Oh I know I know! Since you've already made the "Possible costume changes for season 3", how about taking a look at the costumes we have in the first and second seasons?
That seems fun! As always, I’m not an expert, so if someone notices something I didn’t, feel free to add your thoughts :D
LOGAN
His costume became darker, just like him. He basically switched from a “lighter” version of himself (light black for his polo and light blue for his tie), to a darker version (darker shade of black for his polo, a dark blue tie, with black and light blue stripes). Also, instead of the polo logo, he put on his own.
Also, when he changed his outfit in Fitting In, his main point was to participate but...
[Logan]: I'm not gonna go as ornate or elaborate, I would just look silly.
And this outfit is the proof: he kept his old, formal outfit and upgraded it to a more formal version. Even his logo matches this change, by being “clear and to the point”, as he said.
Logan wanted to be a formal boi, he is a formal boi.
PATTON
His change was so minimal, I needed some time to remember what exactly changed and... it’s almost nothing. The colors are still the same: light blue for his polo to represent his innocence, grey on his shoulders to represent his main function as Morality.
The only actual changes are two:
His logo, that he got by stealing Logan’s idea to make his own
His hoodie, because as we all remember, it wasn’t just a hoodie he had around: it was a gift from Logan. And not just that: it was a gift he received after two complicated episodes for him, the Nostalgia episodes. Two episodes in which he admitted, for the first time, that he’s not all sunshine and rainbows and he can be sad sometimes. So this gift has a huge sentimental value for him and it’s a nice way to reaffirm his function as Thomas’ heart.
So this not-change might be a way to show that Patton still has a lot to do before doing a real upgrade, but also that the heart isn’t changed. Thomas might change and evolve, but his heart is still pure and wholesome as always.
And that’s why I want more grey on him for season 3, Thomas if you do the outfit change please give him more gray we even got this amazing outfit made by @purplecrayonismine please listen to us.
ROMAN
Our prince boi definitely got an upgrade! He went from “discount prince” to “what a prince!” with a blink of the eye and the difference is even more striking, when confronting the two outfits side by side.
His sash before looked more like a piece of fabric thrown on his shoulder and the golden tassel looked like something thrown as well. Now he got golden tassels everywhere, on both sides, so they’re more symmetric and therefore aesthetically pleasing too. His sash looks like a real sash too and his logo on the shoulder is way more elaborate, than Logan’s and Patton’s.
Roman wanted to go for the fancy and he went for the fancy. He got compliments, he was loved and admired and he definitely is "Prince 2.0 my goodness” now.
And yes this could be his way to look good, in order to hide his insecurities but come on, let’s give Roman some happiness now. He wanted to be a fancy prince, he became the fanciest.
Until Remus came.
VIRGIL
If someone should win the prize for “most unexpected costume change”, this is definitely Virgil. Virge went from “dark and stormy night”, to “darker, cooler, goth stormy night”.
And let’s not forget that Virgil’s outfit was put by Thomas on Roman’s level. It was so good, to match the one made by Creativity. A clear proof that Virgil can do wonders, when he wants to. And that he’s not a purely bad, eeeevil force: he can be good, he can make good, beautiful things.
Also, it’s interesting to notice that Virgil didn’t go for “keep it simple”, like Patton and Logan with their outfits, but went for the “let’s make it fancy and stylish”. Like Roman. And like some certain dark bois we had yet to see.
And he wears his logo on his heart, like Patton, Logan and Janus. A very nice detail and a good connection between all Sides. And he clearly got the inspiration for his logo from Roman’s words, when he compared Virgil to a “dark and stormy night”. So not only a proof that Virgil wants to fit in, but also a proof that he FITS in. And he can even bring some good with him, a new light that shines through the dark of his outfit.
It’s finished! I would be interested to hear what you think about it, anon who made the prompt :)
Here’s a Link to AO3.
It was a stupid bet Nyx had let himself be goaded into. Nyx was going to do it anyway and Libertus was going to make sure he didn't kill himself in the process. They were supposed to find a ghost.
Well, something they did find.
It wasn't a ghost, though.
Part of the Born Into the Wilds verse. Can be read as a stand-alone.
Obligatory list of words for the Galahdian language I keep inventing for some unholy reason:
unsanguikar = insult; lit.: unblooded person, meaning inexperienced and soft
lormunos akastral = corrupted demon
mahir = mother; woman who birthed me; affectionate form
gisdrauht = storyteller
Galahkar = person of Galahd
gekkan = great bear like creature with antlers, native to Galahd
fohrnfilkar = polite form of address between two Galahkari that don't know each other
Ohlro ar fahl Eohsas = Eos' light be on you; a formal greeting
The wind howled along the canyon, it tugged at hair and clothes, and produced a moaning sound that spread goosebumps and a feeling of dread over all the teenagers assembled at the edge. Most of them shifted nervously from one foot to the other as they stared at the wooden pole wrapped in colourful ropes, that marked the beginning of the trail. Once upon a time those ropes would have meant something, but after decades of negligence the meanings had become illegible, the colour nearly bleached out all the way.
Philotes Altius, the oldest of the group at the age of 17, was flanked by two of her usual goons and sent a nasty grin towards Nyx and Libertus. Both of them stared back with equally determined gazes.
It was a stupid bet Nyx had let himself be goaded into.
“To prove that unsanguikar really deserves the venerated name of Ulric,” Philotes had said with an innocent expression on her face and a nasty look in her eyes.
Of course Nyx had had to agree.
And of course Libertus was right beside him. Even as the slightly older boy had tried to keep Nyx from actually doing it up until they had shown up at the edge of the canyon.
Nyx, with the single minded determination of a stubborn teenager, hadn't listened at all. In the 14 year old's mind this had to be done to defend the integrity of the Ulric name. May his ancestors help him, he would do this and laugh into Philotes' stupid face afterwards.
Whatever the task actually was.
He had his suspicions, thought, after she had told him to meet her at the beginning of the Old Apothecary's Trail.
“You actually came,” crowed Philotes and somehow managed to sound disturbingly pleased and utterly disappointed at the same time. “It would have been fun to tell the others you ran away like a scared little spiracorn foal. No matter. I trust you heard the recent stories about this trail?”
Nyx narrowed his eyes at the condescending tone. “What does a ghost story have to do with this?” he demanded.
Philotes laughed. It wasn't a very nice laugh. In Nyx' opinion it sounded kind of like the call of a garula calf. Not that he would actually tell her that. Philotes wasn't only older than him, but also a better fighter. For now.
“Just about everything, Ulric,” she goaded and threw her hair back, bringing attention to her collection of meticulously done braids and beads. “You are to climb down the Old Apothecary's Trail and bring me evidence of the ghost who has made their nest down there. If I were you, I would be very careful while you do so. Rumour has it, it's actually a lormunos akastral.”
“You're lying,” growled Libertus.
His voice had just started to fond it's deeper octaves and he could make it quite menacing, if he so desired. This time, however, the effect was diminished by the chalky whiteness of his face.
Philotes cast both of them another nasty smile. “Then. Prove. It.”
Nyx practically growled as he dragged Libertus over towards the wooden pole.
This close to the edge the wind was even stronger, like cold fingers dragging across skin trying to pull the unwary down over the edge. Nyx swallowed, suddenly growing very nervous at the idea of climbing down a path that hadn't been used in near a century because the Patientia had found a faster and safer one down the canyon, where apparently some very rare herbs grew. Or something. Nyx wasn't that interested in medicine.
His sweaty hands found the thick rope used to guide people safely down and tugged at it. He grimaced at the ominous creaking with which the wooden pole protested. Using the ancient rope was too dangerous. Which left practically free climbing their way down. Nyx didn't really have a problem with that per se. He was good at climbing. His mahir and sister would probably have to say a thing or two about this, though. But he wasn't really worried about that either.
What he worried about was Libertus. His hunting-brother wasn't exactly a climber to put it mildly.
Worried, he dared to cast a glance at his hunting-brother out of the corner of his eyes. Libertus had gone very pale, but his eyes held a fiery determination to see this through and Nyx knew that any argument to convince him otherwise would be wasted breath.
“What are you waiting for? Do you need someone to hold your hand?”
The young Ulric hated Philotes Altius with a passion. She was quite the talented huntress and a powerful and cunning fighter. It made her able to get away with quite a few things others wouldn't and she knew it. She was loud and brash, especially when her goons were with her, and often liked to establish her dominance with kicking around those younger than her.
There was one thing, however. One weakness Nyx hadn't let himself dare to exploit until now, because he may be reckless and he may not have what amounted to normal self-preservation, but he wasn't stupid and he knew his own limits. Well, he knew Libertus would disagree on that one.
The thing was, Philotes Altius was absolute sahagin shit at her Clan's traditional speciality of being doctors and healers. And she hated it. It was the one thing she couldn't hold over the other teenagers heads to inflate her own ego further. The last time someone had dared to bring it up she had beaten the poor girl black and blue in a near senseless rage.
Nyx didn't give her the satisfaction of turning around. Instead he exchanged one last look with Libertus, to check if the other boy really wanted to do this.
Then he carefully slid over the edge of the canyon and onto a steep and worn down flight of stairs. They were slippery and narrow. Slowly he inched his way further down to give Libertus enough space to follow him, suddenly glad for the strong winds that pressed him against the rough stone at his back. He didn't dare to reach for the thick rope again in fear it would snap and cause him to fall to his death.
Small pebbles clattered down in front of him as he followed the stairs, Libertus a calming presence at his back. Their sound was swallowed by he moaning winds that ripped each breath from his mouth with greedy fingers.
The steps didn't go far before Nyx had to carefully turn around to face the rocky wall, his heart in his throat and adrenaline pumping through his veins, making the palms of his hands sweaty and slippery. With great care he searched for handholds since the ledge beneath his feet was barely wide enough to walk on and full of fallen rocks and debris. He could very easily trip and fall.
Within minutes his tunic was soaked through with sweat, leaching away his warmth as the wind battered at his back.
A shadow enveloped him, cooling the air around him even more. He shivered. When he had gathered his nerves enough to look up his saw the edge maybe ten metres above his head and thick, heavy clouds covering the formerly clear sky.
Something like dread pooled in his gut, but Nyx couldn't quite tell why. Not far above him Libertus said something, clearly yelling against the noise the wind made. Nyx couldn't understand a word anyway.
So he continued to climb his way down.
If he were honest, Nyx didn't know if he believed the story of a lormunos akastral having its nest here. Demons were rare in Galahd, and even rarer were corrupted ones. They were said to be souls of children that had followed a white crow and had died for it, cursed to never find their way beyond the gate where their ancestors dwelt. It was doubly worse if the child hadn't had a clan name. The gisdrauhti said those souls would grow twisted with time, if they weren't pacified, cleansed and guided beyond the gate. That they would peel the skin of their victims off, while they were still alive, and try to masquerade as them. It was a story told to children to keep them from going outside when they shouldn't. And now there was a story of a lormunos akastral to keep people from climbing down this obviously unsafe trail.
Light was leached further out of the late autumn afternoon as more and more clouds pressed in, turning the sky into a dark grey, roiling mass that every Galahkar dreaded.
The first autumn storm of the season was near.
Nyx fought the growing panic down. He knew he couldn't climb back up. Libertus was a slow climber and would surely slip and fall, should he try to hurry. Also, they were nearly halfway down the canyon at this point. Even if Nyx had been alone, he wouldn't have made it back up in time to take cover from the storm and keep out the voice riding the waves and the winds that came with it. The only way to survive this now was to climb further down and find a place they could hole up in.
From one moment to the other he stopped in the middle of crouching down on a small plateau barely big enough for two fully grown men to sit on. Had there been movement? A shadow to his left that wasn't his own? Cold wind, smelling strongly of salt and dust, blew his mostly lose hair into his eyes and obscured his vision. He whipped it out of his face with an angry motion. The shadow was gone. Had he imagined it?
With a tired grunt Libertus plopped onto the ground next to him and groaned. Strands of hair stuck to his sweaty forehead and his knuckles were as scraped and bloody as Nyx' own.
“The next time you accept a shit bet like this, please make sure it's nowhere near the autumn storm season,” groaned Libertus with a tired sort of resignation that made him sound decades older than he actually was.
Nyx let his eyes wander over the stone wall in search for a hideout they could use with increasing desperation. He couldn't find a single one and the ground was still far below them.
“Well,” he said, trying to keep the panic from his voice, “at last it hasn't started to rain yet.”
And as if all the spirits of Galahd had conspired against him, thunder rumbled deafening through the air and a cold drop of rain hit his nose.
“Way to jinx it, Nyx. If we survive this mess, remind me to slowly murder you,” grumbled Libertus, his own voice pressed in fear.
Shit.
They were going to die here. Because he hadn't been able to let go of his stupid pride. Why had he even listened to someone like Philotes? The Altius Clan was no ally of the Ulric Clan. He wanted so badly to turn back time to this morning and hit himself over the head.
A sudden warmth pressed into his right side as more drops started to fall in increasing speed and the wind gained a whispery quality to it that made his teeth ache. It was Libertus, a grim but accepting look in his eyes, even as his body trembled in a physical show of Nyx' own desperation.
It was so unfair, he wanted to scream.
Thunder rolled and a flash of lighting made Libertus jump in sudden agitation.
“A face!” he cried, a shrill quality to his voice. “I saw a face! Right there!”
Nyx followed his stretched out hand pointing to his left. He squinted through the rain and the growing darkness and couldn't see anything. He opened his mouth to tell his hunting-brother just that, when lightning flashed again and he saw it.
A hunched over silhouette at the edge of the plateau they sat on. Nyx froze.
Was this the lormunos akastral? Had that story been right all along?
The silhouette moved, slowly, hesitantly inching closer to them. Now Nyx could see that most of its hunched over bulk came from a raggedy cloak made nearly entirely out of fur. A hood was drawn deep into its face. He could see its mouth moving, but wasn't able to hear anything over the clamour of the storm.
It waved and pointed to its side, down and to the left. Neither Nyx nor Libertus moved and with an impatient tilt to its head it repeated the motion.
Nyx dared to glance at Libertus. His hunting-brother sat frozen in place, pressed into the stone behind him as if he wanted it to swallow him. Nyx shifted his weight, and as if Libertus' head was screwed onto his neck he turned to look at him.
He looked like he had seen a ghost. Which... well.
A pebble hit him against a leg and drew his attention back towards the silhouette. It motioned again, the gesture pointed and sharp and insistent.
The he heard it. Or he thought he did. A moaning cry on the wind and at once his goosebumps became twice as bad. At once he was on his feet and took a step towards the silhouette. Better to try his luck with the potential demon than with the voice-who-was-many-and-one. Then at least his own stupidity would kill him instead of something he had no influence over whatsoever.
Next to him Libertus twitched violently. But he followed, like the unendingly loyal companion he was.
The silhouette backed away as they came closer and started to climb. It nearly vanished into the falling rain and the shadows. Pale and thin hands and forearms nearly seemed to glow and were the only sign that it was still there.
They followed as best as they could. Which wasn't easy. More than once Nyx nearly slipped on the wet rock and fell. It must be so much worse for Libertus. Luckily it wasn't too long until they arrived at the entrance of a surprisingly deep cave.
For a heart stopping moment Nyx had felt the panic clawing at his insides when the silhouette had suddenly vanished, only for a thin arm to reappear from a gap in the stone, Nyx would have never thought would be big enough for them to climb into.
Inside it was a bit warmer and blessedly dry. Libertus and himself were soaked down to their bones at this point.
It was dark, but from further in they could see the telltale flickering of a burning fire. Cautiously they looked at each other and made their way further in.
The silhouette – person – thing was crouched low by the fire, still wrapped in the soaking wet cloak that turned out to be made out of gekkan fur. Small, bony hands threw another log into the clumsily improvised hearth. It became increasingly clear to Nyx that this in front of him wasn't a lormunos akastral. There were no twisted limbs, no naked, bleeding flesh and no smell of old and rancid blood. Only the stink of musty wet fur, cooked food and sweaty human.
He stepped closer to the fire, its warmth a blessed caress on his freezing skin, from where he had stopped. Not quite sure what to do, he simply decided to introduce himself.
“Thank you for saving us, fohrnfilkar. My name is Nyx of Clan Ulric and with me is my brother-in-hunting Libertus of Clan Ostium. Ohlro ar fahl Eohsas.“
All movement within the gekkan fur cloak stills for a heartbeat. An angry growl reverberated within the cave and suddenly Nyx lay on the ground, his face full of a furious young girl. The hood had fallen away when she had tackled him, bringing to light long unkempt brown hair, a thin and pale face caked with dirt and eyes that seemed to glow with an inner fire. She couldn't have been older than ten or eleven.
“You fucking idiots!” she practically screamed as Libertus grabbed her by the cloak and dragged her off him. “Who would be so dumb to go out climbing when it's been clear for days that a storm is coming? Huh?! Because of you dipshits I couldn't finish my preparations in time and now we're all going to die! Why did I even help you? Now we're going to hear it!”
Slightly dizzy in surprise and not really comprehending what the girl was saying, Nyx sat up and watched as Libertus wrestled her onto the ground, his larger frame helping him tremendously. With a last scream full of undirected rage and frustration and fear, she finally stopped struggling. She lay there, forehead pressed to the ground and shivering.
Nyx and Libertus shared a helpless look. Neither of them had any idea what to do with the little slip of a girl.
“Hey,” Libertus said at last, his tone soft and soothing. The girl didn't react, but he continued to speak anyway. “If I let you go, will you please not attack us again? We don't want to harm you.”
For a moment she didn't say anything. Then, as they thought she would just ignore them and they wondered what they should do now, she muttered something intelligible into the ground.
“What?” asked Libertus.
She wiggled a bit to move her head to the side, glaring at Nyx with fiery brown eyes. “I said fine!”
Libertus let her go and she scuttled away from him until the fire was between them. She tugged the soggy cloak tighter around her and eyed them as if they were dangerous animals. Nyx thought she might be kind of pretty beneath all the grime and dirt with a thin face and strong features. Not as pretty as his sister, though.
Oh damn, his sister. She must be worried sick by now. His mahir, too. She had told him to be back by late afternoon and he now wondered if she had known that the storm would be coming.
To ignore the sinking feeling in his gut, he took a closer look around the cave. It was a natural one with naked walls and a relatively smooth floor. In one corner, close to the fire, was a pile of old blankets and badly tanned furs, a heap of clothes piled next to it, and in another were stacks of pots his mahir would have called a travesty to every smith out there, they were that banged up. There were water buckets, some empty, some not, and a small cache of food. It wasn't exactly homey, but clearly lived in.
“May we sit?” he asked and motioned towards the fire.
The girl stared at them for a bit longer, blinking not once, before she nodded and curled up a bit more. She kept still and pressed her hands over her ears.
Nyx and Libertus sat down across from her on the naked stone floor as close to the fire as they could to try and get warm. The rainwater was freezing cold and stuck his clothes uncomfortably to his skin. He knew he should take them off to prevent a cold or something worse, but he didn't want to scare the girl even more, and so he kept quiet and still, Libertus pressed close to preserve warmth.
They could still hear the storm moaning outside. Nyx stared into the flickering fire and listened to the howling of the wind, to the falling rain, to the rolling thunder and to the flashes of lighting. It had a cadence, he thought, rising and falling like...
Like a dirge or a lament.
Fire flickered and crackled and suddenly Nyx stood on a shore. Waves rolled onto the rough sand beneath his naked feet with a crushing force and on the horizon he could see an armada of ships with black sails in front of a backdrop of dark storm clouds. He had no idea what he was doing. The only thing he knew was the urge to step into the waves of the sea, to give himself over to the sea serpents, so that he may save those dear to him. He would call a storm. A storm that would swallow the death bringing ships of the Conqueror King, the Death Dealer. He would-
A sharp cry startled him awake. Had than been a dream? He blinked drowsily and looked around only to see Libertus on his feet next to him, a blank look on his face and the girl in front of him. She had gone deathly pale beneath the dirt on her skin and she stood there as if to block his path, her hands still pressed over her ears. She trembled like a leaf.
Nyx stumbled onto his feet. He was disoriented and had no idea what was going on, but he knew that he couldn't let his hunting-brother walk out of this cave.
“Libs!”
He grasped him by his still wet collar and jerked him back. Nyx may be smaller and slighter than his best friend, but he was still the overall better fighter. He managed to wrestle him onto the ground with only a minor struggle and slapped him right in the face.
His head jerked to the side with a groan. Libertus blinked, dull eyes clearing to their usual clear blue.
“Nyx, what the fuck? Did you just hit me?”
Nyx let out a relieved breath that was dangerously close to a sob and slumped down, still sitting on Libertus' ribcage.
“Yes. Yes I did, you idiot. You were just about to join the other storm-lost.”
It seemed to take a few moments for the words to register.
“Oh.”
“Yes. Oh. Now are you going to wander off again, or can I let you up?”
“No, I think I'm good. Get the fuck off me before you start to cry on me. I'm already wet enough as is.”
With a wet laugh Nyx got off and stood up. His eyes were burning with unshed tears. He turned around to the girl who still stood rooted to the place.
“Hey, you alright?” he asked softly, not daring to come closer in fear of scaring her further.
She took large, gulping breaths as if to keep from hyperventilating and still shivered. But here eyes were clear and she was looking at him. She clearly hadn't heard what he had said, but seemed to guess its meaning, because she slowly nodded and made her way back to her side of the fire.
It was silent again. And that was dangerous.
So Nyx did the only thing he could think of to fill the silence and ward the voice on the storm away.
He told a story.
Come, come closer to the fire and let me tell you a story. Listen well for this is a story told to me by my mother and father, who were told by their mother and father back until the Clans were at variance and the sea untamed.
Once there lived a man named Aiolos Ostium, the Restless, he-who-followed-the-wind and Lover of Freedom. He, who called the whole world home. Aiolos Ostium wandered the land that had been named Galahd barely a generation past, and discovered many of its wonders.
But that is not the story I'm about to tell you. Instead I will tell you the story of how he was the first to forge an alliance that went deeper than the ties of blood. It is a brotherhood forged in trust and sacrifice. Life and death. As steadfast as the light that has been gifted to us.
Aiolos Ostium wandered Galahd, guided people to streams he discovered, to fields and herds of animals. Aiolos Ostium wandered, because the restlessness in his soul couldn't be quenched. The Restless people started to call him, for he never stayed anywhere for longer than he had to. Always wandering, always with his eyes turned towards the horizon with a longing people couldn't understand.
Hadn't they wandered enough, those who still remembered the Great Wandering wondered amidst themselves. Hadn't they just found a place they could call home? Where they could rest and grow?
Nothing could tie Aiolos' soul down and his restlessness grew.
Until one day he asked Daidalos Bellum to build him a ship he could steer on his own and would carry him over the sea. At first Daidalos declined, for he had been a child when our people had first come upon the islands that had welcomed us, and could still remember the hardships that had been endured before. The hunting and killing of our people. The hunger and the sickness. Even in his old age he could not understand how a person would ever want to leave again.
It was inconceivable.
But Aiolos persisted. Everyday he came and asked for a ship and everyday he received the same answer.
'No.'
But still he came and when one day he didn't, Daidalos was glad. However, when he didn't come the next day or the day after that, Daidalos Bellum grew worried. In a strange way that restless young man had grown on him.
'One more day', he swore to himself. 'I will wait one more day and should he not come, I will search for him.'
Morning came and Aiolos again wasn't on his doorstep as the first light climbed over the horizon. So he set out in search of the stubborn young man who loved freedom more than anything. To his surprise he found him not far away on a cliff staring longingly towards the horizon where the sky met the sea in a haze of blue.
The sight moved Daidalos so deeply that he agreed to build a ship that would carry Aiolos wherever he desired.
And so it was done.
Aiolos Ostium, the Restless and Lover of Freedom, set out on a calm summer morning to follow the wind that had been singing to him of all the wonders he had yet to see.
For three days and nights he was at sea. He spoke to the sea serpents who named him Companion of the Wind, and marvelled at their scales as they glowed in the night.
On the fourth day he saw land, and with joy in his heart he bid his new friends farewell and went ashore. He danced over the pale sands with the wind as his partner until he lay between tall stalks of grass, breathless and happier than he could ever remember being.
For days and days he wandered, marvelling at each new bird, new animal and new plant he saw. Each night he would draw the glyphs of protection and warding to keep the daemons away and each night he would sleep unmolested.
It was on his thirteenth day in Cleigne, on the continent that would be called Lucis not long from now, that he came upon the first settlement. Aiolos had been wandering steadily closer to the Rock of Ravathog. It spewed fire and smoke in a fury that had yet to diminish. It's extensions glowed in an unholy light.
The settlement was of a people who clung to their worship of the Burner, the Fickle and Gift-Giver. They clung to his fires with the desperation of a drowning man. They prayed to him, burned for him, threw themselves at the feet of his smouldering grave and still he ignored them.
But they were not willing to give up so easily, for they had found new victims to sacrifice in the name of their God. A God who had taken everything from them when he had drowned Solheim in his flames and fury. Goaded as though he may have been by the one whose name I will not speak here.
These people, desperate and selfish, had found a family wandering, fleeing from pursuers they would not name. A family with braids and beads in their hair, for you see, not all of us had dared to journey across the wild waters. Not all of us had dared to leave the lands that had once been our homes.
And so this family had stayed, had refused the call, and continued their wandering. Until they had come upon a settlement at the foot of Rock Ravathog. A father, a mother and three children they were. Two girls and a boy, all beneath the age of twelve.
Aiolos Ostium saw what was to befall the children, a pyre stacked high at the centre of the town. Now he knew why the wind had called to him and he thanked it as he grimly waited until midday in his hiding place. Remember, midday was the time when we used to stay inside, not daring to sully the sun with our presence. But such things are long past and so Aiolos snuck into the town and towards the cage the children were kept in.
It was the boy who saw him first, for he had the sharpest eyes of all of the children. He saw the braids and beads in the hair of the man who killed their jailer and kept quiet. He watched as he fell towards the floor, dead, and bid his sisters to be silent.
They were silent as their cage was opened, they were silent as they snuck out of the settlement full of desperate and manic souls and they were silent as they walked until night fell.
It was only then that Aiolos Ostium asked for their names and gave his in return. It was only then, when a fire burned and the wards were drawn, that he asked what had happened as they shared what food and water the Restless and Companion of the Wind still had.
It was the oldest, one of the girls, who spoke, for of the three, it was her words came the easiest to: 'Thank you, Great Wanderer, for our rescue. My name is Euros, my brother is named Notos and my sister Zephyra. We are what is left of Clan Ulric in this land.'
And she told him of the hardships they had had to endure. Of how their parents had decided to try and brave the sea regardless of the fear their own parents had instilled in them. How they had come upon a settlement that had offered help only for them to slit their parents' throats.
Aiolos listened in grave silence and, after Euros had finished her tale, spoke a prayer for the souls that would never see the wild splendour of Galahd. Then he told them of the sea and how he had met the sea serpents. He told them of the vast jungles and deep canyons, of wild rivers and steep cliffs. He told them of the words the wind had whispered to him and how they had brought him to the siblings.
It was with the fire as his witness that he named all three his children. His to nourish and his to protect.
Throughout the whole journey back towards Galahd he told them about their new home and they listened in rapt attention, for they were Ulrics and the wildness is in their blood.
And that is the story of how the Ostium and the Ulric were bound together by the spirits, how a man followed the wind and finally found piece within himself.
Nyx fell silent and swallowed. His throat was dry as dust.
Without saying a word the girl stood up and went towards one of the buckets full of water. She had stopped to cover her ears at the beginning of his story and listened in rapt attention. Her eyes had sparkled with a quiet joy that had given him the confidence to keep going.
She came back with a wooden cup of water and put it down just within reach of his arms before she scampered off to her place again. He smiled at her in thanks and emptied half of it in one gulp.
“You forgot the correct ending,” Libertus was helpful to comment, but there was no heat behind it, only a quiet thankfulness.
“Oh shut up,” Nyx grouched playfully. “You're not able to tell it any better than I do.”
“I so do.” Libertus turned towards the girl. “The right ending is that they kept wandering the shores for nearly a year because the boat Aiolos had come in was too small for all four of them. He didn't have any mainlander money to buy one and neither did a ship set course towards Galahd. Back then the Lucians thought it was cursed or something, you know? In some way they still do. Anyway, Aiolos and the Ulric children had to be careful, because, while most Galahkari had left at that point, many of the older Lucians still knew what our braids meant. They would have killed all four of them. In the end, they found a boat in what's now called Cape Caem and sailed all the way back to Galahd.”
“And that's how the Ulrics came to Galahd?” asked the girl.
It was the first time she had spoken towards them in a normal tone. It felt a bit like a victory for Nyx.
“Yes,” he jumped to say. “Us Ulrics are so special we were fashionably late.”
He grinned, wide and reckless. The girl giggled.
Another victory for team Ostium-Ulric, Nyx thought in satisfaction.
There were a few beats of nervous silence in which the girl busied herself with feeding the fire new wood, before she settled again. Before Libertus could open his mouth to tell a story of his own, she drew a deep breath. Her voice was light and steady as she spoke. And other than Nyx, she didn't stumble once over the words.
“Come, come closer to the fire and let me tell you a story. Listen well for this is a story told to me by those that came before me back until the first people stepped foot on these islands and the world was young. Come and listen closely as I tell you of the day magic died.”
Around and around it went. One story after the other while the voice-who-was-many-and-one howled and moaned on the storm and the waves. None of them had any idea how much time had passed when the winds beating against the canyon quieted, but still they did not dare stop in fear that it was only a brief lull.
They kept telling the stories of their people, making parts up they had forgotten as they went along, until they fell into an exhausted sleep. They slept in a tangle of limbs beneath a still damp gekkan fur cloak to keep warm and no strange dreams of black sails and stormy shores plagued them.
Nyx jerked awake with a start. For a second he didn't know where he was as he stared into the darkness surrounding him. He felt warm. Two bodies pressed against his as they lay beneath a smelly fur cloak.
The bet. The canyon. The storm. The girl.
They had survived an autumn storm in a cave with nothing but stories to distract them. Their ancestors must have smiled upon them. The fire had gone out while they had slept and he lay there and wondered what had woken him. He still felt tired, his limbs were sore from climbing halfway down the canyon and his throat felt dry and like something had died in it from all the talking. He was hungry.
“Fuck,” he cursed loudly and sat up.
The other two grumbled in dissatisfaction at the method used to wake them up.
“What the fuck, Nyx? Five more minutes, then we can get back out hunting,” Libertus grumbled, only half his words intelligible.
“Wake up, Libs! We need to go home. Our parents will be worried sick.”
“Wha'?”
Nyx could barely make out Libertus' form in that sliver of light that made its way in from the entrance of the cave. He chose to do the sensible thing in this situation: he kicked his hunting-brother in the shin.
Cursing up a storm, Libertus finally sat up.
“Shit. You're right,” he said as soon as he was awake enough to remember what had happened. “How long have we been here for?”
Nyx had no idea.
“The sun is out,” said the girl from next to them. “Do you really need to go?”
“Yeah,” Nyx mumbled with a grimace.
He liked her and she was barely older than his own sister. Where were her parents? Or her guardians? Everybody had at least some family to raise them. He didn't dare ask, however.
“You could come with us, you know. We survived together what not many people do outside their homes. You're our storm-sister now,” stated Libertus with a gravitas that was utterly ridiculous on him.
The girl giggled. It was a nice sound.
“Storm-sister,” she repeated, something wistful in her voice. “You don't even know my name and you want to be my brothers?”
“Well, what's your name then?” asked Libertus with all the tact he possessed. Which was to say: none.
A cool gust of air traveled over Nyx' skin as the girl stood up. Her silhouette stood in front of them, straight backed and hands on slight hips.
“My name is Crowe. Crowe no name.”
The last part she said like a challenge, daring them to say something about it. Wisely Nyx chose to keep his moth shut. He had never met a nameless person in his life before. It stumped him quite a bit, if he were honest with himself, and so he did with it like he did with everything he didn't know what to do with. He ignored it.
“Nice to meet you, Crowe. Can we go now. Please?”
For the longest time there was no answer. Nyx was starting to get worried when he heard a quiet sob.
“Crowe?” he asked hesitantly.
“Sh-shut up and let's go,” she said, something unbelievably vulnerable in her voice, and marched out of the cave.
Next to him Libertus grumbled something that had to do with “sister” and “idiot siblings” before he, too, stood up and followed Crowe out of the cave.
They waited for Nyx by the entrance. Libertus with an expression on his face that clearly said he would soon resort to murder for something to eat, and Crowe with suspiciously teary eyes and a stubborn set to her jaw that dared the two boys to say anything.
The wind was cold and clean and the sun shone in a blinding brightness as they made their way up the side of the canyon with Crowe as their guide.
Suddenly Nyx had to laugh. He looked up to where his new storm-sister was. She had stopped in her ascent to look back at him with curiosity.
“Why are you laughing?” she asked.
“I won the bet,” he called back, a huge grin on his face.
Ha! Take that, Philotes Altius! This would show her to pick on him or Libertus again. He laughed a second time.
“Stop with your shitty bet, Nyx and continue climbing! I want a hot shower and some breakfast, and if I have to gag you and drag you up this canyon to get both, so be it!”
here’s my piece for acts of devotion in the languages of love in the @heartbeatszine! you can still get the full zine (it’s free, but donations to charity: water are still welcome!!) so pls make sure you check it out and the nsfw one as well
St. Petersburg is... dark.
Yuuri wakes up in the darkness of early morning to Victor's soft breathing next to him and turns over to watch his fiancé's sleeping face for just a moment – in the blissful silence; when Victor can't talk, can't smile, can't tell him all of the embarrassingly sweet things he always does. They go through their morning routines with only the dim kitchen light on, take a run in a greying hush of dawn, and when they leave for the rink it's still gloomy outside.
The hours they spend on the ice are the brightest of the day: the overhead reflectors that make the frozen surface almost blinding are harsh in comparison to the warm, yellow glow of the street lamps that are turned on almost always, it seems. After a while Yuuri gets used to that, too. For a bit, every day, Yuuri craves the feeling of sunlight on his skin, but once they leave the sports complex he's reminded yet again that it's all just a hopeless dream. The sun has risen and set while they were cooped up inside and the dark sky greets them yet again when Yuuri looks up.
He sighs.
"Tired?" Victor asks, smiling a little as if it's his fault.
It is. Yuuri sourly thinks back to the last ten flying sit spins he had to suffer through just because Victor was in one of his hard-to-please coach moods. He shakes his head though, and takes the hand Victor offers without hesitation.
"Just a little drained," he replies, stepping close until their shoulders bump together. "It's so dark again."
Victor hums softly. "I miss the summer we've spent in Hasetsu."
He turns to Yuuri then and gives him one of those heart-shaped smiles that make Yuuri all warm and weak – he feels that now, too.
"Your eyes look so beautiful in the sunlight," Victor adds.
He's shameless and coquettish, and Yuuri knows he must be blushing by how hard his face burns, even as the cold wind blows over his cheeks. He ducks his head back into his scarf like a turtle. Victor chuckles softly at his embarrassment and leans over to press a kiss against the side of Yuuri's head.
He's awful, Yuuri thinks to himself. Awfully sweet. I love him.
"Let's go home," he says out loud.
Yuuri squeezes Victor's hand instead of replying to the compliment with the plethora of things he loves about Victor in summer: like the freckles that show on his pale skin, the red splotches of sunburn when he forgets to put on sunscreen, or that adorable wrinkle Victor's nose gets when he's trying to brush all the sand out of his hair...
"I want a hot bath. My hip is a little bruised," Yuuri adds. His hip does hurt a bit, but it's mostly an excuse for– "Your knees could use some care, too. I've noticed your face when you landed the last couple of flips. You should rest properly today, I'll take Makka for a walk later. But bath first."
"Are you offering we take it together?" Victor asks, face aglow. "Because I'd love to! It could be our very own little onsen if we make enough steam."
Yuuri smiles at that. "Sure."
It's not even remotely similar: the bathroom is too different and the tub is a little uncomfortable for two, but they don't mention it. Victor massages Yuuri's feet while Yuuri's almost dozing on an elbow propped on the edge of the tub – almost, because he's too busy watching Victor.
He looks soft. With the steam from the bath curling his damp hair and the candlelight giving his skin a warmth that even the flush on his cheeks couldn't; Victor looks tender and loving, and Yuuri's heart aches for some reason.
"What did I ever do to deserve you?" Yuuri mumbles before he can even think about what he's saying or why he's saying it out loud.
The words just slip from his slack mouth and startle Victor into looking up at his face. Victor's confused for a second longer, but then the expression melts, only to be replaced with a smile that's equally adoring and chiding.
God, Yuuri loves him.
"That's my line," Victor tells him.
The corners of Yuuri's mouth quirk at that and he turns to hide it in his arm. Victor notices anyway. He always does. There isn’t a smile that Yuuri can hide from him and he isn’t sure if it’s a blessing or a curse. Victor’s own smile grows, while the touch of his fingers on Yuuri's left foot changes into something more playful. They slide over the arch of his foot, up a little, light, and stop to draw small circles over the ankle. It tickles, but Yuuri lets it be.
"I know what you did," Yuuri says suddenly. And as suddenly as the words come, he shifts in the tub.
He pulls his leg out of Victor's grasp and lifts himself up, sloshing the water over the edge in the process. Neither of them care at the moment, though. Yuuri slides between Victor's legs, which part for him without even asking, and rests his hands on Victor's shoulders. He sits back on his knees to bring their faces closer aware of how Victor eyes his every move. Yuuri gives him a smile that Victor easily returns.
It's comfortable and easy, and Yuuri feels safe enough to say:
"You were so beautiful when I first saw you," he starts. One of his hands lifts to Victor's cheek, thumb running over the pretty blush that found a home there. "You were so beautiful every time I saw you, you know. It was intimidating. I felt like I could never compare, like no one could ever compare."
Victor opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but Yuuri puts a finger to his lips and that's that.
"When you came to Hasetsu for me, you were even more beautiful than I realized, but..." Yuuri bites his lip and thinks over the words he wants to say for a second before he decides to say them anyway. "I think it was around the Cup of China that I began to realize that you weren't really that beautiful."
There's a flash of surprise on Victor's face and his eyebrows lift a little. Yuuri leans closer to kiss one of them. He pulls back and smiles at Victor reassuringly.
"A pretty face, amazing body, your artistry on the ice," Yuuri lists. "That's what I thought made you beautiful, before. But in China I realized that wasn't it, you know?"
"Was it that argument?" Victor asks, arms coming to wrap around Yuuri's waist like he's afraid he'll move away. "That changed your mind?"
Yuuri nods. "That, yes. And what you did after, too."
Victor's face looks a little sour, so Yuuri smiles at him again.
"It's not what you think," he says. "You're still beautiful to me, Victor. Now more than any time before. Do you know why?" Victor shakes his head and Yuuri continues: "Because it's not about any of the charms and faces you put on, but about who you really are, here."
Yuuri touches a hand to Victor's chest, right over his heart.
"The way you get angry at me when I mess up. The way your tears fall when you let me hold you when you feel sad. The smiles you give Yurio when you think he doesn't see you looking so proud when he skates a perfect program. Your kindness, your compassion, your drive to motivate everyone, your refusal to accept that I could be anything less than what you believe me to be capable of..."
It's a little hard to speak when Yuuri feels his throat close up, but he swallows and keeps on talking, because at this point it's imperative that he makes Victor understand that it's not his body Yuuri fell in love with – it's his spirit.
"You have such a beautiful soul, Victor Nikiforov. I couldn't help falling for you. It's really quite unfair," Yuuri finishes with a tiny teasing smile that melts into a fond curl of lips when he sees the tears glistening in Victor's eyes.
Ah, now Yuuri feels like crying, too.
"I love you," he says again, just because it's easy now that he's talked so much. "With all my heart. Thank you for being in my life."
Victor's hands are shaking when he takes one of Yuuri's and presses kisses to it without words. Yuuri feels the hitches of his breath on his wet skin. He runs his free hand through Victor's damp hair and leans forward to leave a kiss on the top of his head, right in the little whorl.
"Really now," Victor gives a small laugh that sounds wet and choked. "How did I get so lucky to have you?"
"It wasn't luck," Yuuri tells him. "You were just yourself."
"Yuuri," Victor breathes and it sounds like he wants to say something else, but can't.
He pulls Yuuri close and hugs him tight. The position is uncomfortable and Yuuri's knees begin to hurt from the way he’s kneeling, but he doesn't say a word. He leans his weight against Victor and wraps his arms around Victor's shoulders. Their hearts align, joined together on the same wavelength of beats.
"I love you," Victor whispers into Yuuri's neck. "God, I love you more than life itself."
Yuuri pulls back a bit to look him in the eye. There's a light there that isn't a reflection of the candle flames – it's far more special than that. It's love, and life, and together they're locked in the blue of Victor's eyes; the perfect prison that Yuuri never wants to leave.
He kisses Victor softly and Victor kisses back. Slow and gentle, the touch of wet lips against his.
Yuuri doesn't need to say anything more. I love you, he thinks to himself again when Victor's head tilts to accommodate him better.
"Let's get out of the tub," Yuuri says out loud when they part. "I'll take care of your knees for you."
Victor laughs softly. "You spoil me, my sweet Yuuri."
Yuuri only smiles at that and dives in for one more kiss.
"I'm happy to," he tells Victor, lips hovering against lips. "Let me?"
His touch is gentle that night, caring and paired with kisses. It's way past their usual bedtime when they succumb to sleep, but before his mind shuts off, Yuuri has one more thought.
The world outside is dark and it will be so even when he wakes, but in this house, with this man – with Victor, his Victor – it feels just a little bit lighter. And better. And fuller. Ah.
