#bc his sword was literally right next to him and if he’d shifted his hand even slightly he would have touched it

[professorjirt]

I just watched the first Hobbit movie again and man I don’t think I fully realized how long Thorin was out until now, it was several hours of him just hanging there from the eagle looking dead, no wonder everyone was so freaked out. How long do you guys think he would have been out had Gandalf not magic’d him awake, bc he was not waking up anytime soon otherwise

[lokislytherin]

lookism x pjo snippets?

og au plan is RIGHT HERE and i didn’t wanna reblog bc long posts get nerfed by tumblr sometimes but i Saw this in a dream and i gotta write it down before my shitty memory deletes it

here we go: [i’m literally jumping right to the ending bc idk what’s in the middle]

the death of jay hong, son of hades.

hyungseok didn’t know what happened.

one minute he was standing there, happily chatting to crystal and jay, and the next minute crystal’s eyes were glowing with a righteous fury hyungseok knew didn’t belong to her.

“crystal!” he shouted, parrying her sword with his own, “get a grip!”

jay tried to help him, but the daughter of zeus brushed him away like he meant nothing, her electric blue eyes solely focused on hyungseok. crystal’s blade came down on him, heavy with the wrath of the gods, and all hyungseok could do was try his best to hold her off. he’d always been better with a bow than a sword. he didn’t have time to learn all the weapons before being shoved into a quest. 

he didn’t want to hurt crystal, nor did he want her to hurt him. so all he did was defend himself, refusing to attack. she attacked him with everything she had, lightning and thunder and years of living as a demigod. 

“crystal, stop!”

she swung her blade down, her entire form wreathed in lightning. hyungseok would’ve been dead if not for jay pushing him out of the way in the nick of time. the son of hades grunted as crystal’s sword sliced a line from his shoulder to waist. his blood sparked with lightning, and the scythe in his hand clattered to the ground as he collapsed.

hyungseok took a deep breath, trying to control his world shattering around him, and with all the power he could muster, he shouted: “CRYSTAL, STOP!”

she froze where she stood, halted in time.

“jay!”

hyungseok fell to his knees next to him, trying to stop the blood. jay’s breath came in ragged gasps. “jay, stay with me, come on, you gotta stay with me!”

jay coughed weakly, and blood bubbled out of his lips. i’m okay, he tried to say, don’t worry about me.

“but you’re bleeding!”

well... he reached up to press a clammy hand against hyungseok’s cheek. better me than you, i suppose. you’ve got more to do with your life than let it end like this.

and then a hole opened up in the floor.

jay’s hand latched onto his immediately as the concrete floor under him fell away, and hyungseok grabbed onto jay’s hand with all the strength in his body. he squeezed so hard he could feel the bones in jay’s hand shift under his grip.

it was hard. jay was around the same height as him, with a similar build too, and hyungseok didn’t know how long he could last. the fight against crystal had already left him exhausted.

you have to let me go.

“no! i won’t!”  hyungseok shook his head vehemently. “ jay, you’ll fall! you’re already-” both of their hands were slippery with jay’s blood, and hyungseok almost lost his balance when a part of the pavement next to him crumbled and fell away.

jagiya, it’s okay. jay still had the energy to smile at him, even though his grip was growing slack. the underworld is my domain. i know it’s tartarus, but i’ll be fine. 

tartarus? hyungseok had heard about the rumors - tartarus was reserved as a special kind of hell for the wicked and the damned. even if he was hades’ only demigod son, there was no way jay - kind, sweet, mortally injured jay - would make it out of there alive. 

hyungseok couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing jay again. “even if you’re a son of hades, that’s still- you’ll still-”

jay’s smile turned sad. i love you, he mouthed, his lips moving around the words. more than i care about myself. so you have to let me go.

jay’s hand slipped out of hyungseok’s, and hyungseok watched him fall down, down, down, until the darkness swallowed him whole. the yawning chasm to the underworld closed with a rumbling of earth.

hyungseok couldn’t stop himself from shaking, gasping as the tears fell from his eyes. jay was gone, maybe forever.

the only thing left of his best friend - his friend who loved him too much to let him die, sacrificed himself to tartarus for him - was the jagged crack in the ground, and the blood on hyungseok’s hands.

“i swear,” he whispered, his guilt and grief fading into a red-hot, boiling rage, “i’ll destroy all of those bastard gods, every single one.”

the silence was deafening. it was like the gods were mocking him, saying i’d like to see you try, boy.

the threads of fate had already been put in motion, and there was nothing more hyungseok could do than fulfil the second half of that god-damned prophecy.

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

1- you know JC stans always try to deflect claiming LQR LXC LWJ and NMJ are all equally at fault bc they didn't stand for trhe wens either but JC and WWX are literally the only two people who know the truth about the wen sibs and he decided not to tell anyone so the public has no means of knowing everything they did and risked for him, they literally committed treason to save the jiang sect and protect them from the wen army but in the eyes of the public they are known as loyal disciples to WRH-

Thank you for the question anon!

Relevant passages in regards to this issue posted first since a lot of it gets very misconstrued with what blame lies where with the Sect Leaders before the events when it came to the massacre at Nightless City and the deaths of the Wen Remnants. This is not necessarily clean cut after the fallout with Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun's deaths. This is also still with the underlying plot of Jin Guangshan aiming for the Yin Hu Fu. There is a lot of political intrigue that goes ignored with this by manipulation of the Jin Sect and Jiang Cheng being blinded by his own jealousy.

“… Four inspectors were harmed. Around fifty of the remaining Wen Sect members escaped. After Wei WuXian led them into Burial Mound, he summoned hundreds of fierce corpses to patrol the base of the mountain. Our people still can’t get any further.”

“… Four inspectors were harmed. Around fifty of the remaining Wen Sect members escaped. After Wei WuXian led them into Burial Mound, he summoned hundreds of fierce corpses to patrol the base of the mountain. Our people still can’t get any further.”

When he finished, silence filled the Golden Pavilion.

Jiang Cheng only spoke after a few moments, “What he did was indeed a bit too much. Sect Leader Jin, I apologize to you in place of him. If there’s any way at all to help the situation, please let me know. I’ll definitely compensate for things however I can.”

What Jin GuangShan wanted, however, wasn’t his apology or his compensation, “Sect Leader Jiang, at first, for your sake, the LanlingJin Sect didn’t intend on saying anything. However, some of these inspectors weren’t from the Jin Sect. There were a few from other sects as well. This makes it…”

Jiang Cheng’s brows were knitted. He rubbed the vein that throbbed at his temple and soundlessly took in a deep breath, “… I apologize to all of the Sect Leaders. Everyone, I’m afraid you don’t know that the Wen cultivator whom Wei WuXian wanted to save was called Wen Ning. We owe him and his sister Wen Qing gratitude for what happened during the Sunshot Campaign.”

Nie MingJue, “You owe them gratitude? Isn’t the QishanWen Sect the ones who caused the YunmengJiang Sect’s annihilation?”

Within these few years, Jiang Cheng insisted on working late into the night every day. That day, just as he decided to rest early, he had to rush to Koi Tower overnight because of the thundering news. He’d been suppressing some anger under his fatigue since the beginning. With his natural competitiveness, he was already quite agitated since he had to apologize to other people. When he heard Nie MingJue mention the incident of his sect again, hatred sprouted within him.

The hatred was directed at not only everyone who was seated in this room, but also Wei WuXian.

Passage 2:

Using the atmosphere, Jin GuangShan turned to Jiang Cheng, “He’s been plotting for a while to go to Burial Mound, hasn’t he? After all, with his skills, it wouldn’t be too hard to set up a sect of his own. And so, he used this as a chance to leave the Jiang Sect, intending to do whatever he pleases in the bright skies outside. You rebuilt the YunmengJiang Sect with so much work. He’s got a few controversial traits in him to begin with, and still he doesn’t restrain himself, stirring up so much trouble for you. He doesn’t care about you at all.”

Jiang Cheng pretended to stand his ground, “That probably isn’t that case. Wei WuXian has been like this ever since he was young. Even my father couldn’t do anything about him.”

Jin GuangShan, “Even FengMian-xiong couldn’t do anything about him, huh?” He chuckled a few times, “FengMian-xiong just favored him.”

Hearing the words ‘favors him’, the muscles beside the corners of Jiang Cheng’s mouth twitched.

Jin GuangShan continued, “Sect Leader Jiang, you’re not like your father. It’s just been a couple of years since the reestablishment of the YunmengJiang Sect, precisely when you should be displaying your power. And he doesn’t even know to avoid suspicions. What would the Jiang Sect’s new disciples think if they saw him? Don’t tell me you’d let them see him as their role model and look down on you?”

He spoke one sentence after another, striking the iron while it was still hot. Jiang Cheng spoke slowly, “Sect Leader Jin, that’s enough. I’ll go to The Burial Mounds and deal with this.”

Here the sect leaders were aware of the Wen Sect remnants as prisoners of war and saw it as a justifiable reason to keep the remaining Wens imprisoned regardless of age status etc. When Jiang Cheng is asked by Nie Mingjue for clarification on the matter of the debt owed by the Wen siblings it is deflected by Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao with clever wordplay to rile everyone up. This leaves those who either asked for more information, Lan Xichen who is shutdown by not having enough information by the majority and Nie Mingjue distracted by his hate of the Wens already, and Mianmian and Lan Wangji who argued that Wei Wuxian was protecting innocents and was not trying to cause a coup ignored as being irrelevant opinions. Wei Wuxian is eventually labelled a defector and danger due to Jiang Cheng exasperating what they had actually planned in the staged fight.

After this several months pass until Lan Wangji comes to tell Wei Wuxian of Jiang Yanli's marriage in a week's time. Several days later the Jiang siblings arrive with the same news and Jiang Yanli is the one to extend a peace branch to try keeping the three connected with the courtesy naming or Jin Ling. Almost a year's time later Wei Wuxian is in fact invited to the one-month celebration as another peace branch by Jin Zixuan who was the one to extend the offer. Jin Guangshan, Jin Zixun and Jin Guangyao planned the murder of Wei Wuxian in Qiongqi Pass against Jin Zixuan's knowledge. This leads to the mess of his murder and Wei Wuxian being hunted down as well as all of the remaining Wens on order of Jin Guangshan in retaliation after Wen Qing is killed as the remaining leader of the Wens and Wen Ning secretly suppressed. This leads to days later to the Pledge Conference at the city which holds Jin Zixuan's body and Jiang Yanli who is there to keep the death vigils (Shou Ling) as family. It's also why her and Madam Jin are wearing the white robes when Wei Wuxian sees them and by bad luck comes across the sect leaders pact when he tries to flee.

After the the wine had seeped into the dirt, Jin GuangShan stated, “No matter the sect, no matter the surname—this cup of wine is to the soldiers who have died.”

Nie MingJue, “May their souls live on.”

Lan XiChen, “Rest in peace.”

Jiang Cheng, however, still had on a darkened expression. He didn’t say anything even after he poured the wine.

Afterward, Jin GuangYao walked out from the LanlingJin Sect’s array and presented with both hands a square box made of black iron. Jin GuangShan took the box with one hand and raised it high in the air, shouting, “Here lies the ashes of the Wen Sect’s remnants!”

After he spoke, he sent forth his spiritual energy and shattered the box with his bare hand. The iron box broke into pieces, and white dust drifted alongside the cold wind.

A scattering of the ashes!

A series of cheers exploded through the crowd. Jin GuangShan raised his hands, signaling for the people to be quiet and listen to him talk. When the cheers slowly died down, he continued, raising his voice, “Tonight, the ones whose ashes had been scattered were the two leaders of the Wen Sect’s remnants. And tomorrow! It will be the rest of the Wen-dogs and—the YiLing Laozu, Wei Ying!”

Suddenly, a low laugh interrupted his grand speech. The laugh was too untimely, sounding both stark and jarring. In unison, the crowd turned to look at where the sound came from.

The Palace of Sun and Flames was a rather magnificent palace. A total of twelve ridges made up its roof, and at the end of each ridge were eight heavenly beasts. Yet, right now, the people realized that on one of those ridges, there were nine. The laugh from before came from over there!

The extra beast shifted slightly. The next moment, a boot and a corner of black clothes dangled down from the roof, swaying softly.

Everyone placed their hand onto their sword hilt. Jiang Cheng’s pupils shrunk. Blue veins lined the back of his hand.

Jin GuangShan was overcome with both shock and hatred, “Wei Ying! How dare you show yourself here!”

The person opened their mouth to speak. What came out was indeed Wei WuXian’s voice, but he spoke in a strange tone, “Why should I dare not show myself here? Do you people here even add up to three thousand? Don’t forget that back in the Sunshot Campaign, let alone three thousand, I’ve fought against five thousand on my own before. And by appearing here, haven’t I granted your wish? No need for you to come all the way to my home tomorrow to scatter my ashes.”

A few of the QingheNie Sect’s disciples died in the hands of Wen Ning as well. Nie MingJue spoke coldly, “What arrogance.”

Wei WuXian, “Haven’t I always been arrogant? Sect Leader Jin, how does it feel, having slapped yourself in the face? Who was the one that said he’d let the matter go if the Wen siblings went to Koi Tower and gave themselves up? And who was the one that just said he’d scatter my ashes and the ashes of the rest of the Wen Sect’s remnants tomorrow?”

Jin GuangShan, “Let’s consider things as they stand! At Qiongqi Path, you slaughtered over a hundred of the LanlingJin Sect’s disciples—this is one thing. You made Wen Ning kill at Koi Tower—this is another…”

Wei WuXian, “Then let me ask you, Sect Leader Jin, at Qiongqi Path, who was the one being ambushed? And who was the one to kill? Who was the main schemer? And who was the one being schemed against? In the end, just who was the one that came to provoke me first?”

Keep in mind none of the other sect leaders were privy to the scheme between Jin Guangshan, Jin Guangyao and Jin Zixun. And they believe they are certainly fighting off a crazed Wei Wuxian and what they think are his fodder Wens meant for corpses. After this Wei Wuxian desperately fights against Lan Wangji who is trying to calm him down before it's too late which is unsuccessful leading to Jiang Yanli also trying to calm him down enough to get him away and talk some sense to get him out of there to run and get to the Wens. After her death he mentally blacks out and Lan Wangji is left trying to take him away to safety close enough to Burial Mounds. Lan Wangji then fights off his elders as Lan Xichen gathered the Lans to find them. Immediately after this is in sequestered secrecy Lan Wangji is punished. Lan Xichen presumably stays with his own brother while Lan Qiren is the acting Sect Leader for the actual Siege that the other three are part of as support. That leaves Jin Guangshan with the ulterior motive of getting the Yin Hu Fu, Jiang Cheng who wants revenge for the death of Jiang Yanli, and Nie Mingjue left to think he is killing what he considers disgraceful Wens.

So, in short, each of them had different motivations for actually being there, and different accounts for those reasons. The Jins for more power, Jiangs for revenge, Nies for justice and the Lans in solidarity. And the fault of it isn't meted out equally as all had misunderstandings and manipulated by Jin Guangshan's pull to each of their morals as cultivation sects. In the end each of the four were there to kill the Wens and Wei Wuxian aside from Lan Wangji and arguably Jiang Yanli when she was caught up trying to get Wei Wuxian to run.

[pjoseries]

..... ✨💞 (I need the blog compliment at this point my ego just took a hit) Prompt: "Nobody's seen you in days" I still better cry. Literally almost forgot to say the ship again. Anyways... I want merthur

🥰  reilly my og mutual, followed me from my 1d days 😤 to my 35826337 million blogs. what an icon tbh!!! you are truly the funniest person on this site hands down. i scroll down ur blog sometimes just to see ur tags bc i always need a good laugh HDHSJSHS thank u for being u 🥺

✨ "Nobody’s seen you in days.” (ao3 link)

(canon au, no arwen, 4x06 in arthur’s pov)

══════════════════

For the first time in days ever since Merlin disappeared, Arthur finally fell asleep in his bed, exhausted and weary. But when he did, he dreamt in red, the sky a glazed crimson as if the gods themselves were bleeding, crying out at the impiety below them. He was kneeling, his Pendragon cape sprawled over a lump in the mud. A hand was the only thing visible, stark and pale. Lifeless. He knew whose hand that belonged to — how could he not? He had seen that hand dress him, feed him, heal him. He had seen that hand (those hands) in better dreams than this. Arthur reached out, trembling as he hovered over the cloth. 

But before he could reveal the man beneath it, Arthur bolted upwards in his bed, breathing heavily. He wouldn’t sleep. Couldn’t. Not again. 

He stared out his window, watching the moon hang lowly in the sky. It looked duller than usual, the thin haze of grey covering its shine. He pushed his sweaty hair out from his forehead and got up, the chill of the room seeping into his bones. The cold ground beneath him stung his feet, but it felt like a welcome from the heat he felt. 

He hadn’t let a servant tend to the fire in his chambers ever since Merlin left. It didn’t feel right. As he moved, his eyes caught a glimpse of his cape hanging over his folding screen and he grimaced. He stalked over and grabbed the cape before shoving it away from his vision. He lit up a candle and headed back towards his desk. There was no use in trying to go back to sleep. Grabbing a piece of spare parchment, ink and quill, and a map of Albion, he set out to listing all the places Merlin could be again. He worked through the night until dawn broke and Guinevere entered his chambers with breakfast. She was the only one he let in nowadays. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” she noted with a hint of disapproval, setting down his plate away from the mess on his desk. She could no doubt see the fatigue in his eyes. “Arthur, you know it’s not healthy to—”

“Thank you, Guinevere,” he interrupted. She closed her mouth with a snap and guilt welled up inside him. He continued anyway, “For breakfast.”

She grabbed his hand with hers and he looked up. There was a solemn look in her gaze that made him soften. She said, “You’re my friend, Arthur. And you know that I want Merlin back as much as you do, but ruling the kingdom like this isn’t good for finding Merlin, let alone Camelot.”

Truth rang in her words and it hurt at how much she was right. He pressed a kiss to her thumb and sighed. 

“I know,” he spoke plainly, as she released his hand. “Thank you. Truly. Your council means a great deal to me.”

He rubbed his eyes, as if trying to wipe away his exhaustion. Guinevere nodded and left him on his own. He ate, barely tasting the food in his mouth before he got dressed for another day. His fingers clumsily laced up his trousers and tunic, shoving his boots on without any fanfare. The space where Merlin should be was a gaping wound and Arthur was enough of a man to admit that he’d rather deal with the emptiness rather than employ another servant to do Merlin’s job. 

His councilmen were more frustrating than usual without Merlin’s quick witted whispered barns behind him. But when his knights and uncle came back, congregating in front of him, a spark of hope flared in his chest. They looked at each other warily before Agravaine said, “We have scoured the forest.”

“Scour it again,” he ordered, but Leon glanced at him with kind eyes. 

“Sire, there is no sign of Merlin,” Leon said. Agravaine came forward, his footsteps echoing the throne room like a warning sign. Arthur rubbed his temples, feeling world-weary of it all. 

“None, but this,” his uncle said before he placed a bloodied piece of cloth on top of his map. From Merlin’s jacket. Arthur stared at it blankly, any semblance of hope had disappeared. Agravaine continued, “I’m sorry you have lost such a loyal and—”

Arthur raised his hand, stopping the pitying words falling from his uncle’s mouth. He pursed his lips and took a deep breath, wringing his hands together. It was weak to look so concerned in front of all his men, but Arthur didn’t care anymore. He asked, “The mercenaries, what news of them?”

“We found no trace, sire,” Leon reported, shifting on his feet. 

“Surely sent by that snake, Alinor,” Agravaine said, moving behind him. 

“It can’t be,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “How? Our route was known only to a few within Camelot.”

“Then there is only one conclusion we can draw,” Leon added. “We have a traitor in our midst.”

The weight of Leon’s words weighed heavily on his heart. Another traitor. When will Arthur be rid of those who betrayed him? 

Arthur convened council and headed back towards his chambers, already forming a plan in his head to scour the damn forests himself to search for Merlin. He finally fell asleep, his dreams still tainted red, but Merlin wasn’t dead yet. His cape was back on his shoulders and Merlin was slow to respond, but his chest moved with barely visible breath. And even in that hellscape, Arthur was relieved. 

He woke up in a daze the next day, only one mission in mind. He fielded off Guinevere’s concerns as he was leaving, mounting his horse in a smooth movement. Gwaine was with him. Usually, the pinch of jealousy Arthur always held when Merlin and Gwaine interacted flared up, but now it was absent. He was just glad that Merlin had Gwaine’s deep loyalty. 

They rode off out of Camelot and into the woods. They were a good half hour into their search, Gwaine’s inane chattering filling his ears when Arthur heard a sound, a groan. He stopped, holding out a hand for Gwaine to pause as well. 

The sound was distinctly human and both he and Gwaine dismounted, Arthur unsheathing his sword in an instant. He walked forward, his weapon at his side at the ready. He ordered, “Declare yourself.”

A man, muddied up, walked out. Arthur raised his sword, squinting to get a better look. The man laughed and it rang in his ears, familiar and warm and so happy. Arthur’s eyes widened and he couldn’t help the surprised “Merlin!” that escaped his chest. 

Merlin laughed again, grinning stupidly and Arthur felt the world being righted once again. Arthur walked forward, Merlin doing the same, as he plunged his sword into the ground. 

“I thought we’d lost you,” he breathed out, smiling as stupidly as Merlin was. He didn’t mind that Merlin was dirty and smelled like the mess he crawled out of, he just pulled him into a hug. He said, softer now, “Nobody’s seen you in days.”

“Sorry,” Merlin said, hugging him back just as tightly. Arthur almost scoffed. Only an idiot would apologise for being hurt and stranded alone. It should be him to apologise for leaving him like that, defenceless and wounded. 

He let go and said instead, cheeks hurting from smiling so widely, “Let’s go home.”

══════════════════

ᴊᴏɪɴ ᴍʏ 600 ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡᴇʀs ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

[kivaember]

(Aza shows just how much he’s improved since starting to find healthier coping mechanisms - and seeing the closest thing to a therapist in ffxiv - and that Aymeric has some issues of his own too...

i.e i just felt like writing this bc i was in weird mood)

Stone Vigil was a hot mess.

That was Aymeric’s eventual assessment as wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his nose stinging with the near overpowering stench of dragon blood. With the revelation of Ishgardians carrying a trace of Dragon’s blood, it was standard practice for knights at risk of combat to cover their mouths and nose with a facial mask. Whilst it protected them from accidental ingestion, it made fighting a lot more uncomfortable.

Aymeric’s own facial mask was damp from condensation, and he irritably tugged it down beneath his chin, keeping his bloodied fingers away from his mouth. They were ambushed on one of the exposed corridors that led to the strongroom near the rear of the vigil, and he tentatively eyed the scorched stone and stress cracks running along the wall and floor where the dragons had barrelled through.

This corridor was going to collapse long before they finished fixing and reinforcing it. How many attacks had this vigil endured, now? They had reclaimed it due to Aza’s help, but the weakened walls, compromised foundations, as well as the insistent skirmishes, were making it more of a dangerous burden than a strategic reclamation. Their manpower was already stretched thin between the territory they already held and fulfilling their commitments to the Eorzean Alliance, that they couldn’t do anything more than keeping Stone Vigil by their mere fingertips. It was… frustrating, to say the least, to go through the depressing cycle of fighting back a dragon skirmish, fixing the damage done in said skirmish… only to go through it all over again a week or two later.

It was causing a lot of grumblings in the House of Lords, grumblings Aymeric could ill afford right now. He needed to find some way to break this vicious cycle…

“Lord Commander,” an exhausted knight pulled up next to him, drawing him out of his thoughts, “All men are accounted for and the dragons are completely routed. However, the corridor has taken extensive structural damage, so it’s been suggested by the engineers to relocate to a more stable location, sir.”

“Understood. Thank you, Knight,” Aymeric said distractedly. The knight saluted and dismissed himself – to be swiftly replaced with a much more welcome presence.

“Well, that was fun,” Aza said in the tone that implied it was the exact opposite, “I sure do love fighting dragons in cramped, narrow hallways while tripping over a hundred bumbling knights.”

“Yes, yes, you could have killed them all single-handedly,” Aymeric said with a quiet huff, “Unfortunately, they didn’t give us a chance to politely excuse ourselves from your magnificent presence.”

“How rude of them,” Aza tutted, slouching his shoulders in a near-comical exaggeration.

Aymeric looked him over, taking in his partner’s relaxed, satisfied posture. For all his belly-aching, he seemed to have found the fight invigorating enough to be in a good mood. There was blood speckled against his cheek, as well as thick, drying streaks of dragon’s blood smeared across his breastplate. The cloying smell of so much blood was beginning to make him feel ill, a nausea he ignored with some difficulty.  

“Anyway,” Aza said, straightening up and giving him a small smile, “I keep being heckled to move to ‘someplace safer’, so…?”

“The corridor’s structural integrity is unreliable at best, so, yes, best we move,” Aymeric confirmed, gesturing for Aza to start skedaddling. His partner did so, and they started to pick their careful way down the corridor. Debris and chunks of masonry threatened to trip them, and the cracked floor was slick with half-frozen blood and ice. Dragon corpses lay sprawled in the narrow space, all of them sporting the downy feathers of immature Aevis. Very young dragons, remnants of Nidhogg’s crazed brood.

It made Aymeric tired to think on it. He had naïvely thought that Nidhogg’s death would bring about the end of this, but the dragon’s brood stubbornly and insistently dashed themselves on Ishgard’s walls. They were too disorganised, too few and too weak to have any long-damaging effect, yet still they persisted. Did they intend to fight them down to the very last dragon pup? Didn’t they want peace at all, or was vengeance all they had left?

“You’re quiet,” Aza noted once they were two thirds down the corridor, “Something on your mind?”

“Mn,” Aymeric pushed those worries away, “No, I’m just tired.”

“Well, in that case,” Aza began, “We-”

“DRAGON!” Someone yelled, then-

The warning came a split second too late. Before Aymeric even processed it, before he even had a chance to whirl on the exposed side of the corridor – the Vigil violently shook beneath his feet hard enough that he almost staggered into Aza. A grinding cracking noise thrummed all around him, the groaning of stone pushed to the very limits, a very, awful, lurching feeling in his belly when he felt the stone floor shift beneath his feet, pale brick dust half-blinding him from the force of whatever the hell just rammed into the corridor-

In that frozen split-second, Aymeric’s mind processed several things at once.

The monstrously huge Aevis determinedly clawing its way into the narrow corridor, having rammed headfirst into the structure with the blind, maddened fury of a rabid animal. The chips of stone flinging everywhere as its claws tore at everything. The cracks of stressed masonry literally falling apart. Hot embers choking the air. The abrupt, terrifyingly cold knowledge of there is a thousand fulm drop beneath our feet and-

And by pure, beautiful, sheer instinct, Aymeric blindly lunged sideways into Aza, just as the floor gave way beneath their feet.

---

Aza weighed too much.

It was an awful, terrifying thought to have in that moment. Aymeric’s shoulder was a hot throb of agony, strained past its limit as he balanced dangerously, perfectly on the very edge of the massive hole that just opened in the corridor. Around him was yelling and shouting and the furious, pained howls of a dragon. Aymeric’s mind frantically pushed away all that noise and focused on his numbing fingers clenched tight around Aza’s forearm, the way the edge of the half-crumbled floor dug into his belly, the way he could feel gravity plucking at him, trying to tease him over and to tumble into that fucking terrifying expanse of steel grey below. It was taking all his core strength and weight to stop himself from sliding forwards, helped by the fact that Aza did not struggle or flail or do anything any sane man would’ve done when finding himself a thousand fulms above ground.

“Oh, fuck, okay,” Aza was saying, his voice breathless and strained but calm. A dragon roared somewhere, “You’re good, Aym. You’re good. Just hold on.”

“I… am…” he forced out in a curt grunt, his free hand pressing hard into the stone when he felt himself almost slip forwards a damning half-ilm. His shoulder was on fire. He was losing strength in his grip. Fuck, he might’ve pulled something when stopping his partner’s very rapid descent, “Aza, I can’t… you’re t-too…”

“If you say ‘you’re too heavy’,” Aza laughed a little wildly, reaching up with his free hand to grip Aymeric’s bicep, “No, it’s good. I can- I can get myself up. Just- just stay like that, handsome, okay? It’s okay. Just stay there.”

The entire corridor felt like it heaved, masonry cracking somewhere out of sight. A flare of heat at his back, everything lighting up in a glow that reflected in Aza’s eyes. His partner was disturbingly calm. Aymeric was… calm. His mind compartmentalised everything, broken up into manageable chunks to deal with later. He focused on; Aza, his weight, his shoulder, the steel grey sky below their feet. Everything else was boxed up and put away. Later. Focus.

“I’m really sorry,” Aza said to him, “This is probably going to hurt a lot.”

Then, with an abrupt yank on his arm, almost making Aymeric’s vision go white with pain, Aza hauled himself up from sheer upper body strength alone, his fingers gripping hard into his shoulder, the other hand – the stone edge. Blindly, Aymeric gripped at him, shuffling back and half-dragging, half-holding as Aza scrambled and crawled over the edge onto solid ground. Semi-solid ground. Everything was still trembling.

“Phew! Okay!” Aza said shakily, giving him a wobbly smile, his face alarmingly pale, “It’s good. We’re all good. You did good, Aym, you’re amazing, holy shit, thank the Twelve for your fast reflexes, okay? Okay, so- oh, fuck, I forgot about the dragon-”

Aymeric, on his knees, still honed into that calm, focused edge, turned to see the Aevis reeling from one smart knight aiming a still functioning Bertha cannon into its face. It screeched, writhed, wildly spraying spluttering fire, sending knights scattering with shouts.

“Oi!” Aza roared, his near-death experience instantly forgotten as he leapt to his feet and charged forwards, “Fuck off, you stupid lizard-”

Aymeric knelt there for a few seconds, then quietly stood on weak legs and gripped his sword hilt with a trembling hand. He took that moment, boxed it up, and put it into the back of his mind for later. He followed his partner a moment after, grip steady and sure on his blade.

---

It hit him when they were back in Ishgard.

He was sitting on the sofa of their living room, well, sprawled more like, bone-weary and his shoulder aching. He’d lightly torn a muscle, according to the chirugeon, and whilst a dash of healing magic recovered the worst of it, he was told to do only light exercise for a few days. Aza, of course, acted like his arm had been ripped off and stitched back on again, and refused to let Aymeric handle anything heavier than the house key.

Despite the fact he’d been the one to almost die today.

Then, it hit him.

It hit him that Aza had almost died.

This wasn’t anything new. Aza almost died all the time. But it was always out of sight, something he heard about and never really saw with his own eyes. He saw Aza, injured and limping, wincing from serious wounds but alive and well enough to grumble and whine about it. It was different to hear ‘Aza almost died again’, different than actually, physically, holding his partner from the very jaws of death, to know that if he had been too slow, or if his grip slipped, or if he fell over too, or if the dragon had turned its attention to them, or if, or if, or if.

It hit him, that Aza could have very easily been one of those. Aymeric saw many of them, during the height of the Dragonsong War. Of knights plucked up and dropped several hundred fulms, to dash against the rocks. Of ‘heretics’ forced to leap from Witchdrop and having their bodies paraded through the Holy See, lauded as loyal martyrs who proved their faith by willingly leaping into Halone’s halls (as if they weren’t thrown, begging and pleading for mercy). As Lord Commander, Aymeric had stood and watched far too many of those, seen to many of those, scraped up too many of those, and even after twenty years of witnessing them he still felt clammy and nauseous whenever he had to look at those broken things.

Because, they were never bodies at the end. They became smears, stains, pulp, rather than corpses. Even just thinking about it made his pulse unsettlingly fast. To imagine it as Aza-

Aymeric shifted to lie down on the sofa instead. He felt a swell of nausea rise in his throat, and he clasped his hands over his belly, feeling the fingers tremble as he very carefully prodded at that bone-deep fear. He understood himself. He knew how he worked through moments like these. He had a system to compartmentalise his trauma and feelings and emotions and work through them piecemeal by piecemeal. Only. He did that by himself. Normally.

There was none of that here. Aza was in the kitchen. He could hear him lightly singing in that lilting, odd language of the Steppes. For some reason hearing it made his throat clench up and he had to take a very deep, long breath. Eventually Aza will have to come out of the kitchen and will know something was up. Aymeric wasn’t hypocritical enough to hide it from him either.

Something prickled at him uncomfortably – Aza was messing up his routine, something said anxiously, but that wasn’t meant to be a bad thing, was it? No, it wasn’t. He should be relieved and fucking happy Aza was here and not a Fury-damned smear somewhere. Still, anxiety lingered and gave birth to guilt. It just tangled up together in a very confusing jumble and he found himself unsure on how to pick it apart. This was going against his usual system and he didn’t like it.

He didn’t know how long he spent staring up at the ceiling, very carefully pushing down the burning tight feeling in his throat and chest. It was, rationally, a silly thing to be getting upset over now. Aza didn’t die. Dwelling over what ifs was useless. He should just be content that it all ended well and, honestly, he needed to get a fucking grip.

Still, emotions and rationality rarely, if ever, went hand in hand.

It took him a moment too long to realise Aza wasn’t singing anymore. The very second he noticed that, his partner leaned over the back of the sofa and into his line of sight. He looked worried.

“Aym?” Aza said warily, “I called your name like, five times. Did you fall asleep with your eyes closed?”

“…no,” Aymeric said roughly, “I’m having a moment.”

“Um,” Aza wavered, clearly not expecting that, “A moment? Like, a bad one?”

“Yes.”

Aza said nothing for a moment, then went, “Okay. Budge over.”

Aymeric budged over, but there was barely any room on the sofa anyways when Aza climbed over the back of it and wedged in the narrow space. Aza was half-sprawled on top of him, but Aymeric curled his arms around him and pressed his nose into Aza’s hair and smelled the lingering smell of metal, oil, sweat and brimstone. It wasn’t a very nice smell, but it was an Aza smell. That was enough.

Aza gently nosed at the crook of his neck, his hand resting on his aching shoulder and very lightly pressed his thumb against the tense muscle. It ached, teasing slightly into pressure pain, but Aymeric didn’t mind. His breath caught in his chest, shuddering audibly.

“You upset about today?” Aza asked him quietly, tilting his head enough to kiss the pulse point in his throat, “About us nearly falling?”

“A little,” Aymeric murmured, hating how his voice came out all strangled, “I almost dropped you.”

“But you didn’t,” Aza told him gently, “You caught me. Okay? You caught me, it’s all good.”

“I know. I shouldn’t be upset, but…” Logically, he understood that he caught Aza and everything was fine. Emotionally, he kept imagining Aza as one of those smashed up corpses and felt ill and clammy at the near ‘what-if’. It was exhausting and annoying. Around this point he would find some work to tunnel-vision on and work himself to the point of falling into a dreamless sleep. Probably not a healthy way of dealing, thinking on it.

“… Lucia tells me,” Aza began after a short pause, “That sometimes our brains are dumbasses and makes you feel stupid things, but those stupid things are still valid. So, you might feel dumb for feeling upset about me almost dying, because, well, I’m obviously not dead, but it’s still a valid feeling. If… that is what’s worrying you.”

“Lucia said that, in those exact words?” Aymeric asked, finding a whisper of humour in him somewhere.

“Shut up. I’m paraphrasing, you asshole,” Aza muttered, then continued in a slightly nervous tone, “I just mean, um, I don’t think you’re stupid for being upset about it. And, I won’t judge. I’ll just keep reminding you that I’m okay, in case your brain forgets, and you deal with it at your pace, okay?”

Aymeric was quiet for a moment, briefly stunned. Lucia was a very good influence and an effective pseudo-therapist, what the hell. He needed to give that woman a raise.

“Alright,” he said, “I’m very upset.”

“About dropping me?”

“Imagining you… if you dropped.”

“Mn. That sounds like it’d be messy.”

“It is…” Aymeric said a bit listlessly, “I’ve seen many knights or supposed ‘heretics’ die from fatal falls. It is… it is never a clean death. Some, they must have died on impact. A grim fortune for them, I suppose, but the afterwards, is… for those who needs to pick up the pieces…”

Aza nuzzled his throat, distracting him from the very uncomfortable, queasy clench in his gut, “Let’s not talk about that,” his partner murmured against his skin, lightly kissing his fluttering pulse point, “It’s making you all clammy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Aza sighed, “S’okay, Aym. Maybe we should talk about something nicer? You need a break, it sounds like.”

Aymeric took a moment to consider if he wanted to do that. He felt too tense and weary to really… no, he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He was too tired and sore, too mentally drained. A break was needed.

“…did you see Lord Dounon’s atrocious hat the other day?”

“Ugh, you mean that ugly fucking pancake that’s sitting on his head?” Aza scoffed lightly, “Unfortunately.”

“I almost broke a rib trying not to laugh whilst staring at it.”

They spoke a little longer on a few Lords’ unfortunate fashion choices, but eventually exhaustion began to win its war against Aymeric. He failed to stifle a yawn mid-sentence, his eyelids drooping shut. He was so tired, and he grumbled when Aza laughed and cooed at him and kissed the tip of his nose.

“Take a catnap, handsome,” Aza told him, “Then you can shower the stink off you, eat something and face the day a bit more refreshed. I can call Lucia over too, if you want.”

That actually sounded tempting… and leagues better than what he would’ve done if left to his own devices, which was work himself to exhaustion and wake up hungry and groggy and unhappy, “Are you cooking?”

“Yup. Gonna make pancakes – if you go to sleep now.”

Aymeric muttered about tyrants, but Aza just laughed at him and kissed his nose again.

Like this, it was easy enough, to compartmentalise, take a breath – and relax. The anxiety was still there, but… it was better. Just a little. Just enough.