#musedomforevermore

[ranasta]

“How peculiar. I sense magic but I don’t see anyone fully harnessing it.” Astalor tilts his head at these elves that look so similar to his. His tone lacked the curiosity and was more a direct question at how absurd it was. “Do you lack the drive or fear the addiction it may bring you?”

(Any of your elves 👁️👁️ lets let the chaos elf mingle with the fancy ones)

One could mistake Thranduil and Astalor for two goldenhaired brothers, if not for Astalor's strikingly glowing green eyes and noticably longer ears that resembled sharp daggers. In fact everything about the Magister reminded Thranduil of something threatening garnished with patience, like a cobra coiled to strike at the perfect opportunity. His prey Astalor had first lured in with his deep voice and beauty of course.

The Elvenking pondered over Astalor's question. He had never questioned his own magic in this way, nor had he compared his world to anothers. He hadn't been aware that there were other worlds. With elvenkin no less.

"Arda and Azeroth are different," Thranduil concluded, swirling the red Dorwinion in his wine glass. He watched the liquid slosh around, crimson like the shrouds of mist that sometimes surrounded Astalor and those large floating crystals of his. "We are granted little things. A glamour, magically sealed doors, clairvoyance, our ability to speak with animals. The magic resides in the earth, the air and in the water. It surrounds us but not everyone can harness it. Not like I can, and certainly not like you can. It seems to me the magic on Azeroth is far less coy. Less need to coax and less folks excluded by failing to even feel the magic around them. Your magical forces appear to be in competition with each other and they welcome champions who carry them to victory. I suppose that makes ours more exclusive. Meant for the few, for the immortal."

As far as Thranduil could tell blood elves weren't immortal, but they lived very long regardless. They also seemed to age the same way his kin did - namely not at all.

"Some of us are blessed with an enhancing Ring of Power, of course," Thranduil added, a sneer on his face. Clearly he wasn't one of those blessed. "With its aid the use of magic can be pushed very close to what I've seen on Azeroth. As for addiction, you can trust that the elves of Arda develope mania and obssession just like your kind. One could even argue that the object of our desire is magic too, as its light and beauty entrances us, and makes us believe we're owed more than we're given."

[wintersovereign]

@musedom-forevermore said: Link had his hands together, clasped as he stood in front of Elsa. He opened them slowly to reveal the blue and white cold weather butterfly. A rather calm one he found, seemingly content with staying on human hands. He offered the small creature out to her. If anything could handle being on her it would be a creature meant for the tundras.

“You mentioned most critters avoid you because you are cold.” He stated as the little butterfly rested on her hand.

Elsa’s breath caught softly as Link opened his hands, revealing the tiny butterfly resting there like a living piece of winter; its wings pale blue and white, delicate as frost painted across glass. For a moment, she simply stared, caught entirely off guard by the sweetness of it.

Then, carefully, she let him guide it to her hand, half-expecting it to flee the instant it felt the chill of her skin. But it didn’t. It stayed, calm and still, its tiny legs barely a whisper against her palm. Her expression softened in a way few people ever got to see, unguarded, touched deeply by the thought behind the gift.

“You remembered,” she said, her voice barely above the wind. Of all the things she had said in passing, of all the small insecurities she had never meant to make important, he had held onto that one.

It was such a simple thing. Such a gentle thing.

A warm laugh escaped her, soft and disbelieving, and before she could overthink herself out of it, Elsa leaned forward and pressed a quick, tender kiss to his cheek. When she pulled back, there was color in her face that had nothing to do with the cold. “That,” she said, glancing down at the butterfly still resting peacefully in her hand, “might be the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” Her smile turned smaller then, but no less sincere. “I think it likes me,” she murmured.

[bladedhunter]

Plotted Starter || @musedom-forevermore

The frog at the bottom of the well drifts off into the great ocean...

When Jiraiya comes to, he's still underwater. Deep underwater, gasping in a lungful of it as he wakes up, covered in... are these Tsunade-hime's slugs?

Wait...

It all comes flooding back to him. How is he alive? But it's obvious, considering the little slugs covering his body, plastered to him, sleeping. It's due to Tsunade and Lady Katsuyu's slugs that he's alive... somehow.

On instinct and a desperate urge for air (and to cough up water), he's swimming toward the surface, through there's sharp pains everywhere in his body, especially his chest. The break onto the surface into sun has Jiraiya gasping, coughing, looking wildly around.

He's not far from shore.

It's several weeks before he can make it back to Konoha, not entirely in one piece (okay, in one piece, but sort of missing pieces). He'd managed to get a large cloak from a little traveling vendor along the way, covering his tattered clothes. He knows where he's going of course: straight to Tsunade's home.

He knocks on the door, a solid knock, but -- hesitant still.

[maitiests]

@musedom-forevermore sent a letter. The sigh wasn’t something of discontentment or unhappiness. More of a wistful acceptance. The kind one says when expecting exactly what to happen to indeed unfold. A smile of amusement pulled on Asuma’s lips as he stood up slowly from his chair. A quiet afternoon wasn’t on the agenda anymore. Not that he minded. Moments like these are what he looks forward to nowadays. He wouldn’t call it humouring as he genuinely was happy to join his friend out on a little adventure.

“Alright Gai. I’ll join you.” He agreed to the request before stretching his arms above his head for a moment. “Just promise me that if we do run into Kakashi you don’t volunteer me as anything more than an impartial judge to your competitions.”

a fist raised high in YOUTHFUL VICTORY, too little time is spent with his old friend; and asuma would do well to share a single workout with gai. ( even the maito was not delusional enough to think he could talk asuma into doing this daily ) the laughter rising from powerful chest a warm melody, and calloused fist finds itself on asuma's biceps with a loud smack. ❝ a bit more enthusiasm, IF YOU PLEASE, we're not some old men going on a leassurely stroll!! ❞

and if all goes to plan, he might coax the sarutobi into a youthful sparring match after they ran their laps; gai isn't gai if he doesn't test his iron fists against konoha's finest. including, but obviously not limited to only, kakashi hatake. his day only made better when his muscles ached so pleasantly, and he bled at least once. ( maito gai truly was more beast than man ) and he gives asuma a daring grin. ❝ oh yeah? tell me then, my old friend - ❞

❝ WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO IF WE RUN INTO KURENAI?? ❞