#‘the pain of the world is a burden and it’s my cross to bear’

[lendeah]

My first fanfic post! Hope you enjoy it, and feel free to share any requests💌

THE GRAVE SCENE™️

Summary: You know the summary😈 A reimagining of the infamous grave scene.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Tav

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: + 18, NSFW, dom!Astarion

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ

The morning after the battle with Cazador, the heaviness in my limbs felt like weights, my muscles aching and sore from the physical exertion of the fight. But it was the weight on my heart that was truly crushing, each beat feeling like a burden too heavy to bear. Astarion wasn't in the camp, as he had rushed out after killing his former master, needing to be alone to process the turmoil within him. The image of his primal screams as he repeatedly buried the blade into Cazador's chest was burned into my brain, haunting me with every breath. As I watched helplessly with my companions, Astarion was torn apart piece by piece, both physically and emotionally. I knew that sound would haunt me in my worst nightmares for years to come.

At that moment, my fingers longed to reach out and comfort him, but deep down I knew it would be more for my own benefit than his. So I remained still, my hand held tightly by Shadowheart's as I had to witness to the man I loved being ripped appart. I didn't shed a tear when Astarion screamed at me in rage and pain, didn't cry when he refused to come back to camp that night. But as soon as the moon rose high in the sky and everyone else fell asleep with somber looks in their eyes, I allowed myself to finally break down.

I sobbed and screamed into my pillow, releasing all of the pent-up emotions that threatened to consume me. My heart felt heavy with grief and guilt. I had been so caught up in trying to protect everyone and defeating Cazador, as well as our other enemies that I didn't realize how much Astarion was struggling with his past. I should have paid more attention, should have reached out to him sooner. His hunger for power was no secret to me, but as he begged and cried in front of me, I almost caved. Even though I stood by my decision of not helping him ascend, a part of me felt guilty for taking the choice away from him, much like how Cazador had done.

The sun had long since set and another day had passed, but still I remained in bed, cocooned in my sheets with only the sound of my own sobs to keep me company. The weight of the world seemed to press down on me as I lay there, until with a heavy sigh, I finally mustered the strength to sit up. With trembling hands, I wiped away my tears. It was time to face Astarion, to offer him whatever comfort and support he needed. Even if it meant braving his anger or facing his rejection.

The darkness of the night surrounds me as I step out of my tent, the moon casting a pale light across the campsite. I can see Astarion's tent in the distance, a small flicker of light coming from inside. The only sound is the soft crunching of leaves and twigs under my feet as I make my way across the place. My hands tremble slightly as I reach out to pull back the flap of Astarion's tent. When I take my first step inside, I notice it is lit by a single flickering lantern, casting shadows on the canvas walls. The dim light revealed the scattered remnants of broken objects, and in the center of it all, I can see Astarion sitting cross-legged on a bedroll, his eyes red and puffy from crying.

At first, I think he hasn't noticed me, but then he turns to me with a wistful expression "I should probably start getting used to the shadows again. Who knows how long I have left in the sun?" He says, his voice rough. The thought tightens my chest and I resist the urge to reach out and hold him

"Don't say that" I reply softly "we could still find a way to control the tadpole."

I take a seat beside him on the bedroll, being careful not to startle him.

"Maybe, but even if I could control it, it's a dangerous game. I'd spend every day waiting for something to go wrong." He says, his eyes filled with sorrow. "For the tadpole to find some new trick, reassert itself, and make me a slave again. Maybe never seeing the sun again is just the price of freedom." he finishes, his voice cracking with emotion. Seeing him so broken shatters my heart into a million pieces.

"I'll be with you either way." I reach out slowly, my fingers trembling as I grasp his hands, trying to convey my feelings through touch. "I hope you know that," I whisper, my voice barely above a breath.

He looks at me, his face softening as he takes in my expression. His guarded walls seem to crumble, revealing a vulnerability I hadn't seen before.

"I think I do." He says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth ",assuming we survive, of course. Because a horrible death is always just around the corner with you." His lips curl up into a mischievous smile and his eyes sparkle with amusement. I can't help but grin back at him. His hand gently squeezes mine, sending a reassuring warmth through my fingers. We sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, enjoying each other's company.

But then, his face takes on a more serious tone. "There's... something I'd like to show you, if that's all right? Something out in the city."

I frown "What is it?"

"Something I haven't shown anyone else." he says with a shy secretive smile.

"Oh, how mysterious" I reply teasingly "Fine, I'll come," I say, making sure to play up my casual indifference.

We step out of the tent and into the night, as he silently takes me along the city, and I let myself be guided into the dark streets of Baldur's Gate. The city is alive, even though it's around midnight, streets buzzling with the sounds of merchants haggling, people drinking, and horses trotting. It's a stark contrast to the darkness and sadness that had filled the tent just moments ago.

He takes me through narrow alleyways and side streets, navigating through the crowds with ease, as if he has made this way many times before. Finally, we come to a halt in front of the metal fence doors of a... Cemetery?

His usual playful demeanor is gone. I can feel the weight of each step, every breath I take as I follow him deeper into the eerie silence of the place. The moonlight casts a ghostly glow upon the rows of tombstones, echoing through the stillness of the night. The graveyard is appropriately silent - there isn't a proverbial soul around.

I raise an eyebrow, looking at Astarion with confusion and skepticism "A little stereotypical, don't you think?" I joke, breaking the silence.

"Perhaps, but some things are classics for a reason." he replies.

As we walk through the space between graves, I can feel the weight of death around us. We stop in front of a worn tombstone, looking really neglected. My heart drops, as I comprehend the reason why we are here. I watch Astarion as he kneels down and wipes away the layers of dust and dirt, revealing the name more clearly. Astarion Ancunín.

"Nearly two hundred years and I never came back." he says, his voice heavy with emotion. "Not since the night I woke up down there. I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt. Then when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting. From that day on I was his." His face contorts as he recalls the memory. "Until today." He ends, in a whisper.

I slowly place a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer some sort of comfort. "You were never his. Whatever he had, he took it by force" I say, looking deep into his red eyes.

"Maybe, but he did take it. There is almost nothing left of the person I was. Just a name on a rock" He adds with sorrow. "For nearly two centuries I stalked the Streets like a ghost while the person I was lays here, dead and buried. Now I need to figure out who I am, what I want." A small smile plays on his lips as he meets my gaze, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"And, what do you want?" I ask, my heart fluttering with excitement.

He stays silent for a few seconds, and then

"You... I want you." he finally confesses, his voice raw with vulnerability. Another moment of silence follows "You were by my side through all of this. Through and pain and missery. You were patient. You cared. You trusted me when that an objectively stupid thing to do." He pauses, swallowing hard before continuing. "I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don't want to lose that."

My chest constricts at his words, my eyes watering a little. I had always felt a strong connection with Astarion, but hearing him express his feelings so openly and honestly makes my heart swell. Astarion's face is illuminated by the moonlight, his red eyes sparkling with emotion and his lips turned up in a small smile.

"You won 't." I whisper, my voice laced with determination. "Whatever comes next, I've got you." I say, as my hand reaches out to cup Astarion's cheek, feeling the soft edges of his skin.

"Thank you" he says softly, and after a beat, he looks at the gravestone again "Well, I should probably fix this"

The metal glints in the moonlight as he carefully carves a new date on the stone, marking the beginning of a new chapter in his life. Astarion kneels over the damp, musty earth, his eyes focused on the gravestone in front of him. The moonlight casts a soft glow on his face, emphasizing the lines of determination and sorrow etched into his features. As the vampire gets silently lost in his thoughts, I am struck with an idea, a simple yet touching gesture. I search around until I find what I'm looking for, and I pick a small flower from the ground. I slowly kneel next to him, and place it gently on the grave, adding a splash of color to the otherwise shadowy scene.

A small smile spreads across his face when he notices, "Cute" he says, the word rolling off his tongue like a caress. With a sigh, he follows "I've been dead on the ground for long enough. It's time to try living again" He turns his body to me, reaching for my hands and holding them tightly in his. "With everything that life has to offer"

My heart stutters at the implication of his words.

"Meaning...?" I ask, trying to sound coy. A mischievous smirk plays on his lips as he leans in closer and whispers,

"If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded" His words send shivers down my spine, and I laugh, feeling a surge of desire mixed with anticipation.

"Sounds good to me" I whisper back, my voice filled with playful allure.

He brings a hand to my cheek, stroking it lightly, "You know, I didn't care for you when we first met. But I do now. Being with you is about more than lust or manipulating you into a tactical alliance." He pauses, steady gaze locked onto mine. "I love you." he breathes "I love this. And I want it all"

My heart is about to burst out of my chest, tears threatening to flow out of my eyes. There is only one thing I want in that moment, as I lean in slowly, my lips meeting his in a soft kiss.

"I love you too" I confess against his mouth. The moon shines down on us as Astarion's lips press against mine. It is a gentle kiss, filled with love and longing. I reach back, running my fingers through his white strands. My heart swells with emotion as I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me. Astarion's hands move down to my waist, pulling me even closer as our bodies melt together in the cool night air.

Our kiss intensifies, becoming more passionate and urgent. Astarion's tongue dances with mine, exploring every inch of my mouth. I moan into the kiss, feeling pure pleasure coursing through my body. Then, he lays back for a moment, and looks at me with a fire in his eyes I have never seen before. With a wicked smile, he pushes me down onto the dirt of his own grave, and my eyebrows shoot up in surprise. His red orbs flash with raw desire as he hovers above me. Astarion's lips descend upon mine again, my fingers finding their way into his curls again, his skin warm against my own.

The moon casts its silvery glow over us, illuminating our passion in the eerie quiet of the cemetery. Every sensation heightened, every touch more intimate, as we surrendered to the ecstasy of the night.

As Astarion's lips trail down my neck, and I shiver with desire, my heart pounding erratically. He kisses my neck, my collarbone, my chest - wherever he can reach, with slow, deliberate moves. He slowly pulls away, staring into my eyes with a fierce intensity, as his hand trails down my cheek, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw. Suddenly, I am aware of how long it has been since our last encounter, when he asked me to keep things non-sexual for some time.

"Are you sure about this?" I whisper , concern lacing my words "We don't have to rush it if you are still not ready".

His eyes darken at my words.

"I'm more sure than ever," he replies, voice barely above a breath. With that, he leans in again, his lips crashing into mine. I can feel the urgency in it, the hunger that courses his body as he claims me.

With nimble fingers, Astarion swiftly undresses me as if it were an art form. My heart races with anticipation as his eyes drink in every inch of me.

He lowers his lips to my neck, trailing soft kisses down my throat to my collarbone. I tangle my fingers in his hair, silently begging for more. But instead of his usual fangs piercing my skin in hunger, he showers me with gentle kisses, each one making me shudder. My skin prickles with goosebumps as Astarion's fingertips trace over every inch of my exposed flesh, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through me.

Astarion's lips trail down my chest, his hands exploring every curve and dip of my body. I can't hold back the moans that escape my lips as he kisses and nips at every sensitive spot he finds. He looks up at me from the spot between my legs, and I swear it's the most sensual sight I've seen in my life: his lips swollen and glistening with the taste of mine, his hair tousled and his cheeks flushed with passion.

"My god, you are breathtaking" I say under my breath.

He chuckles, warm breath brushing against my inner thighs. "I'm well aware".

And then he dives in. His tongue darts out to taste me, lingering on my most sensitive spots, swirling and teasing me to the point of insanity. I arch my back, trying to push deeper into his mouth as the pleasure builds, my heart pounding in my chest. I moan his name, the sound lost in the cemetery's silence. My body trembles with the pleasure, my muscles tensing and then relaxing, over and over again. I can feel Astarion's hands on my thighs, his fingers slowly massaging the insides of my legs.

"Astarion," I breathe, my voice barely audible over my own gasps and moans. "I need more."

He looks up at me, his eyes filled with passion and hunger. His lips curl into a smirk.

"How do we ask?" he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

With a wicked grin, Astarion lowers his head again, his lips brushing against me, tasting me, teasing me. I shiver with anticipation, my body responding to his every touch. I grip the dirt beneath me, as my heart pounds hard in my chest.

"P-please" I cry out.

Astarion's lips curve into a smirk at my plea, his fingers trailing down my thighs as he continues to kiss and nip at my skin, but not where I want him most. "Please what, my dear?" he asks in a low voice, his breath hot against my skin.

I bite my lip, trying to catch my breath as I struggle to form coherent words. "I...I want..." I stammer.

And then, he thrusts two fingers inside me. I cry out, my body jerking in response. Astarion's fingers move in and out of me, his thumb pressing against my clit in a slow, rhythmic motion.

"You meant this, right?" He asks, his voice low and husky. I can only bring my hands to his hair and give it a sharp tug in response. At this, Astarion lets out a low groan, his mouth working harder. His fingers continue to move inside me, his pace increasing as my body responds to his touch. I can feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge, my mind consumed with nothing but pleasure.

I arch my back, pressing myself against him, wanting more of him. Astarion's free hand moves up to cup my breast, teasingly pulling at my nipple and squeezing it as he continues to thrust his fingers inside of me. The combination of sensations is almost too much for me to handle, my head going dizzy and vision blurry. I can feel him everywhere.

"Please," I beg again, my voice hoarse with desire.

Astarion pulls his fingers out of me and I whimper at the loss of contact. But before I can protest, he guides me into a sitting position and kneels in front of me, slowly getting out of his clothes. I take my time to admire his lithe body, the planes of the muscles decorating his chest and stomach. He gazes up at me with darkening eyes before leaning in to kiss me passionately.

His hands roam over my body while our tongues dance together in a heated frenzy. I can taste myself on his lips and it only adds to the intensity of the moment.

He pulls me into his lap, and when I lower my gaze, I see that I wasn't the only one affected by his ministrations. His arousal is evident against my thigh, and a shiver runs through me at the thought of what's to come.

My hands glide over his strong shoulders, running to his back, feeling the ripple of his muscles and the scars beneath his skin as he continues to explore every inch of my body. His breath hitches, latching his mouth to my neck and sucking hard. Then, he reaches my breasts, taking one of them into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the hardened nipple while massaging the other with his hand. I moan loudly at the sensation, arching my back to offer more of myself to him. Astarion's hand travels down my stomach and between my legs as he continues to suck and tease at my hardened nub. His fingers trace over my folds before delving inside once more.

I gasp at the feeling, pleasure coursing through me as he sets a steady pace with his fingers. His mouth now moves to my other breast, giving it just as much attention while still pleasuring me below. The combination is almost too much for me to handle and body trembles with ecstasy as Astarion brings me closer and closer to release.

But just when I think I can't take it anymore, he removes both his mouth and fingers from me. When I look back at him, his eyes are hooded with lust, and he has a devilish smile over his lips, showing his canines.

I whimper "Stop teasing".

Astarion chuckles at my plea, his eyes dark with desire. "But teasing you is so much fun," he says, his voice husky.

I pout at him, but deep down I know I am enjoying every moment of this game between us.

"Fine" he says finally "No more teasing", and he smirks again. Then he grabs my body effortlessly and turns me into his gravestone on my hands and knees. "Hold on tight, sweetheart," he commands with a mischievous glint in his eye. Goosebumps spread across my entire body, but I can't decipher if they are from excitement or fear. As I place my hands on the tomb, I feel the coolness of the stone against my skin, it's rough edges. I lay my eyes on the new carvings, the name in it, a bittersweet irony washes over me as I realize that this place, where he took his last breath, is now a site of new beginnings and life, and the profanation of his tomb doing nothing but stir me on.

I feel him position himself behind me, his hands roughly grabbing my hips and pulling me back against him. The tip of his erection presses against my entrance, and I can't help but shiver in anticipation.

I feel him leaning above my body "Are you ready?" he whispers in my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine.

"Yes," I breathe, my voice barely audible. I'm still trembling with desire, but I'm ready for him.

With one swift movement, Astarion thrusts inside me, filling me completely. My breath catches in my throat as he fills me with his thickness, and I moan out loud in pleasure and pain. He pulls out almost all the way, then thrusts back in, deep and hard. My hands grip onto the gravestone, my nails digging into it as I try to hold on to something, anything, to ground myself.

"Harder," I plead, my voice shaky.

Astarion obliges, his thrusts becoming faster and harder.

"You like that, don't you?" He groans.

I can feel every inch of him inside me, stretching me and filling me completely. Astarion's hands move from my hips to my breasts, squeezing and massaging them roughly. I arch my back, pushing myself against him as he hits just the right spot inside me and I whine loudly. Astarion's pace starts to become erratic, his breathing heavy against my neck. His hand reaches between my legs again, massaging my clit as he continues to thrust inside me like crazy. The combination is mind-blowing and I can feel myself feeling so close to ecstasy. By now, I'm sure I am drooling over the ground beneath, but I can't bring myself to care.

"Come for me," Astarion growls, his voice low and commanding.

With his words pushing me over the edge, I explode in a wave of pleasure, screaming his name as I ride out my orgasm. Wave after wave of  pleasure courses through my body, making me shake like crazy, and I know if I wasn't grabbing the stone, I would be on the floor by now.  Astarion's hands are caressing my back as I come down from my high, and I feel him hard inside of me still. For a second, I think this is going to be it, but Astarion isn't finished yet. He eases himself out of me, his touch gentle as he lays my body down on the cool dirt beneath us. His lips meet mine once again, but this time the urgency is mixed with tenderness and a hint of vulnerability. Astarion pulls away slightly, his breath ragged as he stares into my eyes, his while curls tickling my face.

"You're mine," he growls, his voice barely a whisper.

I look into his eyes, filled with love and passion, and I know without a doubt that I am his. I smile up at him, reaching to stroke his face.

"Yes, I am" I say, my voice just as soft.

He slowly pushes inside me once more, grunting and keeping our eyes locked. My body is sensitive after my first orgasm, and I let out a hiss in response.

"Say it" he grunts "say that you are mine".

My breath catches as Astarion continues to thrusts into me, the overwhelming sensations of pleasure overcoming any lingering sense of sensitivity.

"I am yours," I pant, my voice filled with devotion and longing. A slow smile spreads across Astarion's face, and he leans down to capture my lips in a passionate kiss. He then lowers his mouth and sucks hard on the skin below my ear, and I know I will arrive bruised at the camp. The thought of our companions knowing should ashame me, but it only excites me. Being marked as his.

"Mine" he repeats, and with a feral growl, Astarion thrusts into me with renewed vigor.

My body responds, arching and undulating beneath him, my nails dig deep into the flesh of his back, marking him as mine as well. He grabs my hands, intertwining our fingers as we move together in perfect harmony. His movements become slow and deliberate, the moment turned intimate.

"I love you," I whisper, my voice hoarse from the intensity of everything.

Astarion's eyes lock onto mine, and I see the depth of his love and devotion for me there. "I love you, too," he says. Astarion's movements become more desperate as he chases his own release, but never breaking eye contact with me, like he wanted to memorize every detail of my face, to etch it into his memory forever.

As he feels himself nearing his climax, he reaches down and grabs the back of my thighs, pulling me even closer to him and teasing where our bodies are connected. The sensation of his rough hands on my skin sends hard shivers of pleasure up my spine.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice gruff with desire. "Look at your master".

The word makes something primal awakens in me, leaving me dizzy with desire, as I look up to meet his gaze. Astarion's eyes are locked onto mine as he drives himself deeper inside me, our bodies rhythmically colliding with a loud smacking noise that fills the silence of the graveyard.

"I love you," he groans once again, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

I can feel my own climax building, my body responding to his every thrust. The sensation of being filled by Astarion, knowing that he is mine and I am his, is unlike anything else in the world.

"Come for me, darling," he groans, his eyes never leaving mine.

With one final push, I feel myself shattering into a thousand pieces, my orgasm washing over me like a tidal wave. I cry out his name, my voice echoing through the ancient ruins around us. Astarion's own climax hits him like a freight train, his body convulsing as he pours himself into me. I feel his seed filling me, and a wave of warmth washes my body as I revel in the sensation.

For a moment, I simply lay there, basking in the afterglow and the feel of his sweaty body pressed against mine. Then, slowly, I gently run my fingers through his hair, smiling tenderly at him. He trails soft kisses over my shoulder, leaving goosebumps over my skin.

"I'm yours," I whispered, my voice barely above a whisper. "Forever."

Astarion shows a delighted smile that radiated from deep within him, and he pulls me close.

"Thank you" He whispers hoarsely.

I furrow my brows and look up at him. "What for?"

He looks down, and I think I see a hint of embarrassment color his cheeks "For being with me, despite everything." he says "For loving me even if I'm nothing more than a spawn"

I give a soft kiss to the skin below his throat "I don't love you for your power, Astarion" I say softly "or your beauty or your abilities. I love you for you, because you deserve to be loved"

He seems to get a little emotional at that, but only holds me closer to his body and keeps caressing my back.

After a few minutes in comfortable silence, he leans down and whispers in my ear, breath warm against my skin. "I didn't know you could be so obedient"

I turn my head to look at him, a mischievous smile forming on my lips. "I didn't know you liked me being obedient," I reply, teasingly.

Astarion chuckles and pulls back slightly to look me in the eyes. "Oh, sweetheart," he says with a smirk. "There are so many things you don't know about me."

Without warning, Astarion pulls out of me slowly, and with a satisfied grin, he helps me to sit up and leans in to kiss me tenderly.

"As much as I enjoyed this new begginings graveyard fretting, this place is giving me the creeps" He says, looking around at the dark and eerie background. "Let's go home”

We gather our clothes and begin to dress, but not before we take a moment to relish in the warmth and safety that we found in each other. As we walk away from the ancient ruins, hand in hand, we can't help but smile and think to ourselves that maybe, just maybe, we found more than just a new beginning in the depths of that old, dark place.

#bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #bg3 fanfiction #astarion baldurs gate #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate fanfiction

[hungrywriter]

Herbs & Hearts (Pt .6)

Raiden x f!reader

The battle had finally ended after hours of relentless fighting, leaving the battlefield in a gruesome state. As the wounded warriors returned to their homes and camps, the extent of the casualties became painfully evident.

Y/n stood in front of the door and muttered a prayer of hope, to anyone who is listening. She took a deep breath, calming her nervous heart before summoning her last few energy and courage. She then opened the door and rushed into the room, summoning as many vines as she could that surrounded her clinic. All at once, she commanded the vines to bandage, cure and do surgery on the wounded soldiers. Normally, she would get as much as 6 patients a day, but the battle had injured all of them in some way and she was trying her best to cure every single one of them. She also instructed some of the children of the academy, who were too young to go to battle, to help her get medical supplies from the storage room. The cries of pain and desperation echoed through the clinic as she tirelessly tended to each wounded warrior. She was the only healer available to manage the overwhelming demand.

As the sun set, Y/n sent her last patient home, her own fatigue catching up with her. She sank into her chair, massaging her neck and shoulders, feeling the weight of the day's events bearing down on her. Her commitment to her work was unwavering, even though the battle had taken a heavy toll on her.

Despite the exhaustion, Y/n knew she had to continue her research. She turned to her books and the world map on her board. Empress Mileena had personally chosen her to help find a cure for the mysterious disease affecting Outworld. The responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders, and she was determined to make progress. In the midst of her research, Kung Lao burst into the clinic, his stomach growling with hunger.

“Y/n! Time to eat! I. Am. Starving!” He shouted while emphasising on his last sentence. He plopped down on the medical bed and eagerly awaited Y/n's attention. She chuckled but asked him to wait as she continued working on her cure, engrossed in her thoughts and calculations. Her mind also started wondering how he could still be cheerful after the war. And somehow, it drifted to Raiden.

“So, have you talked to Raiden yet?” She asked, not looking away from her books and the map. Kung Lao groaned and showed reluctance, avoiding the conversation he knew he needed to have. 

“You promised that you will talk to him after the battle is over,” She said again, which only earned her another groan from him. It was like having a conversation with a toddler. 

“I mean technically the battle isn’t really over. The other timeline Shang tsung is still out there, somewhere,” He answered as he sat up. Y/n only shook her head.

“This is ridiculous. What was the fight even about?” She asked but Kung Lao, however, chose to keep the details to himself. He didn't want to burden Y/n with additional concerns when she already had so much on her plate. Y/n sighed before going back to work. The two were sitting in comfortable silence until Y/n jumped from her seat.

“Oh my god. Kung Lao, I think I found it!” She exclaimed, running over to him. She explained to Kung Lao how plants and Tarkat had a unique connection and that she believed she could create a new solution for her medicines by extracting nectar from a particular plant.

Kung Lao, intrigued by her discovery, asked for clarification for the plant’s whereabouts. Y/n eagerly located a marker, returning to her map to illustrate her point. She enthusiastically explained that she believed the plant they were searching for was on a distant island, which held the potential to cure Tarkat.

Kung Lao's understanding was limited, but he grasped the significance of her discovery. Excited, he celebrated the news with Y/n. As he hugged her in joy, he suddenly paused, a look of confusion crossing his face.

"Wait, can't you just grow the plant with your powers?" he inquired. Y/n shook her head, explaining that she couldn't simply create a plant she had never seen or visualised before. Kung Lao nodded slowly, attempting to understand.

Finally, Kung Lao pulled her away from her work and brought her to the dining hall, determined to ensure she took a break to eat and recharge.

-

When Y/n and Kung Lao entered the bustling dining hall, they were greeted by the welcoming smiles and enthusiastic waves of their Earthrealm friends, the Earthrealm gang. A long table could accommodate six people, and their friends sat in pairs: Liu Kang next to Johnny and Kenshi, and Raiden seated across from them.

Kung Lao frowned at the seating arrangement but remained silent as Y/n took her place between them, ensuring a buffer to prevent any potential disputes. The atmosphere was somewhat strained, with Johnny and Kenshi locked in a lively debate about Johnny's new Mortal Kombat movie concept, and Liu Kang engrossed in reading a scroll, likely containing information regarding the Royal family of Outworld. Raiden contemplated breaking the silence with a conversation but was preempted by Liu Kang, who directed his question to Y/n.

“So Y/n, is there any progress on the cure?” Liu Kang asked, putting down his scroll. The whole table went quiet so that they could listen to what she had to say. Y/n’s face lit up upon the question and had proudly claimed that she was 90% sure that she had found the location of the plant. Johnny laughed at the younger female and asked about the 10% left. 

“The 10% is when I actually find the plant. The location is all based on theories so I probably shouldn’t get my hopes up yet…”She trailed off. Liu Kang nodded, while trying to think about her plan of finding the plant.

"When will you embark on this mission? Keep in mind, lives are hanging in the balance, so we require swift action," he reminded. Y/n retrieved a small notebook from her pocket and began to elucidate the riddle she had unearthed in the pages of an explorer's historical journal.

"To uncover the answer, here's your sole boon; Solve the enigma under the full moon," she proclaimed.

Johnny inquired, "Clearly, the puzzle must be solved during a full moon. When is the next one?"

"Fortunately, it graces the night sky tomorrow. May I seek permission to undertake the mission then?" Y/n asked. The lord nodded with a proud smile and inquired if anyone would accompany Y/n to provide support. Johnny and Kenshi promptly declined, claiming they were occupied with their own matters. Kung Lao had said that he was about to train his new initiate, Shujinko. Everyone looked at Raiden, expecting to hear his answer. Raiden didn’t want to go, but he also didn’t want to leave Y/n alone so he agreed reluctantly.  

“Great! Raiden, we’ll leave at sunrise tomorrow,” Y/n said. She was pleased with Raiden's decision and expressed her gratitude, mentioning that they would leave at sunrise the following day. However, her smile waned when she saw Raiden abruptly stand and leave the dining hall with only a disinterested remark. 

“Yeah, whatever,” was the only thing he said before walking out of the dining hall. The table was left in perplexed silence, exchanging questioning glances, trying to fathom the sudden change in Raiden's demeanour.

“Wow, he is much more emo than my 2013 Tumblr phase,” Johnny commented but no one got his joke. Johnny groaned before going back to his conversation with Kenshi. As Liu Kang left for an urgent matter, Y/n and Kung Lao were left alone at the table. Y/n's expression revealed her confusion, while Kung Lao grappled with a growing sense of guilt. He couldn't help but think that his and Raiden's friendship would never be the same again.

Kung Lao voiced his concern, questioning Y/n's decision to go on the mission with Raiden. He suggested that she wait until Shujinko's training was complete. He held her hand, nervously rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. Y/n reassured him, insisting that she needed to retrieve the cure as soon as possible, as lives were at stake and the next full moon won’t be anytime soon.. Kung Lao sighed, knowing that her determination was unwavering, and reluctantly agreed to her decision.

As they turned their attention back to Johnny and Kenshi, Kung Lao couldn't shake the underlying feeling of unease. He subtly observed Y/n, silently praying for her safety, and hoping that the gods would watch over her on their journey.

#mortal kombat 1 2023 #mk raiden #mk 1 #mortal kombat x reader #raiden x reader #mk raiden x reader

[fengxun]

OF REBIRTH AND SOLACE – UKITAKE JUSHIRO X READER

He shares your pain and you share his, intertwining your souls in a way even the gods could not break. You are his just as much as he is yours.

TAGS.⠀gender-neutral reader; married life, fluff and hurt/comfort, light angst, vv self-indulgent. SFW. ~900 words

A/N.⠀he could fix me but he would want us to do it together. this is just a huge excuse for me to be sappy

CROSS-POSTED ON AO3

When you love, you love ardently. A part of your soul becomes intertwined with theirs just as they crawl into your veins and seek a home in your heart. Body, mind and soul, Ukitake Jushiro is yours, and you’ll do anything you can to keep it that way.

How could you not, when he looks at you as though you’re the one who hung all the stars in the night sky with your own hands? He looks at you like you’re the one who brings sunshine after the rain. He worships you like the only religion he’s known in his entire life is you, the one he’d so willingly given his whole being to. He holds your hands and kisses them knowing what they are capable of, what they have done. He’d give you the world if you asked, even if you don’t believe you are deserving of it.

Your name carries weight in Soul Society as a disgraced noble with blood on your hands. They don’t know you as a victim; to them, you are the offspring of a sinner on the prowl, a monster borne of evil and recklessness. The people’s sentiments are not unknown to you. Words like daggers pierce through your skin and threaten your very core time and time again, but you do not fight back. You bear the burden of your father’s blood, the result of his anger and hatred for the world.

You don’t believe there to be honour in your existence, but you continue to live. Hundreds of years have given you all the time you needed to build yourself back up again, salvaging the parts of you that were broken by those you once trusted. Even now, you’re still learning to love, to accept the love you’re given, to trust once more, and to have pride in your life again. You may be your father’s child, but you are not him. 

“My love,” Jushiro calls to you, his voice snapping you out of your daze. The scent of jasmine and green tea envelops you with comfort as he wraps his arms around your waist and presses a chaste kiss to your temple. In response, your lips curl into a small smile and you feel heat rush to your cheeks, your heart beating hard against your chest. “What’s on your mind?” 

You sigh quietly. You haven’t quite learned how to bring yourself to tell someone what you’re thinking or how you’re feeling yet. Vulnerability has never been your strong suit. A strict, disciplinary upbringing and the need to be respected—feared—set you a few steps back. In your entire life, you’ve grown most accustomed to either letting your actions speak for themselves or simply holding them back. But then comes your husband, the very personification of warmth himself, making you feel so safe and cared for that you’ll gladly give him a piece of your heart.

“The same things,” you murmur. To some, it’s vague and cryptic, but between the two of you, it’s progress. “I promise it’s nothing to worry about, Jushiro. It’s all good thoughts.”

He smiles softly. “About us?”

“About us and what my life has been since I met you.” Your words are slow, cautious, like you’re still processing them yourself. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this content in my life. It’s like I’m living the way I should be. With you.”

Jushiro gently turns you around to face him, cupping the side of your face with his hand and caressing your skin with his thumb like he always does. He’s fond of being close to you, having you in his arms or even being in yours. With you, he feels as though he’s in spring or summer, where the days are bright and lovely and always something to look forward to. He’s lived a very long time, loved and lost, felt the years pass by and weaken him little by little, but being with you makes him feel young again. It’s never too late, he thinks, and it certainly never is too late to start anew. 

“You make me the happiest man alive as well,” he says. The way he looks at you practically has you swooning, overflowing with nothing but love for him, and the reminder that this man loves all of you unconditionally is enough to bring tears to your eyes. He hushes you gently, leaving soft kisses on the crown of your head as he rubs soothing circles on your back. You hold on to him like a lifeline, listening to his heartbeat with your cheek pressed against his chest that lulls you into tranquillity. 

You love it here. You love being with him, and you love that he’s patient with you. You love that he’s so understanding and compassionate, that he never pressures you to open up to him. He shares your pain and you share his, intertwining your souls in a way even the gods could not break. You are his just as much as he is yours.

“I love you.”

The vow slips past your lips with much more ease compared to the first time you said it years ago. Your hand comes up to tuck his hair behind his ear, running your fingers through his silky smooth strands before he laces your fingers together, the warmth of his skin passing on to yours. The smile he gives you in return is more than you could ever ask for. As bright as the sun, as lovely as the spring. He leans down to kiss you, a promise of his own. 

“I love you too.”

#bitchcraftinc #my writing #bleach x reader #ukitake jushiro x reader #ukitake x reader #ukitake jushiro #bleach fluff #ukitake jushiro fluff #all

[byzantine-nectarine]

From an ancient homily for Holy Saturday:

The Lord's Descent Into The Underworld (attributed to Saint Epiphanius of Salamis) Something strange is happening - there is a great silence on earth today, a great silence and stillness. The whole earth keeps silence because the King is asleep. The earth trembled and is still because God has fallen asleep in the flesh and He has raised up all who have slept ever since the world began. God has died in the flesh and Hell trembles with fear. He has gone to search for our first parent, as for a lost sheep. Greatly desiring to visit those who live in darkness and in the shadow of death, He has gone to free from sorrow the captives Adam and Eve, He who is both God and the Son of Eve. The Lord approached them bearing the Cross, the weapon that had won Him the victory. At the sight of Him Adam, the first man He had created, struck his breast in terror and cried out to everyone, “My Lord be with you all.” Christ answered him, “And with your spirit.” He took him by the hand and raised him up, saying, “Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will give you light. “I am your God, who for your sake have become your son. Out of love for you and for your descendants I now by My own authority command all who are held in bondage to come forth, all who are in darkness to be enlightened, all who are sleeping to arise. I order you, O sleeper, to awake. I did not create you to be held a prisoner in Hell. Rise from the dead, for I am the Life of the dead. Rise up, work of My hands, you who were created in My image. Rise, let us leave this place, for you are in Me and I am in you; together we form only one person and we cannot be separated. “For your sake I, your God, became your son; I, the Lord, took the form of a slave; I, whose home is above the heavens, descended to the earth and beneath the earth. For your sake, for the sake of man, I became like a man without help, free among the dead. For the sake of you, who left a garden, I was betrayed to the Jews in a garden, and I was crucified in a garden. “See on my face the spittle I received in order to restore to you the life I once breathed into you. See there the marks of the blows I received in order to refashion your warped nature in My image. On My back see the marks of the scourging I endured to remove the burden of sin that weighs upon your back. See My hands, nailed firmly to a tree, for you who once wickedly stretched out your hand to a tree. “I slept on the Cross and a sword pierced My side for you who slept in Paradise and brought forth Eve from your side. My side has healed the pain in yours. My sleep will rouse you from your sleep in Hell. The sword that pierced Me has sheathed the sword that was turned against you. “Rise, let us leave this place. The enemy led you out of the earthly Paradise. I will not restore you to that Paradise, but I will enthrone you in Heaven. I forbade you the tree that was only a symbol of life, but see, I who am Life itself am now one with you. I appointed cherubim to guard you as slaves are guarded, but now I make them worship you as God. The throne formed by cherubim awaits you, its bearers swift and eager. The Bridal Chamber is adorned, the banquet is ready, the eternal dwelling places are prepared, the treasure houses of all good things lie open. The Kingdom of Heaven has been prepared for you from all eternity."

#eastern orthodoxy #eastern orthodox #anglican #anglicanism #catholic #roman catholic #christian #jesus christ #easter #holy week #orthodox christianity

[queenlucythevaliant]

🪆would love one featuring Russian thoughts on God! ✝️

SO. I could have sworn that I've posted "Avvakum in Pustozyorsk" on this blog before, but I can't seem to find it so here it is.

(For context, this is written in the voice of a 17th century Russian Orthodox priest and religious dissident (an "Old Believer"). Avvakum was sent to the military outpost of Pustozyorsk where he was imprisoned four fourteen years, then eventually burned at the stake. It uses this historical voice to reflect on the religious persecution of the Soviet era. Also, it's fairly long, so I've highlighted my favorite stanzas.)

Avvakum in Pustozyorsk The walls of my church are the ribs round my heart; it seems life and I are soon bound to part. My cross now rises, traced with two fingers. In Pustozyorsk it blazes; its blaze will linger. I’m glorified everywhere, vilified, branded; I have already become the stuff of legend: I was, people say, full of anger and spite; I suffered, I died for the ancient rite. But this popular verdict is ugly nonsense; I hear and reject the implied censure. A rite is nothing – neither wrong nor right; a rite is a trifle in God’s sight. But they attacked our faith and the ways of the past, in all we’d learned as children, and taken to heart. In their holy garments, in their grand hats, with a cold crucifix in their cold hands, in thrall to a terror clutching their souls, they drag us to jails and herd us to scaffolds. We don’t debate doctrine, of books and their age; we don’t debate virtues of fetters and chains. Our dispute is of freedom, and the right to breathe – about our Lord’s will to bind as he please. The healers of souls chastised our bodies; while they schemed and plotted, we ran to the forests. Despite their decrees, we hurled our words out of the lion’s mouth and into the world. We called for vengeance against their sins along with the Lord; we sang poems and hymns. The words of the Lord were claps of thunder. The Church endures; it will never go under. And I, unyielding, reading the Psalter, was brought to the gates of the Andronikov Monastery. I was young; I endured every pain: hunger, beatings, interrogations. A winged angel shut the eyes of the guard, brought me cabbage soup and a hunk of bread. I crossed the threshold – and I walked free. Embracing my exile, I walked to the East. I held services by the Amur River, where I barely survived the winds and blizzards. They branded my cheeks with brands of frost; by a mountain stream they tore out my nostrils. But the path to the Lord goes from jail to jail; the path to the Lord never changes. And all too few, since Jesus’s days, have proved able to bear God’s all-seeing gaze. Nastasia, Nastasia, do not despair; true joy often wears a garment of tears. Whatever temptations may beat in your heart, whatever torments may rip you apart, walk on in peace through a thousand troubles and fear not the snake that bites at your ankles – though not from Eden has this snake crawled; it is an envoy of evil from Satan’s world. Here, birdsong is unknown; here one learns patience and the wisdom of stone. I have seen no colour except lingonberry in fourteen years spent as a prisoner. But this is not madness, nor a waking dream; it is my soul’s fortress, its will and freedom. And now they are leading me far away and in fetters; my yoke is easy, my burden grows lighter. My track is swept clean dusted with silver; I’m climbing to heaven on wings of fire. Through cold and hunger, through grief and fear, towards God, like a dove, I rise from the pyre. O far-away Russia – I give you my vow to return from the sky, forgiving my foes. May I be reviled, and burned at the stake; may my ashes be cast on the mountain wind. There is no fate sweeter, no better end, than to knock, as ash, at the human heart.

--Varlam Shalamov

#i know this is way longer than most of what i've been sharing #i thought about putting a cut somewhere but i just couldn't think where #you can't cut this. i mean right?? #so yeah. hopefully you're okay with long #i've got a whole bunch of great Russian poems about God and the church #but this is consistantly the one that hits me hardest #and it hits me a little differently each time #i have seen no color but lingonberry (blood) in 14 years #and i am preparing to die #but i want to forgive my foes #i want to go joyfully #and i want to knock as ash on the human heart. i want my life to be a witness #and i wish there was a way to tell him that it is #the bit about God's will to bind as he pleases and the linking of that with human freedom... surprisingly reformed for an Orthodox priest #idk #i adore this poem #i have a couple stanzas done in calligraphy and hanging up in my closet #so even though it's long i hope this poem was to your liking friend #russia where are you flying to? #ask me hard questions

[dramarants]

trying to come to terms with the bewildering final 10 minutes of tteotm:

first and foremost, undeniably, the technical and narrative execution this ep was choppy, weirdly paced, ambiguous (not in a cool OE way, just literally hard to follow - how are we in the tomb, why is she back in devil bride attire, where did the scale in the last shots come from, why did qingyu's fucking hair need to turn blond, pang yizhi what did you finally understand cuz I sure as hell don't??) and left a lot of loose threads. with all the build up to his sacrifice, you want some sort of twist or surprise but nothing comes. the ending is so abrupt and this is always and forever gonna leave a bitter taste in my mouth.

the last eps especially emphasized legacy and, with li susu returning as a goddess, I must assume the immortal realm learned the truth about ttj's sacrifices and believed it. ttj gets his roses.

I'm gonna pretend ttj explained the zhaoyou situation to her too

in fact if we're in imaginary land jiwu grew the fuck up and, upon realizing the depth of ttj's friendship in spite of everything, becomes riddled in guilt for a while and fiercely protects ttj's memory

a child!! literally how to carry a legacy and memories into future generations

ttj's destiny was to suffer and resent the world + give up his body and soul to carry out the devil god's will

instead, he embraced the light, learned to cherish the world, bore other's resentment in his final trial (strength that I sure as hell don't have! even saving jiwu from himself!) he remained in control of himself, choosing to sacrifice his body to stop the devil god's plans

the love was there and for once, to break a cycle of pain and sin, overcome the consequences in the mortal world, for ttj and lss, it was fucking enough!

by destroying the evil bone in his final moments he prevents the devil god from ever returning, truly the world's savior

his death was mostly on his own terms, with purpose he didn't have before

saving a part of his divine essence in the scale to continue to protect susu was a full circle moment

in fact ttj embodies mingye in a ridiculous number of ways by the end, from his actions to his values down to his clothes, yet another way to stick it to the devil god fate

he looks at peace in his last shot during the battle and in the scale

they had to cut scenes and therefore couldn't elaborate on the post all-in-distress world

or dedicate the 30s it takes to show him regrow from the scale or something lbfad style 🤧

it seems like he could hear susu when she was speaking to the kid? so he can follow his wife and daughter's lives knowing he's loved and respected until his return that I am headcanoning??

by being in the scale, he keeps his promise to stay by her side forever and accompany her in moving forward through parenthood and the ordinary life he dreamed of

in fact ttj never has to defend himself or put up with bs again, his fight is over and he gets to watch a harmonious world that he and susu made possible

susu my girl, having faith in him and understanding everything immediately and wishing to meet him again

bearing the cross of the only living god and continuing, again, their legacy, protecting their love and the world

she was ready to die with him!! like!! fuck till death do us part I'll share your burden let's embrace and face the end together!! a sparkle bathed version of ttj trying to die with her in ep 29!!

nothing can come between them anymore they fricking ensured that

plus them in the heavenly realm, the only two gods existing, removed from the world and basking in that moment where the devil god no longer exists and it isn't a dream 😭

the tomb scene was so heartbreaking in the good way

these characters have been on such an incredible, unhinged journey and looking back, there's so much more to unpack and appreciate

ugh it's not a bad ending cuz it's sad, I mean how many of us predicted he'd die for the greater good a long time back, it's just the way it ultimately played out was... somehow disappointing

but you know what I enjoyed the path here so much and can imagine their path ahead enough to forgive it and continue loving tantai jin and li susu and tteotm overall anyway

#I wasn't gonna post this and just brain dump maybe share any nuggets ppl might feel but fuck it all I'm ready to flip tables #it's all one post and we all have feelings who fucking cares #I'll be camping in the tteotm tag for closure for many weeks to come #till the end of the moon #spoilers #ranting

[elisalon]

Poem to the Narcissistic Ex

My heart feels shredded and shredded again,

seems like there is nothing left but the bloody mud of its remains

I wonder - should I put it in a mold and bake it?

Eat it and hope by devouring it, it might grow back again in the ripped open cage of my body?

Or shall I put it in the freezer and suck it like a lollypop once it is frozen?

I still have hope…

Maybe I won't lose myself completely

Though after all these years - I wonder what is left of me for real?

But once I mention my pain and fears - you raise your eyebrows and wrinkle your nose

as if my exposed weakness is a stench you can barely bear

And when I cry and beg you feel offended and injured

Me protecting my boundaries is the worst offense and crime one can commit against you

I wonder what kind of heart resides inside your body - or has it been ripped out too?

Long ago and there is just that hollow cave left haunted by the ghost of your humanity?

Or has it turned into stone for real?

Must be a heavy burden

But maybe that is why what you call kindness and charity weighs so heavy on my chest

I can barely breathe?

Maybe that is why I feel what you call love feels like a stone tied to my leg and - help God - I can barely stay above the water?

But well - you talk of love and sacrifice and solidarity

But have no second thoughts nailing anyone to the cross or bed - well knowing

They can never rise from the dead - no matter how many days they are given.

Dressed up selfishness posing as good will to gain my trust

A fake smile of well calculated friendliness to show the world

that your intentions are the purest shade of white

But my pain becomes words and my words become a weapon, my voice becomes my armor

and if I can not move or change you,

at least I know my core is safe from you

The spell is broken

Your pattern has no hold and is blown away

And I still stand here - whole, lovable.

At least my humanity is restored.

#poemtoanarcissticex #narcissistic #narcissistic abuse #original poem #narcissistic trauma

[sins-of-the-dragon]

Catharsis: Nightmare Fading - Short DA2 Fic (Reader Comfort) 1,642 Words

This is a re-imagining of a short fic piece I wrote for BG3. It's not really a fic story as much as it is a way to cope with traumatic memories through the medium of fiction and reframing memories/reality into something less painful. It's written in second person (you/your) with a non-descript gender neutral reader character. So this is your CONTENT WARNING - There is discussion of a traumatic incident. It is vague, there are no details of anything happening besides it being an incident with one or more people involved. The premise, in short, is that the characters of Dragon Age 2 have found a way to our world through The Fade and are turning up at the moment the reader needs them most. The hurt is vague but the comfort is the focus, with a view of "what would the characters say and do in this situation".

The original piece, Catharsis: Rewriting History (based on the characters from Baldur's Gate 3) is on AO3 here and has a very similar premise and vibe to it. This one isn't on AO3 yet, I'm still deciding whether I make a pseud for my account to write more Dragon Age or if I stick to may main fandom fics for now and just post a few odd DA musings here with a minific or two. Let me know, really, if you'd like more of my DA works~

Anyway, full fic below the cut. --- ---

Catharsis: Nightmare Fading It wasn’t fair. Life never was, perhaps, that you would come to know experiences like this. Pain you wished you couldn’t imagine - in your body or your soul, you couldn’t even tell. Perhaps it was both, your entire consciousness dissolving beyond physical and emotional agony to just focus on one thing and one thing alone. Live.

The air shimmered and crackled behind you, but with everything in front of you your mind was already seeking an escape from reality. You didn’t notice a thing until there was a short and muscular man carrying an impossibly large crossbow standing in front of you. “Sorry I’m not good at this kind of thing. But I’m here, and so are the rest of them. We can talk later.” He glanced back, the soft hint of a smile crossing his features before he turned back to the source of your pain. 

You blinked, unsure of what you’d seen, when you felt strong arms scoop you up, holding you tight against a broad chest. “Sorry I’m late, it’s not easy to navigate the Fade to cross worlds.” 

“They don’t need to worry about all that right now - are they alright?” A feminine voice this time. Chancing a glance at their faces, you saw they had to be related, maybe even twins. Even the red stripe of what you hoped was makeup across the bridge of their noses matched - they really were like two versions of the same person.

A woman in heavy armour stepped past the three of you, her face kind but hardened, ginger hair tied back in a neat but loose braid falling over her shoulder. “They will be.” She addressed you directly next, voice softening. “This won’t make sense right now, but someday it will. You can trust us, and don’t let anyone tell you to turn the page before you’re ready.” The woman turned away again, gripping her sword more tightly and striding forwards. 

Before you could gain your bearings again, you felt a wave of energy wash through you. Cooling, soothing, your body felt…better than it had in a very long time. “There you are.” A new voice, light and almost musical but with the edge of a weight behind it that told you he carried burdens of his own. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve…we should’ve been here.”

“We are here, or have you taken leave of the last of your senses in the Fade?” A gruffer voice spoke up, both men coming into view now. Something about them was familiar, tugging at your heart, pulling threads of memories that had yet to form. They looked at each other with animosity, but when they turned back to you… “Venhedis… You need to leave. What comes next is not for you to witness.” The tanned man was covered in lines of white tattoos that were beginning to faintly glow blue.

“Perhaps mercy might be an option?” The one holding you spoke again, but his words spurred a simple and wordless response. You shook your head. He squeezed you just slightly in his embrace as he acknowledged your decision. “Maybe not then. They’ve made their choice.”

You almost recoiled as the sharp edges of the tattooed man’s gauntlet reached towards you, but the pained look in his eyes mirrored your own. Perhaps if roles were reversed… The metal was cold, but his touch against your cheek was surprisingly gentle. “I will be back for you, when it’s over.” With that, he turned to leave, the light emanating from his tattoos glowing even through his armour. 

“You never deserved this. Not a single moment.” The other man who had been beside the tattooed warrior bent towards you, long blonde hair almost completely veiling your vision for a moment as he kissed your forehead. “I can’t promise you peace…” His voice seemed to change, taking on a slightly different tone as a subtle lightning crackled around his eyes. “But I can promise you Justice.” 

As he turned to leave, sparks playing around his fingertips with his raised hand, the man holding you turned too. The woman with you gestured towards a shimmering hole in reality, a green tinted world beyond, and a man in white armour with vivid red hair and bright blue eyes standing beside it. “It’s time to leave.”

You leaned more against the one carrying you, his ‘twin’ staying close and occasionally putting a hand on your shoulder. Risking a glance at the strange world around you, there were two women standing nearby waiting for your arrival. “Telanadas, ma vhenan. Come, with us.” The tattoos across her face were almost as endearing as her smile as she began to lead the way.

“Maybe you should leave the navigation to someone with a better compass.” The other woman turned her by the shoulders to face another pass. “Would you two mind being a bit quicker? This place is creepy…” 

—

A short time later you were in an unfamiliar room, a fireplace heating the area and lighting it with a welcoming glow. It was clearly a part of some large mansion, and though you’d never seen it before, there was something about it that felt like…home. The group with you sat you down on a large plush couch near the hearth, giving you a steaming mug of something that tasted smooth and soothing. They were a strange group. By the time the others joined. They told you stories - ones that you wouldn’t remember, but each word drove back the dark shadows trying to crowd into your mind. Softened the edges of the memories already trying to claw at you every time you blinked… 

Listening to them, watching them together, it was hard to understand what brought them all to the same place, the same cause. But the pair sat either side of you seemed like the common thread…or was it you? The shorter blonde man, who kept his crossbow close even while relaxing, was the best storyteller by far - if you were to rank them. He spoke of worlds, people, things you could hardly imagine. He also had a good many jokes, humour and wit shared by several of the others in the room. It felt like you knew them, their past, present, and futures all blending in your mind but never quite clear - it was like an impressionist painting, a mosaic half faded… The other blonde talked about cats a lot. You could almost imagine him with little cat ears on his head, but every now and then his voice sounded more serious as he spoke with you. More sincere as he asked deeper questions, a little blue lightning sparking in the depths of his eyes when he tried to comfort you with talk of what was right and just. There was little justice in the reality you left, but here…here you could almost believe him when he said he would move the stars in the sky to change your world if he could. 

Despite their arguing before, the white haired man with the tattoos over his body agreed on that point alone. His support held an anger to it, a ferocity that would have scared you had it not been abundantly clear that he meant it all to be protective. Not exactly the knight in shining armour that the fairy tales spoke of, but he understood…he had seen…he was not without sympathy for your tears. Even if his solutions leaned towards the violent. 

The dark haired woman with the tattoos on her face brought you some food, things you’d never tasted before, sweet and comforting. Every time you thanked her she almost glowed at the praise, her demeanour nothing short of adorable. When she asked if she could hug you, you worried for a moment that she might never let go as her grip was so tight and warm around you. One of the other women chided her though, reminding her to let you breathe.

All of their names escaped you, as if there were a layer between you that you couldn’t quite break down, but it didn’t seem to matter. While one told you tales of a wild and exciting life at sea, another told you of her dreams to settle down peacefully with someone she loved. The red haired man with his piercing blue eyes seemed most unsure of himself, but he was clear that no matter what path you chose to walk he would support it. 

For those hours, everything melted away. Fear, pain, every darkness of the world you left was chased away by the light around you, the warmth that closed in around you like a blanket. The last thing you heard before sleep claimed you was two voices speaking almost as one person. 

“Someday you’ll be making a lot of hard decisions for us…for me… They’re too hard for me to make alone, and Maker knows I’d rather not have to choose some of them at all. But I know…I know you will guide me in the best way you know how. That you will tell my story, and my companions’ too, that none of us will be alone with you watching over us. So, until you meet us all again, that’s what we will do for you.” 

Even their faces were blurring together as one in your mind, the slight pressure of their arms around you from either side melding into the feeling of the tangled sheets and blankets of your bed as the last of their words faded into a soft echo. 

“When the shadows are dark and the nights are long, we will be your light.” “When the fear from the past comes to claim you, we will fight it.” 

“When all hope seems to be out of reach, we will help you find it.” “Better days will come. Hold on, you’re not alone.”

— --- ENDING NOTES --- --- This one goes out to everyone who can in any way relate. We can try to reframe our memories into something less painful, to bring our minds back from the edge of a spiral or flashback in whatever ways work for us. Please always remember, loves, that you have survived all of your worst days up to now. Get through one moment at a time if you need to, and things will get better again. And even whilst they are awful in the moment, Hawke was right: You're not alone.

#therapy through fiction #fanfic #Dragon Age #Dragon Age 2 #Dragon Age FanFiction #dragon age fanfic #coping with fiction #ptsd recovery #never alone #we are stronger with the love and support of our friends even if it's just through fandom

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Forgive me

AU in which WangXian got together before the war.

Song inspiration: Perdon - Camila

It's a two page letter that Jin Guangyao finds among the Yiling Patriarch's scribbles about demonic cultivation that he intends to gift to Xue Yang. It's full of crossed out words and sentences, more mess than writing, and it is not addressed to anyone or signed at all.

It seems to be something personal, and Jin Guangyao feels like it is a sign of respect for a dead man not to read it.

He does it anyway.

My dearly loved,

I know you'll never read this. I'll never send it to you and you'll never receive it, but if I don't at least pretend I've told you these things, I'll die with the only regret I have, the only thing that will never let me rest in peace.

I love you and I'm sorry and I lied. I lied when I told you that I don't love you anymore, that I never did, that you didn't mean anything to me. I lied when I told you it was just fun and I've moved on. I lied when I told you I hate you touching me.

I lied and I hated every single moment of it, I hated how broken you looked and how you accepted everything I said like you deserved it. My love, you didn't deserve any of that, and I never meant any of those vile, untrue things. I love you so much it hurts, and it's the only pain I'm happy to endure.

But I had to make you hate me somehow. Because if I didn't, you would have left your family and your sect and everything you've ever know to come stay by my side and defend me and the Wens and they would have all hunted you down just like they do to me.

I couldn't have let this happen. I love you too much to drag you down here with me. Heartbreak is a better fate than death, though I know it hurts almost just as much. And believe me, I am hurting too. Every day it hurts more, and I have nobody to reach for the comfort you used to bring me.

Wen Qing said I should have asked you to stay, despite everything. She said you would have forgiven me. She said you looked like you were wanting me to ask you to stay. But I didn't. And she's dead now.

It wouldn't have been fair. Because I would have had to tell you about everything, about why I'm no longer carrying my sword and cultivating the righteous path, about why I've defected and what happened before I returned from the Burial Mounds... and that would have not been your burden to bear. You're better off not knowing. You're better off just thinking I'm fickle and cruel and a liar, just like everyone else.

I love you. I wish I told it to you more, I wish I'd showed it to you more often. I wish I had all the rest of my life to spend with you and make our late night plans for the future into reality. I wish I could have married you and had a family with you.

When that bastard Wen Chao threw me down here, this was sometimes my only reason to keep fighting, the thought that you were waiting for me and that you'd always wonder what happened to me and why I disappeared.

But I eventually realized that being around me would have only put you in danger and I had to push you away. Maybe it was selfish of me to do this, maybe I should have let you make your own choices. But if I had, you would be here with me right now, waiting to die. You need to live, my love, and be the light this wretched world needs. And you deserve to love and be loved again.

I know it's cowardly of me to ask you in a letter, but please, forgive me.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #writing attempts

[catenaaurea]

Something strange is happening – there is a great silence on earth today, a great silence and stillness. The whole earth keeps silence because the King is asleep. The earth trembled and is still because God has fallen asleep in the flesh and he has raised up all who have slept ever since the world began. God has died in the flesh and hell trembles with fear.

He has gone to search for our first parent, as for a lost sheep. Greatly desiring to visit those who live in darkness and in the shadow of death, he has gone to free from sorrow the captives Adam and Eve, he who is both God and the son of Eve. The Lord approached them bearing the cross, the weapon that had won him the victory. At the sight of him Adam, the first man he had created, struck his breast in terror and cried out to everyone: “My Lord be with you all.” Christ answered him: “And with your spirit.” He took him by the hand and raised him up, saying: “Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will give you light.”

I am your God, who for your sake have become your son. Out of love for you and for your descendants I now by my own authority command all who are held in bondage to come forth, all who are in darkness to be enlightened, all who are sleeping to arise. I order you, O sleeper, to awake. I did not create you to be held a prisoner in hell. Rise from the dead, for I am the life of the dead. Rise up, work of my hands, you who were created in my image. Rise, let us leave this place, for you are in me and I am in you; together we form only one person and we cannot be separated. For your sake I, your God, became your son; I, the Lord, took the form of a slave; I, whose home is above the heavens, descended to the earth and beneath the earth. For your sake, for the sake of man, I became like a man without help, free among the dead. For the sake of you, who left a garden, I was betrayed to the Jews in a garden, and I was crucified in a garden.

See on my face the spittle I received in order to restore to you the life I once breathed into you. See there the marks of the blows I received in order to refashion your warped nature in my image. On my back see the marks of the scourging I endured to remove the burden of sin that weighs upon your back. See my hands, nailed firmly to a tree, for you who once wickedly stretched out your hand to a tree.

I slept on the cross and a sword pierced my side for you who slept in paradise and brought forth Eve from your side. My side has healed the pain in yours. My sleep will rouse you from your sleep in hell. The sword that pierced me has sheathed the sword that was turned against you.

Rise, let us leave this place. The enemy led you out of the earthly paradise. I will not restore you to that paradise, but I will enthrone you in heaven. I forbade you the tree that was only a symbol of life, but see, I who am life itself am now one with you. I appointed cherubim to guard you as slaves are guarded, but now I make them worship you as God. The throne formed by cherubim awaits you, its bearers swift and eager. The bridal chamber is adorned, the banquet is ready, the eternal dwelling places are prepared, the treasure houses of all good things lie open. The kingdom of heaven has been prepared for you from all eternity.

Ancient Homily for Holy Saturday

[on-these-scorched-pages]

His hand comes to rest against her cheek, his lips forming into a frown. 'She's so cold, already.' He thinks to himself.

Her body lay so still, her skin so pale in death. Devoid of any hint that would suggest just mere hours ago she was still breathing.

His eyes look over her face, the face he had come to love - he had allowed himself to love. Her dark auburn hair laid gently over her shoulders, her eyes closed as if she were sleeping. He had done the best he could to clean any blood from her; such a devine woman deserved to be taken care of, after all.

"Oh, my love," His voice is barely a whisper as he leans in to place a kiss to her temple. "My dearest Lucille."

He licks his lips, trying to find the words every fiber of his body has been yearning to tell her from the moment he first saw her in that pub.

"As I sit here with you, the moon casting its gentle glow upon your delicate form, I am filled with a love so profound, it transcends the very boundaries of my existence. My heart resonates with a passion that burns more fiercely than the fieriest of suns - for you. You, my beloved Lucille, you are the reason for my enduring existence, the only solace in my eternal night.

I remember the moment our paths first crossed clearer than any other day, the sweet scent of your blood, the vulnerability of your humanity. It was in that instant that my cold, undead heart thawed, and I was entranced by the warmth that radiated from your soul. In you, I have found a love so pure, it has eclipsed the centuries of darkness I had endured before you.

I have witnessed kingdoms rise and fall, seen the world change in ways unimaginable to most, but it is you, and only you, who has given my life meaning. You are the dawn after the longest of nights, the salvation to my damned existence. I would give up eternity, gladly embrace oblivion, just to see your smile, to hear your laughter, to hold you close for the rest of my eternal life.

I am aware of the path you now tread, the transition that binds us together, making you one of us. And yet, it breaks my heart, Lucille, to see you go through this. I would give anything to spare you the pain, but I cannot, for this is the price of my love, and the curse of my affection.

In this cruel twist of fate, my love, I am both your salvation and your tormentor. I love you more than life itself, but I cannot bear to see you suffer. I would trade my immortality to set you free, to let you live a normal life, bathed in the warmth of the sun, without the eternal thirst that will now consume you.

But I know, my love, that you have made your choice. You chose me, as I chose you, and together, we are bound by a love that defies the boundaries of time and death. I will stand by your side, even as the darkness within you grows. I will love you until the very end, my darling, and beyond. For you are everything holy to me, my eternal light in a world shrouded in shadows.

So, my dearest, know that my love for you is both a blessing and a curse, a gift and a burden, but it is the most profound truth of my existence. I love you with a passion that transcends the ages, and I will cherish every moment we have together, even as I dread the day when you will no longer be the light in my dark, immortal world."

#vampire lovers #original writing #original character

[lostangelofhavik]

Lost Angel of Havik

“Stay”

Produced by tunnA Beatz

Lyrics:

You calm my demons in a minute,

You ease the pain I had to live with,

Ooooooh you heal my deepest scars,

You, you, you,

Bring the light into my darkness,

You make me feel when I seem heartless,

Ooooooh I hide you in my bars,

Just to make you...

Stay....Stay...

To make you...

Stay....Stay...

I keep fighting the feeling, trynna get right with the healing,

When it’s dark, lights out, I confide in what I’ve written,

I’ma mess, but still out trynna hype like I’ma kill it,

When really deep inside, I could die at any minute,

Got the skill and all the passion in the world but,

Honestly, some days I could give two fucks,

And other days it feels like too much,

I guess I’ma basket case, maybe I should chuck the deuce up,

Real talk, I feel lost at sea,

And how could I pay the price if the cost is me,

I remember every lesson that was taught,

But it’s hard to believe when you’re workin’ just as hard to breathe,

I swear people think they get it but they don’t and try to criticize your every move,

But I’ve been on the loneliest road, totin’ everybody’s load, trynna stay true the code,

Yet they get in their feelings when you ain’t there,

Told’em I was drowning, and they told me that it ain’t fair,

So why try to take on burdens that I can’t bear,

And why care, the ones who say they love me seem scarce,

I’m just sick of trynna justify my thoughts and my fears,

And those that always question if it’s real,

How I feel is you can ghost Lay,

I’m not gunna kill myself just to make you stay...

Just to make you...

Stay....Stay...

To make you...

Stay....Stay...

Must’ve been brittle since the day we first met,

But it was always love and respect, and I will never regret,

But every now and again, I feel that pain in my chest, the way things got left,

How could it go so left,

I’m being forced into positions I don’t wanna be in,

And you keep standing on a side that I just can’t let win,

You said I threw you to the wolves, broke every rule of a friend,

And I just took it on the chin, cuz it wouldn’t make a difference,

See you were so indifferent to the conversation,

Couldn’t see past your own inclinations,

I tried to tell you not give into the blind hatred,

You get confronted now you claim that I’m betrayin’,

And the whole time I just don’t know what to say and,

Fingers gettin’ pointed, you don’t realize what you’re sayin’,

I guess I’m sorry for the way it ends,

But I won’t apologize for my integrity to make amends,

So let’s be clear, I know there won’t be a walk back,

I just wanna go on the record and talk facts,

Everybody’s got a limit, a line they don’t cross,

Anybody sayin’ different, they lyin’, that’s just false,

And over time I could see you were fighting the wrong cause,

Always takin’ the bait, always trying to find faults,

When I tried to speak up, you were dyin’ to be a martyr,

Forever the pariah, that’s what you always called it...

You calm my demons in a minute,

You ease the pain I had to live with,

Ooooooh you heal my deepest scars,

You, you, you,

Bring the light into my darkness,

You make me feel when I seem heartless,

Ooooooh I hide you in my bars,

Just to make you...

Stay....Stay...

To make you...

Stay....Stay...

#lostangelofhavik #laydup #hiphop #havikstatus #indieartist #havikmusic #dmvhiphop #flightfromnowhere #indie #Youtube

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

The Grand Tour - Chapter 1 (AO3)

'I want to show you everything'

'It was a lie. A beautiful, wistful lie, because there was nothing Cassian could do to make any of this okay. Nothing he could do to make her enjoy this life, the life that had been forced upon her. But this was not a night for hard truths and painful realities. As the blood dried under her nails and every snap and crack made her flinch, Nesta clung to Cassian as if he were a rock in the middle of a churning sea. Her strength when she had none, her hope when she was destitute. For tonight at least, she gripped his hand tightly and let him dream of better days.'

(Cassian dreamed of showing Nesta the world. Now he can. Multi-chapter fic; spin off of my two-part fic Just Give Me Tonight. Whilst it's not exactly necessary to read that first, there are some small references to it in this, so I would recommend)

Prologue

The din of battle faded. Blood still coated her hands, so thickly she didn’t think her skin would ever be clean again. She was standing in a war camp, completely at a loss, her arms hanging limply by her side. The weight of her grief was new, a burden she hadn’t yet found the strength to bear. She carried buckets when she was able, fetched water when she remembered how to use her legs. But the soldier’s fires were too much, and the screams of the injured echoed in her ears. She almost buckled under the strain of just being alive.

She would have wept, if she hadn’t been so empty inside. A chasm had opened within her, so deep and so vast she didn’t know how she’d ever cross it. She saw her father’s face, heard his voice, and knew that she’d never see it again, never hear him again—

“Nesta.” A hand clasped her forearm, another on the curve of her shoulder. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

“I have nowhere else to go,” she answered blandly. She didn’t know where her tent was. Didn’t know where Elain was. Feyre was busy, and everything was happening too fast for Nesta to comprehend. They had said their farewell to their father, and left that clearing, but Nesta had first been one step behind her sisters, then two, then three. Now she was alone, treading water in a sea that threatened to engulf her. She had no home anymore, no place in this world. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. She looked up into hazel eyes, bright sapphire-blue stones glowing before her. Azriel. He looked at her with sympathy, and she shook her head viciously. The one thing she could never abide was pity. “We went to the clearing to say goodbye to him,” she whispered, and it felt for all the world like a confession. “And now I don’t know what to do.”

Azriel cleared his throat and gave her arm a squeeze. He nodded, his eyes filled with a kind of empathy that Nesta was too tired and too hurt to try to understand or decode. “He’s asking for you,” he said softly. After a moment, he added, “Cassian,” as if Nesta could ever have been in any doubt. “He shouldn’t get up yet, but he’s tried it four times in the past fifteen minutes. I said I’d try and find you if he’d just stay still until I returned.”

Weapons still clanged around her, the sound of swords being dumped in piles to either be cleaned or repaired. Steel hissed as it was dunked in cold water, and rain began to fall, drumming on breastplates and gauntlets. She didn’t notice, only cringed at every noise, every snap and every crack. Her hands shook, and she nodded numbly at Azriel. She tried to remember how to move her legs, how to make her lungs work so that she could breathe. Azriel kept a hold of her, looking at her as if he was worried she was about to shatter. “Come,” he said softly. “I’ll take you to him.”

She didn’t have words, so she only nodded again and focused on keeping her feet beneath her. Cassian. Yes, Cassian was the one she needed. The one she’d been prepared to die for only an hour ago. She made her way with slow, torturous steps towards the healer’s tent, to find him. To find the one she needed more than anything.

***

“Nes,” Cassian said, with a voice like sandpaper. He reached out a hand for her, and Nesta had to hold back her sob as she saw him, saw the bandages covering every inch of his torso. She felt Azriel’s hand on the small of her back, propelling her forwards when she felt like she was about to collapse. She crashed to her knees by the cot bed, resting her forehead on its edge. Cassian lifted her chin with a bruised and battered hand. He looked over her shoulder and nodded at Azriel, and Nesta knew without having to turn that the shadowsinger had left. They weren’t alone; healers and several wounded were still in the tent, but it faded as Cassian searched her face, his eyes filling with tears.

“You’re alive,” Nesta said at last. His fingers curled around her chin, his thumb brushing along her jawline.

“So are you,” he said with a crooked smile. After a moment, his smile dropped. “I’m sorry, Nesta. For what happened.”

She shook her head, pushing down the grief that threatened to consume her. “It’s over now.”

“It’s not,” he said gently, his thumb still tracing patterns on her jaw. “I’ve been around a long time, Nes. Battle scars don’t vanish just because the war is over, not even for fae. It’s alright not be okay with any of this.” He winced as he twisted to face her more fully, and Nesta gripped his wrist, silently begging him to stay still, to heal.

After a minute, all she could say, was, “I don’t know where to go.”

She couldn’t seem to stop thinking it, stop saying it, because she didn’t. She really, truly, honestly, had no idea where to go from here. Azriel had brought her to Cassian, but what now? She didn’t know who she was now. She’d just severed the head of a king, his blood still stuck under her nails, and what did that make her? A murderer? A killer? How could she ever sit at a dining table with her sisters again, pretending to be civilised, when that king’s blood had flowed over her hands so thickly it had pooled in the crevices between her fingers? She looked down at her hands now, and she couldn’t tell if the blood there was hers, or Cassian’s, or the king’s. Cassian followed her gaze, and gripped his fingers in his own. Something in her calmed at the feel of his skin against hers, but still, there was so much blood, a stain she didn’t think could ever be removed.

“Here. Stay here,” Cassian said, an edge of pleading in his voice. He sniffed as he stroked the back of her fingers, not seeming to care that another man’s blood coated her like a second skin. “I meant it,” he whispered. “What I said to you after…” He trailed off. Nesta didn’t need him to say it, because she knew what he meant. He had meant to say, after your father died. After he sacrificed himself for you, and after I did, too. That was what he meant, but he said none of it, only, “The promise I made. I meant it.”

We’ll have that time, I promise.

She was about to say something - she didn’t know what, exactly - when a healer hurried over carrying a bottle and a damp cloth. “For the pain,” she explained, as she took a spoon from her apron and poured a thick grey substance from the bottle. Cassian grimaced, but swallowed obediently as the healer pulled out a smaller bottle from her apron pocket. She turned to Nesta.

“He needs to rest, love.” She upended the bottle onto the cloth, and Nesta was overwhelmed by the sharp, acidic smell that came from just a few drops of whatever was inside. Her nose wrinkled, and the healer looked at her as if to say, see? You shouldn’t be here. “I need to finish cleaning the surface wounds with antiseptic, and then he needs to sleep. You should leave.”

There was sympathy in her voice - in her eyes - but Nesta made no move to leave, and Cassian made no move to drop her hand. “She stays,” he said firmly. The healer started to protest, but he shook his head. “I’ll sleep. I’ll do whatever you tell me to. But she stays.”

The healer raised her eyes to the roof of the tent, as if praying to the Mother to save her from stubborn Illyrian warriors. She gave Nesta a quick glance but said no more, and Nesta said nothing either, only letting her fingers weave through Cassian’s, gripping them tight, like he was the only thing keeping her grounded. He smiled at her softly, even as he hissed when the antiseptic cleaned his smaller cuts. When it was done, the healer gave him another stern instruction to sleep before she left the tent entirely. Cassian moved over on the cot to make room for her, and when Nesta tried to refuse him - he needed it more, after all - he glared at her until she relented. When she was tucked into his side - very carefully not touching his chest, or anywhere else he was injured - she felt his lips press a kiss to her matted hair.

“As long as I live, you’ll always have a place to go,” Cassian swore. She felt her eyes brimming with tears, and couldn’t fight it as one slid slowly down her cheek. He brushed it away. “Always.”

She nodded, and reached up to kiss his cheek, not having the words or the capacity to tell him what it meant to her that he was offering her a safehaven when she had none, when everything she had ever known had been taken from her. All she could manage was, “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

His eyes grew heavy as the painkiller started to take effect, but he fought it, clinging to consciousness as if he couldn’t bear to close his eyes and lose sight of her just yet. “I need a holiday,” he muttered. “A long one.”

“I think we all do,” she said with a trembling laugh. He hummed his agreement into her hair.

“When this is all done,” he said, his voice becoming heavy and thick. “I’ll take you. All seven courts. We’ll see all of them.”

Nesta looked up at him, but his eyelids were already closed. “Why?” she whispered. “Why go to all that effort for me?”

“Because being fae isn’t always so bad, sweetheart. Let me prove it to you,” he muttered, sighing deeply as he pulled her closer. “I want to show you everything.” His eyes cracked open, and brilliant hazel flecked with gold stared down at her. He’d said those words to her before. Let me prove it to you. On a night where he’d been stranded in her father’s manor by a storm and he’d kissed her in the darkness. Nesta hadn’t believed him then. Ever since, she had raged against him, despised and detested him, and yet, somehow, he’d still been willing to sacrifice himself for her when it mattered. She’d still been more willing to die than live without him.

And because he was delirious, and because she was in a haze borne of pain and grief, she brushed her knuckles against his cheek and nodded. Distantly, she knew it would never happen. This conversation would be lost to both of them tomorrow, when the sun rose and Nesta remembered why she hated this life and everything about it, and Cassian’s medication wore off and he came to his senses. Even through her mournful fog, she knew that when the dust settled, she would be left alone once more. So she burrowed deeper into Cassian’s warmth, making the most of it whilst she had it, and said, “I’ll hold you to it, then”.

It was a lie. A beautiful, wistful lie, because there was nothing Cassian could do to make any of this okay. Nothing he could do to make her enjoy this life, the life that had been forced upon her. But this was not a night for hard truths and painful realities. As the blood dried under her nails and every snap and crack made her flinch, Nesta clung to Cassian as if he were a rock in the middle of a churning sea. Her strength when she had none, her hope when she was destitute. For tonight at least, she gripped his hand tightly and let him dream of better days.

Solstice Eve

Mother above, Cassian was tired.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to bed before midnight, or the last time he’d risen after dawn. His eyes burned whenever he closed them, but there was far too much to do to spend time resting. His bones felt heavy, like every step was too taxing, and whenever he lay down - like now - every nerve screamed at him to sleep, to rest, to stop thinking about war and rebellion for just five minutes and sleep.

But how could he? Dissension wasn’t just brewing in Illyria, it was boiling, and it was almost fever pitch. Rhys said he wanted them to have a few days off over Solstice, but how could Cassian relax, when every breath he took lately was laced with worry?

Soon, it wouldn’t be the blood of his enemies coating his hands. It would be the blood of his own people, people that rose against Rhys and the Night Court in armed rebellion. They called him Lord of Bloodshed or Prince of Bastards, but when Cassian suppressed this Illyrian rebellion, when their blood flowed thickly through the Steppes, what would they call him then? What epithet would they bestow on him when their brothers lay dead in the snow at Cassian’s hand? What hope could there be for reconciliation afterwards?

He let his eyes drift closed for half a moment, listening to Rhys prattle on about something entirely unrelated to the unrest in Illyria. It was ridiculous, he thought to himself. How could he relax, with a rebellion hanging over his head? It was Solstice, his most favourite holiday, and here he was, in a bed that could barely hold his weight, thinking of bloodshed and death instead of revelry and laughter. He had wanted to spend the next few days with his family. With Nesta, too. She was perhaps the only one who could calm him, who could drag his thoughts away from armed conflict, and Mother knows, he’d give anything to spend a day with her. She was the only thing in all seven courts that seemed to make sense to him these days, the only thing that eased his aching soul.

Thinking of her dulled the edge of his insatiable need to be doing something about this rebellion, but it didn’t stifle the urge completely. After all, how could he devote himself entirely to her when he had this to deal with?

It was unacceptable. He wanted to spend his days thinking of Nesta, of the feel of her skin under his hands, of the promises he’d made to her and not yet fulfilled. Instead, here he was thinking of Devlon in Windhaven and the barbed words they’d exchanged that morning. Utterly, utterly ridiculous, and the sooner this rebellion was over the better.

He tapped his foot anxiously against the foot of the tiny, narrow bed, as if it was an effort to keep still for more than five minutes. Rhys raised an eyebrow as Cassian cracked an eyebrow open.

“Really,” Cassian said, interrupting whatever Azriel had been saying about plans for dinner. “Illyria. What’s our plan?”

Rhys groaned, and Azriel sucked in a breath from the other side of the room. They had both neatly dodged Cassian’s attempts at planning their response to the latest crisis, and seemed content to change the subject whenever they got too close to actually doing something, making solid plans. Cassian frowned as his brothers shared a look he couldn’t decipher. The mattress beneath him groaned as he sat up straight. “What,” he demanded. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Azriel said, at the time time Rhys sighed, “Just leave it, Cass.”

The High Lord ran a hand through his raven hair, and Cassian frowned again.

“This can’t wait-“

“It can,” Azriel cut in. He crossed the room in a handful of steps and sat down on the bed beside Cassian’s. The wooden frame groaned— It would be a Solstice miracle if both beds were still standing by morning. “It can, and it will,” Azriel said firmly.

Cassian didn’t know how to do nothing. He’d never been good at taking a break, at just sitting by and letting things happen. It made him antsy, and he tapped his foot against the bed frame again. Rhys flicked his gaze up to Azriel, and there it was again— another indecipherable look. Cassian glared.

“What the fuck are you two up to?” he asked flatly. “You know something. I can tell.”

Rhys gave him a withering glance and tilted his head back, leaning it against the wall. “It’s nothing,” he insisted with another sigh. “But I need a break from all this.” He shifted his head to look at Cassian pointedly. “And so do you.”

“I’m fine,” Cassian scoffed. He reclined back against the pillows and folded his arms behind his head, letting his wings drape over the mattress.

Azriel snorted. It was a lie, and they all knew it. Cassian didn’t think any of them were fine, yet they carried on, day after day, maintaining the illusion. It was wearing him thin, fraying his temper to a dangerous, reckless, edge.

It had been months since the war and still, Cassian couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept the night through. This latest burden wasn’t helping any, and whenever he did manage to sleep lately, his dreams were plagued by visions of his own hands, stained with blood. He was a warrior, and spilling blood had never bothered him— not until now. Now it was his own people he’d slaughter. He’d killed Illyrians before - he’d killed all those that had harmed his mother, after all - but this was different somehow.

This time, there was a sickness in his stomach. Something unsettled him this time, and it was tearing apart his sanity. If Cassian really bothered to ask himself, if he really, truly, thought about it… he guessed he understood it. The Illyrians could be barbaric and violent and cruel, and they had broken him time and time again when he was a boy. But despite it all, they were his people still. They were sick of being on the Night Court front lines, dying for a High Lord who didn’t bother to hide his disdain of them. Sick of giving their lives for little return. Cassian didn’t agree with it, and he’d kill his own people in defence of Rhys, the brother that had given him everything— but it would break something within him when their lives were ended by his hand.

“You’re not fine,” Rhys insisted, leaning back against the wall and glaring. “None of us are, so can we just have this, please? Just a few days where we don’t think about it or mention it, where I can lie in bed for an hour - just one hour - with my mate and not feel fucking guilty.” Rhys exhaled heavily, as if he could already hear the protests rising to Cassian’s lips. “I don’t want to hear it, alright?”

The fervour of Rhys’ response left Cassian a little stunned, the objections he’d been about to voice fading. He’d give his brother this, this moment of peace, no matter how temporary. Cassian shrugged. “Alright, but—“

“No,” Rhys interrupted sharply. “No buts.”

“Solstice offers a respite. The rebels won’t be making their move for weeks yet. I suggest we take this time to regroup. We’re going to need every bit of strength we have soon enough,” Azriel commented darkly.

“Ever the optimist,” Cassian grumbled, letting his head drop flat against the pillows and closing his eyes. His body was begging him to relent, to have just fifteen minutes of rest.

“I’m realistic,” Azriel answered flatly. “You need to rest Cass. We all do, before we face this head on.”

“Like Az said, it will be weeks before this rebellion comes to a head. We have a list of suspects but nothing else. We can’t do anything yet,” Rhys interjected. “I don’t plan on spending these next few weeks waiting with bated breath.” He looked at Cassian and took a deep breath, as if he knew whatever he was about to say might well earn him a punch in the face. “Take a week or two off, Cass.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Cassian asked incredulously, pushing himself up and resting his weight on his palms.

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “You need it.”

“You need me here.”

“We will need you here, later. You can’t do anything right now,” Rhys said with a shrug. “So take some time off. If anything changes, I’ll call you back.”

“You have lost your mind. You’ve gone insane if you think I’m leaving—“

“Take Nesta,” Azriel cut in lightly. The rest of Cassian’s sentence was forgotten as he turned his head towards Azriel, so quickly his neck cracked. He winced, and he could have sworn he saw Rhys smirk.

“I— What?”

“Take Nesta. You promised to show her the courts, didn’t you? Here’s your chance.”

“Nesta…” Cassian began, letting his eyes drift closed at the feel of her name on his tongue. Nesta, like it was the answer to questions he’d never even thought to ask. Like his entire purpose all along had been to speak her name, to know intimately the woman that name belonged to. Five centuries he’d been alive, and every moment of it had been spent waiting for her— he just hadn’t known it. “She isn’t in the best place,” he finished warily.

That was another thing that plagued him. When he wasn’t consumed with anxiety over the rebels in Illyria, his heart was breaking because the woman he— the woman he cared about more than anything in the world was drowning, and he couldn’t save her. He couldn’t fix it, couldn’t take away the grief and trauma that haunted her. He could only lessen its impact, and pray to the Mother that it kept her head above water.

He had fitted her a shower after she confessed, in a broken and tormented voice, that she couldn’t face a bathtub filled with water. He tried hard to make sure she was never around crackling fires after she’d asked him once if he’d ever noticed that the logs sounded like snapping bones. He found a way to see her most days, turning up at her apartment with any excuse he could think of. She hadn’t once turned him away, even though sometimes she refused to see her sisters or anyone else. Only Cassian had never been shut out, so he saw her more regularly than anyone else. Knew her better than anyone else, too. He’d seen her just this morning, before going to Illyria, and there had been shadows under her eyes. Her skin had been so cold to the touch that he’d almost recoiled. Nesta not being in the best place was putting it lightly; she was grieving, and traumatised, and hurting so deeply that Cassian wanted to tear apart the world to fix it for her.

“She’s not,” Azriel agreed. “So I’d say she needs this even more than you do.”

Cassian opened his mouth, but no words came. Rhys hummed in agreement, and with a small, bitter kind of smirk, he said, “I think getting Nesta out of Velaris is a stellar idea.”

That only made Cassian glare at the brother he had loved and served for centuries. “Don’t,” he breathed. “Whatever it is that’s running through your head, whatever vitriol you’re thinking, stop it.”

“Vitriol?”

“I know how you feel about her. Stop it.” Cassian gave him a warning look, and Rhys rolled his eyes.

“Feyre went out of her way to invite her here tonight, and Nesta threw it back in—“

“Nesta knows what she can handle and what she can’t,” Cassian said firmly. “Leave her. If she comes tonight, then I swear to the Mother Rhys, you had better be the most charming bastard alive, because if you so much as glare at her once, there will be nothing left of you after the snowball fight tomorrow.”

As if in a menacing kind of confirmation, the siphon above his heart glowed.

Rhys looked slightly stunned, but he bowed his head in something like an apology. “Understood,” he said with a soft, bemused kind of smile. Cassian huffed a laugh at him, and dragged a hand through his hair.

“If she comes,” he said softly, “don’t ruin it.” He looked up at Rhys, a plea in his eyes. “Please don’t make her regret it.”

“Would I ever?”

“Yes,” Cassian answered flatly. His brother didn’t try to deny it, and Cassian huffed again. He groaned as he pushed his knuckles into his eyes. “Even with this rebellion to deal with, she’s all I think about. If she’s eating enough, or drinking enough water. If she’s warm enough, or if the windows in her apartment are letting in the rain again.” He took his hands away to stare at Rhys. “How the fuck did you cope?”

“I didn’t,” Rhys said with a laugh of his own. He patted Cassian’s ankle, and Cassian saw Azriel raise his eyes to the ceiling, exasperated.

“Do you not remember how nauseating he was with Feyre?” Azriel pointed at Rhys, grinning by the door. “I think you should get out of here just to spare me the fucking headache.”

“Always so supportive, Az,” Cassian said dryly. Azriel turned his head and gave him a sly smile.

“You know you always have my support,” he shrugged. “But that doesn’t change the facts.” His face softened. “I think some time away would do both you and Nesta the world of good.”

Cassian sighed, but said nothing. It was true that every moment he wasn’t thinking about Illyria, he was yearning for her. For her touch, for the kisses she dropped on his cheek, like the one in that healer’s tent. That night, he’d fallen asleep with her in his arms, and even through his agony, through the wounds that had almost killed him, he had felt whole in a way he’d lacked his entire life. He needed her, that was the essence of it. He needed her like he needed air.

But they weren’t together. No matter how much Cassian might wish it, they weren’t together. Even after what had happened in that healer’s tent, they hadn’t spoken of how he’d promised her the world. How he’d almost given his life for hers, and essentially confessed his love for her in the process. They hadn’t said a word about how Nesta had decided to die rather than live without him, either. And yet… They weren’t exactly not together either. It had been Cassian who helped Nesta move into her new apartment. The place was halfway to ruin already, and Feyre and Rhys had been less than impressed, but Cassian knew the importance of having a place to call your own, no matter if the roof leaked and the windows whistled in the wind. It was hers, and he knew well enough what any home was worth after you’d lost everything.

And she hadn’t pushed him away. On the rare occasions she showed up at the town house for dinner, he would sit next to her and she’d let him pour her wine. He would kiss her cheek in both greeting and farewell without fail, and never once did she flinch or pull away, no matter who was present. She’d let him walk her home, and more than once, when he’d felt bold, he’d taken her hand in his own, and she hadn’t stopped him.

When Cassian had turned up at her apartment to build her a second bookcase - the first had been filled already, to absolute no surprise - and she said Feyre had invited her for Solstice Eve dinner, Cassian had almost fallen to his knees. It was all he could dream of, Solstice, and Nesta, his two favourite things in one. But she’d told him she’d declined the invitation. Said she’d never celebrated it before, so why bother now?

It was sound logic, but it didn’t stop Cassian practically begging her to reconsider. Solstice was special to him, and he wanted to spend the next two days drinking, and eating, and laughing until his face hurt, forgetting everything waiting around the corner. He wanted to see her too, to be by her side, and drink and laugh and eat with her.

He just couldn’t imagine spending Solstice without her. She was a part of him now, ingrained so deeply within him that he didn’t think he’d ever survive being apart from her. That day during the war, as he’d lay dying, he hadn’t been able to imagine his life without her, and still, it was impossible. She was grieving hard after the war, still broken in a hundred different ways, and it broke Cassian’s heart to see her cold, shrinking from a fire. He wanted to be the one to protect her, to shield her. To show her that her pain was not limitless, not endless. He wanted to hold her in his arms and take her far away from all of it.

The realisation settled over him, making him feel slightly breathless because… He could, couldn’t he?

When he’d awoken after that night in Hybern - as his wings had knitted themselves back together - he’d dreamed of showing Nesta all of it. He wanted to take her to see the night sky in Winter, lit up in pinks and greens, littered with shooting stars. He wanted to show her waterfalls and mountains, cities and small towns. Not that he’d tell Rhys, but he wanted to swim with her in a Summer sea. Everything, he wanted to show her everything. To give her everything.

He hummed lightly, and looked first at Rhys, and then at Azriel.

“You might be right,” he said at last. There was a pause, and then he asked, “Do you still have that map of Prythian here, Rhys? The big one?”

Rhys blinked. “The one we use to plan wars when we’re not at the House?”

“That’s the one.”

“Somewhere. Why?”

“Looks like I need to plan a trip,” Cassian said with a small, scheming smile.

“With a map designed for moving armies? I suppose a trip with Nesta is a bit like a military campaign—“

Rhys was teasing, but Cassian pulled a knife from his thigh and threw it at him anyway. He caught it by the hilt and tsked.

“Fuck off and get the map, Rhys,” Cassian said with a roll of his eyes. “Seeing as though you’re making me sleep in a doll sized bed, the least you can do is get me this map.”

Rhys looked amusedly at Azriel, who shrugged. Cassian turned to the shadowsinger next. Before Azriel could say a word, Cassian asked, “How quickly can your shadows get a letter to Helion for me?”

***

There was only one reason why Nesta was going to Feyre’s Solstice Eve dinner party. It had nothing to do with either of her sisters, but everything to do with the great overgrown bat that had hardly left her alone since the war had ended.

She had been convinced, in that healer’s tent, that when the sun came up, he would forget all of the promises he had made to her that day. From we’ll have that time, to you’ll always have a place to go, Nesta hadn’t expected him to remember or honour any of the oaths he’d sworn. But the first night they’d arrived back in Velaris, the rest of them had gone into the sitting room of the town house to celebrate the end of a war that, for Nesta, didn’t feel over at all. She had killed a king and severed his head, watched her father die, and still couldn’t stand to be in a bathtub filled with water. She still flinched whenever a log crackled in a fireplace. She had tried to bear it, but her grief was too visceral, too sharp, twisting in her chest at the sound of their laughter. She had escaped upstairs, into the bedroom they had loaned her, and put a pillow over her head to block it all out.

Only Cassian had seemed to notice that Nesta hadn’t been amongst those celebrating.

He had been the only one who cared enough about her absence to venture upstairs. Not even Elain had come to check on her, but he had knocked on her door gently, and when he received no answer, had pushed it open slowly. He had dropped to his knees by her bedside, just like she’d done in that tent, and he’d prised the pillow away from her face. He’d said nothing as he beheld her tear-stained cheeks, only kissed her forehead and climbed onto the bed behind her, above the covers, and held her to his chest. In silence, they sat there for hours, whilst the sounds of his family downstairs filtered upwards. He didn’t leave her, not for a second, until she fell asleep.

We’ll have that time, I promise.

Those were the words she forced herself to remember lately, when all she could see was her father’s blood staining her hands. She conjured Cassian’s voice when she heard, in the crackle of a fire, her father’s neck snap. It was Cassian’s touch as he cradled her face that she forced herself to remember, in the middle of the night, when she couldn’t sleep because it was all too much. When she cried, and the tears flowed free and heavy down her cheeks, it was Cassian’s promise she clung to, that she would never be lost, cast adrift, again. As long as I live you’ll always have a place to go. Always.

Impossibly, in the days and weeks after the war, Cassian had become the only person in Velaris Nesta could stand to be around. He had asked for nothing, but he turned up at her door regularly, with books, or wine, or chocolate, whatever he thought she or her cupboards lacked. Sometimes - when he really, really wanted to piss her off - he brought fruit, and oats, and lectured her on eating healthy. There were a thousand small kisses, on her cheek or the crown of her hair. A casual kind of intimacy and familiarity, as easy as breathing, had settled between them.

Nesta didn’t know how she could ever fit into words how much it meant to her, that even when her own sisters had forsaken her, Cassian still rose to kiss her cheek whenever she entered a room. Somehow, he had become her beacon, a light in the darkness. With every laugh and smile, and every second of banter and teasing, he chipped away at the crushing blackness, just enough to let some of the light back in. She didn’t know what she could do to let him know that only that had saved her from the full weight of her grief. Knowing that he was standing just a step away, waiting to catch her if she should fall, had stopped her from falling apart completely.

Not that she would admit it, but she would have been lost without him. Whenever she insulted him lately, it held no venom, and it only made him grin now, not glare. The moment she’d laid her body over his, waiting for the blow that would kill them both, something had irrevocably changed between them, and now Nesta didn’t want to push him away like she had before.

She didn’t have the words, though, to tell him. All she could think to do was this, turn up for a holiday that meant nothing to her but the world to him. Because somewhere, deep down, Nesta was beginning to realise that Cassian meant the world to her. Not that she’d tell him that, of course. The great oaf would tease her mercilessly about it, so no, she’d never tell him how much everything he’d done since the war meant to her. She’d only do this, endure a celebration that was entirely void of significance for her, all in the hopes that it would bring a smile to his stupid face. His stupid, lovely, face.

***

“I didn’t think you were going to come,” Feyre said, taking Nesta’s coat and turning to hang it in a closet. “You missed dinner.”

There was a hint - just a hint - of disapproval there, one that Nesta did not miss. Her youngest sister smiled at her, but it was awkward, as though Feyre was half wishing Nesta hadn’t bothered to come at all.

Nesta bit back the retort that lingered on her tongue and only said, “I wasn’t hungry.” She shrugged. “And I lost track of time. I’m sorry I’m late.”

She wasn’t sorry at all, but the lie fell from her lips smoothly, effortlessly. If Feyre saw it for what it was, she said nothing, and the apology, no matter how false it had been, seemed to soothe some of the tension between them.

Feyre had hardly bothered with Nesta since the war. Nesta’s grief, she supposed, cast too much of a pall over Feyre’s joy, and neither she nor Elain seemed to understand just how deep Nesta’s pain ran. Nesta had told Feyre about her inability to get into a bathtub, and yet it had been Cassian who had fitted the shower head in her bathroom. Her sister seemed to be more concerned with how Nesta’s grief embarrassed her and inconvenienced her than how it made Nesta feel as though her life was hardly worth living.

Nesta’s false apology was accepted, and Feyre offered her a much more genuine smile afterwards. She extended an arm towards the sitting room, to the open door that let out a soft, buttery light. The sounds of laughter and glasses clinking filtered out into the hallway.

“Feyre,” Nesta said as her sister began leading the way to the sitting room. “Happy birthday.”

That, at least, was genuine. Nesta reached out to squeeze her sister’s arm, and Feyre paused. She smiled at her softly, leaving Nesta wondering if their relationship wasn’t completely broken beyond repair. Feyre’s face softened as she looked at her eldest sister as if seeing her for the first time in years. She blinked and said, “Thank you, Nesta,” before leading her towards the sitting room.

She pushed the door open, and it took Nesta a moment to remember how to move her feet. There was a fire roaring in the grate, and though no logs were cracking, Nesta couldn’t help the chill that went down her spine at the sight of it. The irony wasn’t lost on her. She’d spent years living in that cabin in the woods, freezing and dreaming of warmth, and now just the sight of a fire turned her blood to ice and brought her out in goosebumps.

Nesta looked around, searching for the one person she’d came for, but was greeted almost immediately instead by Elain, her skin flushed and her eyes bright. She looked happy, and whilst Nesta didn’t begrudge her it, she still couldn’t help but… wonder at it all. When Elain greeted her with, “Happy Solstice, Nesta!”, it was just more evidence of the widening gulf between her and her sisters. They had settled into all of this so easily. Had acclimatised, grown into their new environment, whilst Nesta still hated everything about it. She still raged at being stuck here, in this body, above the wall, in a land she still didn’t really know. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Nesta pulled Elain into a weak hug nonetheless.

Elain produced a gift wrapped box, and Nesta felt her stomach sink. No presents. That had been the rule: no presents. Guilt coursed through Nesta, coiling in her gut and crawling up her throat. She unwrapped the box, and when she beheld the boxset of books by an author she liked, she didn’t feel elated or excited— she felt hollow. She didn’t for a second think that Elain had meant for this to make Nesta anything other than happy, but all it did was remind her how much she was failing at all of this. How inadequate she was, when Elain and Feyre were happily embracing traditions that were entirely foreign to them. She managed a rough sort of thank you, and Elain had patted Nesta’s forearm comfortingly. There was a crease between her eyebrows though, one that said she didn’t understand why Nesta hadn’t been overflowing with gratitude. She didn’t understand. None of them ever seemed to understand.

Still, as she looked around, there was no sight of messy brown hair, no glint of red siphons. Where the fuck was Cassian?

Azriel came to greet her next, wishing her a happy solstice and seemingly not offended in the least when she didn’t return the sentiment. He offered her a drink, and when Nesta took it, she looked around the room again, as if, somehow, it was possible that she’d missed him. That she’d overlooked the well-over-six-foot, hulking Illyrian warrior that was never hard to find in any room, no matter the size. No, Cassian wasn’t here, and Nesta frowned.

“Where is Cassian?” she asked, in a tone that she hoped passed for casual.

Azriel raised a brow, presumably surprised that she’d called him Cassian and not the brute, or something equally as derivative. He frowned too, and cleared his throat. “Around,” he said with a wave of an arm. One of his shadows crawled over his shoulder, and he tilted his head towards the door. “In the kitchen,” he said after a second. “Cass is in the kitchen.” “He told me he usually sits on a sofa and doesn’t move from it all evening,” Nesta commented idly.

A flicker of concern passed the Shadowsinger’s face, and Azriel nodded with a sigh that sounded tired. She had noticed lately that Cassian looked exhausted, too. Every time he showed up at her door, his shoulders were stiff and tension lined his jaw, but no matter how many times she asked if he was alright, his answer was always the same: of course I am sweetheart. Why wouldn’t I be?

Azriel sighed again. “Usually he doesn’t.”

She frowned again, but he didn’t elaborate, and she sensed that the conversation was over. Nesta drained her glass and handed it back over to the spymaster.

“I should go and say hello then,” she said firmly. His lips curved upwards in the beginnings of small smile. Nesta didn’t think she imagined the approval in his eyes, and it didn’t seem to matter that she’d not yet said hello to Rhys, or Mor, or Amren, all of whom were only a matter of feet away. The latter two she didn’t intend on speaking to at all this evening, but since this was Rhys’ home, she figured it was polite to greet him, at least. Later, though, she thought as she passed him, heading for door she’d only just stepped through. There was someone far more important she needed to see first.

He was uncorking a bottle of whiskey - very old whiskey by the looks of it - when Nesta entered the kitchen. Cassian heard her approach, and when he turned, his face lit up in a smile so bright that Nesta’s heart stuttered, and when he pulled her into a hug so tight she almost cracked a rib, she didn’t pull away. She wrapped one arm around his waist, savouring his warmth, the solid weight of him.

“You’re here,” he breathed into her ear. He pulled away, and after kissing her cheek, grinned at her again. “Hi.”

Nesta looked him over, at his hair that was tidier than usual, but still half-up in his usual bun. At his shirt, that was crisp and clean, so at odds with the leathers she usually saw him in. She plucked at his collar, a gesture that, even a month ago, would have seemed utterly outrageous to her. “Don’t you look tidy,” she commented dryly.

He winked. “I put in extra effort for you, sweetheart. I even ironed this shirt.”

“A true miracle. Am I supposed to feel honoured?”

“Yes,” he answered simply. “Sorry,” he said a second later. “For not being there when you came in.”

Nesta waved her hand. She nodded to the whiskey. “You look like you needed it.”

Cassian shrugged. “No more than I need you,” he said with a mischievous, almost boyish, grin. Nesta rolled her eyes and nudged him with her shoulder.

“Really,” she pressed. “Are you alright?”

“Of course,” he said lightly, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes, and his tone was less carefree than it should have been. Fine, Nesta thought to herself. She knew well enough what it was to be pushed into speaking about things you’d rather keep quiet, so— fine. She nodded and Cassian took her hand.

“Come, else they’ll think I’ve kidnapped you.”

“They’ll probably think it’s the other way around,” she muttered, and in answer, he let out a gentle laugh. It wasn’t the echoing, roaring laugh she was used to, and it had her wondering all over again if he hadn’t been entirely truthful when he told her he was alright.

“It wouldn’t be a kidnapping if I went willingly.”

“And what’s to say that you would?” she countered flatly. Cassian scoffed.

“Sweetheart, you should know by now,” he said, opening the door to the sitting room. “I’d go anywhere with you.”

The softness of his voice, the sincerity in his eyes, and the warmth of his fingers laced between hers, rendered her speechless. He didn’t wait for a reply, only led her round the edges of the room to the window seat— the furthest seat from the fire, Nesta didn’t fail to notice. He had plucked up a glass of wine from a tray on a nearby table and pressed it into her hands. He sat down beside her, so close his thigh was touching hers, his warmth seeping into her.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For coming.”

“You said it was your favourite,” Nesta said with a shrug. Cassian nodded.

“It is,” he said with another nod. “And it’s definitely my favourite now you’re here.” He grinned again, but just like before, it fell just slightly short of his eyes. He drained his glass far too eagerly too, and it was all so imperceptible that it was barely noticeable.

Nesta noticed, though.

She was about to ask what was really going on, but Cassian shook his head and changed the subject.

“I didn’t get you a gift,” he said casually. “I knew you’d kill me if I did, but just out of curiosity… What kind of smut is it that you prefer, sweetheart?” he drawled, crossing one ankle over his knee and resting his arm on the window ledge behind them. “Just so I know for your birthday.”

Nesta slapped her palm against his leg, and he let out a laugh. She scowled at him, but it only seemed to make him laugh harder, and for the first time since she’d arrived, she saw his shoulders relax, saw some of that tension fall away.

“I hate you,” she said flatly. Cassian caught her hand as she moved to slap his leg again, and raised it to his lips. He kissed the tips of her fingers, and idly, Nesta wondered what the others must be thinking. What they must be seeing, because there was no doubt in her mind that whatever it was that was going on between her and Cassian, this was something so much more than friendly.

“You’re an awful liar.”

“Is this your sole purpose in life? Annoying me?” Nesta huffed, wrenching her hand from his grip and settling it in her lap. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips though, and it was an effort to keep her scowl in place. Cassian winked.

“Not my sole purpose princess, but it’s certainly in my top five.”

“I hate you,” Nesta said again, and Cassian smirked as the hand he had resting on the window ledge brushed her shoulder.

“Like I said,” he grinned. “Awful liar.” He paused. “Did you eat enough before you left home? There’s plenty of food left over, and there’s cake in the kitchen—“

Nesta rolled her eyes. “You’re such a mother hen.”

Cassian shot her another wink, and Nesta felt her heart flutter. “Now there’s my sole purpose in life.”

Nesta scowled and called him an ‘insufferable brute,’ but for the first time, she wished she’d arrived earlier. She didn’t know why she said it, but after taking a sip from her wine, she turned to him and said, quietly, softly, “Happy Solstice, then.”

His eyes glittered as he clinked the edge of his glass against hers. He leaned closer to whisper, “Happy Solstice, Nesta.”

***

A log on the fire cracked, and Nesta felt every fibre of her being tense. She was suddenly cold, ice rushing through her veins, and she flinched. Her hand instinctively shot out to grasp the nearest thing, the closest thing that she could hold onto. Cassian’s thigh was warm under her fingers, and she knew she should pull away, but his warmth was grounding in a way that nothing else was. Her fingers curled into his trousers, and she felt his hand rest on the small of her back.

“Alright?” he murmured. He didn’t move his leg, and rested his other hand atop her fingers instead. She nodded mutely, keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead, her face blank. His thumb started rubbing circles into her back, and she didn’t miss the way his wings spread out behind them both, as if he wanted to shield her. “Is it the fire?” he asked quietly. Nesta nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s why I pulled you over here. Furthest seat away from it.”

“It’s alright,” Nesta managed. She inclined her head to look at him, at the worry in his eyes. He knew, of course, about her aversion to fires. She had told him in the first few days after the war, and ever since, he had done everything in his power to spare her from it. Sometimes, though, there was nothing anyone could do, short of putting the fire out altogether. Cassian half looked like he was about to do just that, so Nesta let go of his thigh and twisted her hand, turning her palm upwards, until his palm kissed hers. He weaved their fingers together, and Nesta let him. She made no move to pull away, not wanting to be without his touch just yet. Cassian’s fingers tightened around her own.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked, his thumb still moving on her back.

“I’ve barely been here an hour,” she muttered. “Feyre will kill me if I leave.”

“She’ll have to go through me first,” he said with a gentle, easy smile. Nesta swallowed thickly, and the hand at her back pressed more firmly into her spine, as if reminding her that he was still there, at her back, the way he’d always been.

“You’ve done enough, Nes. If you want to leave, say the word. I’ll take you home.”

“And have them scorn me for making you leave, too? I don’t think so.”

Cassian shook his head, and looked briefly over at Rhys and Azriel, speaking in low tones together at the other side of the room. When Nesta glanced up at him, she noticed the exhaustion was back, his eyes no longer gleaming, but dulled slightly. He exhaled heavily and shook his head.

“Trust me,” he said. “They won’t mind.”

Azriel looked up from the conversation and he and Cassian shared a look. Azriel nodded, as if in silent acknowledgement of a question Nesta didn’t know Cassian had asked. Cassian bit back a weak smile, but it dropped after a second, leaving him looking even more tired than he had before.

“Rough day?” she asked, tilting her head. Cassian flicked his gaze back to his brothers, and then back to her.

“I was in Illyria this morning, so it’s been about as rough as yours, I’d wager.”

Nesta blinked. “All you’ve done for weeks is lecture me on how much you love this ridiculous holiday.”

Cassian pulled his hands from hers at last, but only to tap her lightly on the nose. “It’s not all I’ve done. And I do love it,” he said with a shrug. “It’s just been… difficult, this year.”

“Care to tell me why?”

“On the way home,” he insisted. Before Nesta could even blink, he had risen to his feet and was holding out his hand to help her up. “Let’s go, Nes.”

His hazel eyes were hopeful, almost pleading, and she saw in them all the things he needed but would never ask for. She hadn’t heard his booming laugh once tonight, which was rare, and every time he smiled, there was a darkness lurking beneath it, something that was haunting him. He wasn’t asking to walk her home for her sake alone. This was for him, too. She was his salvation as much as he was hers. So when he wiggled his fingers and said, “Let’s get out of here,” Nesta nodded, and said yes.

***

His hand was warm around hers, and as he led her away from the town house, she allowed his touch to ground her, to remind her that she was still here, still living, despite everything. She had a feeling he was doing the same, and when she tightened her grip around his fingers, he turned to smile at her, and for half a second, Nesta wondered if those hazel eyes were the answer to all of the questions she’d been asking since she’d been plunged into that cauldron. If her suddenly long and unbearable life might be made easier by the person gripping her hand.

He breathed in deeply, like this was the first breath of air he was getting all day. He tilted his head up to the sky and exhaled heavily, and when he looked back down at her, he gave her a grin, the first true grin she’d seen on his face all evening. He put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side, and when she looked up at him, his eyes widened in a display of mock innocence.

“What? Wouldn’t want you to slip and fall on the ice.”

“Of course not,” Nesta said dryly, but she wound a hand around his waist anyway, holding onto the smooth leather of his jacket.

He took the long way to her apartment, walking her down to the riverfront. Her steps slowed, and he paused, looking out over the water. The lights from the city glinted off the river, and on the air, Nesta could hear faint music, the sounds of laughter and celebration. Cassian took his arm away from her and rested his forearms on the iron railing instead. He looked down to where the river was swirling beneath them, and without turning to look at her asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Nesta stiffened before leaning on the railing herself. She didn’t look down at the water, but looked at the ground beneath her feet instead, dusted with snow. It was starting to seep through her silk shoes, but she barely felt it. She hesitated, not sure whether she should answer him or not. Eventually, her need for someone to understand, for someone to know exactly what went on inside her head, won out.

“I don’t know,” she admitted at last. “I don’t know how to feel about any of this.” She paused and took a deep breath, the cold air burning the back of her throat. “It’s strange, seeing Feyre and Elain embrace fae traditions.” She glanced somewhat sadly at the box of books Cassian carried for her. “It reminds me all over again that I’m not the same person I was a year ago. The war, the cauldron— something is broken inside me, a wound that just won’t heal. It’s not just the fires, it’s everything. I— don’t know who I am anymore.” She swallowed as she looked up at him, and his gaze softened. He put the books down on the ground, and if she had been in her right mind, she would have scolded him, but— it didn’t seem to matter.

He pulled her into him, his arms wrapping around her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, kissing her forehead. “It’s not easy. After a war especially— it’s never easy.” Nesta felt the breath in his chest hitch. She flattened a palm over his heart, wishing she could feel it beating to remind herself he was here, he was alive. His leather jacket was too thick, though, so she settled for the rising and falling of his chest, the rhythm of his breathing, to remind herself that they had made it out, that neither of them were dead yet.

She didn’t know why, but suddenly she was tired of pretending. Tired of masking, and deflecting. Tired of everyone else thinking she was fine when she was but a heartbeat away from falling apart. She shook her head. “I’m not good at admitting when I’m not fine,” she whispered, her fingers curling into his jacket. “And if it were anyone else I’d tell them to piss off and leave me alone.” She felt him laugh gently, felt his chest move beneath her hand. “But I’m tired. And I’m not fine.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, a broken confession so quiet that even she barely heard her words.

“I know,” he muttered. “I know, sweetheart.”

Nesta raised her chin and looked up at him, searching for those hazel eyes. “You’re not fine either, are you?”

He let out a breath of a laugh. “You noticed, then?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Nesta breathed. His hand came to rest on the back of her head, pressing her closer to his chest, as if he needed to cling to her as much as she needed to cling to him. As if she were the only thing holding him together, and Nesta wondered, numbly, if he had been the only thing holding her together this entire time. He had been the only one who saw her pain once the war was over, the only one who saw through her sharp words and biting comments to the vulnerability and agony beneath.

“It’s difficult,” he began. “Illyria is up in arms. They’re sick of the Night Court making decisions for them. Sick of being on the front lines and getting little thanks and nothing in return. Az and Rhys, they don’t— They don’t understand. The Illyrians are furious because they think that we see them as little more than cannon fodder. Expendable, replaceable.” He let out a bitter laugh. “And I can’t exactly tell them they’re wrong, because we lost so many in the war. So many families are still mourning their sons, their fathers, their brothers. We’re going to have a full blown rebellion on our hands soon enough.”

“That’s why you wanted to leave?”

“Yes,” he said, shaking his head. He dropped his forehead until it rested on hers. “Well, no. It’s not just that.” His chest seemed to tremble beneath Nesta’s fingers, and she didn’t know what to say, what to do. She wanted to offer him something useful, but she was no leader or strategist. All she could offer him was a shoulder to lean on, just as he’d done for her.

The stress was eating him alive, and it wasn’t… it wasn’t fair. Not after he’d done so much— given so much. “I’m sorry,” she said, because it was all she could offer him. His hand tightened in her hair.

“Azriel has his shadows searching for the places with the most discontent, but it will take weeks, maybe months, before we have enough information. And Az would sooner burn the place to the ground than try to fix it, anyway. I’m fighting a losing battle because nobody in this court cares enough to listen to what the Illyrians are saying.” He sighed, so heavily Nesta felt it rumble through her own chest. “But the three of us had words today. We… decided on a couple things.” He took in a breath before meeting her eye. “In a few days, I’m taking some time off. Getting away from here.”

Nesta pulled away, enough to look at him properly. “You’re leaving?”

He blinked slowly and then smirked, pulling her back to his chest. “I lied when I said I didn’t get you a present. I want you to come with me. Let that be your gift,” he whispered. “I promised to show you all seven courts, didn’t I?”

“I didn’t think you’d remember that,” Nesta admitted. She glanced up at him, and saw the beginnings of a real smile, an honest one, tugging at his lips. “You were halfway unconscious from whatever they were giving you for the pain.”

“I’m wounded that you think I’d forget such a thing.” His smile faltered. “I mean it. I need to be away from here for a while. Away from Illyria, especially. I figured you wouldn’t mind being away from Velaris either.”

She snorted. “I hate it here.”

“I know,” he said, his voice filled with sorrow and regret. “I know you do. I know that deep down you hate all of this.” His eyes flicked to her ears, hidden by her braids. She knew he was thinking back to the days right after she’d been Made, when his gaze had lingered on her newly-pointed ears once, and she had recoiled, sobs cleaving her chest. “And I wish you wouldn’t. I wish you could see what I see.” He offered her a small smile. “Let me show you. Let me take you away from here, away from all of it. I need a break, and I want nothing more than to spend it with you.”

She pulled back, and this time he let her. His arm stayed around her shoulder, and the hand she’d had over his heart began to follow the curves and patterns on the leather of his jacket. Such easy, casual touches left Nesta wondering again what on earth this was. She suspected Cassian was giving her the time and the space to work it out on her own, to decide what she wanted. Part of her wondered whether he wanted her to fall in love with herself first - with Prythian, with being fae - before she she fell for him, and that alone made her want to weep. She half wondered if it was too late, if she wasn’t already falling.

“How long?” she asked. “How long do we have?”

Cassian shrugged. “However long we want. Two weeks, three. Who knows.” He gave her a slanted grin. “Who cares.”

“And when would we leave?”

“Whenever you want. Two or three days, if you wanted.”

She didn’t need to look at him to know he was grinning, but she glanced up anyway. This time, she noticed, his smile reached his eyes, so bright and lovely it was dazzling. She poked him in the chest. “You don’t give me much in the way of notice.”

He snorted. “Just keeping you on your toes, sweetheart.” His arm snaked about her waist again, as if he couldn’t stop himself from touching her. “Is that a yes, then?”

She pushed his arms away from her and took a step back, folding her arms over her chest, and donning her most potent look of disapproval. “You had better help me pack, then. You can’t just spring something like this on a lady and expect her to be alright with it.”

He looped his arm through hers as he grinned and turned, heading in the direction of her apartment without a word.

Nesta wondered the entire trip back how unlikely this all would have seemed a year ago. There was still an open, bleeding wound in her heart, in her soul, that pained her with every breath. It dogged her every step and haunted her every waking moment— but for just a few moments, just a few, scattered heartbeats, it was easy to forget, with Cassian. She leaned on him and he gladly shared her burden, lifting it from her shoulders and giving her space to breathe. And tonight she’d done the same, taking his burden and lifting it, just for a moment. Just for one, fleeting, fragile, moment.

#nessian #fic #why cant i write short fics

[genuinelyshallow]

“Before I say what I have to say, Know that I love you. That I never stopped loving you, even the night I was listening to… that curse of a book”

“ It is a curse to me, Father”

“ It is a curse to always remember what you did. You took away all my escape routes. You let everyone, literally any one, learn how to break me.”

“ Confessing your sins? Did it make you feel better, Father ? Did Renarin and I even cross your mind ? We have our pains like you, but you claimed ours. It is a book about a man who took the next step, right ? But that’s all that you care about. Your pain, Your guilt, Your next step. Our pain never mattered”

“ You never cared about her either. I knew that. I remember that. Her tears at night. The way they looked at her. They could never have done that if she meant anything to you. YOU WOULD HAVE KNOWN WHERE SHE WAS, IF SHE HAD MEANT ANYTHING TO YOU”

“ I know, I know , I know ! It was a mistake. I know, Father.Thank God it was a mistake. Otherwise…”

“ But Do you know what was on purpose?”

“ You failing Renarin and I “

“ You think your greatest sin was taking her from me ? No… It was what you did after. You leaving us to THOSE PEOPLE ! You drinking yourself to oblivion, only thinking about YOURSELF and YOUR PAIN! I lost my mother ! Mine! I had to act strong for Renarin. I was a child raising a child while you drank and drank … and I kept my faith in you”

“ And then you went and got rid of your guilt because you weren’t strong enough.. and what about your children and their pain? No, they didn’t matter. ”

“ And then you wrote a book about your sins, your courage and your next step, and what about your children? They don’t deserve to be told the truth by their Father ? They don’t deserve to choose whether or not to lay their wounds open to the world ? No, They don’t matter”

“ I have to live knowing that my father burned children alive…. Burned my mother alive. I will take that burden that I never had a choice to bear. For the greater good of the people, but NOT for your peace of mind”

Dalinar sat there, frozen as a stone, eyes fixated on his son, his heart tearing to shreds, slowly, one part at a time with every tear his son sheds down his face, down his chin, down his neck and on his shirt, with every scream of words that broke his voice down to rasp whispers, and broken words forced out clinched teeth and bitten lips, with all the venom in his child’s voice, and with all the love he felt still.

“ And Do know what hurts the most, Father ?That after all of this, I still love you, and I still want to matter”

#adolin kholin #dalinar kholin #stormlight archive #rhythm of war #cosmere #to be incorporated into a longer fanfic

[hisuian-history-makers]

What I try to think about when making SI or Reincarnated OCs.

Those two types tend to cross quite often from what I’ve seen. Self-insertion is when someone writes themselves into a fictional series as a character or makes a character based on themself. I think most people know the concept of reincarnation as having a past life. Several self-indulgent fanfictions come from stories with this in them. Finding the right balance between self-indulgence and quality writing is hard. Especially when most won’t read them.

If you want to write OCs like this, go ahead. But I thought up some points to go over whenever I write my own. I am not bashing people for using cliches yet I want to avoid common ones.

------------------------------------------------------

(Non-Reincarnated) Self Inserts;

—How much of the series material do they know? Have they watched the shows/movies, read the manga/books, or played the games? Did they learn what they know from it simply being shown in media? For example, Pokémon is everywhere so most can recognize Pikachu.

—How good is their memory? I don’t know why a majority of people write SIs (or reincarnated OCs) possessing laser-focused memory. Even if you were a major fan, there has to be a limit to how much you can remember. Especially when you consider the character will be unable to watch/read/play the series for quite some time. And that’s just if they went over something recently. I can only imagine the trouble I would find myself in early Dragon Ball or Black Butler.

—Do they just not have a legal identity? The whole going to a universe based on a series you love does have its problems. You know besides leaving behind your family and friends. It is going to throw up some major red flags if you don’t exist there legally. Better yet when your native language is different from the one there. What about series with their written languages like Star Wars? Being illiterate will not be fun.

—Again. Leaving behind your friends and family to move to a potentially more dangerous world. One popular plot-moving device is for someone to be contacted in their dreams or a suspicious email. You don’t know if you are going to be able to return. If you are going to even survive. Characters who find themselves falling into an obvious portal—how did they not see/hear it? That being said I can understand some of these SIs feeling like everything is falling apart around them when they have just lost someone close.

—How do they deal with magic/unique powers? I love it when writers try to explain why they gave a character powers. You have the “barely used any magic in our world so you stored up a lot of energy” type of boost. Spirits/mystical powers give them a boon so for a higher survival chance. Okay, that one is forgivable. Most self-inserted characters find themselves without special abilities due to not being from that world. Case and point, Naruto’s chakra system is a physical extra nerve system. I can only imagine their sense of pain is greater...

(Then you have what makes or breaks certain fanfic works) Self-Inserts as Canon Characters!

—Them being reincarnated into this role. Now, there is no shortage of writers creating stories like this. Yet they have to ask themselves: do I follow canon or not? Being the main character in some universes is the absolute worse. Maybe saving the world all comes down to this person and the SI is stuck in an ultimatum. Their canon knowledge will become less reliable the more they change events trying to stop future issues. An easier burden to bear when they are the side characters, but not protagonists. Good luck if they barely know anything about certain series.

—Them possessing or replacing a character. You’d be surprised how many people who write self-insert waking up in this situation. Few of them are lucky enough to have vague memories of who they are possessing. A big issue is if the original character’s soul is still inside their body. Even more so trying to explain what you are to their friends and family. Adjusting to a non-human body is going to be a nightmare for most people. Just imagine being the opposite gender or not ever organic. I don’t want to be a robot/ai/android without the ability to sleep.

—Becoming a character from one series and getting transported to another. Rare in some fandoms and quite common in the MLP: FiM. Somewhat easier for SIs since they don’t have any canon characters that rely on them. The slight downside is they stand out more than if they were transported to the matching world.

Reincarnated SI/OCs;

—When do they remember their past life? Many people write reincarnated SI/OCs remembering things as babies. How would a baby’s mind process adult memories? Some write that they are conscious before even being born. We begin forming memories at around two—but can only really start recalling things at ages six to seven. An infant's mind would not be able to process those memories. It is called childhood amnesia.

—How much do they remember? Many, many stories use reincarnation as a second chance with the character remembering everything. Real-world cases of reincarnation can usually remember little things from their previous life. Stories tend to have OCs revert to how they once acted without paying any mind to their second selves. I find fanfics where those first-life memories subtly affect someone much more interesting.

—Were they a fan of the world they are currently in? Usually, the reincarnated person was a massive or somewhat fan. I have already gone over the cliche of how these people are portrayed as having a perfect memory... It’d make much more sense if the years away from any info had muddled what they can remember.

—Do they want to affect canon if they aren’t born as an established character? Most fiction has clear roles that the main characters are a part of. Trainers, demon slayers, tamers, ninjas, etcetera. SI fanfics based on Naruto have the ninjas as the defacto force since they play major roles in the canon. Pokemon training makes up a big bulk of jobs in its universe. Not an easy thing to decide when you know you were born before canon begins.

—Are they the parent of canon characters? I cannot imagine what being in this position would feel like. Do you have to get with a specific person to have a kid who will save the world? There might be legitimate fear of being killed off to fuel your child’s destiny.

—Is the world you know from a franchise as dark or light as the selection you saw? Can only imagine the amount of real-world lore a place like Sonic would have. Circumstances might be more serious than what you learned it. A war unmentioned might have had more lasting effects. There is so much you could explore in the unseen places not mentioned.

—Were they born in the same town as any main characters? I get the reason why people do this so the OC interacts with established ones. But I would love to see people from places besides the starting towns in Pokémon on a journey. You have to think the available encounters are much stronger than early-game routes. Why do some trainers decide to specialize in a single type? Do certain ace’s become more popular when someone attains Champion status?

—-------

That’s all I can think of right now. Might update this at a later date with more questions/ideas.

#pokemon #self insert #self insert oc #reincarnation #reincarnated oc #past life adjacent #memory issues #learning through exposure #childhood memory unlocked #random #random fandom thoughts #naruto

[alfvangr]

@ulirblood || continued from here.

          He smiles, brittle at the edges should one look closely enough. She understands that it wasn’t intentional, understands how the guilt had sat like a leaden weight in his chest for months afterward. What she doesn’t understand though—and never truly will—is the sheer toll Fódlan has taken on his psyche, greater in ways than the battles of his own world could ever hope to be. Tricked into striking friends instead of foes at critical junctures, their blood on his blade an unerasable stain upon his conscience. The accident aboard the Ichaival was the same yet not, absent of that external manipulation though still harm caused by his hands—and unlike those before it, was not granted the luxury of being struck from time’s flow. Remain it would; perhaps forever this time.

          But Alfonse speaks none of these thoughts. Edain need not shoulder what are his burdens to bear, for he is merely one of her students and nothing more.

          “...!” Askr’s prince stiffens, unexpectedly swept into the professor’s firm embrace. Long-acquainted with the distance born of his title, self-imposed or otherwise with only a precious few willing to cross it fully, his hands hover as if uncertain whether to return the favor. As if handling the most delicate glass figure for fear of shattering it. But Edain is no such thing, warm and most importantly alive, and if only for a little while—he clings to her like a lifeline, dwarfing her with his considerably taller frame.

          When at last they stand apart once more, his smile has shed its pained luster somewhat; birthday wishes and a well-overdue apology weren’t all he had come to deliver her, after all. “I... also have a request to make of you, in truth. There was once a time when I sought to learn the magical arts here before abandoning them to focus my efforts elsewhere. While I would like to return to them now, I’m afraid it will take much time to close the gap as a result—so I was hoping I might enlist your guidance to help me along the way, Professor. Of course, you are likely busy with your duties as a member of the faculty, so I understand the imposition I am making...”

#ulirblood #『 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 — heartstrings. 』 #『 𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 — reflection of a hundred and one worlds. 』 #『 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓 — edain. 』 #// a little bonk between arena posts. edain the world