#lu tag

if anyone remembers my kitty lu & astarion drawing. i obviously had to flip it. kitty curse on astarion nyow!!!! ref & bonus beneath the cut

happy anniversary @mydictionary-yume!!!!!!!!!!!

recent commissions ive done for @adrianrainesfangs ^.^ ft alejandro vargas and adrian raines

Lailah, the story that this is referencing.

The problem with Lailah is that I very firmly believe that her story is best left open ended - is it a tragedy? Does she survive? Who knows!!! So unfortunately I couldn't give you anything solid as a story per se, but I hope this works? I really enjoyed writing it.

The world ended, but you knew that already.  You’re not new to this, are you? It’s good to see you alive, it’s always good to see you alive.  I hope the winter hasn’t been too cold, I hope the heels of your shoes haven’t worn through.  Mine have but it’s fine, I’ll stitch them up no worries.  Anyway, back to the end of the world. 

I’m sure you know the drill by now.  In the aftermath you’ll find, dotted all over this island, what used to be a country but isn’t anymore, hospitals, office buildings, shopping malls, service stations, all converted into homes for those left behind (although by now most of them are second or third generation, it’s been a while since the end, you see).  People grew, they changed, they gave birth and died, they settled down and formed new communities.  And twisted among these people, snaking through the buildings like wind whispers, like threads of courage, are the stories.  Thousands of stories, repeated over and over until they lose one meaning and gain another.  The heart-blood of the survivors.  Usually I’d tell you one now, something steadfast and winding that might give you hope.  But today I’m afraid I don’t have anything solid, just rumours and gossip.  Not the sorts of things people would tell at firesides, but the short accounts they toss around at midday in the five minutes of rest before they have to be somewhere. 

One community of survivors arose in what used to be a shopping centre.  They call it the Hollows and it used to be under a cruel and vicious leadership.  One dictator rose and terrorized his people for years, spewing bile and blood and rage.  He fell at the hands of another, perhaps less brutal but still ruthless, still merciless.  Like a villain in a children’s book.  Eventually the people rose up against her, unable to live one more day without living, and she was run out of town.  That’s all we know for sure. 

A number of hunters say they killed that Evil Queen as she fled from them, left her body in the woods.  No one knows if they’re telling the truth or not. 

Some say the she got away, that she ran fast enough to escape them all (some even say she did it through magic and more people believe it then you might think).  She’s hiding somewhere now, plotting her revenge.  Parents tell their kids not to go out too far, otherwise she might jump out from the bushes and snatch them and eat them all up.  Some get scared by that but most children just laugh.   

Others, older, who were there when she was in charge, just shrug their shoulders.  They don’t know if she’s alive and they don’t care.  They threw her out once, they say, they can do it again if she comes back.  If she doesn’t, all the better.  She should be getting pretty old now herself anyway, if no one lets her in she won’t be able to enter.    

Sometimes rumours come from the north.  They talk about a woman at a sanctuary that used to be a hospital, a woman who looks very much like an old tyrant.  They say she’s happy now, that she draws little cartoons for the children, that she weeps a lot and laughs more, that she is quiet and kind and has secrets in her eyes that she will take to the grave.  They say if you ask she’ll just tell you that she’s trying to be better, that she’s trying to do better.  They say they’ve heard her thanking God and all that’s good that she managed to hang onto something decent inside her, she doesn’t know how but she did. 

But others say they’ve been there and never saw her there, never even heard of her. 

(If anyone remembers her real name, they don’t say it.)

I’m the teller, so I say she made it there, I say she’s happy.  I say her plan was liberation all along, to incite the people to free themselves.  After all, she used to illustrate children’s books, she knew the importance of a good villain.  She wrote a story of freedom and strength and rebellion that will be told for decades to come.  I think she gets a happy ending for that.  At the hospital her hands have finally started to feel clean again, she has forgotten how it feels to hold a gun, how it feels to wield power over those weeping terrified before her.  She has nightmares often, but her days are peaceful.  She can’t help in rebuilding the houses surrounding the Building much anymore, her back hurts too much now, but she paints the walls when she can and still cries over colours.  She had to build a world out of black and white, you see, had to fight to make sure no one ever saw the grey.  Shades still take her by surprise. 

But that’s just what I think, and there are thousands who would disagree with me.  She’s dead, they say, or gone, or evil, and really what evidence do you have she was even trying to be good? And even if she were, what evidence do you have that she managed to keep a hold of it? How does someone keep their soul when they do all that? It’s hardly possible, not here, not now.  It’s the end of the world, why do you keep telling stories about good things happening? Remember, much more awful has happened here than good, this is a tragedy more than it is anything.  Do you really understand what that means? Do you understand what has been lost? For all it is dressed up in flowery language and fancy metaphor, the fact is billions died, they are dead and gone and people screamed for them and are screaming still.  Their corpses are rotting.  The weeping in the night will never truly fade.  That’s what they say. 

Look, I’m sorry, I know it’s not much of a story but we’re both busy and there’s not time for a real story, not tonight.  And really my point is this, when I say the world has ended do you really think about what that means?  So much of what we take for granted is just what we make, what we choose to build into a world and now look, it’s shattered like ice.  We’re lost and frightened and so often horribly alone.  Things change faster than we can understand, we’re not made for it, not for this sorrow, not for this grief.  But we have to live through it somehow and we do.  So really that’s the point, that’s the choice: the story is yours.  You’re standing here looking at a barren broken world, at a planet with a hole at its centre.  Someone has to fill it up again, someone has to put something in it.  The story isn’t necessarily what happened, what happened is just facts.  The story is what’s true.  Do you want her to be wicked and cruel? Do you want her to have died alone in the woods? Or do you want her to have survived? Do you want her to have had a plan for goodness all along? Do you want there to be kindness hidden at the heart of it?

Ehehehe I had fun writing this. Thank you (both for the prompt and for the well wishes)

I was torn between ideas of either music stuff or bein lil shits so I kinda did both. C:

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Wild leaned into the slope of the hill as he climbed. Wind followed at a jog close behind.

"He isn't normally around here much anymore, but I really hope he is so you can meet him," Wild's smile was nearly as blinding as the sun shining behind him.

"Yeah," Wind puffed, "I hope he is! This hill sucks!" 

Wild laughed and doubled back behind Wind. The smaller hero braced himself for a playful shove or steering hands on his shoulders to encourage him up the hill.

Instead he was swept entirely off his feet with a shout of alarm as Wild ducked low and hoisted the Hero of Winds onto his shoulders and ran full sprint up the slope.

Wind shrieked and Wild cackled, unbothered by the hands over his face and field of vision. Wild could hear the shak-shaka of Hestu's instruments just ahead. Luck held out for them today.

"WOAH! THATS THE TALLEST KOROK I HAVE EVER SEEN!"

Wild slung Wind over his shoulder and planted the younger and all his giggling onto the ground between himself and his giant korok friend.

"Ya-ha-ha! Link! You're back, friend!"

"Only for a little bit! This is Wind! Show him your shak-shak-shaks!" Wild motioned. Hestu told him several times, but the word kept slipping his mind. Then, one night Legend pulled out something similar and Wind had jumped in excitement and said something about them.

"Maracas!" Wind shouted. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, wrist flicking in mimic of his conducting motions. 

"Yeah!" Hestu was absorbed in the excited energy flowing through the other two and danced out a little show to Wind's delight.

"Here, I still have some of these. Hestu is amazing at," Wild furrowed his brow for a second grasping for the first few words, his memory was still slowly improving but still struggled with some aphasia now and then, "storage management and upgrade implementation."

Wind smiled and cupped his hands to take the small golden items Wild summoned from the digital storage of the slate. 

"It'll come in handy, Hestu do you mind? I need a lot more space for food and ingredients lately."

"Yes! More space for more seeds?" Hestu took the offered slate after Wild opened the back cover, exposing several small slots and cards.

"A double sized card to replace this one, for 16 korok seeds?"

"That sounds fair, thank you!" Wild nudged Wind to hand over the seeds.

Though, Wind had one of his puzzled looks on his face. Wild nudged him again while Hestu worked on trading out the storage unit.

"Wild, what exactly are these?" Wind's nose wrinkled. 

"Korok seeds. Hestu collects them for other work in the forest." Wild shrugged.

"EUGH! KOROK SEEDS?!" Wind dropped the small collection and shook his hands, looking mortified. "WILD! YOU TOLD ME THAT STUFF IS MANURE!"

Wild shrugged again. Hestu handed the slate back and danced a spell while the slate rebooted. Wind's eyes went round as saucers before narrowing at Wild.

"Don't forget to pay the Korok," Wild laughed and gave Hestu a cheeky salute before sprinting off down the hill to escape Wind's retaliation.