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eastbluesaga · 5 months

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For the writing asks: 41 + any ship with Zoro. Or any other ship you like : )

41. Fake Relationship/Kissing Undercover/”Couples” Banter

zosan + fake relationship

The cook looks at him like it’s his fault. Zoro’s halfway ready to scowl back at him when the waitress comes by with their orders. The cook waxes poetic about the plating and the smells and Zoro wants to call the whole thing quits, but the waitress smiles and looks between the two of them with a hand over her heart. “You lovely couple enjoy your meals,” she says, then skitters away.

Zoro watches as the cook’s expression morphs into terror and he bursts out laughing. The cook slaps a hand over his mouth, but Zoro doesn’t even care. He reaches for the cook’s fingers, slowly prying them off with a grin that he knows just grates at the cook’s nerves.

“That’s not a nice thing to do to your husband, is it?”

The word alone breaks the cook. Zoro prepares for it to all fall apart. He wants to watch as the restaurant staff realizes they’re not really a couple—married for a few months, but together for years, like the cook said—and that they’ve lied just so the cook could try his fancies with the waitress.

But the cook is quick to catch on, letting go of Zoro completely and turning to simmer in his rage quietly. Their little scene was still enough to get the attention of the waitress, who stands awkwardly near their table, probably unsure of whether or not to encroach on what she might assume is a lovers’ spat.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, stepping closer and closer with each word.

Zoro looks over to the cook, but he’s stunned into silence—the cook’s never been good at lying. He reaches over, slow as not to scare the cook into a frenzy, and glides his thumb across the underside of the cook’s jaw, moving inward and stopping at the corner of his mouth.

“I just had something on my face,” he murmurs, but he’s looking at the cook, daring him to say otherwise, to break this whole charade and have it blow up in his face.

The cook just stares at him, eyes wide, lips gently pulled apart. His eyes search, like they are looking for something, but all he’ll find is Zoro.

Zoro looks to the waitress and offers a nod. “We’ll let you know if we need anything else.” He pauses, waiting for the cook to yell at him for dismissing the waitress so flippantly, but the cook is still staring at him. It’s almost unnerving, if it wasn’t so annoying.

He rolls his eyes and moves his hand back to the table. He might as well enjoy the meal—it’s on the house for sweethearts, or so the waitress said—before someone in this damned restaurant figures them both out. He starts eating, but he notices the way there are more eyes on him than he wants. He looks up and finds the waitress still at the end of their table, her eyes big.

“You two are really cute,” she says, voice hushed like she’s telling a secret. “I wish you both the best!”

The cook finally pulls his gaze away from the side of Zoro’s head, but he doesn’t meet the waitress’ eyes. “Yeah,” he murmurs, but he’s quiet, distant. There’s a redness on his skin, traveling up from his neck and flushing his cheeks, but Zoro doesn’t say anything—doesn’t really know what to say. “Thank you.”

#ooh this one was fun!#thank you for asking <3 #answered #zosan #one piece #fic

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unclewaynemunson · 1 year

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( 🥐 anon )

i'm rewatching season one and tommy is yelling at steve for "running away". it just made me think of eddie and how he criticized himself for running when chrissy got vecna'd.

what if eddie survived the upside down and steve is like "why didn't you run?" and eddie explains that he didn't know why, he just felt like he should fight. it reminds steve of that time he stopped running (when jonathan and nancy were attacked in the house).

i don't know where i am going with this, but i figured you might have something to add if you wanted. :D

Hello again :D

Oh my beloved parallel <333 I thought about this all day and ended up writing a lil something about it :)

---

'I've been meaning to ask you something for a while,' Steve says. He's sitting right next to Eddie's hospital bed, like he has been often these past days, keeping him company and making him laugh and helping him with every little thing. It sounds oddly serious and Eddie just frowns at him in response.

'Why didn't you run?'

The question hangs in the air between them for a couple of seconds. Then, Eddie scoffs. 'Says the guy who insisted on being the one at the front lines,' he retorts.

Instead of bickering back, Steve stares at him, seemingly taking his time to carefully consider what Eddie had meant to be a throwaway remark.

'You know, the first time all this shit went down... I kinda did the same,' he finally admits. 'It was Tommy, of all people, who got in my head. Told me that I was always running away. And that's exactly what I did when I saw what was going on at the Byers' house.'

Steve had told Eddie all about it, earlier: about how he showed up to apologize to Jonathan and instead got robed into that whole Upside Down shitshow.

'Nance told me to leave. She pointed a fucking gun at my face and told me to get the hell out. And then the lights started doing their freaky flashy stuff and I - I ran.' He sighs. 'And then I came back,' he adds quietly. 'So that's why you didn't run, too?'

'I kept thinking about Chrissy,' Eddie says, his voice barely more than a whisper. 'How I left her there to die. I couldn't - I just couldn't run away again. Simple as that.'

Steve keeps looking into his eyes intently, holding his gaze, as if he's searching for something. Eddie almost forgets to breathe, feeling exposed and vulnerable with those soft brown eyes on him and the silence around the two of them.

'I guess this is where I should say "please don't do that again next time",' Steve says, his voice sounding strangely choked as he cuts through the silence. 'But apparently we both know it's not that simple, huh?'

Eddie nods, still stunned under the intensity of Steve's gaze. He thinks back to how it felt when he thought he was dying. It had been terrifying and awful and goddamn painful more than anything else, obviously. But there had also been something that almost felt like relief. He knew, in that moment, that he could never go back to being a coward again. That he had faced it all and didn't regret trying to be better, trying to protect his people.

Maybe he should also be brave in a different way, he thinks. So he stretches out his hand, rests it on Steve's, and gently squeezes.

#thank you for asking <3 #don't mind me rambling about stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #fruity ficlet #stranger things

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being-luminous · 3 months

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Would like to know more about Spiritfarer AU for the WIP game

This is an AU inspired by my newest love, the game of the same name. In this fic, Harry is a psychopomp, guiding the souls of the dead to the afterlife. Voldemort is one such soul, and he isn't going to go easily.

Here's a snippet of their first meeting:

In the deepest part of the ship’s hold, accessible only through a near invisible trapdoor in the orlop, there is a shadow.

It takes Harry nearly three weeks to find the door, and once he’s found it, it’s another two day’s work to pry it open. The wood is warped by time and damp sea air, and the hinges are so rusted it’s a surprise they work at all. Finally, with an ominous creak and a thud, it falls open against the deck.

Harry peers into the dark, listening for any signs of life.

Dumbledore didn’t warn him of any danger on the ship before he passed it on, but he didn’t mention the trapdoor, either. There could be anything down there. Or nothing. He should go down and check it out just to make sure. If anything bad happens to his passengers because of a threat he could have prevented, he'll never forgive himself.

Mind made up, Harry leaps into the dark, landing lightly on his feet.

The Everlight’s glow fills the cramped space, bathing it in gold. There isn’t much down here: some crates he’ll investigate later, some netting. Nothing interesting. Nothing dangerous. Except, there, tucked against the hull—a spot of darkness that doesn’t give way to the light.

Brow furrowed, Harry lifts the Everlight higher, wills it brighter.

Still, the shadow remains. Even worse, it hisses, edges rippling and tearing as it bunches up into familiar shapes. Four limbs, the curve of a spine, a face that turns slowly toward him, red eyes narrowed against the light.

It’s a person, Harry realizes with growing horror. But not like any person he’s seen before.

He steps closer, and the shadow-person hisses again, even louder. They loom taller, so tall they have to hunch over so they don't hit their head. They sound angry. They look scared. "Sorry," Harry says quickly. He covers the Everlight with one hand, hopes it's easier on their eyes this way. "My name's Harry." He sticks out his other hand, waits for them to take it. "I didn't know you were down here, or I would have come to fetch you sooner."

#psychopomp harry is so dear to me #i haven't written many fics of the kind but i love it so much #sometimes you just gotta write about death #and you gotta make it cozy #eventual harrymort #snippets #ask #thank you for asking <3

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unpretty · 1 year

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Kitty! Have you seen the new Humble Bundle?? I saw it and came looking to see if you'd posted an affiliate link.

i DID see it and you guessed correct that i planned on posting it as soon as i got home, hahaha

sim-ple life humble bundle! 8 games! $10 minimum! there aren't any tiers on this one, it's just all or nothing. i played and enjoyed summer in mara, i own yonder but it's still in my backlog. the rest of them look VERY relevant to my interests and i'm strongly considering it (especially luna's fishing garden and staxel). the deal ends on february 17th!

#original #affiliate links jsyk #thank you for asking <3

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angeart · 5 months

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And 29!

--from ao3 wrapped [writers edition]

29: Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

this is a very interesting question! and also very difficult, given the amount of things i've written in combination with my bad memory. so of course i went and dug through things, overthinking this, even though, really, i know exactly what to answer. still, let me take the long route. (because i'm an idiot and there's no other way.)

so first i'll ramble about things i like.

starting with the phrase that always makes me weak, and i don't think i use it enough, but characters just dissipating into giggles—that exact wording. like. c'mon. that. whenever i get to use it, i'm so happy. it's such a lack of control and overflow of joy. the best thing ever.

but if we move into specific passages... (i go on a bit of a tangent, so the rest is under the line-) (dancing scene at the end there and a bit of a hmtb spoiler/sneakpeek/preview for you guys)

i looked over the cursed forest au fic (even with death haunting your footsteps, your flowers will bloom again), looking for pretty sentences, and the problem is, that fic is full of pretty sentences. (i honestly don't know how i did that, but it does make me happy.) something about words like the warzone of his good intentions, you know? (i had more. i'm trying to be concise.) (i promise.)

but really, there's one phrase in that fic that i do think about sometimes still. so it needs to be mentioned. here:

It still hurts, to be treated so gently, but unlike everything else, it hurts in a way he thinks he might be able to survive.

------

i also want to bring up a sentence from Elegy that lives in my head rent-free (this is from chapter 3, which i'm aware is unreleased as of now, but shh):

The grief is a guillotine, and he’s bending forward, hair falling away from his neck, baring skin and bracing for impact.

there's just something about that that refuses to let me go.

------

but! i also enjoyed writing happy things. (shocking)

especially this passage from these flowers will wither (like you and me), but they're not dead yet was very fun to write:

Grian grins at him, something bright and cheeky. “Do you want to try that again?”

There’s a pause when Scar attempts to recalibrate. (He fails.) (He absolutely fails.)

He tries to grab something rational in him, tries to tell himself that Grian means dancing. But his traitorous heart supplies a wholly different answer to him.

Scar pushes himself up and, with fingers sliding along Grian’s jaw, he presses his lips to Grian’s.

(They’re warm. They’re chapped. They’re Grian Grian Grian Grian.)

He feels the vibration of Grian’s laughter against him before he really registers the sound.

“That’s not what I meant,” Grian scolds, but there’s no bite in it; he sounds entirely too pleased and amused, even as he piles a handful of sand on top of Scar’s head in playful revenge.

------

and this honestly now brings me to hmtb. which is where we anchor.

believe it or not, there is a happy scene that i can't stop thinking about (just the sheer power of it, across all the pain and messes and saddness—scar making grian laugh like this.)

------ hmtb chapter 49:

Scar looks at him innocently and presents his question: “What is a romp, Impulse?”

Grian bursts out laughing.

A big, toothy grin spreads across Scar’s face at the sound.

Impulse’s eyes briefly flit to Mumbo and he feels his face get hot. “I— What— That’s not fair!” he whines. “That’s not a truth, that’s a, Scar, I’m not a dictionary!”

At that, Grian laughs harder, bending over. His giggles tip over proper cackling, a bit breathless around the edges, and Scar thinks it’s the most wonderful sound in the whole world.

------ and of course this moment from chapter 47:

Neither of them can help it; their lips treacherously stretch into smiles where they’re pressed against each other, before they both helplessly dissipate into giggles, feeling lightheaded and high.

“What are we doing,” Grian huffs out through his laughter.

“Kissing,” Scar replies cheerfully and demonstratingly places three kisses along Grian’s jaw.

It’s the best thing in the world.

------

bet you didn't expect me to pull out the happy scenes out of this mess of a fic. ha.

but also! one the things i really like and enjoy is throwing anything to do with explosives, tnt, fire, etc, at scar and grian. like this:

Skin tingling and heart feeling like TNT on the verge of explosion, Scar moves to follow him, blindly, willingly, the way he’d follow him anywhere.

and this:

Watching him, Scar laughs quietly. He thinks of the sound the flint and steel makes, of the little click, of the hiss of TNT as it readies itself to cause damage. It sounds like his heart feels. He thinks of sparks that catch on leaves and grass and bark, a tree going up in flames, the catastrophic heat spreading violently to anything it touches, and he wonders if that is how Grian’s heart feels.

------

now, since i'm already rambly. there is one bit of hmtb i keep thinking back to constantly. and it's a particular conversation from chapter 21 (the talk in the middle of a crisis). this bit in particular:

“He wasn’t afraid then. He knew you could kill him, but he wasn’t scared. And you know what, Grian? You didn’t kill him,” he finishes softly.

“I… didn’t kill him?” Grian repeats, dazed and wobbly.

“He wasn’t scared, and you didn’t kill him”

(you guys should keep this in mind too. it might get a callout sometime, uhhhhh, around chapter 100 or so at this rate—)

(don't worry about that, ofc.)

and now for the real answer. (wow.)

because here's the thing. you're asking what's my favourite passage. and really, i love all those other things too, but there's one particular bit of writing that hits closer than any other.

the dancing bits.

the heartachy, complicated, painful dancing bits.

and yes, this ties to the whole fic i wrote about them dancing in the desert, but listen. the purely-hmtb bits? those? those. okay?

here we go:

------ hmtb chapter 37: call of the desert

Scar sighs a little and says: “I miss it.”

“Scar,” Grian’s voice is absolutely unsteady.

They haven’t really talked about the desert, not since it was over.

Nobody ever talks about life games, if they can avoid it.

But now Grian sits here and he has to forcefully remind himself that the skin over his knuckles isn’t torn raw and that Scar’s blood isn’t coating his hands and he has to accept that Scar misses the desert and Grian also misses it, in a way, and it’s all so dizzying, it makes him lightheaded.

“We used to dance,” Scar says thoughtfully. “Why don’t we do it anymore?”

“I forgot how,” Grian barely manages to get out. He didn’t forget. In fact, he remembers every step Scar taught him. He remembers them stumbling together into a fall, a small giggling heap on top of the warm sand, limbs tangled. He remembers the moment when Scar grinned wildly at him, joy bright in his eyes, as they completed a couple of steps without a hitch for the first time. He remembers how they laughed and danced, giddy and high on life in a world that promised nothing but death.

He doesn’t want to remember. It hurts his heart.

“I can teach you again,” Scar suggests softly.

The pain in Grian’s heart just gets worse.

Scar reaches for Grian’s hand, then. Even if they’re both sitting on Grian’s bed and they can’t dance like this, he still slides his fingers underneath Grian’s palm and brings it up, in exactly the same way he held it when they danced. With curved lips, he hums a melody.

Grian looks at him, absolutely wretched. His hand twitches in Scar’s grasp, but he doesn’t pull it away. “Scar,” he half-whispers, in a miserable tone. He meant to say stop, but he can’t bring himself to. So he just pleads, using Scar’s name itself, hoping the other man will get it.

Scar studies Grian for a second, before he lowers their hands. He huffs out a small laugh. “It’s okay. We can leave it for some other time.”

Grian purses his lips. He doesn’t say there won’t be another time. He doesn’t say he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t say that something in him desperately wants this, actually, please Scar please.

------

but, you know what. it isn't over.

this answer has been long enough. i know. i know. (i appreciate and love everyone who bothered to read this far <3 ) but. but there's more.

there is more, and it's so closely related, these scenes are entwined and live snugly side-by-side in my heart. but. here's the thing.

this next bit is 1,2k long, and it's from a chapter that, as of now, hasn't been released yet. for the curious, greedy, hungry souls (love you all to bits), here it is:

------ hmtb chapter [unspecified]

Scar blinks and recalibrates under the scrutiny. His eyes dart to the jukebox and he lets a smile spread across his lips, as he reaches out a hand to Grian. “Hey, G, you wanna dance?”

Grian’s eyes widen a fraction, thrown off by the abrupt suggestion. “I’m… not sure,” he manages to say, eyes dropping to Scar’s invitingly outstretched hand, palm-up and ready for him.

His emotions wrangle in him—a need to be close, to give in, to accept everything Scar’s giving him, pushed violently against the sharp memories of sand and desert, something happy tiding over into blood and pain and misery.

He flexes his fingers, pulls them into a fist and then stretches them out, trying to unknot the tension and release the slight tremble that courses through them. His throat feels dry, all of a sudden.

“It’s okay,” Scar says in the softest tone that never fails to tug at Grian’s heart. “I can lead.”

The music turns mildly cacophonic, askew and sick. It buzzes and pitches and tilts, in a way music isn’t supposed to be able to. And Grian realises that he’s told Scar before that he forgot how to dance.

Scar taught him all the steps, back in the desert. A lot of hours spent in the stifling air upon sun-warmed evening sand, stumbling and laughing and holding onto each other. Their skin was more tanned then. Their eyes were brighter, their souls wilder. They felt unstoppable.

Grian feels anything but right now.

He doesn’t know if he can take it.

But Scar’s reaching out to him and Grian finds that he cannot turn away from it, his body shackled and chained, unable to resist. And so even if everything in him screams no, he still finds himself reaching back, meeting Scar’s hands with his own trembling fingers, trepidation sinking its teeth into him.

Scar’s smile brightens and oh, maybe it’s not trepidation that Grian feels.

He feels Scar’s fingers take hold of his hand, secure and warm; they pull at him, but not in a destabilising way. It’s the opposite: they tell Grian exactly where to be. Scar’s other arm finds Grian torso and seamlessly slides across to his back, sending shivers down Grian’s spine; his wings stretch out and shudder, before they fall back, feathers lightly brushing over Scar’s skin.

Everything about this is electrifying, and it’s driving Grian haywire.

He thinks maybe he needs to stop thinking. Maybe he needs to give in to the part of him that wants to let Scar have control of the two of them now; the part of him that wants to trust and believe that he’s safe; the part of him that craves affection with ugly, hungry desperation.

Scar leans closer and with a rumbling baritone wrapped in velvet, he checks: “Ready?”

Running on nothing but instinct, Grian squeezes at Scar’s hand.

With a low chuckle, Scar lets go of Grian’s back and Grian almost gasps at the abrupt loss—but all Scar does is guide Grian’s free hand to his waist. “Like this,” he murmurs, his voice just a step away from purring, and then his hand slots back against Grian’s spine.

A trembling breath leaves Grian’s lips and he dips his head, leaning forwards, inching closer to Scar. He feels the response in the way Scar’s touch on his back turns firm, accepting the new closeness with reverent neediness. He can’t see Scar’s face, but he can tell Scar’s lips are curved in a smile, cheeks slightly dimpling.

He almost wishes to look, but he can’t, he can’t, it’s too much.

He takes a deep breath though his nose. The air isn’t dry and hot. The ground doesn’t shift underneath his feet.

It hasn’t shifted underneath his feet in ages, but right now in this very moment, a part of Grian distantly thinks that it should. That if they’re going to dance, it should be atop a mountain, feet sinking into sand.

They’re standing on carpeted floor, and the music disc is one they didn’t have in the desert, the sounds of it wrapping around them in a rhythm completely discordant to the fast beating of Grian’s heart.

With gentle and deliberate move, Scar directs them to sway. Their feet shift, steady on the solid floor, something learned and simple. Scar leads them in careful, basic steps, the ones he used at the very beginning to teach Grian. Back when even that was too much, and Grian kept stepping on his feet, and Scar kept catching him.

Scar doesn’t need to catch Grian now, because Grian knows these steps. They’re imbued in his muscle memory, something sunken and anchored, a part of his soul that’s reserved for things that feel like home.

Testingly, Scar throws in something more complex. He pulls Grian along, turning them in circles, every step confident and filled with joy. The music is the background rhythm, but they’re both locked somewhere else, in a fragment of a memory—something that used to be; something that Scar believes could be again.

With a curve to his lips, Scar hums and remarks: “You said you don’t remember.”

Grian’s breath hitches and it’s only now that he lifts his head to meet Scar’s gaze. Despite that, his feet do not stumble; he doesn’t need to watch where he steps, he knows it all by heart. His gaze anchors in green eyes and something rises within him so tidally and overwhelmingly that he feels hot wetness blur his vision all of a sudden. “How could I forget?” he manages past the lump in his throat.

Scar gently lets go of Grian’s hand and instead reaches to touch Grian’s jaw, brushing his thumb soothingly over Grian’s cheek as he takes in the raw, ravaging emotion in Grian’s eyes.

Grian moves his suddenly free arm around Scar, fingers finding purchase in the fabric of Scar’s shirt, digging into it until he has a firm grip. His lungs spasm in his chest, his heart stutters, his wings droop then lift and spread. A loose feather drops to the floor and Scar sidesteps it expertly, as if it was somehow too precious to damage.

“You remember,” Scar murmurs, an odd inflection to his voice.

Grian’s skin buzzes where Scar touches it; a tingling, warm sensation spreads from Scar’s fingertips and robs Grian of breath. “Of course,” he murmurs, quiet, destabilised.

Scar’s eyes crinkle in joy, lips spreading into a bright, toothy smile that ends in dimpled skin as he looks at Grian. He makes no attempt to call out Grian’s earlier lie; he seems content in knowing that this is the truth, warm and alive underneath his fingers, guided by his steps. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind teaching you again, but this makes me so happy!” he admits openly, fractionally heightening their tempo as he leads them in spinning circles, everything in him attuned to the music even as it becomes nothing more than a background noise.

Grian isn’t ready for those words. Nor for the way Scar looks at him.

He feels like he’s drowning, and Scar’s both his sea and his oxygen.

Scar starts humming in tune, the happy expression lingering on his face, and it’s only then that the discordant rhythm of the song disentangles and starts making sense to Grian. It’s only the reverb of Scar’s voice that puts coherency into Grian’s existence; into their steps across the carpet that doesn’t give underneath their weight; into the way the room sways around them, full of warm shadows and flickering flames and muted colours not quite matching sand.

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brighteststar707 · 1 month

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How's your teaching job going!!

I'm not gonna lie Xela, this last week has been ROUGH. The group I was teaching this week was very difficult - loud, disruptive, destructive, you name it. That being said, I'm really enjoying the actual teaching part. It's satisfying and can be fun at times (when it's not immensely frustrating).

#thank you for asking <3 #I hope you're doing well in life atm Xela!!!#faye talks

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 9 months

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Hi!! I Hope You’re having/had a wonderful day!! <3<3

I have a question: How do you feel about people using your art as their pfp?

it actually Has been a decent day... i even got a smoothie & a teriyaki sammy outta it! i hope your day has been good as well!

i'm totally chill with y'all using my art as icons (as long as its not oc art)! credit is Greatly Appreciated but not required - i just ask that if someone asks about it, send em my way!

#thank you for asking <3 #rambles from the bog #but yeah dismantled a bed... almost got crushed by falling furniture... started watching fuhanff's ruin livestream... yeah...

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jstor · 6 months

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are we allowed to ask the mod questions? if so, what do you study/mostly use jstor for?

Of course! Questions for the mod are always welcome 🥰

Nowadays I find myself browsing the wide array of images available on the platform to pass the time. I've also used JSTOR for resources around political science, literature, philosophy, and other subjects in the humanities.

#thank you for asking <3 #jstor #ask

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wanderlustmagician · 3 months

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Hello!! I just want to say that I’m obsessed with your Atlantis au. It’s brilliant!! I have a quick question and I apologize if you’ve answered it already! For the Atlantis au what is everyone’s name and age? Thanks again for writing this au! And you can just ignore my question if you want! I’m just curious! 😁

Ahhhh hello! Thank you! I’m so glad you enjoy it <3

I haven’t answered this yet and am more than happy to. :)

So I’ve already stated Wind and Twi’s ages for a prompt fill, but I’ll explain a little the reasoning. I’m also only doing the boys… mostly because I haven’t fully done anything for all the girls. Some of these I only decide when it becomes necessary. So for those not familiar… in the movie, Kida says she’s like almost 9,000 years old. We know she was a small child when the city sank and that she’s biologically in her mid-20s at the time of events in the movie. This is where I draw my inspiration.

Wind, AKA Leon (Latin, lion) - Red Lion Mask

Role: Border Guardian // Age: 340 - 624 years old

Physically he looks 16 years old, but having been born several hundred years after their area sank as an effect on his aging. It’s much slower hence why at over 600, he still looks 16. He also has the brain age of a 16 yr old boy. So expect dumb boy things out of him.

Twilight, AKA Lykos (Latin, Wolf) - Grey Wolf Mask

Role: Child of the Pillars // Age: 150 - 411 years old

Mentally 19 yrs old, physically 19 years old, chronologically like 6 - well maybe not exactly, but point is that it’s really murky. Technically a ‘foreigner’ but the story of his arrival is a bit cloudy for most. He pretty much just appeared, sans the memories of a roughly 7 month span prior to his arrival. This is because of the nature of what happened when The Pillars yoinked him from the Surface.

Sky, AKA Caelum (Latin, Sky/Heaven) - Sheer White Half Face Veil

Role: Temple Sky Knight // Age: 1,200 - 1,500 years old

Looks like he’s in his early 20s. Sky Knight’s don’t wear masks because it’s seen as dishonorable to wear them in the temple. They wear half face veils to show their piety while also keeping their eyes free of anything that could blind them to potential dangers.

Legend, AKA Veteran - Bunny Mask (in Pink)

Role: Royal Cartographer // Age: [Redacted]

Physically appears around the same age as Twilight. His true age is [Redacted] due to a disparity on when he actually arrived. He technically doesn’t do exactly what is usually expected of those with his sort of mask. Instead of holing up in the city, he goes out to explore and charts all their maps.

Hyrule, AKA Rue - Korok Leaf Mask

Role: Apothecary (Apprentice) // Age: 490 - 711 years old

He’s physically around the age of 18. Similarly to Twi and Legend. He wanders the islands and caves a lot, hunting for herbs and things for remedies.

Time, AKA Celatum (Latin, hidden/secret) - Mask Unknown

Role: Advisor to the Queen // Age: 2,000+ years old

He was in his early teens when the city sank. Hasn’t appeared to age since he reached the appearance of roughly early to mid 30s. No one has seen his mask, usually wears either a beaded veil or sheer eye band in Court.

Four AKA Vir (Latin, man) - Mouse Mask

Role: Blacksmith // Age: 2,000+

He looks like he’s 16, so same age as Wind. He was a small baby when the city sank. Doesn’t usually wear his mask due to concerns it will catch fire.

Wild AKA Trux (Latin, Wild/fierce) - Unknown

Role: Unknown // Age: 18 years

He’s new to their way of life so he’s not in the same boat of being centuries old. Yet.

#wandering thoughts #asks #anon #thank you for asking <3

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