[ME] save forever for me

The coastline of Torchline is radiant in the late afternoon light, kissed golden by the sun as it begins its slow descent toward the horizon. Warmth lingers on the breeze, carrying the scent of salt and citrus, of seafoam and sun-warmed fruit. Torches line the length of the beach, each one already lit and flickering softly despite the hour, their flames swaying gently with the rhythm of the tide. Between them, the waves shimmer with threads of bioluminescence, pulses of blue and green light rolling ashore like the sea itself has chosen to celebrate.

Beneath pale canvas tents stretched wide along the sand, garlands of ivy and lavender hang in long, sweeping loops, the blossoms fresh and fragrant even in the heat, all thanks to a certain botanist. They drape from post to post like something grown rather than arranged, the handiwork of a loving touch rather than ceremony. The tents offer shade and space for guests to gather, with linen-covered tables set beneath, their surfaces already crowded with dishes that speak of memory and comfort—honey-roasted vegetables, grilled fish still gleaming with oil and lemon, savoury pastries filled with molten cheese and forest herbs. Glass pitchers brim with sangria and sparkling cider, while bottles of wine and finely aged gin—each one chosen with care—catch the sun and throw little flares of amber and rose across the cloth.

Closer to the water’s edge, music winds through the air with unhurried ease, played by hand or coaxed from magical devices, the melodies soft and full of light. The sounds of laughter rise in tandem, unforced and free, carried on the breeze along with the low hum of voices. Everything feels touched by something sacred and still—joyful, yes, but not loud. Not boisterous. The kind of happiness that blooms slowly and sinks deep.

It is a celebration, yes. But more than that, it is a homecoming. A promise made again, not out of necessity, but because love—real love—asks to be tended, even after the vows have long since been spoken.

---

This thread is only open to those who received an invitation, as well as special guests Amalia, Edrei, Enzo, Rexanna, Seren, Vanya, Vervain, Aoife. Wedding crashers will be removed by Remi (we've seen how you animals have acted in other MEs, and Remi will absolutely sic his Leafchange-feral husband on you).

Dead characters are allowed to create breakaway threads set during this time period, but timeline-wise you'll have to go back to Mort's halls once the party is over, so you only have a few hours!

No one likes having MEs in their threadlog forever, so get in your 3 posts early!

REMI

Remi wears the new suit like it’s always belonged to him, though the lines are sharper than he’s used to, the tailoring more precise. The colour is warm earth—soft ochres and burnished clay—offset by a crisp white shirt and a bowtie that Ronin had picked, his reasoning lost somewhere between sentiment and mischief. The boutonniere at his lapel is delicate, thoughtful: a bloom of pale ivory and soft blue, cradled in green and copper leaves; Mateo had made it to match the one from their wedding ten years ago.

The music winds around them like silk, laughter trailing along the sand, though Remi isn't really paying attention to any of it. Instead, his focus is only on the hand he’s holding—broad, calloused, impossibly familiar—and to the man beside him who has been his every beginning and his every again.

Remi squeezes Ronin’s hand gently, his thumb sweeping once over knuckles he knows like his own breath. Then, leaning close, he lets his voice brush against his husband’s ear, quiet and warm. [say}"The gift I have for you will probably make you cry," he says, lips twitching with fondness. "And I know it’s absolutely the wrong season for it, but...I hope you’ll like it anyway."

There’s no time for Ronin to respond—not properly—before Remi leans in and kisses him. It’s not for show, not the kind of kiss you offer in front of guests. It’s something far older, something full. A kiss made from early mornings and sleepless nights, from battles fought back to back, from long winters and hot, tangled summers. A kiss that speaks of promises kept, and chosen again, and chosen still.

When he draws back, there’s a light in his eyes that hasn't dimmed with time. He winks, the gesture teasing but soft, and then steps away—reluctantly, but without hesitation. The lantern waits for him just beyond the garlanded tents, where the sand grows smoother and the torchlight flickers over the waves. Mort’s gift is small in his hands but heavy with meaning, and as he lifts it gently into place, the metal cool against his fingers, he draws a match from his pocket. One strike, the flare of sulphur and light, and he shields the tiny flame with his palm as he lights the lantern.

It flickers once, then steadies, a soft golden pulse in the dusk.

---

Remi lights Mort's lantern!

Type: Light | Style: Other | Level: Mastered
Mort's Lantern | A lantern from the god of death himself which will open the doorway to his realm for one night, allowing the dead to walk freely.

Table by sky!

I shouldn't laugh, but I know I'm a failure in your eyes

"I thought this was the gift," Ronin murmurs, leaning in to speak the words against his husband's soft curls with the casual familiarity of years behind the gesture. "You know," he continues, "we gift everyone with our presence. Then you get a party - which still makes no sense to me, by the way, because you're antisocial at the best of times - and my present is that I behave myself." He winks. "Mostly."

Pressing a kiss to Remi's hair before straightening up, he squeezes the other man's fingers in return and looks on at the tents, the food, the music, and already his free hand itches with the need to hold a drink. Ronin, of course, is dressed impeccably in a suit the colour of the ocean at twilight, seaglass cufflinks glittering against his jacket sleeves, his tie silvered with embroidery that, if it catches the right light, looks suspiciously like tentacles. A spray of downy hawk feathers decorates his lapel, coiled lovingly in copper and silver to keep them together, and though he's tempering it down, already the radiant glow within him threatens to spill further illumination across the sand.

His lips part to speak again just in time for Remi to steal the words with a kiss, and Ronin's hand is already reaching for him when the Bastion steps away. His jaw feathers and he shoves the gesture into his pocket to stave away any unreasonable behaviour, instead raising a curious brow to watch the delicate pulse from Mort's lantern spark the air. "What...?"

RONIN

you don't know that you're living 'til you're carrying scars

Flora steps lightly from the shadowed path to the lantern‑lit sand, and the hush that greets her feels almost reverent—salt‑sweet wind teasing loose curls across her cheeks, jasmine and lavender brushing her bare arms like familiar fingertips. Mateo ’s handiwork clings to her curves in a living tapestry, each blossom fresh from his patient coaxing: star‑white jasmine tracing the line of her spine, dusky lavender spiralling down her hips, ivy threads lacing it all together in soft, verdant strokes. Every breath fills the air around her with a subtle perfume, a quiet announcement of her arrival that needs no fanfare.

She pauses just long enough for torchlight to spill across the gown, petals catching gold and rose as though dawn has decided to stay and dance. Somewhere ahead, Remi and Ronin stand beneath their garlands—warm earth and twilight ocean—shining in one another’s gaze, and the sight knots something gentle and aching beneath her ribs. Loneliness is a shy ripple rather than a wave tonight; still, she smooths a hand over her skirt as if reassurance might bloom beneath her palm.

By the drinks table, glass pitchers flash amber and ruby in the dusk, and Flora reaches for a slender stem before the attendant can even turn. Sparkling cider, bright with citrus and a hint of honey; it fizzes up in greeting, catching stray flecks of lantern‑light until the liquid looks almost star‑struck. She pours a second flute with the same deliberate care, tilting the crystal just so to preserve every midnight bubble.

"This one’s yours, Enzo," she murmurs to herself, voice swallowed by surf and song yet steady all the same. She sets the drink beside her own, assuming that Remi will have made it so that her twin could attend.

you're either falling in love or you're falling apart

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones.

---

You've encountered the OG random event! This allows you to skip one levelling requirement with the character in this thread. (Unfortunately does not count for characters over level 10, how sad.)

Mateo

Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat

"And this one is mine, Flora," Mateo trills as he appears beside his sister. His shirt - soft linen embroidered delicately with sprawls of ivy - is a little dusted with soil and a bit wet along one sleeve, but then of course he has been fussing with his decorations from the moment he'd arrived. He's also been helping himself to several drinks, so he's suitably buzzed before the majority of the guests show up. Still, with an identical drink to his sibling(s?) in hand, he raises it in a toast and takes a sip, before his attention drifts to her gown.

"I rarely say this, sorellina," he says quietly, reaching out to adjust the blooms here and there and to ensure that none are beginning to wilt, "but you are utterly putting my flowers to shame tonight." Smiling, he leans in to kiss her cheek. "You look beautiful." His gaze, then, drifts to their parents in the background, quietly wrapped up in each other in a way that, for better or worse when it comes to anyone else, is what has brought them this far. "Do you think you could ever be with the same person for ten years?" He nudges her playfully.

I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand

EDREI

The lantern’s glow flares—sharp as a camera flash—then yawns open like someone peeled back reality with a crowbar. Out of that sliver staggers Edrei Launceleyn, a tornado of obsidian skin, wild halo of curls, and a black leather bodysuit that looks painted on by a particularly horny sculptor. Sand hisses under her thigh‑high boots as she lands in an inelegant crouch, blinking against Torchline’s late‑day gold.

A whip of her hand dispels imaginary dust; the other hitches at the groin of her bodysuit with unmistakable pride. "RONIN, BABE!" she crows, voice ricocheting between tents and torches. "Guess who’s back from the dead again—and this time I brought upgrades." She gestures grandly at her crotch. "Behold: premium penis. Frey had a clearance sale and I died before I got to show you mine."

Straightening to her full, gazelle‑legged height, Edy throws the couple a grin bright enough to challenge the torches. Leather creaks as she saunters closer, hips swinging with the insolence of someone who knows the sand is basically a catwalk. "I’d say sorry for crashing the anniversary vibes, but your patron literally gift‑wrapped me, so really I’m the romantic gesture. You’re welcome."

"Go fuck yourself."
"Fuck me yourself, you coward."

Seren

She stepped into the torchlight the way a dream might, if given thee chance to come alive. Gazing around to absorb the lovely scenery, Seren's eyes shone bright as the sea, her raven locks dancing in the twilight breeze. Smiling, like she too looked forward to being part of the surprise, she wasted no time in approaching the festivities, and the hosts in particular. Her father had always been at his best when he smiled, or so she'd always thought, and there had not been nearly enough of those over the past year. Partly her fault, however unintentionally; but she would do her best remedy that this evening.

Stepping lightly across the sand on bare feet - because of course they were - her soft dress of midnight blue rippled in the wind. Draping across one shoulder and cinched at the waist with thee thinnest of silver chains, she carried it well; regal in her bearing, like not even death could make her forget whose daughter she was. 
"Father?" Seren called out, in a tone that was vibrant with anticipation; eager still to meet him again, as she had been from the very beginning. There were others too that she longed to see - but her first thought was of Ronin, and it was upon him her gaze first landed with a bright spark of recognition.

I'm ready to start the conquest of spaces
Reaching the starlight and silver fields

REXANNA

paint my spirit gold

The gates open, and with it a line which seems both surprising and not — and so the penumbra wonders whether or not Remi has mastered his abilities since she’d last seen him. It’s a thought that doesn’t linger long as she finally gets through to the warmth of Torchline’s sunset. It warms the sand that her shoes sink into as she takes a breath, indulging in the scent of sweet fruits and lingering sea salt.

Her eyes find those gathered immediately, sapphire gaze spotting Ronin amongst the crowd currently getting inundated by others that have long since passed, so she’ll simply waves and directs her attention immediately toward Remi (unaware of any Leafchange changes that the man’s husband might be dealing with). Instead, she flits over toward Remi with a vibrant grin, hands outstretched to squeeze his own should she allow him. “A girl could get used to this, you know.” She teases him gently, shifting her weight slightly to where her dark burnt orange and black dress spins slightly in the warm evening.

Over the past few years, journeys had been collectively about plotting. Solving problems. Enduring trials and tribulations. Putting themselves at risk for the greater good. Meetings to strategize the next round of conundrums. This one, however, was about celebration, a conviction, the way love endured over all the suffering. Gods knew Remi and Ronin had persevered through the mass of conflicts and chaos, still bonded and banded together after the endless and eternal escapades of malice and menace, of cruelty and conniving steps.

So for this sojourn, amidst peace and repose, relief and serenity, Deimos had to remember what that felt like. Lighter, more at ease across his shoulders, not bearing the weight of multitudes, but would take some time to recall he wasn’t heading off to another part of war as they ventured towards Torchline, and gathered themselves amidst the fold. “Want to go offer our congratulations first?” He whispered to Evie, bending his head towards her ear, keeping her hand tucked along his elbow, eyes gazing over the already surging crowd.

And spotting Edrei. Rexanna.

His gaze widened, unable to recall if Remi had mentioned bringing the masses of those departed back into the fold – breath tightening a little, a grin forming back over his features. Letting go of those primordial inhibitions to stray and hide and cling to the shadows because of those haunting eaves – he caught Rexanna ‘s gaze, granting a wink.

deimos

Never let them drain the river of your soul

Enzo

You’ve all seen this party trick before (and if you haven’t you better be watching this time because it’s going to be wayyyyy bigger) and Enzo would never let himself be predictable or stale, so the details aren’t necessary. Parting of the veil, strange shimmer of light, and pop! Congrats, it’s a boy!

Already barefoot, Enzo wiggles his toes in the sand as he looks around at the beautiful arrangements. His dad seems a little busy schmoozing it up with Ronin - though they both look impressively handsome, well done - which leaves Enzo the opportunity to make a little Ludo magic happen. He’s here for a reason, right? He can hunt down his parents later tonight. 

So Enzo turns and promptly vanishes into the mix of bodies, eyes set on golden, torchlit hair that calls to him like a homing beacon. 

She’s kneeling before a lantern that is familiar enough in style for Enzo to assume it’s his. Weird. But sweet, which sort of defines their entire family’s existence, so he mentally skates right past it. Because the shadows on his twin’s face are deeper than lantern light and twilight can justify, and Enzo simply can’t allow that. 

Coming up as quietly as he can behind her - coyly raising a finger to his lips in a shushing motion toward Mateo should he spy the approach - he sweeps his arms around Flora’s waist from behind, dropping his chin onto her shoulder to croon, “Oooh, what do we have here?” before pulling her into a spin - up and around in a swirling arc. The ethereal living garden she’s wearing is gorgeous and deserves a bit of flare and motion to draw everyone’s eyes to it. To her. Plus she’ll definitely laugh then. “Not just one sibling but two?” Enzo deposits her gently back on her feet, hand gracefully guiding her to turn around with fingers spanning around the curve of her shoulder blade, green eyes glittering like polished jade in the twilight when they meet hers. “Hi there, gorgeous. You called?” Enzo’s free hand cups up to bump playfully under her chin, eternal smirk as tender as it can get.  

Not one to forget a crowd, he tilts his head back to wink at Mateo, though his body never turns away from Flora. “Looking devilish, brother mine. Is hooking up at a vow renewal as gauche as a funeral? Dare you to try.” Enzo is back for all of one night, there’s no time to waste - every whirlwind word and action needs to slip free as they come so he might make them remember him a bit more clearly when he leaves again.

wallow aloud, and forget to forgive
ever to be the optimist

daughters made claw first

Melita’s mind didn’t really hold onto things like anniversaries. There were moments and blips in time, and then she maneuvered to the present, striving to not be strangled by the inevitable twitch of the past behind her. But there were some nice ones that served as lively and lovely reminders – like Remi and Ronin’s wedding, and how they were still together (gods damn she couldn’t even keep some items around for that long), that measured up to fortitude, endurance, and the wholly encompassing of love or something like that. She wouldn’t know much about the latter.

But regardless, she stepped amidst the festivities with a fancier dress and wide eyes, searching for anyone she knew and could latch onto – or break away for food. She did see ghosts though – which had her glance sharply over to Remi for some sort of explanation, then managed to answer the query and question in her own mind. He, or Mort, clearly had something to do with it.

So she waved at Rexanna, while snagging at a drink.

Melita

tiger roar and wolf bad

you don't know that you're living 'til you're carrying scars

Flora’s smile unfurls like sunrise across calm water as Mateo fusses with the petals at her waist. "I half‑expected you not to show up to this," she teases, nose crinkling with fond mischief. Straightening beneath his gentle adjustments, she brushes an imaginary speck from his embroidered sleeve and lets the hush of gratitude settle, warm and certain. "Gratsee. Coming from the artist himself, that's probably the best compliment I could ever get."

Her gaze slides toward their fathers, who stand wrapped in their own quiet constellation of joy; she returns to Mateo with exaggerated disbelief shimmering in her eyes. "Ten years," she muses, low and wry. "I barely limped through one with Jack before the whole ship capsized, so.." A light shrug sends lavender swaying. "Do you think you could stick with just one person, for any length of time?" The question is playful, but the glint behind it is earnest curiosity.

And then—wind, laughter, centrifugal delight— Enzo ’s arms circle her, and the world blurs into a carousel of torchlight and petals. Flora’s laughter peals like bells caught in a salt breeze, the gown flaring around her calves as though the flowers themselves are dancing. When her feet meet sand again, she slips beneath Enzo’s arm as naturally as the tide slides against the sand, nestling close enough to feel the spectral warmth she’s missed with every heartbeat this past year.

"You have impeccable timing as always," she whispers, tilting her cheek briefly against his shoulder before drawing back to beam at Mateo. "Forgive me for being scandalously rude, but would you hate me for stealing our ghostly sibling away for a bit?" Her hand squeezes Mateo’s forearm, a promise carved in gentle pressure. "Promise we won't be too long, but I've a year of drama to fill him in on."

you're either falling in love or you're falling apart

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

Growing up is a pain, and it is what it is
Okay, It's not the end of the world

I step onto the lantern‑lit sand in a flutter of indigo and amethyst, the unfamiliar dress cinching at my waist before spilling in gentle ripples around my thighs. A month ago I would have fussed over every hem; tonight I smooth the skirt only once, shoulders squaring with newfound ease.

Remi and Ronin are impossible to miss beneath the garlands. I offer each a quick, earnest smile—first a brief squeeze of Remi’s forearm, then a respectful dip of my head to Ronin—before the words tumble out. “Congratulations—ten years looks wonderful on you both.” I know they’ll be swept up by old friends soon, so I leave it at that and turn away, skirts whispering over my knees.

I rush toward Flora, a bright constellation of lavender and jasmine. A breathless laugh escapes as I reach her, my hands finding hers in a delighted squeeze. “I’m so glad to see you. You look like dawn decided to throw a party.”

The next heartbeat blazes gold. Remi strikes the match, and Mort’s Lantern flares; my words fade as I pivot back toward the light. Its warm pulse paints my face with hope and aching anticipation. Somewhere beyond the veil of dusk, I picture the familiar silhouette of my grandmother stepping through.

I hold my breath—waiting, willing—in the hush between heartbeats, that my mother will show up for this too.

There's always light where it burns

Theea