solyn's challenges

[solyn]

this is where i will do my writing challenges! to challenge me to do a challenge, pm me with a link to what you want me to do!

skipwreck's song challenge
my song challenge
tolter taming event challenge

none yet :c

[solyn]

word count. 3,276
characters. midana tarosk aka belicose inkhands // rixona cement aka the detector // minira tarosk // exader cement.
fandom. homestuck
warnings. implied character death, emotional stuff.

t-minus 780 years.
The pleasant sound of thick raindrops colliding with the canvas of the tent at perfectly spaced intervals was a nice break from the scorching heat they'd been working in prior to the break of rain. Drip-drop. Drip-drop. The continuity of it all was relaxing, and the chill that the drizzle brought with it filled the tent, cooling the air and prickling the skill of the trollian pair lying in a tangle of blankets, on a bed. Human inventions, rare in troll society, but it had been a long time since it had been safe for either of them to reside in their hives, a long time since the horrorterrors stopped bothering them. When one was without the slime that soothed their dream states by force, it meant that they adapted to fit the conditions. And that is, after all, what Tarosks did best; adapted.

"What are you thinking?" A voice said softly, to her left. Belicose Inkhands did not lift her head from the pillow, hair loose and splayed across her bare shoulders and back, tangled wildly around her face from tossing and turning in her sleep. "I can never tell you know. I'm supposed to be able to tell, but I never can with you. I want to know what you're thinking, but you won't let me in. What is it, Midsy? Why won't you let me in?" She felt the weight of a chin on her shoulder, an arm snaking around her waist, heard the inhale of breath against her hair.

"Rix," she mumbled, lightly reaching an arm around to smack his shoulder, "go back to sleep."

"But I'm curious," he whined, pushing his face further into her hair, breathing in the familiar scent that was his lover, the smell of petrichor, of flowers, and of soil and sweat. A hardworking, outdoors woman with lean muscle all down her frame, who retained her femininity and was proud of it. These were the reasons that he loved her, and would continue loving her until the day that death did them part.

"Mental barricade," she mumbled, and pushed him again, before settling her arm under the pillow to use as an extra brace for her head. "Now go to sleep."

"It must be a pretty strong mental barricade if--"

"Rix. Go to sleep."

"I'm just sayi--" he was cut off as he felt the soft down of a pillow smash into his face. He blinked owlishly, and found his lover sitting up, pillow in hand, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Backlit by the night, her muscular structure was only accentuated by the small singlet that was cropped short and clung to her frame in a way that would support her yet at the same time be comfortable. "Ow." He said sarcastically.

"If you don't hush up and go back to bed, I'm going to have to smother you with this pillow," she said in mock seriousness, eyebrow arching playfully. His own thick ones shot up in mock surprise as he propped himself up on an elbow and leaned closer to her as she leaned closer to him, their noses almost touching.

"Is that so?" He asked.

"Yes." She replied adamantly, placing a gentle, chaste kiss on his lips, before bringing the pillow around again and smacking him upside the head while he was caught unaware. With a gasp of mock betrayal, he launched himself forward and caught her around the waist, realizing all too late the momentum was going to carry them straight off the bed. They hit the ground hard on their shoulders, and for a second he was worried she would have been injured in the fall, but the breathless laughter that followed assured him she was fine. She was tougher than he gave her credit for.

"Well, now you don't have the pillow, what are you going to do?" He turned his head sideways to eye her over in all her beauty. She looked rather like an ethereal goddess, he decided, hair spread out around her face like a halo, in just her underwear, one toned leg lifted and bent at the knee so that the foot could rest on the ground. He could see her little floral ankle bracelet shimmering in the dark, and on her finger, the ring he'd brought her when he'd decided he wanted to adopt a human custom to make sure that he could keep her for the rest of his life.

She'd punched him in the stomach and declared she belonged to no man, before grabbing him by the lapels, kissing him hard, and agreeing to marry him.

"I'm going to work," She was saying, pulling herself up from the ground. She stretched, and brushed her hair over one shoulder, before reaching out a hand to help him up. He smiled at her, fondly, and took the hand, before his grin turned outright devilish and she caught on too late and by that time she had slammed into his chest, her limbs tangled with his as they lay on the ground. She laughed breathlessly and attempted to struggle, but quickly found she didn't mind this, and nestled her head against his shoulder anyway.

"You know, we really should start rallying the troops again," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his neck, and then nuzzling her face against it, breathing in his smoky scent. "If we don't, Arynna is likely to come bursting in here guns a-blazing thinking one or both of us are dead or under attack."

"Hyperbole," he proclaimed loudly, earning a slap on the chest as she rolled aside and pushed herself to her feet again, this time not offering him a hand. She had learned her lesson. Instead, she simply drifted around to their bedside table and picked up his glasses, weighing them in her palm before whistling to catch his attention and lobbing them softly in his direction.

"Oi, catch." He caught them.

"You know, you really shouldn't be tossing around fine equipment, created with such mastery and talent." He huffed, cleaning them on the edge of his boxer shorts, before placing them on his face, immediately feeling better as his vision eightfold came into extremely detailed focus. He could see Belicose rolling her eyes.

"Oh please, the only fine equipment in this room is me." She retorted, dropping her singlet to put on a bra, before searching for her suit and pulling it on, turning so that her back was to him. "Zip me?" She asked, bunching her hair with one hand and holding it out of the way. With a groan of protest, he pushed himself up, and crossed to her, zipping up the suit as requested, before placing a kiss on her shoulder, and hooking his arms around her waist.

"You know... we could go back to bed."

"Shove off." She snorted, leaning back into him and reaching up a hand to lightly slap his cheek. "Get dressed, you big dummy." She kissed his chin, before wiggling loose of his grip and snatching her leather jacket, slipping one arm and then the other into it, straightening the lapels and squaring her shoulders. It was an impressive garment, really, made of the blackest leather he'd ever seen with large shoulder pads and silver spikes almost as big as one of his fingers, little silver chains anchored to the pads as well. The lapels were drapey, and folded in on each other, and it stopped just short of her waist, giving it a sort of cropped appearance. It was the jacket she wore when she meant business.

She retrieved a hair tie from their bedside table, blew him a kiss, and disappeared out the front flap of the tent. The cool night air surrounded her as she tilted her head forward to better gather her hair and lazily scoop it into a half-hearted attempt at a bun at the nape of her neck. It was messy, and strands of her fringe still fell loose around her face, but for the most part it was out of her face. She moved to the edge of the cliff that their tent stood on, folding her arms across her face and looking down into the valley below.

Row upon row of tent, bustling with activity. This early in the night, and the insurgency was already alive and awake. She supposed justice never slept. They couldn't, not with the waves they aimed to make in society. They could not afford one slip up; one moment of their guard slipping and that was all their empire would need to root them out and shut them down. And she couldn't let that happen- it meant the death of people she cared about. Most of all, The Detector.

The rustling of the tent turned her attention back to it as her mate emerged, dressed in his trademark blue trench coat, black shirt and pants peeking from either ends, heavy black combat boots on his feet. He approached her and put an arm around her waist, gently pressing a kiss to her hair.

"You're not wearing shoes," he observed.

"Don't need 'em." She mumbled in reply, nestling into his side, holding herself gently. "I like the feel of the earth." She felt him nod, and they stood in silence, watching the movement that they had created. Together, he always said, I couldn't have done this without you, my Midana.

"Do you think they'll remember?" He asked suddenly, "after all this is said and done, do you think people will remember what we achieved? What we fought for? Why we fought for it? Do you think they'll remember why this happened, remember why it can never happen again?" She blinked at him, saddened by the worry, the fear in his face- The Detector; always so expressive, unlike herself. She smiled a little, put her hand on the one around her shoulder to comfort him.

"They'll remember," she assured him, and when he turned to look her in the eye, as if he had to doubt her sincerity, he found the most intense gaze he'd ever looked upon locked with him, "they'll remember us for centuries."



t-minus 777 years
They made a mistake. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. She felt trapped, the walls were closing in, her world was spinning and she couldn't breathe. Clutching her chest, she could feel her body heaving. Gasping desperately for air, vision swimming. And then she saw him, like an angel, surrounded by a halo of trees. His strong hands gripped her shoulders, and she could hear his voice wafting to her in her panicky state;

"Midana," he was trying to get her attention, "look at me, sweetie. Look at me. I've got you, honey, I'm not going to let anything happen to you. That's right, just look at me, come on, breathe with me. In.... out. In.... out. Good girl, good girl..." His soothing voice was all she could hear now as she focused all of her energy on him. The world got clearer and clearer until she could make out his familiar face, his kind expression, the face she'd grown to love so well.

She cried. Tears rolled freely down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him as if her life depended upon it. He was crying too, she felt the wetness of his tears against her cheek, her neck, her hair, and then she felt the softness of his lips all over his face as he murmured the same thing over and over again as the voices got louder and louder;

"I've got you, I've got you, I've got you..." he was whispering as the first line of soldiers broke through the trees. Strong hands grappled with her arms, yanking her away from him as she screamed and thrashed wildly. She didn't want to be made to let go, wanted to hang on to that stability forever. But he just smiled sadly at her as he too was pulled away, the pair being separated by this one mistake, this one teeny error that had caused all this, the distance between them growing as the executioner stepped through the trees.

"Hey!" He called, smiling at his mate, attempting to reassure her, even in his last moments, "I love you."

She shook her head wildly, tears rolling even more as she was pushed to her knees, head dropping to her chest until one of the guards grabbed her by the hair and yanked it upwards, forcing to watch as her mate carefully got to his knees, so strong even in moments where he was at his weakest. He lifted his chin to face the executioner with steely eyes as the tall seadweller reached into his belt, and pulled forth one of his own guns, cocking the revolver and putting the gun to his forehead.

"This is just a warning," he said, and in that moment Belicose erupted, and the last sound her lover heard before his premature and unfortunate demise was the sound of her scream.


She stood by the grave, wind whipping her hair around her face. To anyone else, this spot would remained forever untouched by memories. The tree she had planted would grow big and tall and strong, just as he had been, and it would watch over this land when she too was dead and gone. The land that she had loved, the land that he too had loved, the place they had been not separate entities but a well-oiled unit. Though once upon a time, these thoughts may have made her cry, Belicose was nothing if not adaptable. The tears had stopped coming long ago. The time for crying was long dead and gone.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice gentle as she stooped and laid the flowers near the base of the tree, and then, with a little hesitation, she pulled off her ring. Using her fingernails to dig, she pulled up the earth and placed the ring into it, before smoothing the handful of dirty back over it, and placing the flowers over the disturbed earth so no one would find it. Ever. "But I refuse to let everything we worked for, everything we stood for, to turn to dust. It's time to turn our rebellion to gold, my love. I know you will not be proud of what I do, but the end will justify the means, I promise."

She turned away from the gravestone, to where another man stood, leaning against a tree, working his jaw nervously so that the toothpick between his teeth jumped up and down, his eyes locked on those of the woman before him. She hadn't cried in months. She terrified him sometimes, with this ability of hers to just emotionally switch off, but he new Belicose Inkhands better than that. He knew her well enough to know the pain was fueling her anger and cementing her purpose.

"So what now?"

"Now," she said, lifting her chin, "we go to war."



t-minus 10 years
The cave echoed with the sounds of her sobs and god her head hurt. It was just throbbing repeatedly, sending waves of searing pain through her, but she persisted. She was stronger than this, braver than this. She would endure. She would survive. Trembling hands finally placed the key into the lock- the lock she'd wondered about for years, and as she pushed the lid up and open, she found them. Books. Exactly seven of them, thick, tall books, and as she picked up the first and dusted off the old leather cover, she instantly felt it.

She wasn't sure what it was, but something told her that this was her heritage. She flipped to the first page, sobs dying to sniffles, pain quickly forgotten in the adrenaline of the moment, new found strength almost oozing from her discovering and seeping into her. In gorgeous, flowy handwriting, written in green ink, was;

This journal belongs to Belicose Inkhands.

Her ancestor, perhaps? Her breath caught in her throat, and she sank against the chest, pulling her knees up to lean the book against them, and huddled in that corner as outside the world she knew was about to come crashing down, she read and she read and she read, and she opened her eyes to the world of someone she came to know as Belicose Inkhands, formerly known before her enlistment as Midana Tarosk.

Tarosk. Of the same name as she. As the night darkened and once again lightened into day, and the work was put to a halt, Minira Tarosk lifted her head, the pain of her snapped horn no longer a bother, an incessant ache that no longer concerned her in the slightest. She understood now what she must do.



present day.
Rain had never really bothered him much, but it was always dampened his mood. Something about rain just made him feel sad- melancholy even- and he never really could understand why. But today was different. The rain was just a distant sound over the music playing in the background. It was an odd mix of metal and alternative punk rock, as he and his best friend had decided to compromise and co-create the playlist. But it was relaxing and calming, and the heat of the house and specifically the heat on his chest didn't hurt either.

She was lying chest to chest with him, head resting on his shoulder, book leaning against one of his horns. His arms were around her middle, using her shoulder as a rest for her book. They often lay like this, comfortable with each other's presences. And it wasn't like Minira was spectacularly heavy; though she was dense in muscle weight, Exader rivaled her in such and was big enough himself for the small girl to seem almost weightless.

"How's your book?" he asked, absently.

"You tell me, you've read it too. Belicose's journal, edition five."

"You must have read that eight hundred times already."

"I want to remember." She said.

"Remember what?" He responded, with genuine curiosity, as everything Exader Cement did and said was with genuine feelings- he was not one to falsify what he felt. He bookmarked his page and placed the book down, resting his hands on her back, gently rubbing over her spine in the way that he knew comforted and relaxed her.

She hummed in appreciation and did the same, carefully placing the battered old journal on the floor next to his book, wriggling a little bit to get more comfortable, apologizing profusely when she accidentally kneed him in the stomach and he wheezed in protest. He assured her it was fine, and she settled.

"I want to remember everything. Everything they did, they said, what they stood for." Exader nodded in understanding, gently stroking his friend's hair.

"Me too." The silence was companionable, for a long while, as the rain pelted down outside, and the music played softly in the background, Minira's breath rising and falling in perfect time with his as he rubbed her back softly and slowly, and her hand absently toyed with the strings of his hoodie, tugging them and then loosening them, wrapping them around her finger and then unwrapping them before she could cut off circulation.

Finally, she spoke again, making Exader look up with surprise, to find his friend staring at a spot on his wall with a blank expression he'd never seen on her face before. He'd seen impasse, but the sheer nothingness in her eyes terrified him and made him feel a chill to the bone.

"I want to remember for centuries."

[solyn]

word count. 1, 372
characters. monique markey [self insert], ranait [tolter]
fandom. bear run icelandic tolters
warnings. none applicable other than side character being annoying.

It's freezing. I use the term often, because I am often cold, but today it is truly freezing and I am one-thousand percent convinced that I'm going to get gangrene and all of my fingers will fall off. Knowing my luck, I won't even find anything I like here, and this entire endeavour will be completely pointless. I'll go home empty handed, and will remain empty-handed for the rest of my life because I will have lost all of my fingers standing out in this persistent chill. If you hadn't guessed, I am incredibly skeptical and especially irritable this particular morning. It doesn't help that I've dressed the best I can for the weather and am just about drowning in twenty thousand layers of clothes.

Okay, maybe twenty thousand layers is a bit of hyperbole, but the point is I am trying my hardest to keep warm, and failing, and failure makes me upset. So upset, in fact, that I am totally forgetting about the reason I am here in the first place, looking for a pony. Which, in itself, is rather a silly quest. However, being the impulsive woman I am, I heard 'wild pony round up' and immediately knew I had to save one of these beauties. I'm struggling to re-adjust my scarf, frustrated with the clunkiness- that's not a word, but I don't care, my life ambition is to become the next Shakespeare, so if he can invent words, I can too- of my gloves, when one of the men who is undoubtedly a sales person sidles up to my side, shoulder-to-shoulder.

Only someone who wants to sell me something could be smiling that widely in this weather.

"Hi," I say abruptly, aware the introduction is rude, but still struggling to care, "can I help you?"

"Funny that, ma'am, I was about to ask you the same question." Oh, lovely. I plaster a fake smile onto my face, for the sake of making myself seem at least somewhat polite. Though cantankerous might be more fitting to my nature, this guy doesn't need to know that. Or anything else about me for that matter. I'm just glad that years of fake emotions have lead my fake smiles to not look fake, and to actually be convincing. If I think about it, it's really kind of sad, but I try not to dwell on those thoughts to much.

"Well," I say, inserting an airy tone in my voice, "I am here to purchase a pony, you know!" He laughs, as if I've just told the best joke in the entire world. The laugh seems to say that I missed my true calling and should have been a stand-up-comedian. I don't like it. It's fake, and it's obvious as the day is long- or short, in winter- but I smile politely through it anyway, and even manage a short chuckle to affirm his very blatant attempt at making me feel like I'm absolutely knee-slappingly hilarious.

"Of course you are, Miss...?" He trails off, an obvious cue for me to finish his sentence.

"Markey," I respond, "Monique Markey." I don't like the way he places his hand on the small of my back then, as if we're friends. I don't like that he invades my personal bubble. I check the name tag. Robert. Name ruined for me forever now. I manage to keep the fake smile on my face, but I can feel the tic attacking my features, and I know that I want to purse my lips and turn them downward in a frown. I can feel my eyebrows giving me a headache from staying so arched to maintain the appearance of calm neutral, and I think about how easy it would be to knit them together and scowl.

"What a lovely name," he says, and I fight the urge to cringe. Instead, I take two fast steps away from him, but due to my height this proves to be difficult, and as he's catching up, I try to go quicker. I can see a man approaching me, and I know that he'll expect me to move out of the way, but the only way to go is back toward Robert the salesman and I don't want to do that, so I keep going forward. The man doesn't even notice me until we collide, his heavy shoulder catching my own, smaller one, and sending me twisting sideways and stumbling straight back into a fence.

"Hey," he snaps, "watch where you're going!"

"Why don't you?" I retort, face finally contorting into the scowl I've wanted to wear for so long now. He looks dumbfounded, and then ducks his head, obviously embarrassed that I hadn't submitted to his masculine manly-man powers. Ashamedly, he hurries away, just as Robert approaches, trying to turn his maniac smile into an expression of concern. He need not bother, I think, I'm fine. Then, something behind me snorts, and ever so slowly, I turn around.

She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Immediately, I am besotted. Though I have never admitted it aloud, I've always had a love for paints who aren't chesnut or black. This lovely lady, however, is classic champagne sabino, with daring hazel eyes that seem to match my own. Made for each other, I think, eyeing her auburn mane and tail, admiring how it fades and lightens toward the tips. I want to reach out and touch it, even though I know it's not a good idea. Robert is blabbering in the background, but I don't care. All that matters in this moment is this beauty. Because I'm an idiot, even though I know I shouldn't, I find my hand slipping through the wooden slats of the fence, extending my hand to her.

She jerks away suddenly, with an outraged snort, as expected, but I continue to find myself struck dumb, unable to move my hand. Even the irritable Robert has stopped talking now, and time seems to stand still for me, as she warily eyes up my hand, before moving a little closer to lower her pink nose to my gloved hand, and sniff. She whuffs a warm breath of air over my fingers, and the warmth travels up my arm, and into my heart. Even as she tosses her heads and turns tail, trotting in a somewhat huffy manner to the other side of the small corral, I know my mind is made up. This is the one I want.

"Her," I say, interrupting Robert's newest pointless tirade.

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

"Her," I repeat, leaning both arms on a slat of wood, watching her try not to turn her head to watch me, pretending not to care about my presence. "This is the one I want."

"Oh," he seems flustered now, "I um... are you sure? She has a reputation for being somewhat... orner--"

He doesn't get to finish the word, I cut him off; "good. We'll get along then."

"Miss Markey," he's exasperated, and I am quickly growing impatient, "I'm sure there are plenty of others who will suit your preferences better than s--"

"Robert," I don't even bother to hide how annoyed I am, "she suits my preferences. I'm not looking at any other ponies. This is the one I want, and I want the necessary paperwork required to adopt her immediately. You do want to sell me a pony, don't you, or should I find someone else to make the sale?"

That gets him going, and I have never felt more relieved or gleeful to watch someone scurry away from me in such a hurry, and as my face turns back to the mare with whom I have quickly becoming infatuated, it's the most at peace I've felt in a long while. I let my head drop to rest on my arms, watching her over the rise of my puffy wind-breaker, the smallest, faintest of smiles on my lips. I don't even feel the cold anymore, the warmth remaining from the little huff over my hand more than enough to suffice, no matter that it was only for the fleetingest of moments. As I watch her, I know.

This will be the start of a beautiful friendship.

[solyn]

word count. 1,221
characters. terz donelly, vina suarez, tony donelly
fandom. homestuck
warnings. none applicable.

Terz Donelly was not in the habit of being overly excited about anything in particular, really. Though he was in a much better state of mind than he had been several years ago, he was wary about being too excited, just in case he jinxed himself and things turned out terribly. Though, he wasn't sure how this expedition could turn out badly. Vina Suarez was the highlight of his life, in all honesty. The way her eyes crinkled, the big, wry grin she was so renowned for, and her take-charge and take-no-prisoners attitude left his heart beating about a million miles an hour in his chest.

And then he knew why it could go awfully. Because he and Vina were just friends. With a soft groan of annoyance, the auburn haired boy dropped his head into his hands, running his fingers through his hair. There had been moments, where it had just been the two of them, that Terz had been sure she'd felt it too. The spark of something else. Then again, Terz was known for being imaginative, and the more he thought on it, the more he was sure he was being an idiot. And it wasn't like his brother was entirely supportive either- Tony Donelly had his own problems with his confused sexuality and sudden rocket into adulthood. Not that he was exactly empathetic in the first place, but on a good day Terz could manage to get him to dispel some sage advice, followed by an insult, before he moved away.

And, it wasn't like Vina didn't probably have about six thousand other guys in Colorado tailing her, and probably some girls too, though Terz wasn't entirely sure on where Vina stood with the whole entire sexuality thing, but knowing her she hadn't given it a second thought. If Terz had tried to describe Vina, he would have called her a hurricane. Beautiful, a true phenomenon of nature, capable of great damage. She was reckless and wild, opinionated and liberal, a true millennial at heart. She had dreams and ambitions, and she was dedicated to getting there. She was witty, and sharp tongued, with a broad sense of humour and an unshakable loyalty to her friends. She was no-nonsense, and yes, he'd call her hard-headed and stubborn at times, but even her imperfections made her who she was, and that was a person that Terz adored with every fibre of his being.

"I am a royal idiot," he said to the ceiling, flopping back on his bed.

"No argument," came the snarky voice of his brother, and if Terz lifted his head just a little to see him leaning against his doorway.

"You know, that's the moody big brother move."

"I am the big brother."

"No you ain't, you're just a freakin' tree, but I'm still the oldest. By two years." Tony snorted, and rolled his eyes, picking up one of Terz's dirty shirts off the floor and tossing it at his face. The elder grunted in annoyance, trying to pull it off before the smell of grease became way too overwhelming.

"Whatever, big bro," the response was so mocking that Terz couldn't help but mimic him silently, widening his eyes and putting a sneer on his face for effect, glad he was under the cover of this shirt because he was sure he would have been assaulted with something else had his brother noticed. Tony Donelly was not exactly renowned for being able to control his temper, and Terz had no desire to be repeatedly batted in the face with a pillow.

"Did you want something?"

"Just checking to make sure that you're actually all packed to go." A queasy feeling filled Terz's stomach, but he nodded all the same, closing his eyes, and visualizing all the good ways that this could end, trying to push away that teeny tiny corner of his mind that kept telling him that everything was going to fall apart.


"I can't believe you were that scared!" Vina chortled, tipping her head back, and letting out a loud laugh. Heads in the cafe swiveled to look at them, but Terz didn't try to calm her down, his own face creased in a smile, as his girlfriend's seemed to be contagious. Laughing along with her, he nodded solemnly, pretending to look resigned.

"It really was, truly awful. I was such a wimp-- ow!" He started laughing harder at the alarmed face of his girlfriend as she realized that, as she had been peddling her legs, she'd managed to kick him under the table. She sat in stunned silence for a few moments, before joining him in his mirth, the both of them leaning over the booth to be huddled closer together, her nose just inches from his. Their eyes caught for a moment, and Terz marvelled in how truly beautiful Vina's eyes were- in some lights they looked green, and in some they looked blue, a truly gorgeous effect that meant he could stare into them forever. He crossed his own eyes and puffed up his cheeks, which made her laugh even more, and reach out to tap his cheeks with her hands, causing him to let out the air in a soft 'poof'.

When they'd both recovered from their laughing fit, they downed the rest of their drinks, and escaped hand in hand into the rainy Colorado street- sans umbrella. The rain soaked him to the bone, but Terz didn't care, more preoccupied in half-yelling the lyrics to 'Singing In The Rain' as Vina ran ahead of him, swinging between the streetlights and occasionally spinning herself on the spot with her arm outstretched to gesture at him in a very rude manner. He laughed, and blew her a kiss.

They both received a scolding from their respective younger siblings, but Terz just made a 'blah blah' hand signal at his brother, and Vina ruffled her sister's hair, and they both escaped into Vina's room to change into something that wasn't wet. He let her towel off his hair, even though it made it stick up so much that Vina had to sit down from laughing too hard, and she even sat still for long enough to let him gently rub some of the moisture out of her hair. And that was the way their relationship worked- it wasn't good, or good enough, it was crazy, mad, love, the kind of a relationship that made sense to no one else but them.

And as she leaned her head back into his chest to allow him to place a kiss on her forehead, she said; "so, if I were to fight a dragon, do you reckon I'd win? Because Zane says I can't fight a dragon and win, and I think he's wrong." Terz couldn't help but laugh at that crazy question, out of the blue, that perfectly summed up his girlfriend's personality. And that was when he knew. What he'd been missing for so long. What had been wrong in his other relationships. He didn't want calm, companionable, or comfortable. He didn't want dysfunctional, or heated. He wanted reckless and carefree, dumb questions at two in the morning, he wanted inside jokes and laughter that filled the room, he wanted the world to revolve around them, and only them.

He wanted crazy.

[solyn]

word count. 924
characters. ranait [tolter], monique markey [self insert]
fandom. bear run icelandic tolters
warnings. none applicable

She didn't like the trailer. That much is obvious by the way she rockets from it like her life depends upon it, eyes rolling and head being tossed, bucking her way across the paddock and away from the trailer that is quickly pulling away, leaving me to swing the gate shut and latch it firmly. At my side, my greyhound Diego sticks his inquisitive head through the slats in the fence, wagging his tail and watching the new pony gallop in mad circles around the large paddock I'd cleared out just for her. I didn't dare put her near Aurelius or Ohanzee just yet. Not because I'm afraid my boys might hurt her. No, I'm afraid she might hurt them.

A smile twitches at the corners of my lips at that. It's funny how, in my world, the females are always the strong ones. Ohanzee is quiet, Aurelius is modest, and Ranait- that's what I've called her, Ranait- is a firecracker. Where Ohanzee is obedient and Aurelius is loyal, Ranait is wild and unpredictable, and that's what I love about her. Though I know, realistically, that if I don't try and tame the spirit, I'll never be able to keep her, I only hope she doesn't lose the fire that made me fall in love with her in the first place. Clicking my tongue to Diego, I begin to retreat from the fence, not wanting to crowd her space. For this reason, the boys are housed in the barn corrals on the other side of the estate, so they won't make her any more nervous than she already is.

I don't want to leave her alone, because I feel that would be wrong, instead, I move to the porch swing where I seat myself, leaving enough room for Diego to curl up beside me, and I pull my book into my lap to read, though the effort is half-hearted, and my attention is still very much remaining on Ranait, and her progress with settling in. I know this much be such a change for her, and my heart wrenches painfully in sympathy. I understand. It was hard for me to move away from my family too, though now I know I love the independence, and the solitude. It shows, when I work, that I am very quickly irritated should I have to interact with people for long periods of time. Luckily for me, I chose an english-based career. People easily write me off as just another one of those mercurial but insanely talented scriptwriters.

They're not wrong.

Robert called me once, I asked him how he got my number, proceeded to report this to his superiors, and then made myself hot chocolate and smugly basked in the glory of essentially ruining his career. That'll teach him to assume I'm straight. Essentially, that example sums up how cold I can be toward other humans. I believe we're really an inferior race, and I am constantly in awe of the wonders of the animal world. I much prefer their company to that of my own kind, which sounds super edgy but hey, the dodecahedron life chose me.

I shake these thoughts away to watch my tolter. She seems to have calmed down now, simply wandering around the paddock and sniffing at everything. I feel my heart go out to her again, and I can't seem to get over how stunningly gorgeous she is. It's hard for me to keep reading when the real spectacle is right in front of my eyes, so I simply don't. I close my book, and place a hand on Diego's head, absently fondling his ears affectionately, eyes locked on the pony who has become the newest addition to the quirky life forms at my home.



It's a week later, and she seems to have settled in. She spends most of her days in the open paddock, but retreats to the shed for shelter when it rains. I don't think she likes it much, but she's a smart pony and she knows that's the only shelter there is, so she deals with it. I like watching her. She seems to be okay with the fences now, and she's decided that the grass is adequate and to her liking. Even though she pretends not to notice, I know she eats the oats and hay I leave out for her in the shed. I can only hope she feels at home here, but from what I can see and sense of her body language, she does. It's a calming notion, a signal that I'm doing at least something right.

I walk to the fence, and she immediately skitters away. She doesn't like me much, but that's just now. I'm sure, as time progresses and we have more time together, I'll grow on her like she's grown on me. I lean on the fence and close my eyes, resting my cheek against my arms. I'm small, as it is, but I look far less threatening this way. Apparently, to Ranait I seem like less of a threat too. I can hear her hooves coming closer again, and I want to watch, but I dare not move and break the spell. To my delight, she sniffs me, and I feel her warm breath wafting over my hair as she lets out a snort, obviously deciding I'm not worth her time, again, before turning and prancing away to the nearest corner of the paddock.

I notice the next time I walk by, she does not shy away.

[solyn]

word count. 650
characters. ranait [tolter], monique markey [self insert]
fandom. bear run icelandic tolters
warning. none applicable.

It's taking all of the skills from the years before I quit sport to keep my inquisitive pony from discovering my present for her. I didn't intend for this to happen so soon, but I was simply wandering the aisles of the horse tack store because Ohanzee's rope broke and I didn't have another on hand, when I saw it. The perfect halter. Not for him, of course, he's had the baby blue one since the day I got him. It's a bit old and scruffy now, and I remind myself that I'll have to wash it sometime. But this is besides the point. The point is that the perfect halter for my darling firecracker, Ranait, is sitting right in front of me.

It's a gorgeous colour, golden like champagne, with shiny gold-painted buckles. It glimmers in the afternoon sunlight as an attendant brushes past it, causing it to jingle merrily, swaying on its tethers. It's in my cart even before I can think about what I'm doing, and now it's in my hand, held firmly behind my back as I twist and turn my body with laughter, trying to obscure it from Ranait's view. But she's determined, snaking her head every which way, eyes bright with merriment, just like my own.

"Nuh uh!" I chortle, twisting out of the way again with another laugh as she snorts, as if in contempt and tosses her head in that dramatic way of hers. "Patience is a virtue," I chide, waggling an admonishing finger at her, a large grin settled on my features. She flicks her tail and lifts her head in order to look over my head and away. This only makes me laugh more and hold up my free hand, conceding defeat. "Alright," I say, with another laugh, feeling my face start to ache, "alright you win. I'll show you what I got you." One ear swivels toward me, followed quickly by the rest of her head, eyes bright and focused intently on me. I can't help a fond smile. She's gorgeous.

With a dangerously slow motion, I pull my hidden hand from behind my back, revealing the halter, holding it up to my chest so my other hand can clasp it, and hold it out to her. She snorts and backs away from it, looking confused, before leaning forward to sniff it, giving an experimental nibble to one of the buckles.

"A halter," I tell her softly, watching her inspect this new piece of equipment with an almost child-like sense of curiosity present in her equine features. I tilt my head to watch her, the fond smile returning as I resist the urge to reach out and stroke her mane. Though she doesn't shy away from my presence anymore, I'm careful not to touch her too often, as it makes her somewhat jittery. I know it will take her a while to get completely used to me, but that's fine by me. I'm good at waiting for things.

Finally, she pulls away from it, snorting in a somewhat questioning manner. I raise a brow at her. "Oh, you don't want it? But it's so very fashionable, see?" To demonstrate, I settle it as best I can on my face and fold my arms across my chest, struggling to keep a serious expression on my face as I stare at her. She whinnies in a way that makes it sounds like she's laughing, which cracks me, and I start laughing again too, unable to help it.

Then, I feel something against the side of my head, and the next thing I know, she's trotting away from me, holding the new halter between her teeth. I laugh harder, wiping her drool from my hair, doubled over with my free hand on my knee to brace myself as I watch her with unbridled amusement.

It appears she did want it, after all.

[solyn]

word count. 613
characters. ranait [tolter], monique markey [self insert], aditya [tolter]
fandom. bear run icelandic tolters
warnings. none applicable c:

It's a hot day, and I have an ice block freezing off my lips as I coax my new mare from a trailer, the dunalino tugging sharply at her lead rope, nostrils flaring as she tosses her head. She didn't like the trailer ride much, and getting her out has been tougher than I anticipated, as she's still somewhat spooked. But, I have strong arms and a gentle face, and I am ever patient with animals, so Aditya's resistance is little of a problem, though it would be helpful if my lips didn't turn blue and melt off my face.

"Shh," I say gently, around the mouthful of ice, "hey, hey babydoll, it's okay, 's okay..." my gentle cooing seems to calm her, and she snorts, albeit a little unhappily, but relaxes, and trots forward to nudge her face into my chest, lead rope slack in my hands. I drop it to the ground and step on it, in order to ground her, reaching one hand up to scratch the tall mare behind the ears, and the other to pull the Popsicle stick from my mouth and lick my lips rapidly to try and soothe some warmth back into them. Alas, it does not work, but it is a small price to pay.

As we are standing there, simply letting Aditya calm down and understand that she is out of the trailer and she doesn't have to get back in, a shrill whinny cuts through the air, and I step back just in time to avoid being clocked in the jaw by the rising of her head, laughing a little at my good luck. Turning, and placing my ice block back in my mouth, I pull Aditya's lead rope back into my hands, coiling it loosely around my left. The sight that greets me is none other than Ranait, who paces along the fence line, tail swishing in agitation as she waits for me to pay her attention.

And that's when the idea hits me.

Most would say it was idiotic, under the best circumstances. But, I believe that Ranait has calmed down enough to make a friend, and Aditya is an older mare who demands respect but is gentle and sophisticated, almost carrying a regal aura about her. With a gentle tug at the rope and a warped click of my tongue, I step forward, and Aditya does too, and together we progress across the courtyard of my estate to the paddock, where Ranait presses against the fence in order to get a closer look.

The two mares reach out and touch noses with one another, Ranait's ears pricked forward with interest as she eyes up Aditya, who does the same to her. Then, as if they were old friends reunited, Aditya simply snakes her head around and begins to groom Ranait, who lowers her head obediently to let the elder mare clean out her mane. Pleased by this, and a little amused at the quickness with which they bonded, I decide that Aditya doesn't need to make the trip to the other side of the estate.

Instead, I lead her to the gate, Ranait following the entire time with worried nickers, but she need not fear, for I simply open the gate and lead Aditya through, before unclipping her lead rope from her halter and stepping back out of the paddock, latching the gate firmly behind me. The two mares immediately go back to grooming one another, and my heart swells at the site. Removing the ice block from my freezing mouth once again, I lean against the railing to savour the coolness and watch my two baby girls acquaint themselves.

[solyn]

word count. 586
characters. ranait [tolter], monique markey [self insert]
fandom. bear run icelandic tolters
warnings. none applicable

It's been five months since I adopted Ranait. She's as gorgeous as ever, and even though she's adapted well to life here, she still keeps her spitfire personality. She and Aditya have become good friends, and I decided not to part them again, seeing as I feel like it would have made Ranait very upset. The boys are fine on their own; and maybe one day, Aditya and Ranait will be able to join them. I'm sure Aditya would get along well with Ohanzee, my eldest tolter, placid albeit curious by nature.

Of course, it's nearing the six months mark, which means half a year, and she's still a little skittish around me, so I decide that it's time for some one-on-one bonding between me and my darling Ranait. I close Aditya into the shed, and Ranait seems a little anxious about this, but soon realizes her dunalino companion isn't leaving for good. While she's busy growing accustomed to the fact that Aditya will not be with her for this little exercise, I seat myself in the direct middle of the paddock, and bow my head.

I'm unassuming in the first place; small and blonde with a smattering of freckles, but seated on the ground I am even more so. This seems to be the way Ranait sees it too, thankfully, and she crosses to me, the only other living thing she can see, staying a wary distance away. This is fine, I don't mind that she's taking a little while to warm up; I know I don't trust random people out of the blue either. I'd be a little more worried if she wasn't wary of me.

We are like this for hours, and I begin to get a crick in my neck, but the longer I sit here, still and contemplating, the closer she gets and the less jumpy she seems, which is a huge step in the right direction if I want her to trust me. And then finally, what feels like a million years later, her nose touches my hand and she snorts a little exhale, causing me to turn my head to look at her. She seems to be evaluating me, waiting for my next action, but I do nothing other than simply smile at her, and turn my head away again. A snort that seems almost of contempt.

For a split second, I fear I've ruined my chance, but in the next beat, I relax, for I feel her soft lips whuffing over the top of my head, sending my hair askew. I resist the knee-jerk reflex to attempt to fix it. That would spook her, and ruin the moment. Simply, I exhale, and close my eyes against the sun, realizing I should have brought a canteen of water to drink from, with slow motions, so as not to frighten her. My forward thinking has not been impeccable to say the least.

For another solid two hours, we sit there, and I begin to feel lightheaded. And then; a miracle. With a soft huff, Ranait lowers herself to the ground behind me, her flank just inches from where I sit. She lets her nose lower to be parallel to the ground, and she seems to be waiting. Slowly, I lean back until my spine is touching her side. I receive no reaction, and with a soft, content sigh, I lean my head back onto her flank. I feel soft, horsey lips snuffling through my hair.

I can't help but laugh.

[solyn]

word count. 580
characters. ranait [tolter], monique markey [self insert]
fandom. bear run icelandic tolters
warnings. none applicable

Today is the day that we start work with an actual saddle. For three months, we've been getting her used to halters, and reins, and backing her in and out of the trailer to make sure she knows it's not going to hurt her, so that we can avoid the same panic as last time. She seemed alright with all of that, so on to saddle training we went. And that went well, in terms of time- it wasn't painfully slow or worryingly fast, and that alone made me confident.

It was a tactic I'd only read about when studying the history of the Native American culture. To get horses used to carrying riders on their backs, they would put rocks on the back of their horse until the horse no longer panicked and bucked them off. The key was to start small, and start building up over time, as for wild horses, weight on their back usually meant a predator and it was crucial for them to understand that this time the weight did not mean danger, but rather security.

And so, I had collected rocks from the garden around the back and carried them one at a time into the pasture. Waiting, as Ranait watched me, I carried the smallest one, just bigger than what would constitute as a pebble, and placed it on her back. With a knee-jerk reflex, she bucked it off, so I simply picked it up, and put it back, the process repeating until Ranait seemed fine with the presence of the rock and comfortably went about grazing again.

This process was repeated again and again until she'd gotten used to all sizes of rocks that I had prepared, and then I'd lumped all of them on together for maximum weight, repeating this exercise again and again until my little firecracker started to seem- heaven forbid- bored. So, with that progress having being made, I decided that today was the day that we started with an actual saddle, hoping that due to the weight she'd already had on her back, she'd be more receptive to the actual appendage.

Huffing and panting with exertion, I carry the saddle over to the fence, slinging it across the rails, before climbing over the fence and into the paddock with her. Picking up the saddle again, I carry it across to Ranait and sling it across her back, before pedaling backwards out of the way as fast as possible to observe her reaction, muscles tensed to leap in and calm her down if the reaction is incredibly bad, praying softly that she's fine with this.

Her eyes go wide and she prances unhappily, snorting a little, before she realizes the weight is just dead weight and is not indeed attacking her, at which point she turns her head to observe it, ears flattened wearily as she nibbles at the leather, snorting in disbelief- she can't believe she can't eat it!- before nudging the girth strap and watching the saddle slide in almost slow motion to thunk onto the ground in unceremonious clatter.

Silence envelops, before I burst out laughing, doubling over with my hands on my knees. Ranait whinnies in glee, and prances a little, nudging the saddle and tossing her head at me with bright eyes. I laugh, and jog across to her, pulling the saddle up and back onto her back, collapsing against her side as she nudges it off again with a snort of delight.