#this needs editing

[silverhallow]

Guess who's accidentally wrote nearly 25k for a completely random one shot of Benophie smut...

oops?

[i-hope-you-see-it-too]

67) Playing The Melody

There comes a time when you must listen to the quiet. There comes a time when you must hear your fading echo and realise its place- the side of the concrete walls. There comes a time when all that you heard must be silent, as you hear their words from stronger lips

But there comes a time when you can sing and you will listen all the more

[amapwithoutacompass]

[koukles-blog]

An Unlikely Champion

Rating: G Fandom: OC stuff Relationship: Briseis/Philo Characters: Briseis, Philo, the Queen Mother and King Father, anonymous Bris-folk

Note: these characters are centaurs, in case the anatomy is confusing on first read :)

When he came to, he felt it — from the pounding of his salt-sick head to the burn of his torn and battered fingertips. Eyes still squeezed shut, Philo groaned, stretching, trying to figure out what were likely to be awful bruises and what were likely to be just rocks in the sand.

“Hushhh,” a feminine voice responded, as a soft finger brushed his jawline. “Be still.”

Philo’s eyes snapped open. The sun blinded him. They snapped shut again. “Er! Ah! Who-who are you!” He sputtered, twisting at last into an extremely uncomfortable kneeling position. He hurriedly scrubbed the salt from his face, squinting as his eyes adjusted.

Before him knelt a beautiful girl—her long black hair was loose over her sun-speckled shoulders, and her fur was the color of the cloudy sky at noon.

“I should ask who are you,” she laughed, “I can see you are no warrior, and yet you have made camp on our shore uninvited. The Bris have killed for less, you know.”

Philo blanched. “No—not at all—I—I am a poor traveler, miss, just recently left the Tin Island looking for trade. My—my ship was capsized in the storm. I mean no harm!”

The girl simply smiled, unbuckling a heavy bladder from the belt over her withers. She handed it to Philo. "Drink, boy. You have come a long way. The Queen and King will surely want to hear your story--it would be a shame if you were too parched to tell it."

"Many thanks," Philo sighed with a bow. He uncorked the bladder and raised the hammered metal mouth to his lips. The water was icy cold, almost sweet, and he drunk deeply. The buzzing in his head began to fade.

"Thank you," he finally said again, handing the nearly empty bladder back to the girl. "My name is Philo."

"Philo? That's an unusual name."

He laughed. "I am the youngest of my parent's children. The others had all left the home before I was even born. My parents named me 'Philo' because 'all they had left to give' me was love."

"Interesting. My people do not reveal our names to outsiders," the girl mused, strapping the bladder back on her belt.

"Oh? Then how should I tell the others about you? Not that they'll hardly believe me as it is!"

Philo thought he saw something flash across her face and kicked himself mentally. Big mouth!

"I suppose you will just have to describe me," she replied after a moment. Her deep blue eyes flashed with something Philo hoped was cleverness. "And how do you think you will do that?"

Philo grinned. "I shall tell them the Goddess of Mercy Herself appeared to me. I could certainly be forgiven for the mistake.”

To his delight the girl laughed. “Come!” She urged him suddenly, leaping to her hooves. Philo felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “They teach you to run on the Tin Islands, don’t they?”

“Of course--” Philo scrambled to his hooves as well despite his muscles' strong objection, which he attempted to cover with a quick bow to his hostess. “I will follow wherever you lead, miss.”

"Then you will follow me to the Queen and King," she nodded. "This way!"

Philo again thought he saw a strange shadow cross her face, but immediately she disengaged,  taking off at a long gallop inland to the west. Still blushing furiously, and honestly not completely sure if he was quite conscious yet, Philo shook his head and galloped after.

Philo followed black haired girl for perhaps three quarters of a mile, galloping flat-out the entire way. As a colt of course Philo had torn up a trail or two, but he had to admit that ever since he had been working the family farm, he hadn't filled his lungs so deep in quite a while. And his guide was very fast.

Before long he could see the silhouettes of long banners on tall poles and squat connical yurts on the horizon, and the girl slowed her pace somewhat to a brisk but steady lope. Growing up, his parents had always warned him about the Traveling Sort. Those who were said, on foreign shores, to be hardly more than roving war bands, knowing no culture, no education, eating lichen and seagrass as if they were corn and wheat....

Figuring there was no going back now, but perhaps not quite willing to boldly go into the snake pit, Philo edged somewhat closer to his guide's side, now running right alongside her. He glanced over, grinning crookedly; She met his eyes but her expression was disconcertingly stony. Philo looked at his hooves and gulped. No going back now...

As they neared the banners, Philo squinted against the glare of the setting sun to try and identify any meaning from the designs. They called themselves "the Bris", right? Never heard of a "Bris" before. Not really sure what constitutes small talk among a band of... opportunists... land-runners...ah, travelers...? Do you suppose they must talk about the weather though, you know not having hou---

Philo dug his hooves into the earth, skidding to a halt, realizing he had run straight into the middle of the camp while lost in thought. He looked to his right, but the black-haired girl was not there. His blood suddenly ran icy. A small throng of grulla and blue roan tribesfolk began to emerge from the tangle of yurts.

"M-miss?" He hissed, trying to search wildly for her while not drawing any more attention to himself.

The throng in front of the boy began to part as a pair of creatures walked slowly towards him. He couldn't make out their features, but he could certainly make out an awful lot of shiny metal strapped to their powerful bodies. He suddenly began to feel very light headed.

"Miss?!" he all but squeaked.

Just as the two creatures—judging by their garb, almost definitely the afore mentioned Queen and King—stopped before him, the girl trotted casually up beside him, sweeping her long hair back over her shoulder.

“Mother, Father.” She curtsied, glancing towards Philo, who quickly bowed as well.

“Daughter, where did you find…this…?” The Queen hissed.

“He is from beyond the sea, Mother. He has made a great journey, and has proven himself as champion.”

Philo was looked to the Queen, to the girl, back to the Queen.

“The entire tribe stands as witness,” the girl nodded firmly.

“Yyyess…” the Queen said slowly, exchanging glances with the King as a murmur rippled through the throng. “I suppose it can’t be denied….”

“It’s settled then.” The girl clasped her hands, addressing the crowd. “My belovéd Bris—please warmly welcome your future King…King Philo.”

The next thing Philo remembered was being shepherded into one of the nearby hammered felt yurts, the black haired girl close behind. The air under the felt yurt felt extremely hot and thick, but Philo was shivering hard as the girl rifled through wicker chests.

“What is this?” He hissed, pressing his hand hard against chest to keep his heart from bursting out. “This isn’t real, is it? I must have died when the ship capsized. That’s it, isn’t it? I must have died.”

The black haired girl turned and strode over to him and gently took his clammy hands in her own. Her dark eyes captured his, and Philo felt the breath catch in his throat. She squeezed his hands lightly and smiled. She was so very close.

“You’re still eating pimîkhân with the rest of us,” she said softly.  She laced her fingers gently through his as she continued. “I’m sorry this is so sudden for you. You see, this contest has already gone on for three years, so I myself am quite ready. It would have been much easier if you were a local.”

“I—I—don’t understand….”

“It is true that I am Princess of this tribe. My coming-of-age was three years ago, and by tradition I was expected to issue a challenge for potential suitors to determine a worthy husband. It just so happens that nobody has been able to win the challenge—until now.”

“What was the challenge?” Philo breathed, beginning to feel awfully light-headed as the girl drew her bare midriff tight against their tangled hands. He wondered if she could feel his palpitations.

She chuckled, looking down at their hands. “The tribe was quite annoyed. My challenge was simply — a footrace.”

“A footrace! That’s it?”

“It’s enough, wasn’t it? In three years and hundreds of races, you are the only one to beat me.”

“No!” Philo cried, freeing his hands from hers, pushing himself away. “No, that’s not true — you slowed down, I saw you slow as we neared the border. I just got distracted and… kept going!”

“Are you implying that the Princess cheated at her own contest?”

Thinking about it, Philo really wasn’t sure. “I’m just— look, I don’t know anything about being a King— leading a tribe—“

“Leading the tribe?” The Princess looked surprised, then laughed. “No no, you are mistaken. No, the Queen handles all the politics and the big decisions. The King Consort’s rôle is mainly to provide us with foals.”

“Foals.” Philo’s knees buckled as a wave of nausea passed over him. The Princess caught him quickly by the arms and eased him to the ground. One one level he knew he was kneeling firmly on the earth, but he felt like he was soaring one thousand feet in the air. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and buried his hands in his wooly hair trying to still the spinning. He didn’t even know what to think. He had just left the family farm barely a week ago….

After a few minutes, the Princess lay a hand on his knee. “I apologize. You are from a land very far from here, and I do not mean to offend you. It—would not be impossible for me to reverse the ruling, and send you back on your journey with honor. Say the word and I will do it.”

Philo relaxed his arms. He sighed deeply. He took up the Princess’s hand gently, and finally met her eyes.

Was it his imagination, or did he see a watery trail down her cheek?

He squeezed her hand and grinned. “If I accept, will you at least tell me your name first?”

Again to his delight, the girl laughed. “I suppose it’s the least I can do.”

She leaned in close, brushed the blond curls away, and whispered directly into his ear. He threw his arms around her, squeezing tight, and buried his face in her long hair. It was the most beautiful name he had ever heard.

[hahahadas]

pink flippers (raw poem)

underwater zooming past me this way then that way whole body undulating like a worm disappearing in a fit of bubbles and pink flippers bobbing like a tropical fish in a deep sea  fins swaying left right up down

[linguini17]

Fandot Creativity:  Risky Business

“I don’t know,” Martin was saying to Arthur as Douglas came in.  He shook off the rain from his coat and fluffled his hair a bit, letting it fall perfectly, as was its natural wont.  “It seems risky.”

Before Arthur could reply, Douglas piped up.  “What’s this?  Is Captain Straightlace considering something…slightly less than above board?” “No!” Martin protested defensively as he turned to stalk back to his seat.  “I’m not!  That’s what I was just telling Arthur.  And besides, it’s nothing illegal.  Not—Not like your bribing that girl in Spain!” “I’ve told you, Martin,” Douglas said, voice as smooth as glass, as he accepted his mug from Arthur.  “It wasn’t a bribe.  It was a birthday present.  But you’ve still not answered the question.  In what sort of risky business was our redoubtable steward attempting to gain your cooperation, hmmm?”  He paused, almost certainly for effect.  “Unless…”  He waggled his eyebrows.  “Oh, Martin.  Ain’t life grand?”

All he got for his troubles was a glare from a Martin who clearly felt he should be offended without actually getting the reference, and an energetic nod from Arthur.  He sighed and flopped insouciantly in his chair and sipped his coffee.  “Go on then.  Spill.”

Arthur managed it before Martin.  “I was just telling Skip that one of us should probably go and wake Mum up, before the passengers get here, and Skip was saying something about not having his riot gear with him, though I’m a bit confused on that point because it wouldn’t be a riot with just Mum, even when she’s very cross.” Douglas held up his hand.  “Arthur, press pause on your monologue.”  He turned to Martin and said simply, “She’s asleep?” Martin nodded, leaning forward to whisper across the space between their desks.  “Proper asleep, arms folded, head down, everything.” The frown on Douglas’s face took on a concerned pitch.  “Hmmm.”  He drained his coffee and set the mug on his desk as he stood up.  “Gentlemen,” he said.  “I will go into the den and wake the sleeping dragon.”  And before either of them could say anything, he was slipping soundlessly through Carolyn’s door.

He shut the door silently behind him, then turned cautiously.  He was surprised to see Carolyn exactly as Martin and Arthur had described her, with a few additions.  The hair on the nape of her neck was damp with sweat and matted down, and she was shivering slightly, tiny tremors of things that wouldn’t have been noticed had she been up and moving.  Douglas frowned in thought, searching her office for something suitable, and when he found nothing, stripped off his jacket and draped his over her shoulders.  His concern grew when she didn’t move an inch, though it warred with the relief that she didn’t move an inch.

“Carolyn,” he said softly, resting his hand on her shoulder and shaking it gently.  She didn’t answer.  “Carolyn.”  Nothing.  “Lyn,” he finally said, letting his fingers drift to her cheek to check her temperature.  She was burning with fever, but she finally blinked open red-rimmed eyes and looked up at him.

“What do you want?” she said, voice hoarse and gravelly.

“Nothing much,” Douglas said smooth and calm as the sea after a storm.  “I just thought I would suggest that you might be more comfortable somewhere other than your desk.”  He settled his hand on her bicep and, without fuss, pulled her out of her chair and guided her to the sofa on the other side of the room.  Whatever concern he’d felt before was nothing compared to that he had when she said not a word, just let him move her how he liked, and settled on the sofa with his jacket still over her shoulders.  He reached over and shut off the light, settling near her shoulder to test her temperature again.  “Stay here,” he said gently, and didn’t resist the urge to trail soft fingers over her temple.  “I’ll handle everything.” 

Carolyn said nothing, just tumbled back to sleep, nose edging just the slightest bit closer to the collar of his jacket.

Douglas went back into the other room, face set in lines as serious as those he was met with.  “Martin,” he said quietly.  “Can you do the flight alone?  It’s just to Dusseldorf, and I know it’s technically outside the limits, but only by 15 minutes’ flight time.” He was surprised for the second time that day when Martin didn’t argue, just nodded briskly and left to do the walk round.  Douglas turned to Arthur, who was looking at Carolyn’s shut door with something approaching concern on his face.  “Arthur,” he said.  “You have to go on the flight.  The customers will need a steward.  I’ll stay here and take care of your mother, alright?”  When Arthur didn’t look convinced, clapped him on the shoulder and gave him his best confident look.  “When have I ever not followed through on a promise for you?”

 “Never,” Arthur said, and it seemed to give him a bit of buoyancy, which carried him through the introduction to the passengers and escorting them to Gertie.  Douglas watched them go with an odd mix of pride and fondness that he would never admit to, then turned to do one of the most dangerous things he’d ever done in his life—take care of an ailing Carolyn.  Armed with a mug of the strongest coffee he could make and his Kindle, he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and went once more into the breech.

[writingfish]

"Explain," he says, bringing his human hand up to rub against the bridge of his nose.

Leia looks at him as she always does, defiant and a little worried. Next to her, Luke expresses all of his worry in his face.

"We needed their help," Leia says. "Master Kenobi was the one they sent."

Anakin sighs again.

"Of course he was," he mutters, mostly to himself.

"You could have left a note," he tells them as he picks up a plate and starts to wash it.

His jaw clenches and his teeth ache.

"You wouldn't have let us go," Luke says quietly and he can sense Leia turning to look askance at her brother.

I almost lost you, he thinks. I can't- he cuts that thought off, sharply, with the ease of long practice.

Leia sighs, steps forward and picks up a dish. He can feel her concern leak through her shields and he scrubs harder at his own plate.

"He's here now," Leia says.

"Yes," Anakin acknowledges, carefully setting the plate aside so that it won't crack, "he is."

They sigh, in unison, and as always it brings a faint smile to his face. Silently, Leia helps him with the dishes while Luke goes back out into the living room to deal with Obi-Wan.

Anakin dries the last dish, rubbing the cloth in slow circles even though the dish is already starting to gleam.

Leia has already left and he is alone. The kitchen lights are dim and his thoughts feel too large for his head.

Finally, with a deep breath, he sets the plate down and walks into the living room.