retreated to under a nearby tree, the rain was getting quite heavy.

Riku was pretty much zoning out when a gentle breeze blowed through him, fireflies were bouncing in the distance despite the rain weighing them down.

The boy emerged from the foliage into the open space where the offerings were placed.

He was just as beautiful as the first time.

Riku stared as the boy tentatively opened the sweets and sat in the rain eating.

The boys’ head suddenly whipped around - he had noticed Riku’s presence.

Riku couldn’t move, to be honest, he didn’t want to - he wanted the beautiful creature to acknowledge him.

It was at this time that Riku looked at the state of the spirits’ leaf clothes. He had thick leaf-like trousers, no shoes and big leaves pasted to parts of his chest and arms. He looked cold and drenched, he was sat partially on the offering cloth and partially in a puddle.

Before he knew it, Riku was removing his hoodie. It was slightly damp but still warm from his elevated werewolf body temperature.

‘Here, have this to keep warm - you must be cold like that’

He said this in a gentle tone, he tried to avoid direct eye-contact incase that was a sign of rudeness to the spirit.

The creature spoke back -

‘Are you human?’

He took the hoodie and held it awkwardly in his hands, not even covering his body with it.

Riku blinked, the boys voice was full of warmth.

‘…Yes, well partly. I’m a werewolf, part human, part wolf.’

The spirit looked confused but intrigued. There was a long pause before he spoke again.

‘Do you know what I am?’

‘You’re a forest spirit…right?’

The forest spirit tilted it’s head.

‘Is that what I’m called now? Hah, this is all so confusing’

The spirit scratched at the back of his head in a sheepish manner.

‘… you don’t know what you are?’

‘No idea, I thought I was a ghost until last week.

Last thing I remember was dying… and then poof! I’m running around a strange forest with all these new senses and sounds.’

The spirit was gesturing dramatically with his hands as he spoke.

Oh! I’m Sora by the way, nice to meet you’

Riku was in shock at the spirit, Sora seemed so cute and boyish, yet untouchable and godly at the same time - like he held multiple entities in his one small frame.

Riku was also in awe, his confidence was bolstered by his interaction so he continued to talk.

‘I’m Riku, nice to meet you too… Listen, I don’t know much about spirits myself, but if you lived with us in this forest - maybe we could find out together?’

He looked unsure but hopeful, Sora however, looked like he discovered Christmas for the first time.

‘There’s more of you! Wow! It’s been so long since I’ve had friends. I feel useless on my own’

There wasn’t more than a second pause before -

‘I’ll be your friend’

Riku had never been so sure of anything in his life.

Sora put on the now drenched hoodie.

‘And I’ll be yours’

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Part One done

Thank you for reading ☔️

This story was inspired by Peter Pan

#soriku #fanfic #kingdom hearts #kh sora #kh riku

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rk099 · 4 months

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River Reflections: Contemplating Nature's Flowing Mirrors

Rivers, the arteries of the Earth, weave through landscapes, carrying stories untold and reflecting the ever-changing tapestry of nature. As we stand on the riverbank, gazing into the depths of its flowing waters, we are offered a profound opportunity for introspection and connection with the natural world.

The Dance of Light and Water:

One cannot help but be captivated by the mesmerizing dance of light upon the river's surface. Sunlight glimmers and ripples, creating a constantly shifting mosaic that mirrors the celestial ballet above. This interplay of light and water invites contemplation, a meditation on the transient nature of existence.

A Mirror to the Seasons:

The river is a faithful chronicler of the passing seasons. In spring, it mirrors the rebirth of life as blossoms unfurl and trees don their emerald attire. Summer sees the river shimmering under the warm sun, inviting us to dip our toes into its cool embrace. Autumn paints the water with the fiery hues of falling leaves, and winter turns it into a reflective stillness, mirroring the hushed beauty of a snow-covered landscape.

Whispers of Time:

As the river flows, it carries with it the echoes of times gone by. It has witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations, silently observing the passage of history. Contemplating its rhythmic journey through the ages, we are reminded of our place in the grand tapestry of existence—a mere moment in the river's eternal flow.

Nature's Classroom:

The river is a teacher, imparting lessons in resilience and adaptability. It navigates obstacles with unwavering determination, carving its path through rugged terrains. By observing the river's tenacity, we learn to embrace life's challenges with a similar steadfast spirit, understanding that obstacles are but fleeting moments in the grand journey of our lives.

Finding Stillness in Motion:

Paradoxically, the river's constant motion can also be a source of tranquility. There's a soothing rhythm to the flow, a reminder that even in the midst of life's turbulence, we can find moments of serenity by tapping into our inner stillness.

The Call to Conservation:

Contemplating the river prompts a deeper connection to the environment and a sense of responsibility towards its preservation. As we marvel at its beauty, we become stewards of these precious waterways, recognizing the need to protect them for future generations.

In conclusion, standing by the river, we are offered a sacred space for reflection and connection. It beckons us to pause, observe, and absorb the wisdom it imparts. The river, a flowing mirror of nature, becomes a guide on our journey of self-discovery, inviting us to embrace the ebb and flow of life with grace and gratitude.

#nature

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deepspyshoefish · 4 months

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Origin:

Before we begin this tumultuous journey which falls upon us. We must begin before the chaos and lost souls; before the need to feel whole wasn’t just a constant chase. Grigorian Mer was born into the world far from _________. He drew his first innocent breaths in the continent known as Infernet and its secret Mountain Ossenfelt. Many whispers grew around these distant plains, for far little was known. The lost Celtic Clans and Draconians soaked the roots, but only scars remained on the aged landscape.

Grigiorian Mer or Mer as he was once known was a strange one from birth; there was no way around it. Sandpapered midnight scales wrapped his whole body, whilst still appearing soft in the darkest cave. Patchwork skin skittered itself in between an array of those darkened iron tips. Some would’ve said they worked in unison as he took his first steps, it was such incorrect beauty from the start and a tale to go with it. His mother Iodine belonged to the ancient Coven of Ciaran. Strange but powerful rumors spread about these avarice folk. Neighboring villages warned their young of those dark caves and welcoming truths. And to never believe the roses….regardless of how they cry. His mother Iodine was a layered and troubled woman. Her presence colored the walls sour when she appeared. It was this ostracisation that caused this tragic occupancy. The summoning of the Dragonic spirit and the loss of her sight were all in part for her sacrifice for sensual need. This forbidden fornication doomed her from the start, but as the darkness wrapped her womb, she felt the touch of his furnace. Albeit, her acts warranted and achieved her desire, those who watched the sky that night grew their own needs.

A child who bears both Warlock and DragonBorn genes was unheard of in these parts and the coven did the only moral thing they could. They nurtured and cared for the soulless mother. Bathed and cared for her during those screaming nights. By 4 months, the mother’s child was ripped from her stomach and her body was left to the whispers. Although the Half Warlock and Half Dragon-born race were unheard of, there were rumored to be small pockets all over the distant continents.

He grew his young scales in Ossenfelt, but you’d be surprised to find anyone who’s heard of it in a long time. Beautifully carved walls hid these intricate caves where fallen temples stretched across miles of underground chambers, only to be quilted by the mountains. Turquoise Stalagmites enchanted those hollows and protected them from the curses of the Whispering Woods. The walls had stood partnered with the mountains for years and yet the rose petals etched into the marble looked as if they stood strong and still. You’d swear you’d hear them cry as they glistened in front of your eyes. Weathered rocks cradled by vines hugged the nooks and crooks of these towering obstacles. Hidden from the shadows of the Fallen Kingdoms lurking over from the North the Coven knew truths and dark secrets which kept them alive throughout blistering winters. When the trees fell into their bones and left the warlocks scarce of enchantments; whilst the animals cheated their trust and fled for warmth. It was these secrets that gave Mer life and power, they showed him memories of things yet to come, visions of chaos and drowning, memories of aether coursing through every atom of his being. Devouring warmth of untempering power ran through those memories. A constant and infinite light. It was all for the taking and Grigorian Mer had seen enough It was time to create it.

Grigorian Mer was a stubborn being. The searching of this aether brought him to the outreaches of the Devouring Dunes. On the edge of nothing, this crystallized sand cut across the frozen ocean like daggers. This apartheid in the environment had been caused by his zealous need for truth and habitual appetite to consume. But his destination didn’t end at the edge of life and the beginning of frostbite, countless trades and sacrifices couldn’t be lost to fear. The frozen seas of Idris had been warned by previous Dream Walkers, so Mer struck a deal with his unknown master. Yielding the sand around his robes, and the molten power within his fingertips he sculpted an infinitely beautiful vessel to carry him across this foreign ocean. His journey across the Idris doesn’t matter, it's the journey down which caused all this…

His burnt lungs drew cold from the piercing water as the weight of his ship sank him down. His trapped torso couldn’t breathe and his powers grew weaker in the darkness of oxygen as any chance of escape froze above him as he was anchored to his tomb. But the darkness grows friendly to those in need and Mer is no innocent. Spoiled blood runs through his veins and an opportunity won't be missed. Screaming prayers circulated in his mind during those last seconds; as the last breath carried his final word he reached them and The Unknown Gods heard his Spirit as if it poured like a raging river. The sound echoed across their ethereal plane like music at a banquet. The mere reverberations of his soul called to the Old and as his eyes drew dark, he left his blood-soaked lungs. Through the starting cracks of death and the parting of life, she extends her corpse-like fingers and consumes what you need the most. The essence of self and transcendence are all being consumed like a devious fiend.

‘Your soul has been taken and your life will be reborn.’

#dnd character #dungeons and dragons

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yostresswritinggirl · 3 years

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It is time. This took a while but I figured I should give you guys the closure you've wanted, even tho uh it's not really a closure lmaooo. Here's the first part for the new readers!

Xiao's Personal "Chef" Travel Edition

Xiao with a Reader who is not only his Personal Chef but assistant, adventuring together

General/Preparation

A visionless chef with an adeptus by their side, going in a routeless journey together to savor the world that had once been pulled away from their grasps.

It must be the cause of the recent ressurection and defeat of the Lord of Vortex, immobilizing him once more for thousands of years. And in the window time, there would be less worries for the Qixing and Liyue Adepti to worry about. Think of it as a day-off for the Adepti, and a vacation for you.

While you carry with you no traces of elemental blessings and an enthusiasm for swordplay, the blessed Sigil of Permission given to you by your adeptus (whom claimed it was created by Rex Lapis himself before his untimely death) grants you a special connection with Xiao.

Sadly a vacation from Liyue does not mean a break from the constant voices of demons within Xiao's mind. And you've prepared him the medicine necessary to soothe his mind even if temporary, three bottles to be exact, all of which can last him several months.

He looks at you with confusion and silent question, of which you waved away because you had prepared this batch in your room in the Inn to make sure he doesn't run out of stock.

He doesn't tell you this but lately the voices had been not intrusive while he gets distracted by your presence. Like a soothing balm, to numb the effects of the pain. It's still there but not as annoying.

Your adventure or journey usually lingers around Liyue for the first parts of it, looking around the nation to enjoy the sceneries without thinking about errands or protecting the villages from impending doom.

Xiao already uh announced his indefinite leave to the other adepti beforehand, but well, when you wanted to visit their domains, which you countered was PERFECTLY safe (almighty Sigil of Permission has lots of perks) it was a very awkward time for him upon meeting them again. It was inevitable because of the energy the sensed from Xiao and your Sigil.

"Hello again, Guardian Yaksha, were you not on leave?" "Y-Yeah... we're just... passing through"

Field trip with the Adepti!!!! Moon Carver and Mountain Shaper brought you around their domains as if to test you, like Ganyu's trials, while also flexing their achievements and who has the best domain. Humans are rare, but you are a mortal who carries the last blessed Sigil and you're tamed in the ways of the adepti because of your exposure to Xiao.

Cloud Retainer not only teaches you the glory of gliding, but she also has cute and embarrassing stories of Xiao from way back! Xiao is in the background trying not to scream or rage at the ensemble in front of him-

"He really likes collecting Qingxin flowers, always bringing one whenever he comes back from his exterminations. He even offers one to Morax everytime." "Yes, yes, such flowers grow common before, right?" "Wha- (Y/N), what do you think you're writing down in that book?!"

"The devoted that carries the last essence of Morax's powers. We've heard much about you from your adeptus, it is relieving to finally put a face to your name. Tell us, child, what is it that you seek in our domain?"

They pretty much just outted that Xiao talks about you to the others, and he- he's just so done. He's either going to hide, leave the area or pull you out of the conversation before someone *coughCloudRetainercough* starts embarrassing him in front of you.

Once you've gotten the supplies you wanted to collect from Liyue's wild lands, like flowers or ores, your little party will start going further away from the familiar nation.

Comfort on the Streets

Being the chef in the party, a lot of the time, resource collection stops you short from travelling despite the many prepped ingredients you had carried with you. There's a lot of things laying around and you just couldn't let such opportunities go. Your adoptive mother Verr had taught you to indulge in your curiousities, as a mother, as a traveler, and as a cook.

Xiao takes the brute force, the frontline of being the tank and general fighter of your band. He indulges himself with unhinged strength so long as he was sure that you were perfectly safe from his own barrage of offense. You think in the back of your mind that he's enjoying the exterminations but in his mind he indulges himself with your cheers and praises after fending off some pesky slimes that strayed too close to your temporary camp.

Xiao does not need rest and barely breaks a sweat but you're quite fragile of a human being, you still need rest and consumables, things that you had the luxury of despite working in the Inn. Here you were alone to carry your own weight and care for yourself. You look up from the boiling pot that was settled over the bright campfire to see Xiao's figure coming into view, a freshly killed boar in hand as some kind of offering for your sacred stomach.

You guess now the caring isn't one-sided.

When taking things into careful detail that requires precision and undivided attention, it seems the voices of the demons and revelled gods in the depths of his mind disappears, more so under the presence of you.

So it was the perfect opportunity now that no other errands hold you back, to teach Xiao how to make the infamous Almond Tofu.

When you teach him survival he takes into consideration everything despite the bored/blank face he dons.

Oh but he still prefers your way of cooking, he can never get the same soft texture of the jelly that you easily make.

Xiao doesn't really need to eat but he's glad to be your taste-tester for the new dishes you cook from the random, probably edible, ingredients you find here and then.

The stew continued to boil with bubbles popping despite the fire under it extinguished for a while now. It was an unnamed soup you concocted from the various seafood you've gotten from the ocean paired with the meat the adeptus hunted.

It was delicious. Despite being a palette he was not used to, it was something he can stomach. And despite the different meat mixed in, the flavours didn't clash like he thought it would but instead blended the tastes quite well. Xiao hums as he sips the soup politely, tilting the bowl as he gulps down.

"It is manageable, despite your first try, I can see this being sold in one of the restaurants in Liyue Harbour-" he turns to you as he proceeds to hold out his bowl for seconds when he stopped in his tracks, eyes slightly widening a crack at the sight of tears free falling off your chin.

The spoon on your hand was slack, eyes distant yet dilated as you silently cried. When you felt the glove of his hand cup your cheek, tilting your head to make you face him, your expression cracked to that of grief melded with forced laughter. "It's... it's just like what mum used to make." You sob, and his hand wavered from its touch.

Travelling reopened old wounds. For you and for him.

Xiao doesn't NEED sleep nor does he WANT it, despite the many times you had caught him dozing off in the middle of the day during your work at the Inn. Such occasions usually meant that there was an event that needed his aid the night prior.

Your guardian yaksha usually stays up to keep watch and when you wake up, you would find him spaced out or in the brink of passing out, desperately holding himself together

But there are other times when he feels more restless and not content with just standing guard to make sure you are protected—

Those moments are when you are held in his arms, him resting against a tree and you resting against his lean chest, travel blanket laid over the both of you. When the terrain allows it, the sleeping bag would be under your bottom and legs for extra comfort.

When you can't rest, he whips out his flute to play you a soft tune hoping to lull you to sleep. If he sinks into the comfort of the mood, he'll continue playing much softer to prevent waking you up so early

But the guardian yaksha can buckle at the temptation of comfort, a humanistic desire fuelled by the assurance that in his arms you are absolutely safe-

And you two lay under the stars in peaceful slumber. Good night~

Combat-side of Travelling

Kicking the bottom shaft of the jade spear, Xiao swiftly catches it with his other hand, a small smile aimed for himself at the expert action before he raises his eyes back at you where you lay splayed on the floor. Drenched in your own sweat and desperately breathing. A long, wooden stick discarded by your side.

You pried your eyes open when the rays of the sun suddenly stopped invading through your thin eyelids, the shadow of the Yaksha looming over your form with a rare triumphant smirk. "Yeah, yeah, I know what you're gonna say-"

"I told you so."

"Oh hush you!"

His soft laugh was melodic and it made you break a smile despite the exhaustion.

We've already established beforehand that Xiao is your main dps here and you're just support/utility. But you've expressed your desire to AT LEAST pick up some weight, asking the man to help you hone your weapon proficiency, even if you knew he'd decli-

He accepts. Oh. But it's not about swords sadly, it's for polearms. Since it's the weapon he uses, it's the only thing he can teach you.

Will be CONSIDERABLY gentle in training you compared to his massacres, and will be ever so patient so long as progress is made. Surprisingly, Xiao is actually a really good teacher, and you'd find his points to be precise and on the spot.

He'll be there on the side as you try to fight off a hydro slime for the first time, with the aid of your cheap spear you both from the nearest town over. If you get cornered, he'll be there to instantly swoop in. Fortunately you managed, and he gave an approving nod.

Despite his acceptance to teach he's not gonna let you fight actual threats because he doesn't wish to risk your safety. And you're still gonna be a hundred feet away as he does his job

If he ever managed to hurt you himself, it's... it's not gonna be good, not good at all for the both of you... luckily that hasn't happened! Uh, yet lol

Just admire him from afar, he looks pretty anyways, although the black particles that seem to surround him before the end of the fight

But he'll always come back to you, with a slight limp you always notice despite his attempts to hide, and you'll be there to heal him up

Like a knight to his princess? Or healer, more so

And the process rinses and repeats at your generally peaceful trip

"Oh, oh, I see it! Uuup there!"

His honey amber eyes follow where your fingers point, high and up against the cliff until he sees the glimpse of the swaying violetgrass. No orders needed to tell him what the objective is, but as you place your hand on his elbow when he was about to leap, you had different plans.

"Woohoo!" Please be careful, he shouts in his head as you rode the tides of his Anemo currents, gliding over to where the violetgrass awaits for your plucking hands. When the glider retracts as you grip the cliff face, you broke the stem of the flora. A eureka in your voice as you held it up like a treasure before pushing yourself off the cliffside.

The wind on your back was not harsh, carefully constructed and maneuvered as you seemingly float down into the arms of the awaiting Yaksha, as per routine of your retrieval, "Thank you!"

"Is it in good condition?" It didn't bother you that he has yet to put you down, nodding with a grin as you gently waved the perfectly grown violetgrass in your hand. Satisfied, he turns around to go back to your route when

golden, brown and white silhouettes entered your peripherals among the turn.

"Eh?"

"Ah?"

"Traveler, Paimon and Zhongli?"

"Well, it is the most intriguing that we meet again this far out and in such a circumstance, Xiao and (Y/N)."

Party gained 2 ½ members!

I noticed upon writing that after you started travelling with Xiao, the formality in your tone of speaking started to dissipate. Easing into the comforts of your relationship with him, Xiao is relieved.

@kookieyachi @moaa @dandelion-dreams @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @witchsungie

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact xiao #exile.goblet #exile.flower #sojourner specials #reeeee part twoooo #oh gawd this may not be good as i wanted it to be aww

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thecreaturecodex · 2 years

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Forchoreai

“Forest God” © Cosme Lucero, accessed at their ArtStation here

[The planes in D&D have been through several iterations. In 1e, the Neutral Good with Chaotic tendencies plane was called the Happy Hunting Ground, named after something that white people made up and claimed were Native American beliefs (notably, the phrase first appears in James Fenimore Cooper). So it’s for the best that its name changed to the Beastlands in 2e, and that in general its description has been good at avoiding Native American stereotypes. At least since the Planescape days. I haven’t read the 1e Manual of the Planes.

I bring this up because the forchorai, from “Creature Catalog 3″, is a denizen of that plane. Its overall vibe reminds me of the Ceryneian hind and other uncatchable animals from Greek mythology, as well as Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr, the goats that Thor kills, eats and resurrects every day. It appears to be a wholly original creation of Peter Zelinski.]

Forchoreai CR 8 NG Magical Beast This majestic stag stands taller than a man at the shoulder, with pearlescent antlers. It has a calm, benevolent expression.

Agathions are spiritual creatures, but those modeled on carnivorous animals still feel the need to hunt as part of embodying the virtues and values of their type. Celestial animals do eat each other as they roam the wilds of Nirvana, but also turn their attention to greater game. One of these empyreal prey animals are the forchoreai—sacred, magical stags that are born to die and be renewed in the process of the hunt. Each forchoreai is philosophical about its deaths, as it knows that it will return and be all the wiser for the experience. When not being hunted, a forchoreai may act as a guide for mortals traveling through the wilds of Nirvana.

A forchoreai is more interested in fleeing than in fighting, both in order to preserve its life as long as possible but also to pose a worthy challenge for those that would hunt them. They are not slowed by thick vegetation, and often talk to animals and plants in their environment in order to gather intelligence about local hazards and terrain they can use to their advantage. Most forchoreai have a sense of sportsmanship, and only use their magical powers, such as invisibility or mirror image, against similarly magical foes instead of against mere celestial animals. They fight when cornered, or if attacked by a truly evil creature rather than a hungry predator or animal exemplar.

Forchoreai all have antlers, regardless of sex. These antlers are coated in mother-of-pearl and are fantastically beautiful, as well as being functional weapons. When slain, the antlers of the creature remain, and are an art object worth the average treasure value of a CR 8 encounter. If the forchoreai is killed permanently (such as by an evil weapon or in the area of a desecrate spell), the antlers crumble to ash. Some fiends and hags value this material for making cursed versions of healing items, such as potions of poison or periapts of foul rotting.

Forchoreai CR 8 XP 4,800 NG Large magical beast (extraplanar) Init +13; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +23 Defense AC 21, touch 15, flat-footed 21 (-1 size, +5 Dex, +6 natural, +1 dodge) hp 95 (10d10+40); fast healing 2 Fort +11, Ref +12, Will +7 SR 18 (25 vs. divinations) Defensive Abilities freedom of movement, rejuvenation, uncanny dodge Offense Speed 60 ft. Melee gore +14 (4d6+7), 2 hooves +9 (1d6+2) Space 10 ft.; Reach 5 ft. Special Attacks pearlescent antlers Spell-like Abilities CL 10th, concentration +13 Constant—freedom of movement, nondetection, speak with animals At will—detect snares and pits, speak with plants 3/day—invisibility, mirror image, pass without trace, quickened protection from evil 1/day—heal (DC 19), tree stride Statistics Str 21, Dex 20, Con 19, Int 14, Wis 18, Cha 17 Base Atk +10; CMB +16; CMD 32 (36 vs. trip) Feats Alertness, Dodge, Improved Initiative, Quicken SLA (protection from evil), Run Skills Acrobatics +14 (+26 when jumping), Knowledge (nature) +8, Perception +23, Sense Motive +12, Stealth +20, Survival +12, Swim +12; Racial Modifiers +8 Perception, +8 Stealth Languages Celestial, Common, Elven, Sylvan, speak with animals SQ insightful reactions Ecology Environment any forests and plains (Nirvana) Organization solitary Treasure special (see above) Special Abilities Insightful Reactions (Ex) A forchoreai adds its Wisdom modifier to initiative checks. Pearlescent Antlers (Su) A forchoreai’s gore attack is treated as magic and good for the purposes of overcoming damage reduction. Rejuvenation (Su) A slain forchoreai returns to life without penalty 3 days after it is slain. A forchoreai can only die permanently if slain with evil-aligned weapons, or in the area of a desecrate or unhallow spell.

#forchoreai #dragon magazine #D&D #pathfinder 1e #Manual of the Planes

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opalinedaydreams · 2 years

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warm | clark kent/bruce wayne

He hasn’t told anyone this, except for Diana. But when he’d been close to the edges of his awareness, when he’d felt the light creeping in on all sides, he’d sworn he could hear them. Feel them, even—his parents, their hands cool to the touch upon his temples.

or, in the aftermath of a near fatal injury, clark and bruce celebrate the holidays

The sun hasn’t even risen over Kansas when Bruce wakes to featherlight fingertips dusting along his brow, his collarbone, his throat.

He pulls Clark closer. Marvels at the way he comes willingly, the way he tucks himself into Bruce’s side like he belongs there.

“Morning,” Clark mumbles, somewhere against Bruce’s collarbone.

Bruce drags the tip of his nose over Clark’s forehead. Buries his face in Clark’s mess of hair and breathes deeply, without pain, for the first time in weeks.

“Good morning,” he returns, voice scratchy with sleep.

Clark yawns, and stretches, and somehow finds his way even closer, which really should not even be feasible. “I think I need a shower.”

Bruce hums. Runs a hand along Clark’s spine, soaking up warmth. “I didn’t want to say anything.”

Clark grins. Pokes at Bruce’s cheek in retaliation.

They make their way out of bed slowly, Clark helping Bruce carefully upright. Bruce’s breath hitches at the pull of stitches, and Clark winces. Runs a gentle hand over healing flesh and sets Bruce on his feet again.

It had been a closer call than most. Two spears of light through Bruce’s chest—one barely missing his heart, one not missing his left lung.

He almost hadn’t made it.

He remembers lying in a hospital bed, hearing Clark over the constant thrum of machinery, of the things keeping Bruce alive.

Don’t go yet, Clark had whispered into the skin of Bruce’s palm. It may have been the only part of Bruce’s body that hadn’t been covered in bruise, in torn and mending skin. I’m not ready.

Bruce had wanted to ask what for, but the truth was, he already knew. They’d talked about this before. They’d made the deal, and they'd sealed it in every way they knew how.

Where you go, I go. To whatever end. No matter what.

It was as sacred a pact as any that Bruce had ever made—more sacred, even, because it had been made with something bigger than fear, or hatred, or vengeance. It had been made with love.

Clark had spent ten days in the hospital beside Bruce, holding his hand. By the end of it, his hair had been a matted mess, his eyes sunken in and dark.

Alfred and Ms. Kent had never been more than an arm’s length away the whole time, with Diana setting up a permanent guard over the hospital room. Their protective detail’s rotation had seen the likes of Barry, Hal, Arthur, and Diana herself, all keeping watch over the proceedings at Gotham General until Bruce could be moved somewhere safer. Until he could be taken home.

Now, Bruce stands on his own two feet. Steers Clark towards the shower, and heads for the door.

He follows the scent of freshly baked banana bread downstairs. Ms. Kent is nowhere to be seen, but there’s a note on the counter in front of the coffee pot, because she knows them, and she knows they’ll worry.

Went into town for groceries, will be back soon. Coffee’s ready to go.

Bruce feels something warm, and ridiculous, and altogether terrifying blossom in his chest. He presses start on the coffee pot and finds his way outside, onto the Kent’s wraparound porch.

He’d had spent the better part of yesterday evening helping to hang ornaments on the low branches of the Christmas tree in the living room, careful to avoid pulling stitches. And then he’d made the mistake of wincing once, and had been subsequently fired from decorating duty and sequestered to the couch.

Bruce had offered to order takeout for dinner when Ms. Kent and Clark had finally finished hanging the tinsel, and had nearly been laughed out of the house.

Instead, Martha had warmed homemade bread from the freezer, and Clark had started chopping vegetables for soup.

Bruce had been given the strikingly banal task of setting the table, and then of sitting the hell down before he passed out—Clark’s words, not Ms. Kent’s.

Bruce hadn’t set a table in years, but it was also probably the only task he was actually fit to do. And since he’d refused to just sit down in the first place, Martha had indulged him with effortless busywork, the kinds of things that Bruce imagined happened in a normal home, a full home.

His mom had smiled, warm and fearless. It had done something to Bruce’s chest, then—torn it apart, and put it back together again.

You are not done. Not yet.

When Bruce had tried to look away, to pull away, because it had all simply been too much, his mother had caught him by the chin. She had pulled him close and held him steady, and she had not let him go.

But you already knew that, didn’t you?

And the truth is, just a few years ago, Bruce would have given anything to join his parents. To be at peace with them, wherever they were now.

But these days, he has so much to live for. He has early mornings and late nights with Clark. He has a standing appointment for afternoon tea every Tuesday with Diana. He has training with Barry, and long talks on the porch with Ms. Kent—call me Martha, please, Bruce—and he has this: the sprawling Kansan sky, stretching on for what feels like infinity.

If anyone, when he was younger, had told him that he would one day feel at home here, nestled amongst cornfields, Bruce would’ve laughed in their faces.

But nothing has ever turned out exactly as he thought it would—least of all his life. He thinks it’s probably for the best. Whatever his life has become, he would not have had the courage to dream of it, before. To make it real.

Clark finds his way out onto the porch some indeterminate amount of time later, in threadbare socks. The plaid blanket from the back of the couch is wrapped around his shoulders, and he looks warm. It’s so incredibly Clark that it settles something in Bruce’s chest, makes him feel at home.

Clark comes up behind him. Wraps the blanket around them both, and pulls Bruce back into his chest.

He nuzzles at the patch of silver behind Bruce’s ear. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” Bruce admits. He can feel his stomach rumbling, the smell of coffee and fresh bread wafting through the screen door from the kitchen.

“Want to head inside?”

“Not yet.”

Clark exhales deeply, and Bruce thinks it might be with relief. Clark winds his arms a little tighter around Bruce, mindful of stitches, of old bruises.

They have time, now.

Ms. Kent will be home soon, and there will be coffee in the glow of the Christmas tree lights. There will be quiet conversation that drags on into late morning, and there will be something homemade for breakfast. Clark will blush and laugh and dispute as Martha tells stories of his childhood, of his father. Alfred will call from where he’s on holiday in Paris, and he will tell Bruce to eat well, and he will call a hello to Ms. Kent as she passes by in the background of their FaceTime call.

Everything will be warm, and bright, and real—too real, so real that Bruce will have to pause, to take a moment, to let it all sink in.

For now, though, Bruce settles back into Clark’s chest. Lets Clark hold up his weight, hold them steady. And for the first time in a long time, he breathes easy.

#opal writes #superbat #bruce wayne #clark kent #superman #batman #clark kent/bruce wayne

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the-lady-writes-what · 4 years

Text

21. Hizashi Yamada and Shouta Aizawa

Theme: Fox spirits/gods

Kinks: Threesome, double penetration, biting, marking, praise kink, oral (receiving), breeding kink (if you squint), polyamory/polyandry

Sorry this is a little late. My brain was like, I know I said I was going to make these short one-shots but how about we make them bigger?

(The gif has nothing to do with the story, obvi)

Masterlist

You climbed up the many steps leading to the shrine. This was your last resort. The humiliation induced by your vicious ex-boyfriend still left gashes in your heart. Your curse was that you fall in love too quickly and are blind to all faults until it's too late. Your most recent misadventure in love had been so cunning, so cruel that you wasted three years of your life with a man who was, in the words of your best friends, a massive cunt. Manipulative, emotionally abusive, but the cherry on top was the rumor he spread about you having an S.T.D. you'd gotten while cheating on him. Mind you, he was the one with the sexually transmitted disease. You were spared because you hadn't slept with him in recent months. The sting was a deadly blow to your self-confidence and trust in men.

After months of battling depression and anxiety, your aunt suggested a remote village trip and visit this exact shrine. Upon arrival, you were acutely aware of all the women either paired off or visibly pregnant. You noticed this at arrival. It was small at first—a lot of couples paired off, two by two like swans. Then, when you approached the marketplace and asked for directions, you noticed how the shopkeeper was pregnant, along with her sister and sister-in-law. There weren't many single men or single women as far as you could tell. Even a male couple looked happy.

You wanted to burn this town to ashes.

It was insulting, really. You came all this way just to have happiness and love shoved in your face while you, the miserable wretch, were forced to pine. You tried not to scowl as happy couples passed you by. Keeping your eyes focused ahead of you was all you could do to avoid knocking the smiles off their faces. Now, here you were, mounting the steps to a shrine shrouded by pines and red maples. Leaves rustled on the steps, which drew your attention. Fallen leaves littered the stairs and the shrine's sacred grounds, but that seemed awfully unauspicious. Was there no groundskeeper, no shrine maiden, no priest to clear them away? As you reached half-way up the hill, you noticed the smell in the air. Not a bad smell, but it was pervasive all around. The scent invaded your senses. It smelled a lot like jasmine and patchouli. You didn't think much of it and thought it was just someone burning incense at the shrine.

Two masculine figures lounged in the garden. One looked indifferent while the other moped. The latter was blonde; it matched the protruding fox ears on his head and the fluffy, swishing tail patting his thigh. He rested his head on the lap of the former, who appeared much like him except his hair, ears, and tail were black as ink. This one wore an indifferent expression. He looked out into the garden as he made a mental list of all the things he had to do around the shrine. Weeds had encroached where they weren't wanted during the summer and now choked the garden. Fall arrived early this year and made the trees shed their leaves too soon. The steps, as well as the grounds and roof, were covered in maple leaves. The inside needed moping, shining, dusting, and replacing oil lamps. There was still the matter of the hole in the sanctuary's ceiling that needed mending. But was there any human around to do it? No. The last priest died over fifty years ago. Shouta, the black fox, and Hizashi, the blonde fox, had been left alone to answer the whims of pilgrims.

It was almost thankless work. Ensuring happy marriages, love matches, and fertility was hard work when one was forced to clean their own shrine. As long as they were tied to this spot, Hizashi and Shouta had no other choice. The only thing more embarrassing than a shrine-god having to clean up his own shrine was a homeless one.

"I'm starting to miss the old man," said Hizashi. "He was so much fun to drink with. At least he had a sense of humor. Unlike the other fuddy-duddies, they tried to send us."

A few months after the last priest's death, his congregation tried to settle another to take his place. The successor was stern and took his job too seriously for Hizashi's liking. 'He's too dull,' Hizashi used to complain. Shouta wasn't much of a fan either, but it was more due to Hizashi's constant sighs and complaints that drove him to chase the priest away. Shouta ensured that no other settled down for too long. As far as the pair was concerned, the priest who died fifty years ago was their last worthy priest.

"It's so boring and lonely up here. There's no one to play with," Hizashi complained.

Shouta rolled his eyes. Hizashi was in one of his moods again. Boredom took a toll more on him than his 'co-worker' and sometimes lover. It was easy to get bored of making love for fifty-odd years while still working a thankless job. Only occasionally did some old lady or grateful newlywed came to offer incense and drop a donation. Whenever there was money, even a scrap, either Shouta or Hizashi would venture down the hill to mingle with the humans for a little bit. Men or women often flirted with them, but they couldn't decide on a partner they could both enjoy. Instead, everyone was declined.

"Maybe we could call up Nemuri and see what she's up to?" Hizashi suggested.

Shouta gave a flat answer. "No."

Hizashi pouted and went back to his pouting.

"You're no fun," said Hizashi.

"I know." Shouta petted Hizashi's ears to placate him.

Suddenly, a shudder rippled through both of them. They looked at one another. A smile quickly spread across Hizashi's face.

"We have a visitor!" He jumped up at once and dusted himself off.

"We have visitors all the time," said Shouta, but this was a lie. Visitors became fewer after the summer once pilgrims got their desire.

"But did you feel that, Shouta? A poor, miserable, broken-hearted young woman just crossed the path of our statues, and she's heading this way. Don't you feel it? Oh, the poor dear?"

The shrine-gods knew the hearts of all those who entered. It was their specialty to work in all the matters of the heart and the bedroom. Sniffing out broken hearts was a talent they both shared, but Hizashi was the more sensitive one. A fractured heart held an aura that most humans couldn't detect by sensing it alone. Sometimes it was a trifling matter. This time, however, Hizashi felt far more significant pain. Betrayal called out to him like a widow. He hadn't even seen the woman's face but could smell her despair, hate, and ache from miles away. She needed help.

Shouta felt it too. He pitied the human and wondered what brought her to that state. His curiosity was peaked, which didn't happen very often, if at all. Her presence was a sad one, and it threatened to taint the whole shrine with her negativity. Negativity drew hungry ghosts and pesky imps like moths to a flame. All of that meant more work for him. Aside from wanting to protect what little dignity his shrine had left, it was his duty to help this miserable wretch.

"Can we introduce ourselves, Shouta?" Hizashi's bright green eyes twinkled with mischief, hope, and something else Shouta could not easily define.

Shouta weighed the pros and cons in his head. By the time he came to a decision, he could hear the woman walking into the courtyard. Her voice was carried on the autumn wind. She was curious too, likely wondering why a shrine was seemingly left abandoned and in disarray. It would be rude to let her go forlorn after a trek up the hill.

You passed under the second torii gates and a second pair of fox statues. There were no lion-dogs as you saw in most other shrines, but this one had a strong love for foxes apparently. You looked at the water in the pavilion used for ceremonial purification. You cringed at the slightly brackish water and used very little to purify your hands. As soon as you got to the nearest restroom, you were going to scrub your hands raw. Walking down the narrow path leading to the inner sanctuary, you kept noticing very odd things. The shrine was in massive disrepair with cracks, debris, and brackish water. It wasn't a complete eyesore, but something did not feel right. There was not a soul you could find; loneliness pervaded every inch of the place. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself as you walked on. You found the spot where wishers and pilgrims wrote their prayers on wooden plaques to hang them up. While there were plenty of rustling in the wind, they weren't very many. You scrawled your desire for a loving partner, happiness, and to forget the man who wounded you so deeply.

You hung the plaque alongside the three dozen blowing in the wind. You went further ahead to pay your respect at the small public shrines built on the side of the shrine's complex. There were only two buildings. One foot across, seven feet long, and six feet tall, they were impressively big for small shrines. These were the only buildings uncovered by leaves and pines branches. You marveled briefly at their pristine appearance. In your bag, you brought along the incense your aunt prescribed. You retrieved two sticks of carnation incense and dipped the stick end in the bowl of sand. You lit the incense, clapped your hands twice, and said a prayer. You did this twice at both shrines.

You turned your back to face going all the way down the hill again when you spotted something at the corner of your eye. At first, it seemed like your mind was playing tricks on you. Out of the corner, you thought you saw a ball of glowing blue light flicker in the window of the main shrine. The main shrine was off to limits to everyone but the priests and shrine maidens. This was where the kami, the god, was housed and worshipped by the clergy. You turned to see if what you saw had really been there. Another flash of blue flickered in the window and then another. You swallowed hard, but curiosity pinched at you. You wanted to know. With a quick glance around, you wandered over to the main shrine.

You cut over the grass and walked into the oratory. There were no voices or footsteps other than your own. You called out to anyone who would be listening, yet no one answer was given. Your voice carried down the halls. However, just because no one answered, it didn't exclude the idea altogether that no one listened. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end as you drew closer to what you assumed was the forbidden connecting hall that led into the inner sanctuary, which was supposed to be off-limits to the public. As far as you could tell, no one was around to stop you or tell you no.

You took a deep breath and crossed the threshold. Your heart pounded inside your chest. The halls were so dark you had to grope around just to find a wall. You tried to turn around and head out only to get yourself more lost. It was as if you were stuck in a maze. Every direction looked the same, and turning around seemed to make matters worse.

In desperation, you called out, "Hello?"

Still no answer. You trekked further in the hopes of running into someone, anyone, and get them to show you the way out. You hoped that they had a flashlight on hand. You would barely make out your hand in front of your face if you held it up.

Another flash of blue had you whirling on your face. You whipped your head in that direction. Shivers ran down your spine as you felt a pair of eyes bore a hole into the back of your head. It didn't feel like something glaring at you, but the sensation frightened you nevertheless. You took off in the direction of the blue flash. Yet another appeared up ahead, further along than the previous. You started running after it. More appeared, and each grew more distinct in shape and color than the last. You managed to get close enough to hear the hiss and flicker of its fire. You stared at a ball of blue flames with its tongue licking the air. It disappeared into nothingness and reappear off in a different direction.

You found it hovering in front of a set of shoji doors. It disappeared once more. Lights flickered behind the rice paper. You pried your fingers against the seams and pushed the door open. Lamps lined the walls. They burned with pale blue and white flames behind their screens. You approached with caution and gripped your bag straps tight.

Wooden floors creaked beneath your feet. You mentally cursed yourself for dragging your shoes inside the holy place, but the longer you glanced around the room, the more it seemed that this was not an ordinary shrine. The room had a lower portion accessible by three steps, and a red mat covered much of the space. A shrine rested on the floor on the other side. In each of the four corners was a vase that held carnation flowers. Somehow, all the flowers were in perfect condition and thrived in the forgotten space. You stepped carefully towards the shrine when you felt something behind you.

You looked over your shoulder. Not something, but someone and just a someone but someones. It wasn't the fact that you finally met another person at the shrine or that they were men that gave you alarm. It was the ears sticking out on top of their heads, the tails swishing back and forth behind them, and the regal manner in which they bore themselves. The one in a black yukata folded his arms across his chest and looked quite serious, probably because you were trespassing. The other man wore a red yukata, but he appeared far more friendly than his companion. He smiled broadly at you as if you hadn't just broken one of the most sacred, unspoken rules about behavior at a shrine. You swallowed hard and bowed from the waist.

"I am so sorry for intruding, sirs. I-I didn't mean to intrude…I got lost and couldn't find my way out. I'll leave immediately if you just show me the way. I promise I'll never come back and disturb another shrine so long as I live!"

"Easy there, little sparrow. No need to get riled up," said the friendlier one.

Slowly, you raised yourself up. You looked at them again, still bewildered by their ears and tail. They were either the strangest priests you were likely to ever come across, or they were—

"What business do you have here?" Asked the more somber fellow.

"I-I" You choked on your words. "I had a boyfriend who did rotten things to me. I was hoping to, to, um, to…" Your voice trailed off.

You were too distracted by the fox ears on their heads. They looked too real to be fake, but how was that possible?

The blonde one snapped his fingers.

"My eyes are down here, love," he chuckled.

Your cheeks darkened with embarrassment. "Please, if you could just tell me how to get out of here, I'll leave you alone."

Your first instinct would be to bolt for the door. When you glanced behind them, the doors had been shut when you remember having left them open. Were these demons standing in front of you? Is that why the shrine seemed so empty?

"Leaving so soon? But you haven't even heard our proposal yet?" Said the blonde.

Your brows furrowed. "P-Proposal?"

The black-haired fox-eared man slipped something out of his yukata sleeve. It was your wood plaque you left hanging outside. His ebony eyes gleaned over your wish and read it aloud.

"I don't know who will answer this, but I want to find true love, a life partner who will never stick a knife in me and twist. A man, or frankly anyone who will love and care for me. Please bring me happiness and make me forget about the man who abused me for three years. Is this your wish, Y/N?"

Your face drained of color. "How do you know my name?"

"We have our methods. I'm Hizashi. The dour one is Shouta. It's lovely to meet you."

"W-what are you?" You ventured to ask.

"We're the shrine gods. It's been lonely up here for a while now. The priests haven't been to our liking for the last fifty years, so we're forced to take care of the place ourselves, which is rather insulting if you think about it," said Hizashi.

"And…what are you the gods of?"

"Love, fertility, happy marriages, love-matches, all that fun stuff," answered Hizashi.

"Are you the reason why every other woman I met in town is pregnant?"

Hizashi answered, "Of course. We've been blessing this region with successful pregnancies for centuries. There hasn't been but a handful of miscarriages in all these years thanks to us."

"We're not the cause of the pregnancies if that's what that face is for, Y/N. We just ensure that the infant comes to term and reduce sterility in men and women," said Shouta, who had apparently been studying your face very closely.

Your blush darkened.

"Otherwise, this town would be full of half-fox spirits roaming around, wouldn't it?" Hizashi laughed.

"Okay…" You thought for a moment about what you were going to say next. This was all too surreal, but this was better than feeling miserable. "But what do you want from me?"

Hizashi and Shouta exchanged looks. A soft smile crept upon Shouta's face.

"We'll grant you your wish. On a few conditions," Shouta began. "As you can tell, our shrine is in dire need of—what do you humans call it nowadays? T.L.C.?"

"Tender love and care?" You said.

"Yes. That. Our shrine has been in disrepair for some time, but as much as the villagers enjoy making offerings, they aren't too keen on cleaning it. As you can imagine, it's rather embarrassing cleaning up your own shrine," Shouta continued.

"So, what you're saying is that you'll get me a decent boyfriend if I clean your house?"

"We can do better than, little sparrow," said Hizashi.

You felt his eyes wander your body. You couldn't help but shiver. Out of fear or anticipation, you couldn't tell at this point. You might have been hallucinating for all you knew.

"How would you like to be the wife of a god?" Hizashi laughed again. "Or two?"

"W-Wife? I just wanted a boyfriend who loved me. I don't remember asking for polyandry. Besides, why would you tie yourselves to someone human and mortal."

"We can cross that bridge when we come to it," said Hizashi.

"What do you say? Help us repair the shrine, and you'll have something better than a boyfriend. It sounds like a good deal, doesn't it?" Asked Shouta.

"Yeah," you said incredulously. "A little too good to be true. What's the catch?"

"You would have to live here and 'maintain' the shrine's cleanliness and reputation. We could get someone to teach you to perform the kagura dance. Learn a few things that would make you useful around the shrine and to the villagers. A shrine maiden, for all intents and purposes."

That did even things out. You weren't tied to your apartment, especially since it still had the ghosts of your past boyfriends lingering in there. You didn't go to college, and you hated your job. Becoming basically a shrine maiden and marry a pair of fox-gods seemed like a step-up from your hum-drum life.

"Hypothetically, if I agreed to all that, how would we go about making it official? Are we to have a big wedding? Does Ōkuninushi* have to be involved? Is there supposed to be a ceremony we have to follow?" The questions tumbled out of your mouth one by one in your unusual state of mind.

"So many questions. To answer all of them in one go, here it is. All you have to do is enjoy yourself," said Hizashi.

Before you could ask what he meant, Hizashi closed the gap between you. His mouth was suddenly on yours, and his hands settled on your backpack's straps. Your load was unburdened by your shoulders. Hizashi's hands ran through your hair, holding your head hostage. You heard Shouta's footsteps come along beside you. He worked your shoes off your feet and your socks as well. When he arose, Shouta's hands found your waist. He snatched your head away from Hizashi to kiss you himself. From there on out, it was a frenzy of hands, mouths, and tongues teasing you.

The first thing to go was clothes. Hizashi and Shouta worked together to get rid of the annoying layers that kept them from feeling up more of your skin. Your autumn outfit suited the chilly weather outside but was ill-fitted for their current needs. Their hands peeled off each layer of clothing until you wore nothing but your bra and panties. Somewhere between removing each item of clothing, one of them summoned an extra-large tatami mat out of thin air. You landed softly on the sleeping mat, cradled between them. Their kimonos were disposed of in the same manner as your modern clothes, with one exception. They were both utterly naked underneath their yukatas. Your blush spread down to the top of your chest at the mere sight of their hardening members.

"You look so pretty blushing like that, Y/N," said Hizashi.

He took his place between your legs. Hizashi playfully snapped the hem of your panties. He seemed to enjoy your small yelp as the elastic snapped against your skin. Shouta sat on his knees and pulled your back flush against his chest. He unclipped your bra and tossed it aside. Hizashi pulled at your underwear until the fabric tore. You opened your mouth in protest, but all the words stopped in your throat to make room for the moan. Shouta palmed your breasts and tweaked your nipples into stiff peaks. Your ruined panties were forgotten as soon as Hizashi settled one of your legs over his shoulder, and he ran his long tongue along your slit.

"It's been a while since we've laid with a woman. You'll have to forgive us if we're a bit rusty," said Hizashi.

Hizashi ran his tongue along your slit again and hummed at your taste. His tongue dove between your folds and pinched your clit. Meanwhile, Shouta kept at his administrations to your chest and kissing your shoulders. You arched your back when you felt the tiniest pinprick of sharp teeth graze your skin. Shouta smirked at you and gave you a nice look at the fangs he had. Hizashi had the same situation going on. You could feel his teeth carefully caress your sensitive bits.

"Do you like my teeth, Y/N?" Asked Shouta.

You bit your lower lip and nodded.

"Then you're really going to like this." Shouta lowered his head to the spot where your neck met your shoulders.

He bit down, but not hard enough to draw blood. His hands continued to tease you while his mouth and teeth left dozens of love bites all over your neck. Hizashi pulled his head up from between your legs. He watched for a moment how your face twisted in ecstasy as Shouta marked your lovely skin. It didn't take long for the idea to get in his head that he should do the same. Hizashi brought his teeth against your inner thigh and nipped. He repeated the process over and over until both of your legs bore his teeth marks and hickies. You squirmed for them. Heat traveled in two directions, to your head and your lower belly. Hizashi resumed his task of fucking you with his tongue and added two fingers to help him in this endeavor. Soft squelches from you gushing over him was enough to make you never want to leave.

"You're so pliable, and your breasts are breathtaking," Shouta sighed next to your skin. "Are you about to cum, Y/N?"

You bucked your hips to the rhythm of Hizashi eating you out. Slowly, you nodded. Your fingers clutched Hizashi's head, mindful of his ears.

"Then," Shouta whispered the next part in your ear. "Cum."

Hizashi worked faster, pumping and licking your cunt. You grabbed for Shouta as pleasure ripped down your spine. Hizashi and Shouta shoved you face-first down the precipice. Your walls clenched tight around Hizashi's fingers and tongue while your jaws hung open. No one else could make you moan as loud as you did. And likely, nobody else ever will.

When Hizashi came up for air, his mouth and chin were drenched your essence. He leaned up, but instead of kissing you, he planted his lips on Shouta's. In turn, Shouta licked Hizashi's mouth to get a taste of you for himself while he was at. Shouta reached down and played with your clit while making-out with Hizashi briefly. You felt their members stand proudly against your body, and your inner walls clenched at the thought of one or both filling you to the brim.

Shouta and Hizashi kissed one more time. Hizashi peeled you off of Shouta just long enough for the latter to stretch out on his back. You were turned around. Shouta gestured with a 'come-hither' crook of his finger, and you crawled towards him. His hands grabbed your hips, made you straddle him, and pressed the blunt head of his cock against your slippery, wet cunt.

"Are you ready?" He asked. It was child's play holding you up like that with his cock more than ready to impale you.

You nodded your head. Shouta slowly, carefully pulled you down on his cock. It stretched you open again. You sank down on him until you were fully seated. You tried not to let your eyes roll into the back of your head. Shouta then grabbed your shoulders and pulled you down. Hizashi was right behind you, fisting his cock. He wasn't as big, but he was just as long. Hizashi placed his other hand on the small of your back. You felt his cock probe the area where Shouta was already preoccupied. Something clicked in your head. Shouta grabbed and clutched your hands. Beads of sweat ran down the side of your face while Hizashi brushed his cuck against your cunt.

"Look at me," said Shouta. "Look at me. You're going to be fine. We'll make you feel so good."

"So very good," Hizashi cooed.

You tightened your grip on Shouta's hands. You stared at his face as Hizashi pushed forward, stuffing you close to the point of damage. You were well-lubed up to take both of them, but in practice, this was your first time having two men fill you at the same time. Inch by careful inch, Hizashi pushed into your cunt. When he was fully seated, he let out a long sigh.

"I can feel both of you against, and it feels so good." Hizashi shuddered.

"Can you move?" Shouta asked Hizashi.

"Give me a minute."

You were given a few minutes reprieve, and in that time, you felt your lower belly swell. You felt them stretch you to impossible measures. Though tears stained your cheeks, you never felt more pleasure. The mixture of both pleasure and pain blurred the lines. It wasn't long before you were being pushed and pulled in either direction, their cocks fucking you deep.

Wet skin slapped against skin. The men you were sandwiched between grunted and moaned your praises at your ability to take them both so deep. There weren't any words you could say with any cohesion. Words became meaningless when being fucked into oblivion. Hizashi and Shouta worked in tandem. When one pulled out, the other plowed right in. Both cocks kissed your cervix as they drove themselves, and each other, wildly into your cunt. You felt fluids rush between your legs that mingled with your sweat. You squeezed Shouta's hands and buried your face in his chest.

Higher, higher, and higher still, you were flying. You bit Shouta's chest as their cocks thrust in and out. Your brain turned into mush at this point. All you cared about was getting fucked on their cocks forever. Little else mattered beyond that.

"I'm close," said Shouta.

"M-Me too," said Hizashi.

"Then let's finish it."

Without another word, they started to drive faster than before, and you thought it was impossible. Shouta returned your bruising grip and rammed upwards to meet Hizashi's downward thrust. They both moved quickly and headed towards coming undone inside you. You felt it too. Your walls spasmed and fluttered around both their cocks, though the stretch made it hard to tell. They shifted into an erratic pace rather than a smooth move. Their cocks drove harder into your cunt. Animalistic grunts filled the room as both Shouta and Hizashi slammed home. You screamed your climax just at the same time they did. You kept screaming while ropes of cum warmed your belly. You were moaning into Shouta's chest as you felt buckets of their seed filled your womb. There was nothing for you to wonder about why they were the gods of fertility and pregnancy.

Hizashi pulled all the out first. He massaged your shoulders while Shouta lifted your hips off him. Hizashi's long fingers dabbed some of the cum dripping down your thighs and pushed it back inside your weeping pussy.

"You gotta keep it in, ya, little sparrow. You want to be a good wife to your husbands, don't you?" Hizashi cooed.

*Ōkuninushi- mentioned in both the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki as the god of nation-building, agriculture, business, medicine, love, marriage, and fortune

#kinktober #kinktober week #my hero academia fanfiction #kinktober my hero academia edition #reader fic #hizashi yamada #present mic #presentation michael #present mic x reader #shouta aizawa #aizawa #eraserhead #eraserhead x reader #erasermic #erasermic x reader #poly #I'm also sorry it's ridiculously long

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interactive-watchers · 2 years

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"Thanks for helping me move this, you can put it over there."

"No problem. Didn't have anything else I needed to be doing. Hey, is this you?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, that's me when I was...11? My mom just came from a performance and still had her outfit on. My dad and I had been repairing the ME system, so we were covered in certus quartz dust. That was a nice day, after we got cleaned up, we went to the park and watched the early schoolers do their fall plays. I really liked the pirate one, the kids couldn't keep their balance so their swordfight turned into a balancing competition. My sibling won and they made them the Pirate Monarch."

"Which one are they?"

"Em is the one with the wings, hence the advantage with balancing. They were eight at the time. The other adult is our ren, Ivaili. Ae married into the family when I was three, they had just had Em and their partner, a merling, died in a fishing accident."

"I can tell your father's an Enderian hybrid, what are the other two, they seem human but looks can be deceiving."

"My father is a Draconian-Beta hybrid, so he had telepathy and telekinesis. My mom was a witch hybrid and potions affected her differently. My ren, and this surprises many people, was a Shulk-Elytrian hybrid, but only inherited the environmental immunities. I got the telepathy, effect resistance, and cold immunity. Em got the wings, plant and water magic, and animal speech."

"Oh, are they the patch under Ianite's? The winged sea goat?"

"Yep, the gear is my dad, the palette is my mom, and the thyme and rosemary is my ren. They were the first ones to appear after I received it."

"I've never seen them around, well, I think I might've met Em, but I haven't seen your parents. Did they not take the immortality when you became a god?"

"My mom's religion teaches death to be a sacred cycle and trying to break it is looked down upon, so fae refused it. My other parents refused it since they didn't want to live without her. Em took it since they were afraid of me being without family. I think they might've also taken it so they could safely "experiment with pyrotechnics" as they would put it. Honestly, the number of walls I've had to repair is slightly impressive."

"Is that really something to be impressed by?"

"Is it normal to teach your four year old children how to hack and fight?"

"...Listen, X33N and Kara started it."

"...Sure. Anyway, Em is usually not around since they split their time with Ianite and Dianite since they are dedicated to him and not to her technically, but I don't think he really minds Ianite semi claiming them."

"Ah, I can see that. Seems like you have a nice family."

Twelve years later

I took that photo down a week after Tubbo went missing. Kara had managed to get Jordan out from the tree in the hopes he would go talk to someone. Ianite was visiting me, so he came over to my place and when he saw the photo he just...shut down. I talked to X33N later that day and Jordan had taken down all his family photos. Tubbo's room was locked and he refused to go near it. I can't imagine what Jordan must be feeling, it probably reminds him of his past too much.

Where could Tubbo have gone? Where could all of them gone? Not only can we not detect them but the gods that volunteered to go looking, Eret, Callahan, Foolish, we can't find them either. Who could overpower gods?

...I just hope they're all safe.

Second ending

Twelve years later

I took that photo down a week after Tubbo went missing. Kara had managed to get Jordan out from the tree in the hopes he would go talk to someone. Ianite was visiting me, so he came over to my place and when he saw the photo, he exploded. Enderians are known for being protective of their family, but dragon hybrids are especially protective. Even with his sunglasses, you could see the magic in his eyes and there was a constant stream of dragon's breath coming from his mouth. I talked to X33N later that day and Jordan had taken down all his family photos. He had been destroying things all around the house and they kept repairing his items only for him to destroy them again. I can't imagine what Jordan must be feeling, it probably reminds him of his past too much.

Whoever thought to take the families of gods must think pretty highly of themself. It's not easy to piss a god off, but taking their family will certainly lead to them coming after you, probably for your life. We've already sent some gods to look for the missing people, but we haven't received a response yet nor have we heard from the missing.

...I just hope they're all safe.

#interactive watchers #professor #captainsparklez #X33N and Kara are very close friends might as well be siblings #yes Jordan lives in Jerry's Tree #I'm using Enderian as a term for hybrids of end based mobs #while writing the first ending i had the idea of Jordan going apeshit so i wrote a second ending

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goblin-witch · 4 years

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ꉔꏂ꒒꓄꒐ꉔ ꓄ꋪꏂꏂ ꋬꇙ꓄ꋪꄲ꒒ꄲꍌꌦ

Celtic Tree Astrology is the astrological system practiced by the ancient Irish. It is based on an ancient Celtic symbol system. The Celtic Zodiac is drawn from the beliefs of the Druids and is based on the cycles of the moon. The year is divided into 13 lunar months, with a tree (sacred to the druids) assigned to each month. Each tree has particular magical qualities whose secret mysteries come from the ancient Celtic alphabet, the Ogram.

The Celts envisioned the entire Universe in the form of a tree, whose roots grew deep below (in the ground) and whose branches reached up high (into the Heavens). In time, the Celtic people eventually designated a tree to each of the 13 Moon phases in their calendar, in accordance with its magical properties. As such the Celtic Zodiac is based upon the cycles of the Moon, with the year divided into the 13 lunar months established by the Druid religion.

The Druid religion was based mainly upon an awareness of natural and supernatural energies. These energies were identified with spirits and the Celtic Druids believed that trees were given these spirits, who dwelt within, and were perceived as attributes of the Supreme Being. Thus, trees were considered living entities, possessed with Infinite Knowledge and Wisdom, symbolically representative of the Cycle of Life, Death and Renewal, and symbolically connected with the three planes of existence: mind, body, and spirit.

Birch – The Achiever

December 24 – January 20

If you were born under the energy of the Birch you can be highly driven, and often motivate others they become easily caught in your zeal, drive and ambition. You are always reaching for more, seeking better horizons and obtaining higher aspirations. The Druids attributed this to your time of birth, which is a time of year shrouded by darkness, so consequently you are always stretching out to find the light. Birch signs (just like the tree) are tolerant, tough, and resilient. You are cool-headed and are natural-born rulers, often taking command when a situation calls for leadership. When in touch with your softer side, you also bring beauty in otherwise barren spaces, brightening up a room with your guile, and charming crowds with your quick wit. Celtic tree astrology Birch signs are compatible with Vine signs and Willow signs.

Rowan – The Thinker

January 21 – February 17

Celtic tree astrology recognizes Rowan signs as the philosophical minds within the zodiac. If you were born under the Rowan energy, you are likely a keen-minded visionary, with high ideals. Your thoughts are original and creative, so much so, that others often misunderstand from where you are coming. This sometimes makes you aloof when interacting with others as you feel they wouldn’t understand where you are coming from anyway. Nevertheless, although you may appear to have a cool exterior, you are burning within your passionate ideals. This inner passion provides inner motivation for you as you make your way through life. You have a natural ability to transform situations and people around you by your mere presence. You are highly influential in a quiet way and others look to you for your unique perspectives. Rowan pairs well with Ivy and Hawthorn signs.

Ash – The Enchanter

February 18 – March 17

Those born under the Celtic tree astrology sign of the Ash are free thinkers. Imaginative, intuitive, and naturally artistic, you see the world in water-color purity. You have a tendency to moody and withdrawn at times, but that’s only because your inner landscape is in constant motion. You are in touch with your muse, and you are easily inspired by nature. Likewise, you inspire all that you associate with and people seek you out for your enchanting personality. Art, writing (especially poetry), science, and theology (spiritual matters) are areas that strongly interest you. Others may think you are reclusive, but in all honesty, you are simply immersed in your own world of fantastic vision and design. You are in a constant state of self-renewal and you rarely place a value on what others think about you. Ash signs partners well with Willow and Reed signs.

Alder – The Trailblazer

March 18 – April 14

If you are an Alder sign within the Celtic tree astrology system, you are a natural-born pathfinder. You’re a mover and a shaker, and will blaze a trail with fiery passion often gaining loyal followers to your cause. You are charming, gregarious and mingle easily with a broad mix of personalities. In other words, Alder signs get along with everybody and everybody loves to hang around with you. This might be because Alder’s are easily confident and have a strong self-faith. This self-assurance is infectious and other people recognize this quality in you instantly. Alder Celtic tree astrology signs are very focused and dislike waste. Consequently, they can see through superficialities and will not tolerate fluff. Alder people place high value on their time, and feel that wasting time is insufferable. They are motivated by action and results. Alder’s pair well with Hawthorns, Oaks or even Birch signs.

Willow – The Observer

April 15 – May 12

If you are a Willow sign, you are ruled by the moon, and so your personality holds hands with many of the mystical aspects of the lunar realm. This means you are highly creative, intuitive (highly psychic people are born under the sign of the Willow) and intelligent. You have a keen understanding of cycles, and you inherently know that every situation has a season. This gives you a realistic perspective of things, and also causes you to be more patient than most tree signs. With your intelligence comes a natural ability to retain knowledge and you often impress your company with the ability to expound on subjects from memory. Willow Celtic tree astrology signs are bursting with potential, but have a tendency to hold themselves back for fear of appearing flamboyant or overindulgent. It is your powers of perception that ultimately allow your true nature to shine, and what leads you to success in life. Willow signs join well with the Birch and the Ivy.

Hawthorn – The Illusionist

May 13 – June 9

Hawthorn signs in Celtic tree astrology are not at all what they appear to be. Outwardly, they appear to be a certain persona, while on the inside Hawthorn’s are quite different. They put the term “never judge a book by its cover” to the test. They live seemingly average lives while on the inside they carry fiery passions and inexhaustible creative flame. They are well adjusted and can adapt to most life situations well – making themselves content and comforting others at the same time. You are naturally curious, and have an interest in a broad range of topics. You are an excellent listener, and people seek you out as an outlet to release their burdens. You have a healthy sense of humor, and have a clear understanding of irony. You tend to see the big picture, and have amazing insight – although you typically won’t give yourself enough credit for your observations. Hawthorn signs match up nicely with Ash and Rowan’s.

Oak – The Stabilizer

June 10 – July 7

Those born under the Celtic tree astrology sign of the Oak have a special gift of strength. They are protective people and often become a champion for those who do not have a voice. In other words, the Oak is the crusader and the spokesperson for the underdog. Nurturing, generous and helpful, you are a gentle giant among the Celtic zodiac signs. You exude an easy confidence and naturally assume everything will work out to a positive outcome. You have a deep respect for history and ancestry, and many people with this sign become teachers. You love to impart your knowledge of the past to others. Oak signs have a need for structure, and will often go to great lengths to gain the feeling of control in their lives. Healthy Oak signs live long, full, happy lives and enjoy large family settings and are likely to be involved with large social/community networks. Oak signs pair off well with the Ash and Reed, and are known to harmoniously join with Ivy signs too.

Holly – The Ruler

July 8 – August 4

Among the Celtic tree astrology signs the Holly is one of regal status. Noble, and high-minded, those born during the Holly era easily take on positions of leadership and power. If you are a Holly sign you take on challenges easily, and you overcome obstacles with rare skill and tact. When you encounter setbacks, you simply redouble your efforts and remain ever vigilant to obtain your end goals. Very seldom are you defeated. This is why many people look up to you and follow you as their leader. You are competitive and ambitious even in the most casual settings. You can appear to be arrogant but in actuality you’re just very confident in your abilities. Truth be known, you are quite generous, kind and affectionate (once people get to know you). Highly intelligent, you skate through academics where others may struggle. Because many things come to you so easily, you may have a tendency to rest on your laurels. In other words, if not kept active, you may slip into an unhealthy and lazy lifestyle. Holly signs may look to Ash and Elder signs for balance and partnership.

Hazel – The Knower

August 5 – September 1

If you are born under the energy of the Hazel, you are highly intelligent, organized and efficient. Like Holly, you are naturally gifted in academia, and excel in the classroom. You also have the ability to retain information and can recall, recite and expound on subjects you’ve memorized with amazing accuracy. You know your facts, and you are always well informed. This sometimes makes you appear like a know-it-all to others, but you can’t help that; you’re genuinely smart and usually know the right course of action because of your impressive knowledge base. You have an eye for detail, and like things to be “just so.” Sometimes this need for order and control can lead to compulsive behaviors if left unchecked. You have a knack for numbers, science and things that utilize your analytical skills. You like rules, although you are typically making them rather than playing by them. The Celtic tree astrology sign of Hazel joins harmoniously with Hawthorn and Rowan’s.

Vine – The Equalizer

September 2 – September 29

Vine signs are born within the autumnal equinox, which makes your personality changeable and unpredictable. You can be full of contradictions, and are often indecisive. But this is because you can see both sides of the story, and empathize with each equally. It is hard for you to pick sides because you can see the good points on each end. There are, however, areas in your life that you are quite sure about. These include the finer things of life like food, wine, music, and art. You have very distinctive taste, and are a connoisseur of refinement. Luxury agrees with you, and under good conditions you have a Midas touch for turning drab into dramatic beauty. You are charming, elegant, and maintain a level of class that wins you esteem from a large fan base. Indeed, you often find yourself in public places where others can admire your classic style and poise. Vine signs pair well with Willow and Hazel signs.

Ivy – The Survivor

September 30 – October 27

Among other cherished qualities of the Ivy Celtic tree astrology sign, most prized is your ability to overcome all odds. You have a sharp intellect, but more obvious is your compassion and loyalty to others. You have a giving nature, and are always there to lend a helping hand. You are born at a time of the waning sun so life can be difficult for you at times. This sometimes seems unfair because it appears that obstacles are coming at with no prompting on your part. Nevertheless, you endure troubling times with silent perseverance and soulful grace. Indeed, Ivy signs have a tendency to be deeply spiritual and cling to a deep-rooted faith that typically sees them trough adversity. You are soft spoken, but have a keen wit about you. You are charming, charismatic, and can effectively hold your own in most social settings. Ivy signs are attracted to the Celtic tree astrology sign of Oak and Ash signs.

Reed – The Inquisitor

October 28 – November 24

Reed signs among the Celtic tree astrology signs are the secret keepers. You dig deep inside to the real meaning of things and discover the truth hidden beneath layers of distraction. When there is a need to get to the heart of the matter, most certainly the Reed sign will find the core. You love a good story, and can be easily drawn in by gossip, scandals, legend and lore. These tendencies also make you an excellent historian, journalist, detective or archaeologist. You love people because they represent a diversity of meanings for you to interpret. You are adept at coaxing people to talk to you, and sometimes you can be a bit manipulative. However, you have a strong sense of truth and honor so most of your scheming is harmless. Reed people join well with other Reeds, Ash or Oak signs.

Elder – The Seeker

November 25 – December 23

Elder archetypes among Celtic tree astrology tend to be freedom-loving, and sometimes appear to be a bit wild to the other signs of the zodiac. In younger years you may have lived life in the fast lane, often identified as a “thrill seeker.” At the time of your birth the light of the sun was fast fleeting and so you took the same cue from nature. You are often misjudged as an outsider as you have a tendency to be withdrawn in spite of your extroverted nature. In actuality, you are deeply thoughtful with philosophical bent. You also tend to be very considerate of others and genuinely strive to be helpful. These acts of assistance are sometimes thwarted by your brutal honesty (which you openly share solicited or otherwise). Elder Celtic tree astrology signs fit well with Alder’s and Holly’s.

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speakforthepeaks · 3 years

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She Knows a Thing or Two Because She's Seen a Thing of Two . . .

"The mountain’s current well welfare is being disregarded by the colonial powers. I and people like me are also disregarded by the colonial powers. It sucks. We are reaching our boiling point. "

- Michael Sekaquaptewa

. . .

Nurturing Mother

"I drew this picture with a mindset and feeling of what destruction and a reface might feel like if it were my own child. Only being able to touch and cry since I am only one voice."

-Leah White

. . .

Can You Hear the Song?

"My poem is a comparison of the attempt destruction of the peaks and it's cultural significance to the Diné and the attempt intrusion of modern ideals in my life and my beliefs of Diné tradition and culture, which interrelate. There's a constant fight to keep Diné culture and traditions alive and these parallels show how it can affect our individual lives and Mother Earth."

-Glenda Davis

. . .

Koyemsi!

"When the San Francisco went up in flames it took a large toll on many of our Hopi people. The peaks are sacred place where our Katsinas live and where many stories take place. I was told by a friend that there was a news article and it was reported that people actually seen these Koyemsi’s running towards the fire into the peaks. In my head i’d like to think they were trying to help put out the fire or rescuing other living beings. As Indigenous people and those especially who have a connection here, we need to do better and protect our Katsinas from things like Snowbowl and other major construction being planned in the future. If you drive in the peaks now everything’s burnt, and the sad thing is we will never see it the way it was before...at least not in our lifetime."

-Precious Vicente

. . .

At the End of the Day

"What my art means to me, At the end of day the construction/reclaimed snow effects our health and well being to the earth. Our songs, prayers, ceremonies, sacred animals reside on Dook'o'oosliid. Not only us the people, but; the animals are disturbed as well. All of natures living things have a purpose up. Plants, rocks trees, soil everything we need for medicine, herbs, healing and guidance. Majority of our needs as Navajos revolve around it. What we give back and what is given to us from the Holy people. Dook'o'oosliid goes back to the traditional Navajo Creation stories as being the only female of the four sacred mountains. It is one of many places that made us who we are today."

-Candace Williams

. . .

To view more submissions, visit speakforthepeaks.com!

#SpeakForThePeaks #Indigenous #Environmental Racism #indigenous representation #native issues #native #native america #Speak for the Peaks

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taesramenhair · 3 years

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Set Me Free [MYG]

The abbey has been a constant in Yoongi’s life: his home, his school, his workplace. Now it’s burning, pillaged by invaders - and it’s up to him to keep their relic safe. The strange man he meets at the high altar doesn’t seem to understand that, but he does understand staying out of harm's way.

word count: 5.7k // genre + rating: SFW (12)

warnings/tags etc: violence, injury, minor character death (unnamed characters), mention of corporal punishment, some Not Nice People, as you might have guessed - angst with a happy ending, monk!Yoongi (sort of), vague middle ages AU, religious imagery, religious references, mainly ft. Jimin but the others have a cameo at the end too. [This is my first fic so I'm not used to tagging - please, please tell me if I've missed something important!]

Masterlist

Yoongi never thought he’d be grateful for a childhood spent chasing chickens, but here he was. With the wind snarling around his reddened ears and loose pebbles rolling under his feet, he was immensely thankful that he’d always been given the outdoor duties. At the time, he’d hated it, of course, but it had built his stamina - and if there’s one thing you need when fleeing up a mountain, chased by murderous bandits, it’s the ability to run.

Not that he was going that fast anymore. The terrain was difficult, path narrow and winding, and the cut on his arm was distractingly painful. It wasn’t bleeding so much now, thankfully, but it throbbed with every beat of his worn-down sandals against the dusty rock. His one advantage over his pursuers was that he knew this path well and they didn’t. He had gained a lead on them in the twisting corridors of the abbey – his abbey, now nothing more than hollowed, blackened stone burning violently in the valley below – and left them scrabbling foolishly in the dense foliage at the base of the mountain. It wouldn’t be long before they made their way through, though, and he had to reach the top first. He had to make it to the altar.

A misjudged footfall coming around the last corner slid Yoongi into the floor, landing heavily on his left shoulder as the strap of his sandal broke apart. Every ache in his body rose now that he wasn’t moving, screaming up towards the bright midday sky even as he forced himself to let out nothing louder than a pained groan. He couldn’t let them know anything was wrong. Let them think he was safe. Let them think he was long gone.

Testing his shoulder with a gentle roll – ah, painful – the young acolyte turned onto his knees and rose shakily. The broken sandal was all but useless, barely staying on his foot as he stepped forward. This high on the mountain, though, the ground was harsh and stony, the only foliage being the flowering apple tree next to the altar Yoongi couldn’t yet see but knew was just over the next rise. He’d have to hobble to keep the shoe on but it was preferable to tearing the sole of his foot on jagged stones. If only he hadn’t given his best shoes as an offering, he thought bitterly – and then instantly chastised himself. The gods had ben pleased with that offering, had taken it quickly and sent plentiful rains in response. It had been a worthwhile sacrifice, even if he was now struggling to reach sanctuary.

A noise below told him the bandits had broken through the tree cover already. They were gaining on him. He hobbled faster.

No one had expected an attack that day. Yoongi had been by the stream when it started, bathing his battered hands in the cool waters, breathing in the dews of the spring day and hoping they would sweeten his tears.

(It had been his turn to watch the blessed fire, but he had been sick all week and the abbot had caught him sleeping at his post. The welts of his punishment would linger for a few days: they always did.)

Hearing the tower bells had pulled Yoongi from his mournful reverie – it was not yet dawn, and those bells should not have been ringing. Something was terribly wrong.

Cold grey stone was already dripping red warmth by the time Yoongi reached the doors to the place he had called home since his seventh winter. Prayerful silence had given way to terrible screams, like the great oaken entrance had buckled beneath the force of the invaders’ battering. Centuries of monastic tradition was no match for the terror of a freshly forged blade baptising itself in the blood of the aged brothers, it would seem.

He could have run there and then, abandoned it all to its inevitable oblivion and fled towards the slowly rising sun. There were things he had grown to value there, though, lessons that had been drummed into him by chant and fast and blood. To run with no attempt at saving the abbey’s great treasure would be an insult to the gods too grave to contemplate. Sure, he would survive – but it would not be a life worth having, cursed to his final breath.

So he had waded through the wails of his brothers, the dying agony of those who had raised and formed him, taking the hidden passages to reach the inner sanctum before the newcomers did. They seemed to plunder aimlessly, unaware that there was only one prize worth having within the abbey walls, more valuable than the golden triptychs or the silver-wrought chalices. For the blessed fire – the one Yoongi had been punished so harshly for failing to attend – burned to light the presence of a great relic: a priceless stone that betokened the favour of the gods. That favour had passed now from the vaulted corridors of the abbey it had settled on for centuries, that much was clear. Even so, as Yoongi crawled past the death-closed eyes of the kind, wizened man he had once playfully addressed as halabeoji, he knew the stone must be preserved and taken to the high altar until the gods chose to bestow it anew. If he could just get it there, he could beg their protection in return – he could beg preservation from the terrible fate that had fallen out around him.

Now, finally dragging his trembling limbs over the last mound, Yoongi saw the goal he had been fighting towards since daybreak. Half-shrouded in bruised blossoms from the apple tree stretching lazily by its side, the high altar basked in afternoon sunshine, dark stone glistening where droplets from the nearby waterfall had lost their way. He had seen it many times, in all weathers – sent far up the mountain in deepest winter to offer penance for a drifting mind; honoured to represent the community in late summer and give thanks for a bountiful harvest. Always the end of his journey and always a place of refuge. Looking at it, he could almost forget about the horrors he had seen. It was almost relaxing.

Only almost, though. Not only was he aware of the toll his journey had taken – not to mention the danger still snapping at his blistered heels – but when Yoongi looked at the altar today, he saw something he had never seen there before.

A young man – small, lithe, delicate – was sitting on the altar, back against the sacred tree. He was a vision in the dappled light, so beautiful next to Yoongi’s swollen eyes, bloodied robes and dusty feet. Looks were deceiving, though, and apparently Yoongi was to add another sacrilege to the list of crimes committed against everything he held dear. The man, damn him, was eating the offerings left upon the altar for the gods. Had he had more energy, Yoongi could have burst into tears at the sight.

“What are you doing?” he cried, voice cracking and distraught. “Get off! Go away! Those are offerings, we need them! I – please. I need the gods’ favour. Go away!” The boy did little more than blink at Yoongi and tilt his head slowly to the left. A child-like hand raised a flask of blessed water – blessed water – to full, pink lips and Yoongi choked on air, disbelieving.

“There are no gods here, silly.” A soft, high voice came from the young man, sure and unconcerned. “Only me.”

Angry tears did slip from Yoongi’s eyes then. How dare this – this boy say such things? Yoongi had not endured the destruction of his home for some spoiled brat to anger the gods and leave him defenceless and a failure. Marching towards the altar, he bowed quickly and muttered an apology to the tree before taking a firm grasp of the boy’s black hair and yanking him down unceremoniously, heedless of the responding cry.

“I am the last acolyte of the abbey and I will not have you defile this altar and the offerings left to our gods.” His speech would have more impact if he weren’t gasping through tears and physically shaking, but Yoongi was doing his best. “We have been beaten and burned and murdered today and I am here to return the stone of favour to the gods for safekeeping and beg their protection from the evil that has pursued me all day and you – how dare you treat this place with so little respect?” Wide eyes and a soft pout looked up at him from the ground, the boy not having moved from where Yoongi had thrown him. He realised that the ground was still harsh here and felt a little bad – even if he was a sacrilegious blasphemer, this boy seemed a couple of years younger than Yoongi and the fall must have hurt him. Still, there were more pressing matters at hand. Yoongi did his best to rearrange the remaining gifts on the altar (so few, the boy must taken so much of it, the gods would be displeased) and placed the stone carefully in the centre before dropping stiffly to his knees. Wiping his tears and bowing his head to the ground, he muttered out a series of chants and then sat back on his heels, chin lifted to the skies and streaming eyes closed against the light.

“Great gods above, hear my call,” he declared, loudly as his ragged throat allowed him. “We know not why you have withdrawn your blessing from us. We thank you for having granted it at all, for letting us live such charmed lives for you for many years. We return now your stone. Please retain your grace in it and bestow it anew upon others. Do not abandon us all, oh great ones. Hear me when I call to you, worthless as I am. Do not forget us all.” His voice faltered and Yoongi tipped his head forward again, barely managing a whisper. “I ask your protection. Please. I know I have not served you perfectly, but I have tried so hard. I wanted to please you. I want to deserve your favour. You’ve always answered me so graciously – and I know better servants have died horribly today, but please. I don’t want to die. Protect me.” The thunderous footsteps of the bandits started to reach his ears and Yoongi gasped, pressing his face desperately to the ground once more. A soft noise behind him reminded him he was not alone and he spoke again. “Protect us both.”

For a few moments there was silence, and then Yoongi heard the stones to his left shifting quickly, as though someone were running towards him. He tensed, still bowing before the altar and praying that somehow the gods would protect him. A pair of hands grabbed his upper arms and pulled, and he couldn’t help but let out a sob. He knew he had never deserved anything from the gods, but he had hoped so dearly that they would spare him.

“It’s just me, acolyte, get up.” The words filtered through his distress like thick cream through muslin, slow and awkward. He couldn’t quite grasp them. “We have to go, now.”

“Can’t,” he stuttered out, managing to open his eyes and twist away from the young man’s grip, crawling back towards the altar. “I have to be here. The gods –“

“The gods won’t help you.” Though his words were harsh, the man looked concerned, reaching a hand out towards Yoongi again imploringly. “Let me help you, please. Come with me. They’re close now: we have to go.” Yoongi knew he was telling the truth – he could hear voices as well as footsteps now, could almost hear the singing of the blades he knew the bandits were carrying. But he couldn’t leave the altar – could he? It had always been his safety and it was the last remains of his abbey – his faith. He had run this far for the gods. If he ran further, for himself, did that make him a coward? Would he have betrayed them all? Would he prove himself as unworthy as the abbot had always told him he was? Teary-eyed and shaking, he set his mouth and looked the young man right in the eye.

“Save yourself if you can. I cannot leave.” It had the desired effect. The man nodded curtly, stood and began to leave, pausing by the altar as he did so.

“Fine,” he called back. “But I’m taking the rest of this food with me. No point letting it go to waste. This stone is pretty, too. I don’t know about it being blessed or anything, but I think I’ll take it.” Sure enough, he picked it up, tossed it in the air and pocketed it with a stunning smile that all but closed his eyes. Then, he started simply sauntering away, all sense of urgency gone.

He’s baiting me, Yoongi thought. He hadn’t managed to convince him to leave on his own, so he was taking the stone like some sort of carrot, hoping Yoongi, like a donkey, would follow. Yoongi half wanted to be stubborn, to sit there and die like a fool just to prove that he had a stronger will than this brattish stranger presumed. The louder part of him, however, was relieved at having been given permission to abandon the altar, a reason beyond self-preservation to stand up and follow him to safety. He couldn’t leave the stone of favour in the hands of someone with so little respect that he would lean against a sacred tree and eat the gods’ offerings with his feet on their altar. Impossible. It was his sacred duty to stagger up and stumble after him, calling chastisements as loudly as he dared and trying to match pace when the stranger sped up, leading him around the corner from the altar to a hidden path he had never thought to look for.

The altar was at the top of the mountain path – Yoongi had never considered that there might be other paths down beyond it. It was the destination, the end of the line. Going further just wasn’t something he’d ever considered, and that this man was leading him like it was second nature was the last straw for him. Lost in a haze, he followed wordlessly, almost blindly, the ache of his arms and his legs and his feet whispering somewhere but barely decipherable through the thick fog of his mind. At some point they entered a dark tunnel and the young man took his hand gently, perhaps aware of how feeble Yoongi’s grip on awareness was. Between the soft touch and the pressing darkness around him, Yoongi let himself go.

Waking up again was a far less pleasant experience than drifting off had been. It wasn’t a slow rise to the surface, lazy and comfortable like waking to a summer dawn – it was a sudden dive from absolute nothingness into decided somethingness. All at once Yoongi was aware again of the stiffness in his calves and the ache of his arm; the throb of his head from a week of sickness, a lack of sleep and the dehydration of having cried his frustrations out on the mountaintop. The fog lifted and he sat up quickly, huffing softly through his nose as the movement made his stomach lurch and his vision swim. He could remember being annoyed at a bright smile, and fluffy, black hair disappearing into a tunnel – and the stone! Right, yes. Dangerous bandits, bratty stranger, following the stone. That’s what had happened.

“There’s some water next to you – you should drink it,” he heard the stranger say from somewhere off to his right. Yoongi glanced around him, twisting on the bed roll laid out in his corner of what seemed to be a small, wooden room. Sure enough, there was a whole pitcher of water beside him. After a few seconds of blinking at the floor failed to magic a cup into existence, Yoongi picked it up and hesitantly tilted it against his lips. The water was lukewarm and hardly counted as refreshing, but he hadn’t had anything to drink since the abbot had woken him before, well, everything and his throat was grateful to be soothed.

“What did you do with the stone?” Even after a few mouthfuls of water, his voice was deep and gruffer than he had meant it to be. The stranger just giggled and Yoongi managed to make out his shape in the low light, sitting against the opposite wall.

“Don’t worry, acolyte. It’s safe here. I’ll give it to you in the morning, if you like.” Yoongi grumbled and the stranger laughed again. “You know, you were cute when you were half asleep. All whiny, like a kitten.”

“I’m not a kitten.” (He had a vague notion that his mother used to call him that. He hadn’t seen her for years, not since she had given him away in the hope of pleasing the gods and bringing a good harvest. Maybe he had dreamed it up. He certainly hadn't had a nickname since joining the abbey.)

“Who are you, then?” The question took Yoongi by surprise and he cleared his throat as he shifted back a little, resting against the wall behind him and drawing his knees painfully up. From the feel of the fabric under his fingertips, he was still in his robes from earlier and whilst he was relieved that the stranger had not undressed him, he desperately wanted to be clean. He wondered whether there was any chance of getting a bath, just soaking in hot water and letting it steam away everything that had happened. Probably not.

“Yoongi,” he said shortly. “Who’re you?”

“My name’s Jimin. How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.” Yoongi didn’t like where this was going.

“Hyung!”

“No.” He thought he could see a flicker of a pout and was glad of the cover of darkness. Living around older monks meant he hadn’t really been exposed to much cuteness – he hadn’t been anyone’s hyung ever– so he didn’t think he’d be able to hold out against it. At least if he couldn’t see this Jimin’s face, the only thing he had to resist was the whining that started up immediately.

“I saved your life, let me call you hyung!”

“You desecrated my altar!”

“I told you, Yoongi-hyung, there are no gods here! If the altar’s not really sacred, how can I have desecrated it?” That stung worse than the other injuries vying for Yoongi’s attention. He had devoted his life to serving the gods. It was all he had known. He had put up with long nights and early mornings for years, allowed the other monks to literally beat him into shape, all in the hope that it would appease some deity with the power to improve people’s lives - and now this clueless boy wanted to tear it all into pieces.

“There are gods, Jimin-ssi. We have left them offerings for centuries, and they have always taken them and given what we asked for in return.” He thought he heard a snort, and it was his turn to pout.

“Like what, hyung? When have the gods taken something and given something in return? How would that even work?” Yoongi didn’t have to think.

“Last autumn. The rains were late so the farmers were worried the fruits wouldn’t ripen properly and they would have to feed their livestock from reserves, which might mean they would run out before the frosts ended. I’d been working on a new pair of sturdy boots all year because mine had fallen to pieces, but we needed an offering, so I brought them up to the altar and left them there. Two days later, the rains started, and the boots were gone. We gave the boots; they gave the rains.” He sounded smug. He knew he sounded smug, but he also knew he was right. Traditions existed for a reason, and the abbey existed because it worked. It helped. The monks prayed and trekked up the mountain to offer sacrifices because the gods listened to them and protected their people. Or at least, they used to.

“Oh.” There was the sound of shuffling across the room, and then a hiss as a flame was struck. Yoongi blinked blearily as Jimin lit a candle, picked something up from the floor and shuffled over, nearly tripping on the long, woven blanket he had wrapped around his narrow shoulders. “Um, Yoongi-ssi – those boots, they, um. Well. They didn’t look like this, did they?” Kneeling next to Yoongi’s bed roll, Jimin lifted the candle and proffered a muddy pair of boots with his other hand. Slightly crooked teeth worried his lip as he waited for the acolyte to respond. Yoongi took the boots reluctantly, fingering over the caked mud and peering closely. He couldn’t see much, in truth – and he had only ever felt his boots when they were brand new, unworn. His fingertips didn’t recognise these ones, leather both soft with wear and rugged from the elements. Guiding Jimin’s hand closer to gain more light, he turned them over and picked at the dirt dried into the arch.

“You’re terrible at looking after boots,” he muttered as a large clump came away in his hand, revealing the sole. Jimin didn’t respond. The last bit of mud fell to the floor and Yoongi coughed on a harsh sob. There, tucked next to the heel, was the mark Yoongi put on all his things.

“I’m so sorry,” Jimin whispered as Yoongi’s eyes drifted blankly to the wall beside him. “I didn’t realise you had offered them up. I always – ever since I was tiny, there have always been things there and we always took them, so I thought they were meant for us. I thought you all knew we were taking them. I thought you were looking after us.”

“You’ve been taking the offerings for years?” Maybe if he asked the question quietly enough, the answer would be different. It wasn’t.

“All my life. Yoongi-ssi, I’m so sorry. My parents showed me and when they were gone - I guess I didn't think about it. I didn’t know it meant anything until you shouted at me earlier, and then I thought you were just being… I don’t know. Sanctimonious?” Yoongi huffed, still not looking at the younger man.

“Big word.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry it wasn’t what you thought – but those offerings didn’t go to waste. We’d have died here without them.” A silence stretched tensely between them, Jimin left without words to explain himself and Yoongi winded by how abruptly his world was turning itself inside out. Apparently, it wasn’t enough that he had lost everything that had ever been familiar to him. He also had to have his faith shaken and his understanding of how the world worked ripped out from under him. There was only really one thing to do.

“I’m going to sleep,” he mumbled, curling up to face the wall even though it meant lying on his wrenched shoulder. Behind him, he heard Jimin place the candle on the ground and move the boots – his boots? Yoongi’s boots? it didn’t matter anymore – away.

“Hyung,” came the soft voice again as a small hand reached over his hunched shoulder, “here. I think you should keep this. We can talk again in the morning.” Firm fingers prised Yoongi’s hand away from his side and pressed something cool and round into his palm. The stone, he thought. There is still the stone. He fell asleep with it pressed against his chest, safe.

They didn’t speak the next day. In fact, Yoongi gave Jimin the silent treatment for three weeks, only staying with him because the heavens opened during the night and refused to close again for long enough to allow Yoongi to even hope to venture off the mountainside. He didn’t have anywhere to go in any case – and whilst he was furious with Jimin and completely lost without his routine and the guidance of the other monks, he knew being somewhere warm and dry, with a reliable source of food and someone to offer to massage his aching shoulder was better than dying in a ditch somewhere from stubbornness.

(He never accepted the massage offers, of course, but it felt nice to know that someone cared enough to ask.)

When the rains finally cleared, Yoongi had Jimin show him the way back up to the altar. The blossom was all gone now, flushed away by the rain, but the leaves were strong and the waterfall babbled happily. Yoongi didn’t think the tree would fruit this year, since the flowers hadn’t had time to set before the storms, but it still stood. The altar still stood. That was something.

Sitting on the edge of the mountain, he could see the charred ruins of his home below – joined now by more ruins to the west. Though they hadn’t found him, the group who had attacked the abbey had travelled back down the mountain and continued their rampage, working through the nearby villages and taking what they could. Bright sunshine was no remedy for such heaviness, and Yoongi felt his face crumple watching the birds fly down towards the blackened remains of thriving communities. Maybe Jimin was right and there never were gods – maybe it was better that way. To think that they had been abandoned to such death and ruin hurt more than believing they had never been blessed by anything more than good chance in the first place.

“Hey, hyung – look!” Jimin called excitedly from the waterfall, oblivious to the destruction right below him. Jimin, it turned out, had never really come down off the mountain. His parents had retreated to a small cabin in a hidden glade after a particularly nasty feud with a distant cousin, and he had been raised in near solitude. He knew about the villages, of course, but he had never been to one. Their loss was a sad idea to him, but no more than that. Flowering daisies were all it took to distract him, and he sought to do the same for Yoongi, even if he was ignored.

“Hey, Grumpy-hyung! I saved your life, you know, you can at least pretend to be interested when I try to show you the finer beauties of this world!” A thought struck Yoongi, finally back in the place where he had thought for certain his life would end. It hit him hard enough to make him gasp, head tilting up to the sky so quickly that Jimin forgot his flowers and came rushing to see what the matter was.

“You’re wrong!” he declared as soon as Jimin settled beside him, before the younger boy had even spoken. “You’re wrong.”

“Something tells me you’re not talking about daisies.”

“There are gods.” Yoongi brought his chin down again and looked at Jimin straight, eyes still red from his tears but perfectly sure. “You said there weren’t gods. There are.”

“Um. Ok.”

“There are. I asked them for their protection and they protected me.” Jimin’s brow crinkled a little and his eyes followed Yoongi’s movement as he stood and paced to the altar, one hand reaching out gently to touch the bark of the apple tree.

“I mean, not to be pedantic, but I protected you, hyung.”

“Sure.” Yoongi had never admitted that before, no matter how much Jimin wheedled for acknowledgment. He figured either this was a minor miracle or the pressure had finally cracked him. “I’ve been coming up here for fifteen years, Jimin-ah. All times of day, all seasons, all weathers. I’ve never seen you. None of us have. And then the one day I need someone to be here, when I’m being chased and I’m completely alone for the first time in my life - you’re just sitting on the altar." For the first time, Jimin saw Yoongi smile – a bright, full-toothed, gummy thing that lit up his eyes and transformed his face. “Like an offering. We gave them offerings, they gave them to you – and then they gave you back to me.” When Yoongi chuckled and leant against the tree, Jimin couldn’t help but giggle as well.

“I don’t think that’s compelling theology, hyung, but if it makes you happy, you go ahead and think that.”

“Just admit it, Jimin-ah. You’re wrong. The gods exist and they’re here and they care and we’re going to be alright. Just you wait.”

It had taken two years for the invaders to take everything they could from the land, and three more for life to start again once they abandoned it to decay. Now, though, from his rock on top of the mountain Yoongi could see white smoke rising from chimneys once more, could follow the path of trundling carts along the roads between each growing settlement. He had taken Jimin down there a few times, to see how the people lived and to do what he could to help them. Although the abbey and the men who had raised him were gone, the skills he had learned remained and he had a lot to offer. If in time it meant he could earn a little money and make life a bit easier, that was a blessing too.

Life with Jimin had taken some time to adjust to. He had considered leaving after his revelation, heading north in the hopes of finding a new monastery and enfolding himself once more in the familiarity of an ordered life. He'd got as far as packing a small bag of food and reclaiming his boots from Jimin. When he had put them on to leave, though, it had all felt wrong. Officially, the boots had worn to Jimin's feet already and Yoongi refused to make a long journey in uncomfortable shoes. Jimin had accepted that excuse without fuss, thrilled to keep his companion, but they both knew that wasn't the real reason. After all, Jimin had watched Yoongi stumble into a mountain clearing with a sword wound on his arm, a dislocated shoulder and a broken sandal all for the sake of a small stone. Uncomfortable boots were hardly going to stop him leaving if he really wanted to.

For whatever reason, he had elected to stay, to learn how to live with just one person for company and without orders and punishments and bells to mark his day. Chasing chickens was also useful for catching rabbits, it turned out, and he taught Jimin the skills he needed to find food now that there weren't regular offerings to pilfer. Jimin taught him to dance, and sang real songs to him. He taught him to laugh again, and if anyone were to suggest they be parted now, he would probably growl at them and pull his dongsaeng behind him for protection.

The altar would always be special to him. When the weather was good, Jimin would often find him up there long past dark, listening to the waterfall or leaning against the tree. One autumn, he even convinced him to sit up on the altar itself.

("Hyung," he had whined, "don't leave me up here alone. If the gods didn't like it, they would have struck me down years ago. Live a little."

"Brat," Yoongi had muttered in reply, hiding his smile even as he climbed up onto the stone. Since he was yet to be blasted to smithereens, he figured he was alright to keep doing it.)

It was there that he was sat the day the monks returned to the mountain. The afternoon sunshine was lazy, winding its way through the apple tree's branches and kissing its growing fruit softly. Yoongi had brought a cushion and was leaned back against the tree trunk, legs stretched out across the altar and mind drifting when an outraged shout made him open one eye and smirk.

"Yah!" a tall stranger exclaimed, pulling his robes up with one hand and gesticulating wildly with the other as he strode purposefully towards Yoongi. "Get off of there! Get down! That's a sacred altar!" Behind him was a group of four men, two looking nervous and carrying large baskets of food and one cradling a ceramic pot like it was glass while the last glared at him. Yoongi thought the glare might have something to do with the fact that the pot was missing one handle - which he located in the glarer's hand. Good to know every monastery had its own god of destruction.

"I take it you are the monks in charge of rebuilding the abbey?" Yoongi drawled, crossing his feet, completely unbothered by the new arrivals. Their leader halted in his striding, pulling his head back slightly in confusion.

"Uh - yes. That's us." One of the food bearers turned to the other with wide eyes, but received no more than a shrug in response. They looked very young - Yoongi hoped they were close. He thought he saw the one holding a pot begin to say 'hyung' and stop sheepishly when his hyung's heart-shaped mouth frowned even harder. Cute.

"Excellent." Hopping off the altar, Yoongi pulled a string from around his neck and took the stranger's hand. Unfurling crooked fingers, he placed the object in his palm and patted his shoulder familiarly, smiling at the gawk he got in return. "You'll need this, then. I've had it these past five years and I've been more blessed than I ever thought I would be. Guard it well, brother." He turned to walk away as the leader looked behind him, proffering the stone to one of his followers and saying, "Namjoon-ah, is this -" The answering gasp suggested they knew exactly what the stone meant.

"Oh, by the way," he called back at the corner where the path down to his and Jimin's cottage started. "If you ever need anything, just come here and leave a note. My friend and I will be happy to help. You never walk alone." With a soft smile, he disappeared around down the mountain and left them to their offerings.

(And if Jimin bounced home that evening with fine wine in a pot with a broken handle - well, Yoongi wouldn't be surprised.)

#fic #my work #is it obvious i know nothing about graphic design teehee #yoongle boongle #ft. maknae hyung #ok serious tags now #angst #fluff #min yoongi #park jimin #min yoongi fic #bangtan fanfic #bts #bts suga #bts jimin

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