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Delving into Blackfathom Deeps

An excerpt from Glory to the Queen Born of Stars:

"Of the wonders our queen brought to this world, perhaps none was so great as Lathar'Lazal. As masons constructed the temple, Azshara shaped the waters around it with the Scepter of Tides. She spoke the names of the rivers and the seas, and they moved at her command. Salt water from the roaring ocean and fresh water from the mountain streams trickled to Azshara's side. With the flick of her wrist, the queen partitioned them into great lakes that hugged Lathar'Lazal's sturdy foundation."

Architecture:

Blackfathom Deeps, as we know it today, was once called "Lathar'Lazal," or "Seat of the Sky" in Darnassian. Long ago, this was a temple to Elune built by Queen Azshara with the aid of Sharas'dal (her tide-scepter) in the ages before the Sundering. Pelagic imagery still endures in the architecture of these sunken ruins, described at one point to have contained "gem-encrusted bridges and effervescent lakes." Motifs of fish-head fountains, wave-inspired stonework, scale-like patterns, and ionic columns are repeated in the masonry and pottery of the forlorn halls. It is unclear what the seafoam-colored stone the temple is made of, though it is interesting to note that it almost bears a resemblance to a body of water's surface: like the way a pool shifts and shimmers with the light. Some kind of material borne of the sea, melded together with the queen's Sharas'dal, or a common mineral of the region? They could also simply bear cracks and signs of weathering considering the age of the temple, but watery stone would be fitting symbolically.

Azshara's Influence:

"Whenever she [Azshara] walked the bridges of Lathar'Lazal, nearby schools of exotic fish would array themselves in colorful patterns. She even kept a colossal sea giant bound to one of the lakes. She used her scepter to make him perform tricks and feats of strength, much to the delight of the watching Highborne. Curious night elves from the far corners of the empire journeyed to Lathar'Lazal to study the mythical creature and his habits."

Perhaps Lathar'Lazal was a bustling tourist attraction then in the days of the empire, both for education and entertainment. With such tourism drawn to the temple, I wonder if the nearby land/city of Zoram benefited from this economically.

The passage above seems to imply that the Highborne rather enjoyed the spectacle of the imprisoned sea giant, and this poses an interesting dichotomy to the original purpose of the temple: a house of Elune, simultaneously hosting a creature trapped against its will. Such an exhibition created by Azshara here speaks to her penchant for show and amusement, and possible disregard for the faith. If only a historical record existed of a priestess's personal journal or the like; and whether she would be disappointed with such behavior, or complacent in the suffering of other races/creatures as night elves often were during this era.

Tideweaver:

Queen Azshara, even before her naga transformation, always had a fascinating dominion over water, both with her scepter Sharas'dal and the Well of Eternity. Supposedly Xavius was the one who actually gifted the queen with this ornate weapon that later shaped the temple:

"A night elf named Lord Xavius presented the queen with a jeweled scepter, etched with delicate magical sigils. He promised Azshara that so long as she kept it close, it would bring her prosperity and great power. Azshara held the scepter aloft, and the jewels shimmered in the light of the moons like brilliant stars. The sight of the queen and her gift was so beautiful that it brought many of the attendant Highborne to tears."

An enigmatic man of terrifying skill and power, I do wonder where Xavius procured this weapon in the first place; as its design does not appear to be of Kaldorei craftsmanship. Perhaps it hails from the ancient jinyu culture, the primordial titans, or some other past world power. Examining its details, what do you think of Sharas'dal's origins?

"Queen Azshara's enchanted scepter afforded her great power. Imbued with the Well of Eternity's potent waters, it held sway over the rivers and the seas, aquatic creatures of all kinds, and the life energies that stirred within Azshara herself."

In the Tablet of Balancing Tides, it is stated that:

"The whispers of Elune and Neptulon play on the tides, their words etched in stone are a tribute to the balance of their power."

I find it interesting that Azshara utilized a form of magic half-intrinsic to the moon goddess. Did she derive some of her aquatic power from Elune, or use a different magick entirely? The descriptions of Azshara wielding the scepter use language that speaks to a command over water, rather than a unity with the elementals, spirits, and goddess.

This item's flavor text also mentions Neptulon--Elemental Lord of Waters--interestingly now a sworn enemy of Queen Azshara and her naga forces in the present day.

The Moonshrine Ruins:

This place supposedly once hosted a moonwell, with an area known as the Moonshrine. The foundations here might suggest that before the Sundering, Lathar'Lazal could have been built just upon the shores, or expanded out into the sea itself with the tides embracing the temple all around. Swimming beneath the waters of the Moonshrine, there appear to be large pillars supporting the walkways here; much like a pier.

The Inner Sanctum:

Crescent imagery is prevalent inside of the sanctum, as well as sets of 3 seats, perhaps symbolism of the triple moon (waxing, full, and waning or the maiden, mother, and crone archetypes) holding some importance in the rituals carried out here. These could also represent a large meeting space, high-ranking priestesses for ritual, a council of leadership, divisions of the temple, seating for observers, or something else entirely. They face partitioned rooms with crescent moon symbols.

If we look at the central dais of the sanctum, (Azshari statue and cultist altar notwithstanding) there is a raised platform with a pyramid-like structure carved into the ceiling. Perhaps a skylight once existed here to let in moonlight for lunar rites, or this area hosted something of great importance to be kept safe inside the sanctum.

The Moondoors:

The moondoors are an especially interesting piece, and the last apparent threshold of the Seat of the Sky. Upon passing through, there are only a handful of pillars flanking the sides of the cavern. They seem to accompany each other in pairs on each side - marking a possible entrance, exit, or some other pathway to the temple. While I am unsure of their true purpose or the mechanism to unlock them, the various square pieces are almost akin to a puzzle. This model is used in other Kaldorei architecture and I've long been intrigued by their possible uses. These moondoors are typically used as entrances to the tall, thin ivory towers of Kaldorei ruins. Perhaps Elunarian priests or arcanists weave (or wove) intricate spellwork rooted in the arcane, or the moon cycle in order to lock these types of barriers. What was intended to lie beyond them is anyone's guess: powerful artifacts, sacred relics, enshrined lore, or even concealed secrets.

"The Great Sundering shattered the glorious temple, sinking it beneath the waves of the Veiled Sea."

I hope you enjoyed these musings! There's something equally fascinating and solemn looking back at the remnants of the Kaldorei Empire - in the shadows of glory that once eclipsed the continent.

Bel'ameth, the Arms of the Goddess

"Isil noras rae shala dielas." (Silver skies and safe journeys.)

Crypts of Blackrook Hold

In the Heart of Amirdrassil

Travels Through the Emerald Dream

Cathedral of Eternal Night: Lost Sanctum of the Sisterhood of Elune

Cathedral of Eternal Night, perhaps called "Azshal'adora" in Darnassian.

These were the uppermost chambers of the Temple of Elune, now known as the Tomb of Sargeras. The corrupting emerald fires of fel magic slowly creep through the entrance of these once hallowed halls, but remnants of the Sisterhood's former glory still endure further into the Cathedral.

Hall of the Moon:

When traversing the dungeon, there are rooms to the side of the main path that may be opened and fully explored. These circular spaces contain what could be old moonwells, outlined with pillows and embraced by floating flowers overhead. These were likely places of meditation or communion with Elune, but I could also imagine these pools being used for healing, cleansing, scrying, stargazing, etc.

Perhaps a coincidence, but when inspected closer, these flowers have eight main petals; similar to how there are eight notable phases of the moon. (I wonder if eight is considered a lucky or holy number in Kaldorei society?)

Windows of stained glass adorn the walls and the ceilings here, filigree and diamond-shaped motifs (like the Tears of Elune) being repeated in the lower levels of the temple as well. Despite this being an indoor place of worship, it's clear that keeping moonlight visible/sensed was important in the Cathedral. In some rooms, it appears that the moonlight from outside shines directly into the pools, perhaps imbuing them with lunar blessings. This could have also just been a way for priests of Elune to feel closer to Her even when inside.

Countless scrolls and bookshelves can be found in all rooms, many of them housing a plethora of desks. Eerily, some still have an open scroll or book laying atop their surface with bookmarks in place, untouched by the sands of time.

I'm curious as to what texts are hidden here, but I suppose there's a few obvious things that come to mind. They could be prayers the Sisters were trying to commit to memory, songs of the Elunarian faith, stories/legends about the Well of Eternity, sacred texts of the Goddess, students' notes/textbooks, and more; as this could have also been a place of learning for newer inductions into the Sisterhood as well.

Perhaps the writings in this repository could make for interesting RP adventures in retrieving old texts, relics, lore about ancient Kalimdor, or attempts at discerning old Elunarian spellwork, prayers, stories, etc!

The small tabletop game on the right also caught my eye. Pieces of arcane crystal float above the board, maybe an old version of Kaldorei/Highborne chess.

Another detail in some of these areas are the looms resting to the side of the moon-pools: this could have been a place where mooncloth or holy vestments were created or blessed, as evidenced by one of the sub-zones here being called "Sacristy of Elune." A sacristy is a place where "a priest prepares for a service, and where vestments and other things of worship are kept."

Chapel of Tranquil Song:

An easily missed side-room leading up the first set of stairs is the Chapel of Tranquil Song. It is a small church with two sets of pews, and a fallen crescent-harp. This room further reinforces the idea that music and song have been a prominent aspect of Elune worship, and I think this could be an interesting take on healing in RP as well. Calming singing and instruments like the harp could possibly help heal wounds alongside the lunar magic of the Goddess, akin to an Elunarian bard.

The Twilight Grove:

The next level of the Cathedral is called "Twilight Grove," a large platform housing ethereal flowers that glow like stars with a font of moonlight (almost like a silver lake) pouring in through the ceiling. Agronox's dungeon journal entry describes these as the "Hanging Gardens," which he once tended to before his fall to corruption. I find it interesting that these plants seem to flourish hanging upside down, rather than growing on the ground level. Some petals and leaves also seem to be translucent, reminiscent of a spirit or the like.

I am unsure what these herbs are exactly, but perhaps they are specifically nourished by moonlight. Maybe priests of Elune utilize celestial herbs of some kind that bolster the magic granted by the Goddess, grant visions/spiritual boons, or emanate a calming aura in places of worship. It could also be that mundane herbs may be grown near a moonwell or a font like this one, and with time are imbued by Elune's blessings.

Chapel of the Sentinels:

This chapel is yet another Legion reference to a group called the Sentinels existing before the War of the Ancients. The others mentioned are in Tel'anor (resting place of WotA heroes) upon the plaques of the Windstrikers and Latara Feathersong.

Windstrikers: "Marksmen without peer, their skill with a bow was an inspiration to generations of archers. Their family developed the gauntlets the Sentinels wear, carefully articulated mail links that empower our archers to this day."

Latara: "Here lies Latara Feathersong. A huntress of the Sentinels, she led the vanguard in many campaigns. Her bravery and compassion were endless."

Maybe this order existed before the Sundering, with special places reserved for them like this chapel, and was simply revived in name by Tyrande Whisperwind a few centuries later.

The Emerald Archives:

A grand library containing innumerable books of all categories, it seems that these archives contained Highborne enchantments as well. Before the Sundering, there may have been an emphasis on Priestesses being educated/learned in many different areas of study, including knowledge of the arcane. These are the books we see from Thrashbite's dungeon journal entry:

Satirical Animated Book: an animated tome overflowing with stifingly satirical writing. As the tomes open, all sound is magically absorbed into the ancient pages, silencing all players for 5 seconds.

Fictional Animated Book: An ancient work of fiction springs to life, the magical runes leaping from the page to fetter would-be readers. Slows all players.

Biographical Animated Book: Account of a long-forgotten sorcerer's life can prove to be dangerously beguiling. Entrancing narrative charms a random player, but breaks if their health goes below 30%.

All of these fire arcane bolts at the party. Books as weapons in mage RP is something I'd never thought about, but makes so much sense!

There is an achievement for this boss fight called "Steamy Romance Saga," implying that even erotica could have also been kept in the library.

A mural to the left of the Emerald Archives depicts a Kaldorei woman bearing a shield (likely the Aegis of Aggramar that was kept here prior to the Sundering) and a spherical protection spell against green flames from what appears to be a dragon.

The way leading to the next area is called "Path of Illumination."

Chapel of Tears:

Another side-room on the way up the winding staircase is named the Chapel of Tears. This could have been a place of safekeeping for the Pillar of Creation: Tears of Elune, or a chapel of mourning. Somehow, a fel-infused Fal'dorei (nightborne spider) has made a nest here.

Other references to Elune's tears:

Tearstone of Elune

The Sisters' Tear

Mu'sha's Tears

Tears of the Goddess

Elune's Tear

Tears of the Moon

In any case, references to tears of Elune crop up all over Azeroth, most of which possess some kind of restorative/cleansing/life-giving powers. I believe that while the tears could certainly represent sadness of the Goddess, they could also represent tears of happiness, as the Pillar of Creation is described to "embody the dream of what Azeroth could be," and maybe the strong healing magic imparted by them is rooted in hope. I feel that Elune's connection to water could also be another avenue for RP, perhaps harnessing rejuvenating aquatic magic alongside the lunar blessings of Elune.

Sacristy of Elune:

The pinnacle of the Cathedral is known as the Sacristy of Elune, with areas of now-empty shelves and pillaged chests. The stained glass has been turned a fel-green, broken open and shattered onto the floor. The name suggests that this was once a place where sacred items were kept, such as vestments, furnishings, sacred vessels, and Elunarian records.

Given the ancient origin of the Cathedral, this could have been a prominent place that mooncloth was created: "Tailors tell that the first recipe for mooncloth was scribed by Elune herself." It is unknown if a tailor must use felcloth and purify it in a moonwell to eventually create mooncloth, or if any cloth can be used with the proper rituals/spells/blessings.

Hope you found this interesting, thanks for reading!

"Andu’lun-adala-ande’nar." (May the moon light your way.)

Traversing Tel'anor: Insights into Kaldorei Funeral Traditions

Tel'anor, perhaps translated to: Holy Earth from Darnassian.

“This is a city for the dead… It is beautiful, and it is tragic. It is–was–a sacred place for my people. Or what my people once were.” -Thaedris Feathersong, the redeemed

Nestled in the mountains just beyond Suramar city's borders, the resting place of Tel'anor once commemorated the Kaldorei fallen. Today, it is overrun by disturbed spirits, harpies, and withered scavengers. Traversing through the burial site and taking a closer look at the architecture, offerings, and placards has offered some insights into the funeral traditions of the Kaldorei people. It appears that some shal'dorei still pay respects to their forebears and loved ones here, as we see in Thaedris Feathersong's story. Valtrois also echoes this sentiment in the quest [Honoring the Past]: “We nightborne owe our unmatched grace and intellect to a noble heritage. The ancestors at rest in Tel'anor deserve proper tribute.”

Architecture and History

Thaedris Feathersong explains that he used to visit this place often “before the barrier was raised,” implying that it was likely first established prior to the events of the War of the Ancients. Additionally, the fact that some plaques here give honorifics to the heroes of this war could indicate that it was actually the surviving Kaldorei of the Broken Isles, perhaps the Sisterhood of neighboring Val’sharah as an example, who created these memorials in addendum to those of the Pre-Sundering era. As the shal’dorei were confined within the barrier around Suramar city, some other group was likely responsible for these specific placards, and the subsequent upkeep of Tel’anor until the incursion of the harpies and withered. This city of graves is a wonderfully preserved window into the architecture of the ancient world. The marbled stone so iconic among the Highborne ruins that we see strewn about the world is also the primary choice of masonry here. The layout of this memorial site speaks to a highly manicured aesthetic, with deliberate and controlled inclusion of natural flora within shaped stone confines; notably in circular, ocular, and teardrop (almost comet-like) varieties. Pale pink and ivory flowers seem to be the ornamentation of choice for gravestones; while more richly pigmented purple flowers decorate the vases. As the rest of the area speaks to a lack of groundskeepers in recent times, much of Suramar’s native wildlife has begun to adorn the structures by way of vines and tree growth. In the central fountain area, there is a depiction of three women holding up a pillar, similar to the statues of Haidene. These maiden figures are each adorned with a green garland of flowers around the waist: one purple, one orange, and one blue. A grand statue of Elune, or perhaps a past elder of the Elunarian faith, is situated before the spire at the back of the grounds. Inside of this building is another statue in the center of an offering pool, this time of a man. He holds out an open tome, and wears a gleaming diadem on his brow. Who this depicts and what occupation he holds is uncertain, though he may signify an Elunarian faithful, a ritualist of Tel'anor, a sorcerer, or a star augur of old. Purple cloth banners and runners also adorn many of the open-air gazebos, though some are completely barren. Certain sites bear the symbol of the Highborne, while others are decorated with nondescript cloth. Flags are flown atop many of the buildings here as well; some with purple and gold trim, and some with blue and gold trim. These could have been another layer of marking one's status or even a building's purpose, as we know that the Highborne caste had a "penchant for all things purple." Blue and gold were the primary architectural colors in Zin-Azshari, as seen in the Azshara Warbringers cinematic.

Lunar Headstones:

A recurring motif throughout Tel'anor are the headstones that bear lunar symbolism, likely from the prevalent influence of the Elunarian faith. An intriguing detail of the headstones is that they are reminiscent of different moon phases: some appearing to be waxing, waning, or even the new/full moon. I do wonder what their symbolism could mean: maybe this marks the moon phase they died upon, when they were interred, the moon phase of their birth, their favorite moon phase, social status, combat ranking, generic imagery in homage to Elune, or something else entirely? The graves and ornate coffins accompanying them reinforce the idea that Kaldorei prefer to bury their dead, and in the past, even entomb them. There are headstones and sarcophagi both outdoors and indoors, interestingly enough. Some also bear a small glowing orb in the center that others lack, perhaps another indicator of one’s accolades in life.

During the quest Tools of the Trade, we learn that the deceased are anointed with sacred oils, preserving incense, and burial shrouds before their interment. The sacred oils are housed in a heavy skin that bears a strong fragrance, likely to help mask any scent from the deceased. What exactly makes them sacred is unclear, though they might derive from ingredients considered sacred; such as specific herbs, remains from honored animals, or have been blessed by a member of the Elunarian faith. The bundles of preserving incense are said to be surprisingly dry and undamaged, perhaps owing to a highly effective storage method, or especially resilient reagents. These could have included anything in the realm of leaf, bark, and wood powders; gums and resins; herbs, fruits, seeds, and flowers; as well as wines and honey mixtures. The chest of burial shrouds is described as being sealed tightly shut and feels lightweight to hold. It is not specified what material these shrouds are made of, though protection and preservation of the body seem to have been of great importance.

Spirit Fonts:

From a gameplay perspective, spirit fonts are usable objects that, when given an offering of Ancient Mana, buff the player character with 10% haste and movement speed (called Spiritual Infusion), and transform them into a spectral model. Their flavor text describes them as being “unused for some time,” though they still possess a radiant magical aura and full basin. Perhaps they are filled with blessed water, the liquid fire of Elune, or some other remnants of a moonwell. It is said in the Stormrage novel that, "magi and other spellcasters can refresh their mana in these pools.” This could be why the Withered are so drawn to this place, given that these fonts may still hold some semblance of the moonwell's restorative cleansing properties, both on one's lifeforce, and on their mana. In Elegy, Astarii Starseeker describes that bathing in a moonwell "eases feelings of pain, weariness, and grief," an experience the mana-starved Withered likely long for. They may also be feeding upon the energy of offerings left for the deceased here, scrounging for any motes of magic that still remain. These fonts may be, or once were, used for spirit communion; or to facilitate offerings to spirits. The crux of using these fonts indicates a sort of exchange between the living and the dead; as offering up the crystallized mana gives us, in turn, a boon. Thaedris Feathersong recalls that Tel’anor had a sect of caretakers who performed rituals and venerated the dead, so it may be that the rites of the spirit fonts were relegated to them specifically. The fact that these bestow a spectral form for a short time has some interesting implications as well. For one, it is possible that an offering ritual shifts someone partway into the spirit realm, perhaps to better communicate with the souls of the dead. Secondly, it could be that a spirit is imparting some of their energies to the offeror, and thus briefly strengthens them in the physical plane. Lastly, this boon could quite literally infuse the offeror with the essence of a particular spirit, which causes them to take on their guise or characteristics.

The Chimes of the Moon:

Across Tel'anor, chimes can be seen hanging in various locations and sounding throughout the environment. Near the southeastern portion lies a larger set of these instruments, reading: "The Sisters say that Elune sings a song, notes pure and beautiful. The Chime does not ring often, but when it does, it is the same note as the one She is singing." Singing seems to be a prominent aspect of Elune worship, perhaps in emulation of the Goddess as described here. According to the novel The Demon Soul, priestesses impart peace and comfort through chanted spellwork. During the Burning of Teldrassil, Priestess Astarii begins to sing to the refugees in the temple, and Elune responds in kind by granting them a peaceful slumber so they would not feel a painful death in the overwhelming flames. These chimes may have been crafted in such a way that Elune responds through them, or so the Kaldorei once believed. Considering chimes are typically used before or after a prayer, it seems possible that Elune could have used these as a conduit of communication with her faithful. Perhaps from fervent prayers, significant offerings, a new soul passing over, or even in warning, She was thought to harken through the chimes. Smaller, more personal chimes could be something Kaldorei carry with them, hang in their homes, or store in places of worship, similar to the windchime item discoverable through archaeology. Perhaps an old practice of the Kaldorei involved using chimes to contact or call out to spirits. This large chime monument in Tel'anor could also be the last of their kind - their likenesses and ancient craftsmanship no longer reproduced.

Silver Braziers:

Countless braziers glowing with silver fire still burn to this very day in Tel'anor. Given that this place is overrun by all manner of aggressive beings, there are likely no groundskeepers continually tending to the flames here. The quest The Liquid Fire of Elune implies that a flame can be born from the energies of a moonwell, and can cleanse scourge-blighted creatures. Unless a wayward devotee keeps all of these braziers lit, the fact that these fires are still active speaks to just how enduring the magic of Elune and Her moonwells really are. It could be that the vestiges of the Well of Eternity keep these flames everburning, or that they have thrived off of Elune’s energies each night without physical kindling.

Ancestral Offerings:

Alongside the worship of Elune, revering one's ancestors has endured as an integral part of Kaldorei culture, for a myriad of offerings adorn the grounds of Tel'anor. Many graves and headstones are beset with candles, vases, flowers, urns, water basins, and statues.

Thaedris Feathersong has us gather some scattered memento urns in his stead during the quest Fragments of Memory. He tells us that "these relics are tokens and mementos of the former lives of those interred here. They like to be remembered and these offerings keep them in their eternal peace." The Kaldorei seem to carefully select items unique to each of the dead that then remain with them, and serve as anchors of the memories they made in life. The abandoned state of Tel’anor could explain why there are so many disturbed spirits wandering aimlessly through its paths, because there has been no one to leave mementos and remind the spirits that their memory lives on; thus shattering their ‘eternal peace.’

There are countless seating areas with benches and fountains in Tel’anor, and clearly this was a place where people spent quality time, either alone or communally, in the resting place of their ancestors.

On nearly every epithet in Tel’anor, the same message echoes in the last words.

"Anu dorah. We remember."

can i please say something

sending illi & friends to the Big Dance…!!!

I'm still not okay after reading the Playlist for When Your Boyfriend Stops Breathing by @sunsetplums, still listening to the playlist too ˙◠˙ p.s. Birb’s name is Mango, she used to live with the fic’s author but passed away just a couple days ago so now Jayce is looking after her. Faint music on the bg is My děti ze stanice Bullerbyn by Květy

Source: OrchidofAntinous

so long and goodnight.

Just googling Goetia and uh…

is the sun bothering you my kings

me rn laying in bed being miserable bc i just made a 94 on a test instead of a 100

me when im not at the top of my class

Pool # 27 -  Ann Goldberg , 2016.

Canadian , b. 1970s

Oil on canvas , 30 x 48 in.

@galaxymaster360

I don’t need to bully him if the animators do it for me

my girlfriend is the concept of things fitting perfectly in a little box. thats her. i love her. wow, that box was really made for these misc items. wow.

He's flawless...🥺

he ate and he knows it

welcome year zero.

prints + buy my tee (5% of proceeds donated to medical aid for palestinians) + commission info pinned to profile

I’m still fighting myself and my artblocks, soooo have some Rhysie, let him be the proof of it.

"valley reverie" - sebastian

summary: the timeline of sebastian and the farmer’s relationship based on canon dialogue

pairing: sdv sebastian x farmer

word count: 2.5K

a/n: this may be my magnum opus

The sun was beginning its descent behind the mountains when Sebastian emerged from the house for the first—and only—time that day.

He shot a glance to his mother and Demetrius, who were standing at the edge of their property, looking over the valley bathed in golden light. His mother sent a small smile back, followed by a pointed disappointed look at the carton of cigarettes held loosely in his glance. Demetruis didn’t acknowledge his existence.

Sebastian knew it was a nasty habit, but he spent most of his life with not much thought to the future—he was surprised he made it this far. Maybe his life would have been different if he had planned better; if he had considered for a moment that there was such a thing as life past sixteen, then eighteen, then twenty-one. He supposed he should start to consider a life past twenty-four, but quickly dropped the thought as he placed the cigarette between his lips and continued his stroll to the lake.

He saw it then, as his lighter sparked to life and helped the cigarette take eleven minutes off his.

Someone was sitting in his spot. A humanoid blob of denim focused intently on the bobber floating in the water.

He hesitated, then decided to keep moving—his trajectory now locked in past the stranger and across the rickety planks of wood to the smaller islands in the middle of the lake. His mother had been saying for years that she needed to build something more structurally sound, but had yet to get around to it.

As he got closer, he took in more of the scene. There was a muddy bucket next to the stranger, and he noticed a couple slimy carp flopping around inside. Whoever this was, they clearly didn’t have enough experience to catch the tricker creatures in the lake.

Just as he was about to slip past toward solitude, he locked eyes with the stranger. Their bored expression quickly turned to worry.

“Sorry, am I in your spot? Robin said it was okay for me to fish here.”

Recognition sparked in his brain—his mother had told him about the new resident of Pelican Town. The words she had used to describe them flashed behind his eyes: sweet, a little lost, cute. That last one was sent his way with an exaggerated wink and met with a scoff from him.

“Oh. You just moved in, right? Cool.”

The farmer didn’t respond, just looked on waiting for an answer to their question. Sebastian didn’t gratify them with a response, instead looking across the lake at the tree line and abandoned quarry.

“Out of all the places you could live, you chose Pelican Town?”

The farmer scrunched up their mouth slightly, beginning to reel in their line. There was nothing but a limp worm dangling from the hook. Sebastian took note of the grieving look flashing on their face before it was gone in a blink.

“Better than where I was.”

Sebastian didn’t bother responding as the farmer heaved up the bucket—they were a lot stronger than they looked—and walked away without another word.

Robin smiled at the farmer with a wave and shouted goodnight before sending another disapproving look to her son.

_________________________________________

Sebastian heaved open the door of the house, exhausted from band practice. Sam was his best friend, and he enjoyed spending time with him more than he would admit, but the newest addition to the band was definitely a hindrance.

He didn’t dislike Abigail, and he couldn’t deny that she was a talented drummer, but he had been hoping for years that her little crush on him would fade away. He could only take so much of puppy dog eyes and over exaggerated laughter at his quips that definitely aren’t that funny.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts on how to shake off the purple-haired girl—more importantly, how to shake her off without actual confrontation—that he didn’t notice the farmer leaning against the shop counter until their voice pierced through. His mother was nowhere to be seen, so they had to have been talking to him.

“What? I didn't hear you...I'm busy thinking about something. What do you want?”

The farmer narrowed their eyes at him, leveling him with a glare. “You know, I get that you’d rather be listening to My Chemical Romance and jerking off to Nietzsche than interacting with a human being, but you really need to work on your people skills.”

Well, he hadn’t been expecting that.

He expected avoidance from the farmer, based on their first meeting and subsequent run-ins where they gave him a nod of acknowledgement before going back to acting like he didn’t exist.

He realized that the farmer wasn’t as timid and one-dimensional as he let himself think.

The moment was saved by Robin entering the shop room and dropping a workbench on the floor with a heavy thud. “You’ll make better use of this than I have lately—it’s pretty old,” she looked up from the dusty bench, noticing her son frozen in the doorway, “oh, hi Sebby.”

“Sebby?” the farmer questioned with a smirk.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, brushing past his mother to get to his lair.

“Sorry about him,” he heard his mother as he descended the stairs.

“It’s fine,” the farmer laughed, “he’s cool.”

He couldn’t help the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. _________________________________________

Sebastian looked down at the frozen tear in his hand with a neutral expression on his face, though his heart was quickening its pace.

“Gunther told me it’s fabled to be the frozen tears of a yeti.”

He met the farmer’s grin with one of his own, “I really love this. How did you know?”

They shrugged, “Seemed like some emo shit you’d be into.”

A breathy laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “Well…thanks.”

“No prob. I’ll keep an eye out for more when I’m in the mines.”

“The mines?,” his brow furrowed, “how far down did you go?”

“Not super deep, I think I stopped at sixty since it was getting late.”

Sebastian gaped at the farmer—who he now realized he really misjudged—as they shouldered their backpack and turned toward the door.

“Oh,” they stopped just shy of the threshold, “your code is wrong, by the way. Third line down.”

He looked to the screen, baffled, seeing that there was, in fact, a mistake in his code.

He began to ask the farmer how they knew that, but they were gone. _________________________________________

The sun was setting on the valley, and Sebastian found himself sitting by the lake’s edge with the farmer, who was reeling in sturgeon and bass with ease.

“I’m sure the city’s different for other people, but it was corporate hell for me,” the farmer spoke softly as they baited their hook—it was different than any bait he had ever seen, and the farmer had informed him that the wild man living behind their house had taught them the recipe.

Sebastian hummed, “I guess that makes sense.”

“You guess?” the farmer teased him, flicking water at his face.

He blew a puff of smoke in their face.

The farmer coughed, then began to laugh as they fanned the smoke out of their face, “asshole.”

Sebastian grinned, leaning back on the palms of his hands and gazing across the water.

They sat in comfortable silence as the farmer cast out their line and half-heartedly focused on the bobber—they didn’t really need it anymore, but liked the safety net.

“You and Sam are probably my only friends in this town.” Sebastian broke the silence, but continued looking straight ahead.

“Well I am very likable.”

Sebastian knocked their shoulders together with a scoff.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” _________________________________________

Sebastian was indifferent—and sometimes loathful—toward most events held in their little town, but tonight was an exception. It was hard to not be in awe of the midnight jellies, and he was excited for the farmer to see them for the first time.

They were perched at the edge of the dock, along with Sam and Abigail, their feet dangling inches above the water.

It was a lot colder than expected, and the farmer was bundled in his black jacket. He couldn’t help but feel bad about the sad glances Abigail was sending their way.

The farmer looked content, and Sebastian recalled something they told him at the beginning of the season—the used to be terrified of the ocean before moving to the valley.

He nudged their shoulder with his own. It didn’t take much effort—they were sitting a lot closer than he realized. A light blush dusted his cheekbones.

“I thought I saw something moving in there…” he pointed to the void of the ocean and leaned closer to their ear, whispering, “something big, something dark.”

The farmer’s eyes widened as they looked across the vast darkness before they narrowed and turned to him.

“Just trying to scare you...” Sebastian laughed.

The farmer smiled, knocking their knee against his, muttering an all too familiar “asshole.”

It wasn’t too long before Lewis sent out the first lantern, and the water surrounding the docks was filled with glowing jellyfish.

“It’s beautiful,” the farmer breathed out as their head landed on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” his eyes landed on a glowing green jelly before looking down at the farmer, “it is.” _________________________________________

Sebastian never saw the farm in its full glory—before the farmer’s grandfather grew old and passed away—but he had been there plenty of times when it was overgrown and abandoned.

He had told the farmer this as they sat on the newly installed swinging bench on their porch. They joked that they would be suing him for trespassing, since it was technically their property at the time, even if they hadn’t known it.

It was a chilly fall day, but the farmer had made a pot of coffee to keep them warm.

“I thought this was your busy season,” Sebastian lit up a cigarette and moved the ashtray closer to where he sat. It was a newer addition to the farmer’s decor. He thought about the prideful look on their face as they held it up and told him that Leah let them use her pottery wheel. It was painted with little creatures that looked like the much happier cousins of the slimes living in the caves.

The farmer hummed, holding their mug close to their face, but not taking a sip, “Yeah…a lot busier than I thought it would be, actually.”

He grinned at them, “so, you’re slacking today, huh?”

The farmer laughed.

“I’d rather hang out with your sorry ass than work.” Despite the insult, the farmer’s tone was soft and earnest. Sebastian felt his cheeks heat up.

“Could you picture me living on a farm? It seems ridiculous, but I have been thinking about it lately.”

“If I could do it, then so could you,” the farmer linked their pinky with his, “it’s a lot more freeing than you’d think.” _________________________________________

Boxes filled with Sebastian’s things lined the walls of the farmhouse, but Sebastian and the farmer lay in bed, choosing to ignore them. 

They had all the time in the world.

The farmer was twirling the pendant dangling from Sebastian’s neck, “there’s steam coming out of your ears, Seb,” the farmer giggled and smoothed out the wrinkle between his brows with their finger.

“I’ve just been thinking,” Sebastian turned his attention from the ceiling to the farmer, “The older I get, the less I'm drawn to the city. It had a certain mystique to it, once. But it turns out that was just a romantic fantasy. The city's so busy, so full of people... I don't belong there. I'm a loner.”

A beat.

“Present company excluded, of course.”

The farmer laughed, “Well I would hope so,” they tugged gently on the pendant, pulling him closer, “because you’re stuck with me.” _________________________________________

Sebastian and the farmer had joined his family for dinner, and his mother had shooed them away with one hand as she cooed at the bundle held tightly in her other arm.

The valley was coming to life, but the ghost of a winter chill was in the air. They settled down by the lake despite the cold. It was no longer his spot, but theirs.

The farmer was skipping stones across the lake when he grumbled about how being in that spot made him want a smoke.

“No one’s stopping you,” the farmer laughed.

“I am.”

The farmer still held a loose smile as they raised their eyebrows at him, “oh?”

“I'm trying my best to quit smoking now that we're married…” He avoided their gaze and brushed some mud on the palm of his hand onto his jeans, “I don't wanna die on you. It's a bad habit. I want to have a future together.”

A baby cried in the distance. Sebastian and the farmer smiled at each other. _________________________________________

The farmer was surprised to find Sebastian’s side of the bed empty when they woke up. It wasn’t a rare occasion, as they usually found Sebastian in the kitchen after a restless sleep, but he was nowhere to be found.

They couldn’t help but worry a little bit as they pulled on their boots and opened the screen door. They paused out of instinct to let the dog run out before them only to realize that the dog wasn’t hot on their heels like usual.

They had only gotten two steps onto the porch before a mass of fur and slobber crashed into their legs.

“Oh hello baby,” they cooed down at the dog as it rolled onto its back, breathing heavily out of excitement, “good morning stink.”

“Good morning to you too.”

The farmer was so caught up in giving the dog attention that they hadn’t noticed Sebastian leaning against the porch railing.

They straightened from their crouch, smiling at him as the dog whined from the loss of affection.

“I couldn’t fall back asleep, so I went ahead and fed the animals,” he pushed off the railing and took a few steps forward to fix a rogue piece of the farmer’s hair, “one less thing for you to do.”

“Thanks, Seb,” the farmer said softly, suddenly bashful, “I’m going to check on the pumpkins. Thought I could make some soup tonight if any of them are ripe.”

They took a few steps off the porch, “feel like being a country boy today? Or did you get your fix?”

He smiled, leaning his forearms against the railing, “I'll just watch you from here. I enjoy watching you.” _________________________________________

Sebastian and the farmer found themselves sitting on the porch swing once again. It was a mild summer evening, and he was looking on as a toddler played with the dog in the yard.

He tore his attention away from the rowdy scene in front of him to look at the farmer, who was curled up at his side reading a book. He felt his heart swell.

“This is so different from my old life, but I'm really starting to like it. I feel like I really belong here.”

The farmer looked up from the book in their lap, smiling.

“I don't often show it, but I'm really happy that I'm your husband. Marrying you was the best decision I ever made.”

moonlight jellies

22:00.

Standing on the dock, the light breeze of the summer's end ruffled my few loose hairs. I'd traded my straw hat and red t-shirt for my bucket hat and bomber jacket, the only nice pieces of clothing I owned. I want to believe I dressed up for myself or for the occasion, but it wasn't true. I wanted to look good for him, even as I refused to admit it.

The candles floated along the dock like the yellowed leaves that would soon make their appearance. It was a romantic setting. I almost blushed. I took the opportunity to greet everyone, hesitating a little when I reached their group. The three were always together and tonight they were joined by his younger brother, too. Of course I spoke to him last, I had to feel prepared. But I was beginning to realize that I would never really be prepared to talk to him.

"Do you think they're poisonous?" he mused. He didn't take notice of the outfit I'd curated for him that night, but I admired his curiosity. He held onto a childlike wonder, which was probably one of the many reasons he got along with Vincent so well. It was charming. I wouldn't want to test out that theory, I thought. There was never much I wanted to say in these interactions and I didn't want to trip over my words, so I rarely offered more than a hmm in return. Sam didn't seem bothered by this, which made me think we could make a good team. "Guess I shouldn't push Sebastian in the water, then," he laughed.

Soon it was time to light and release the boat. I quietly walked to the other end of the dock for a better view. I liked Sam, but I liked to experience these things alone, too. We all waited in anticipation as the Mayor released the lighted boat. For a moment nothing happened, and then, the first jellyfish floated close to me, so close that it almost touched my feet. I felt the light illuminating my face, and from across the dock I could see him facing me. Looking. Staring? I couldn't make eye contact, but it felt nice to be observed by him. When the other jellies surrounded the dock, I took a peek in his direction only to find him still eying me. Then, a green hue illuminated the spot a little to my left -- a rare green jellyfish. To say it was shocking was an understatement. The gentle contrast of colours had me mesmerised. I could see my reflection in it, and I looked awestruck. It seemed that no one else saw this rare jelly, which made me feel simultaneously special and sad.

The others began to set off for their homes after the last jellyfish had passed far beyond the dock. I stayed behind and stared at the ocean that had turned black with the lack of light. I looked at the reflection of the moon inside it, the contrast between its light and the darkness of the waves. There were few moments like this one in which I experienced peace. But the peace quickly faded when I felt a hand against my shoulder.

"Looks like the green one liked you!" he giggled, somewhat startling me. I chuckled in agreement. I was surprised that someone else had caught sight of that jellyfish, but it made me happy to know that he had.

"It's late. You going home, right?" I nodded at his question. I turned to leave in his direction only to find that he'd already run off to catch up with Abigail and Sebastian. Why did I think he planned to walk with me? But, was I wrong? Why else would he come and talk to me?

I guess we both behaved awkwardly at times.

whoa i actually had an art idea and followed through on it

ready for halloween 🎃

(sketch) blood in the water

AGHAGHFFFJK AHHHHH OMGGGG WOWOWOWOW

sypnosis. a queen waits for the return of the man who promised he would always come back. her lover, who disappeared years ago chasing an adventure only he could see. the court demands a king, and suitors press in, but she remains unmoved, weaving a shroud of time until he returns. then, a challenge: whoever can string her betrothed’s bow and fire an arrow through twelve battle-axes will claim the throne. the suitors fail, but the beggar steps forward, rook, disguised. the bow bends, the arrow flies true, and rook stands before her, alive, and home at last.

note. i was listening to “the challenge” and thought of rook, stupidly enough cause of the bow & i immediately thought of “rook would love this” but you get it ^^’’ !!! immediate apologies if it may seem ooc, or off grammar (unfortunately, english isn’t my first language)

𝕿He. . . loom stretches before you, a seemingly endless web of threads that twine and twist in complex patterns. It feels like an impossible task, one you can never quite complete. Each morning, your fingers move with purpose, the rhythmic motion of weaving pulling you deeper into the task, a desperate distraction from the ache in your chest. Each night, when the rest of the castle has drifted into slumber, you return to the loom to unravel the threads, as if in some way, that will erase the time that’s passed — the time that you’ve been forced to endure without him. They do not know. The suitors who fill your court like hungry wolves — bright smiles and velvet robes hiding the sharp edges of ambition — believe you are near the end, that soon, you will choose a new king.

But you are still his.

He left you years ago, chasing a challenge that only he could see. The great hunter, the man who had seen beauty in every fleeting moment, had sworn to return. His final words still echo in your memory: “Mon amour,” he had whispered, breath warm against your temple, hands pressing over yours. “I leave not for adventure, but for the promise of coming home to you. What is love, if not the patience to wait?”

But patience is cruel, and faith wears thin when it is constantly tested by the long silence between you. The world does not stop spinning while you wait for a man who might never return. You have held your breath for years, hoping against hope that the promise he left you would hold true, but as the days turn into months, and the months into years, you begin to wonder if perhaps the sea has swallowed him whole.

The kingdom stirs. The whispers grow louder each day. It has been too long. He is gone. A queen cannot rule alone forever, they say. And so they press closer, thousands of men draped in velvet and gold, smiles dripping with false sweetness, eyes gleaming with greed. They speak of duty, of stability. They speak of the future.

But what of the past?

The love you held for Rook is not something fragile that can be traded away. It is not a thing to be bartered like the throne you sit upon. And yet, the court grows impatient, the vultures circling, waiting for their moment to swoop in.

“Your Majesty,” one of them says, his voice smooth as silk, his hand lingering too long on the armrest of your throne. “The throne needs a king.“

“A nation without a ruler is weak,” another murmurs, his eyes glinting with something more dangerous than mere concern. “Choose, and we will grant you peace.”

Peace? How.. humourous. As if the love you hold for Rook could ever be bought, as if it were something to be sacrificed to ease their hunger. As if you are not the woman who has held the kingdom together, the queen who ruled with strength and wisdom while he was lost to the world. But they do not understand. They never have.

Still, they will not stop.

So, you buy yourself time. But, is it for yourself?

“I will choose,” you say, your voice steady, betraying none of the chaos inside. “As soon as I finish weaving this shroud.”

They believe you. And so, the cycle continues.

Day after day, you sit at the loom, hands moving with mechanical precision, the rhythm of the work a small comfort in a world that no longer makes sense. You tell yourself that you will be free once it is finished, that once you have completed the task, you can let go. But every night, you return to unravel the work of the day, pulling the threads free, watching the promise of completion slip away like sand through your fingers.

And unexpectedly, the storm will come by.

Huh, the weather today.. seems peculiar. I wonder.

You thought, the sky today looks unlike anything you have ever seen, dark clouds gathering on the horizon, the sea thrashing wildly as though it too were in mourning. The wind howls, rattling the castle walls, and in the darkness of that night, something shifts in the air, a whisper, a possibility. Could it be—?

No.

But still, there is a flicker of something. Was it hope? Something that makes your pulse quicken, something that stirs in your chest and makes your breath catch in your throat.

You do not sleep that night. The next morning, the court is restless, but you do not care. Another suitor has arrived. You barely glance up at first, prepared for the same hollow flattery, the same empty promises they have all offered. Another face, another man desperate for the throne. And then—

“Your Majesty.”

The voice is low, rich, unmistakably familiar.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

You lift your gaze, and the breath leaves your lungs.

There, standing before you in the grand hall, disguised as nothing more than a beggar? A tattered cloak hanging from his shoulders, boots caked in dust, golden hair hidden beneath a hood, is him.

Rook.

“Mon amour,” he breathes, and it is neither a plea nor a question. It is a vow renewed, a promise fulfilled.

The court does not understand why your fingers clutch the armrests of your throne, why your breath trembles in your throat. They do not understand the weight of this moment, the storm that has raged inside you for years, breaking now into sunlight.

But they will.

“A challenge,” you announce, your voice ringing out through the hall, silencing the murmur of voices. “The one who can string my betrothed’s bow and fire an arrow through twelve battle-axes shall take the throne beside me.”

The suitors laugh. They know the stories of Rook’s war bow — the weapon only he had ever been able to wield.

The bow itself, was a testament to strength, a mark of kingship, a relic of a past only one man could claim. Crafted long before his reign, it was a thing of unyielding power, curved in a perfect arc. Only he can wield.

One by one, they step forward, pride on their faces, convinced that they, too, can master the impossible. One by one, they fail. The bow does not bend to their hands. The string does not yield. Each failure cracks their pride, their frustration mounting as they realize that they are not Rook.

And then, the beggar steps forward. The court erupts into laughter.

“Surely, Your Majesty, you do not mean to let this vagrant attempt—”

But you do not stop him. You do not move, barely even breathe as he steps forward, his hands brushing against the polished wood of the bow, a deep, knowing silence settling over the room.

With a swift movement, the bow bends. The string sings its familiar song as he draws it taut, the echo of it resonating through your very bones. You can feel the air shift, the energy in the room snapping like a taut wire.

The arrow flies.

The sound of it is pure. Sharp and true, slicing through the air with deadly precision. It whistles cleanly through each of the twelve axes, the force of it a declaration. A promise.

Silence.

And then, he lifts his head. The hood falls away.

Rook stands before you, golden-haired and smiling, as if no time at all had passed. As if he had never left.

You take a step forward, your breath catching in your throat, but you do not move too quickly, afraid that he might vanish as suddenly as he appeared.

“You’re late,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but it carries through the silence like a blade.

Rook’s smile widens, his eyes sparkling with the same wild fire you remember. “Ah, mon amour,” he breathes. “But I am here.”

And then, he kneels before you.

The years between you crash down like a tidal wave, the weight of everything you’ve endured settling heavily upon your chest. You do not hesitate. You move toward him, your hands trembling as they find his face, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his cheek. He leans into your touch, eyes closing for a moment, as if memorizing the feel of you, the texture of your skin beneath his fingers.

“I should kill you for making me wait,” you whisper, your voice breaking with the ache of all that has been lost and found again.

“And yet,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your wrist, “you have never looked more beautiful than you do now, in your fury.”

You let out a breath, half a sob, half a laugh. But it is enough. It is everything. You pull him to you, your lips crashing against his, desperate and alive, the years of longing melting into this single, fleeting moment.

The court watches, but you do not care. The suitors recoil, but you do not see them. There is only Rook. his hands in your hair, his arms around you, the warmth of him solid and real after all these years. When you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours, and the world is suddenly right again.

“You came back,” you whisper, a question, a plea, a confession.

“Always,” he swears, his voice rough and raw. “I will always find my way back to you.” This time, you believe him.

That night, the castle breathes with a new kind of silence. The suitors have left, some in anger, others in shame, their ambitions shattered like glass beneath the weight of inevitability. The whispers of the court fade into the distant hum of the sea, and for the first time in years, you are alone.

But you are not lonely.

Rook stands before you in your chambers, no longer the beggar who had slipped unnoticed through the doors, but the hunter who had once stolen your heart with laughter and reckless devotion. He is older now —sharper in some places, softened in others — but when he smiles, it is the same as it ever was. Wild and knowing, like he has already mapped out every thought in your head before you can voice it.

And yet, for the first time since his return, he hesitates.

“You are staring, mon amour.” His voice is lighter now, teasing, but underneath it, there is something else. Something unspoken.

You cross your arms, tilting your head. “You disappeared for years, Rook. Forgive me if I wish to confirm that you are not merely a ghost come to haunt me.”

His lips twitch. “And if I were?”

“Then I would curse you for eternity,” you say, stepping closer, until only a breath separates you. “And still, I would not let you leave.”

The teasing falters in his expression, giving way to something raw, something that makes your pulse thunder in your ears. His hands, calloused and sure, come up to cradle your face, his thumb ghosting over the curve of your cheek. “I was gone too long,” he admits, a confession, a wound.

“Yes.”

“I have no excuse.”

“No.”

His fingers tighten, the breath in his chest shuddering. “And yet—” He swallows, eyes burning gold in the candlelight. “Would you still have me, knowing that I am a man who loses himself in the hunt?”

Your breath catches. Not because you do not know the answer, but because he would even dare to ask.

You take his hand, pressing his palm flat against your chest, where your heart beats strong and steady. “You left,” you say. “And I waited. And I cursed you. And I wept for you. And still—” You inhale, exhale, let the weight of the years settle between you before crushing them beneath your next words. “Still, my heart knows only your name.”

Rook lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, but it is too broken, too relieved to be anything but the unraveling of something long-held. “Then it seems,” he murmurs, leaning in, his forehead pressing against yours, “I have found my way home after all.”

He kisses you, it is not with the desperation of before. It is steady, certain. It is the promise he made you all those years ago, at last fulfilled.

© 2025 padf-0-ot . i only post in this app ^ᴗ^

OMG CHECK THIS AUTHOR OUT ASAP !!!

𝘚𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘱𝘦𝘦𝘬

Chapter 1 snippet

December 2, Monday morning. The warmth of your bed clings around your body, practically inviting you to rest for another hour, debating whether or not you should accept this proposal, the harsh realisation of reality barely awakens you. Hardly conscious, you bring your attention to the bright window of your bedroom, a pleasant surprise guides your view to the blanket of white powder enveloping your backyard, brightening up the depressing usual mornings of winter. Concentrating on the comforting feeling of safety in your bed, checking your phone sends you back to reality, you’ve woken up 30 minutes late.

‘Fuck.’ you mutter, you’re finally fully awake. You quickly fling aside your baggy band shirt and chaotically get dressed in uniform. Sprinting downstairs, nearly tripping, you snatch your books, shoving them inside your bag. As you mentally prepare yourself for the school day, you quickly grasp a snack and catch hold of your jacket.

Puffs of your breath leaving you in uneven clouds and the cold biting at your skin as you ran outside. Reaching the empty bus stop, your heart drops at the realisation that the bus had left without you.

‘Just kill me at this point.’ You murmured under your breath, words tumbling out before you realise.

‘Would you like me to?’

The voice came from nowhere, it was deep, and said without intention. His voice was the kind that could melt winter’s bitter coldness, designed to be unnerving. He whispered it with an idle confidence, you couldn’t tell if he was being serious or having fun at your expense.

His words hanged in the air like icicles hanging from the roof. Stopping mid in your tracks, your sharply turn your gaze towards him walking towards you. His long chestnut like hair was flowing in the frigid breeze, eyes gleaming, a dark forest green, sharpened. They were unreadable, his intentions unclear.

His warm yet teasing voice started again, ‘You seemed so earnest about the idea? I thought I’d offer what you wanted.’

Your heart pulsed faster and faster by the moment, unsure how to response.

He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth faintly curving, ‘What's the matter? –Cat got your tongue?’ letting out a faint chuckle as he approached you.

Author's note:

If you're still here, thank you for reading! This is a short snippet of a fic that I'm writing about a character that I've made. What led me to writing this was my friend deciding to make a little scenario for me with my type after I had just rambled to her about wanting a bf exactly like the character that I'm writing about, after she had made the scenario for me, I went onto Wattpad to check out if there had been any stories similar to what my friend made and to no avail, I didn't find anything. I decided to take matters into my own hands and write the fic myself, since I couldn't find anything. Anyway, if your type is long haired metalheads, then this is for you!! (Also the friend who helped make the scenario is @brownblob credits to her for helping me)