#but the sheer joy he must have experienced

[good-to-drive]

Pisses me off that John is the only beatle who never got to be on the Simpsons because aside from George he'd have appreciated it the most

[writethrough]

The Diviner (Part V)

(Morpheus x Prophetess Reader)

Synopsis: Your body needs time to heal, but your unconscious is finally dreaming.

Warnings: None? (Message me if you see any.)

Word Count: 3219

A/N: Did you really think I'd leave you hanging a full week after that little blurb of a last chapter? I think I've more than made up for it with this sucker.

Thank you to everyone who's stuck it out with me. I really enjoyed hearing what you like about this series.

To everyone who has reblogged, you are spectacular humans and deserve an endless supply of your favorite food.

I hope you all enjoy this final chapter! I'd love to know what you thought of this series, and if I should post more multi-part fics in the future.

Series Masterlist

You wander. A maze of darkness before you.  

You exhale and remember Morpheus.  

A room appears, lit by stained glass, with a throne in the middle. And he's there, alive, staring at you in shock. 

—  

“I don’t understand,” you say. “How am I awake?”  

You were dying. At least it felt like you were dying. So, why are you...fine?  

“If I may?” Lucienne asks. Morpheus called for her as soon as he saw you.  

His chin dips a fraction, but it’s enough for Lucienne to continue.  

“Given your abilities, I believe the severity of your injuries—and healing in the Dreaming—has allowed your subconscious to manifest.” She smiles, pleased with her next words. “You’re dreaming, my lady.”  

Your brow furrows, and you glance from her to Morpheus.  

“How is that possible? If I’m healing, shouldn’t my mind be recovering as well?”  

“Your mind is the most resilient part of you, prophetess. It stands to reason it would need little to no time to replenish,” Morpheus says.  

Your eyes lower to the floor, considering this.  

For centuries, you’ve seen possible futures—travesties no one could imagine. And you haven’t forgotten one.  

Day in and day out, vision after vision, a constant rush of images, sounds, smells, and even sensations when intense enough. Your mind has built up a tolerance for nearly anything and everything.  

It seems almost dying is child's play for it though your body would be down for some time.  

You take in Morpheus’ throne room, truly seeing where you are. “I’m…dreaming.” And you laugh. In disbelief, in wonder—in sheer joy.  

You are dreaming.  

—  

Morpheus transported your body into his realm as soon as you fainted.  

Between your physical injuries and the attack meant for Morpheus, your only chance was the magic and tools in the Dreaming.  

Lucienne, Matthew, and Death helped him stabilize you, but he never expected you to walk right up to him as if you were fine.  

However your body absorbed the attack, it caused your powers to shut down, and you’re experiencing the Dreaming for the first time in centuries.  

You’re acting yourself mostly, but sometimes you grow tired, your physical form telling your unconscious you aren’t out of the woods yet.  

Morpheus urges you to take a seat, worry flashing through his eyes.  

“I’m okay,” you say. “It’s just a minor spell.”  

“I wish I could do more,” he says, hand still on the back of your bicep.  

“You’ve done plenty. More than I could ever hope for.”  

His jaw clenches, a twitch of movement, but you catch it. You’ve gotten better at picking up his micro-expressions.  

“I mean it, Morpheus. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you.” You try to push as much conviction in the words as possible.   

“You wouldn’t have been in harm's way if it wasn’t for me.”  

You shake your head, dizzying yourself and need to rest it on your hand. Morpheus’ brow pinches slightly.  

“Warrens decided to trap you and use me. I should've predicted that.”  

“That’s not in your ability,” he says.  

“And I should’ve figured I'd be in danger when Death said you’d be fine. I should’ve known she saw me dying and not you.”

It clicked not longer after you woke up. Of course, Death knew what was supposed to happen.

“You must not focus on the past. It will do nothing to aid your recovery.”  

You sigh. “I know. I just feel so stupid.”  

Your eyes are downcast. It surprises you when a gentle touch lifts your chin and directs you to focus on him.  

“I will not have you speaking as if you’ve done something wrong,” he says. “Because of you, I am alive. I will forever be grateful.”  

He waits for an answer. All you can do is nod.  

His touch vanishes, and he stands.  

“Perhaps I can show you more of the Dreaming.”  

You give him a small smile. “I’d like that.”  

—  

Time moves differently in the Dreaming. It was best when you stopped trying to keep track of it. All you know is that you’ve been recovering for some time. Long enough for you to have your role carved out here and for the residents to call you by name.  

Your exhaustion and dizzy spells are few and far between, but they’re intense and accompanied by symptoms of visions. A faint smell, a phantom touch, even a whisper of a voice, but no matter how much you try, you can’t hang onto them. They slip through your fingers before you recognize what they are. It’s like you’re missing a limb.  

Today, the loss is affecting you more than you thought it could. You miss your ability. As much trouble as it can cause, you somehow feel untethered from yourself. Even with your body lying unconscious, you’re more of a shell now than ever.  

And as much as you try to hide it, somehow, Morpheus knows.  

“You will return to yourself,” he says.  

You’re sitting in Fiddler’s Green on a bench beneath a grove of magnolia trees.  

“It feels like it’s been years,” you say, rubbing your arm. You haven’t felt the breeze on your skin since the attack. You hardly notice it now as the grass moves with it.  

You can tell he’s about to respond, and you already know what he’ll say.  

“Don’t tell me ‘it takes time’ or ‘be patient.’ I’ve been patient. I’ve had to be patient since Destiny gave me this damn power, and now I can’t even access it because I missed the signs last time!” You rub your face, trying to push the frustration out.  

He lets you have your moment to feel that anger.  

“Immortality is crueler than death,” he begins. “It's companions are loneliness and waiting.”  

You look at him, scanning his features, and nod. Your agitation cools into sympathy. 

“I forget what happened to you sometimes. I’m sorry.”  

“I will not accept an unnecessary apology,” he says. “My experiences do not outweigh yours.”  

“Nevertheless, I’m free here. You weren’t.”  

He locks eyes with you, a softness to them. “I am also free.”  

It’s like he’s latched onto your soul. His timbre pulls you closer. And you realize you don’t feel so lost when he’s around.  

“Boss!”  

You lean back and look toward the sound, missing Morpheus’ eyes widening a fraction at Matthew’s interruption, too.  

“Boss! Death’s here.” Matthew lands in front of you.  

Your brow furrows, and your heart quickens. “Death’s here?”  

Why would Death be here? She wouldn’t come to the Dreaming if she didn’t have a good reason.  

What if she’s working? What if you aren’t improving and the Dreaming is masking your worsening condition?  

Morpheus tilts his head slightly, sensing your tension. He puts the pieces together quickly as he stands. 

“I requested she come.” He turns to you, voice tender, reassuring. “I wished to spend time with her.”  

—  

You haven't seen Death since you arrived.  

She and Morpheus urged you to stay even though you wanted to give them privacy. You forgot what it was like to have friends—to be close to others. It was nice.  

Then she whisked you away, telling Morpheus it was “girl time.”  

You’re strolling on one of the paths: one that extends as long as you can walk and leads to wherever you wish.  

You’ve had enough time to think about that day, your limitations, Death’s, what Warrens did to you…  

“You knew I’d be there,” you say.  

Neither of you stop walking. It’s not a surprise that you’ve brought this up.  

“That’s why you were surprised. Not because I had a vision of Morpheus, but because I was supposed to be there all along—because I was supposed to die—and you couldn’t interfere.”  

She grimaces. “I’m sorry.”  

You let out a breathy laugh. “I should be used to all the secrecy, but I’m not.” You pause. “And yet, I get it. Price of power and all that, I guess.”  

Now, she halts. “I know this won’t bring you comfort, but your being alive is a miracle.”  

“Then how am I…”  

“I don’t know. And that’s not something I say often,” Death says. “I can only speculate, but the day Destiny came to you—before that, he came to me and asked I keep you here. I didn’t ask why, but maybe this was meant to happen. You were the only one who could save my brother.”  

You shake your head. “I still don’t understand. Why give me this power at all? Why not just put me on the path so I could save Morpheus at the end? And how could you see my murder if you made that promise?”  

“Not even I am sure of that.” She answers your last question. “But: Is that not what Destiny did? Put you on that very path?” She pauses, then softly. “And gave you a purpose. One bigger than anyone should have, but a purpose nonetheless.”  

That thought runs around your head. 

Did Destiny do that? 

It's hard to imagine that being the reason. But why else would he— 

“Do you…Do you think Destiny gave me this power so I would survive?”  

You aren’t sure that makes sense. 

You. Out of everyone that could make a difference in the world, Destiny chose you.  

Death shrugs. “Again, I can’t be certain. But think about it, it brought you to Hob, to me," she gives you a knowing look, "to Dream.” 

You roll your eyes. “Need I remind you that I hated Morpheus for the longest time.”  

“Need I remind you that was in the past tense.” She grins.  

“So, you’re saying it’s harder to kill me than I originally thought,” you say, trying to change the subject.  

“None of that,” she tuts. “Even though it’s not under the best circumstances, I am happy you and Morpheus are getting to know one another.”  

You hum. “I spent so long not knowing what to feel for him—having all of these unanswered questions—it’s strange…to finally have that behind me.” You pause. “I enjoy his company.”  

“I would’ve used a stronger word than that,” she says, grinning cheekily. 

The tiny smiles Morpheus sent you and the glances you threw him could’ve made her squeal if she was the type.  

“Okay,” you wave her off, “enough.”  

She puts her hands up, yielding.  

You hesitate before telling her this next part.  

“I think—No, I know my visions are returning.”  

“That’s great!” She grabs your arm. “...Isn’t it?”  

“It’s just…They aren’t back yet. They’re not full visions. And I don’t know what that means. Or how long I’ll be like this.” You gesture to yourself.  

She smiles empathetically. “It means you’re getting better. I can only imagine how frustrating it’s been, but you are healing.”  

You nod. She’s right.  

She slips her arm into yours. “Now, let me tell you all the embarrassing stories about my brother.”  

You throw your head back and laugh.  

—  

It’s been a few days since then, you think. You and Morpheus have spent most of your time together. He’s become someone you care for deeply, and you wonder if he feels the same.  

You think he does when he pulls out your chair or helps you cross a stream. He’s interested in your life besides your visions. And when you told him about your family and loved ones throughout the years, he placed his hand atop yours. You could still feel it sometimes.  

You’re both in the library. A rare occurrence of rest brought Morpheus to curl up with you on the plush sofa. Well, you curled up. Morpheus has his feet on the floor but is leaning into the cushions.  

“I’ll have read everything in here by the time I wake up,” you joke, flipping your page.  

“I can feel your bouts of power when they rise. It will not be long now.”  

He always speaks so assuredly when it’s about your healing. His steadfastness has rubbed off on you. You aren’t so pessimistic about it anymore.  

You don’t notice you’re staring at him until he asks if something’s wrong.  

You shake your head. “No. I just don’t know what I would’ve done all this time if you weren’t here.”  

He faces forward, not staring at anything, and silence settles over you. The atmosphere shifts, and you can almost feel the tension coming from him.  

“There is no universe where I would have been elsewhere,” he says, as still as ever.  

And it’s his seriousness that makes you drop your light tone and scoot closer.  

“I know. And I appreciate that.” You glance at your fingers. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”  

“You haven’t.” He rests his hand on yours. “But know that you are my priority, and I am happy to have been by your side.”  

“Morpheus…” you lock eyes, “we’ve been over this. I hate that you feel obligated to help me.”  

His brows twitch inward. “I feel no such compulsions. I am grateful you saved my life, but I can never repay such sacrifice.” He pauses. “Your wellbeing is my concern as your…friend.”  

His thumb brushes your cheekbone as he searches your eyes.  

You pull your lips into a thin line, hoping he can’t feel the heat in your cheeks. “Just know that I wouldn’t change what I did. I wanted to save you—I needed to.”  

“You didn’t—”  

“I did!” You say almost desperately. “You’re the only connection I have to my past. You’re the only one who knows who I was. I can’t lose you…”  

You’re afraid to look him in the eye, but he lifts your chin with a slightly hooked finger, tenderness in his gaze.  

“You won’t.”  

He pulls his hand away, and you realize how much closer you both have gotten.  

“You can’t promise that, though,” you whisper.  

“No. I cannot. But I can promise that ritual is gone.”  

You clench your jaw. “That won’t stop me from worrying.”  

“Then you know how I feel.”  

He says it like a joke—mirthful—a tone that’s both strange and welcome in him.  

You roll your eyes halfheartedly. “You don’t need to worry. I’m fine.”  

“I will stop worrying when you’re awake,” he says. “Until then, I will watch over you.”  

A slight shiver runs down your spine. Morpheus' entire focus on you always makes you a little weak, but hearing him say those words? They almost send your knees buckling.  

“I don’t understand. Why have you been so insistent about this?”  

Something seems to settle in his eyes, his head tipping closer.  

“When you were writhing in pain—screaming—something came over me that hasn’t in a long while.”  

You tilt your head, waiting.  

“Fear.”  

“What?” you whisper.  

The back of his fingers grazes your cheek, lingering, caressing.  

“I feared I would lose you.” He’s searching you, analyzing every twitch and passing emotion.  

“Morpheus,” you start, “what are you saying?”  

The corner of his lips lift briefly.  

“You’ve become important to me,” he breathes. “My prophetess.”  

His lips are so close to yours. A moment more, and they’d touch. But as much as you want this, you stop him.  

“I don’t want our first kiss to be when I’m dreaming,” you say. “I want it to feel real because…you’ve become important to me, too.”  

Softly, he rests his forehead against yours.  

“I will wait as long as I must. Knowing you feel the same is enough.”  

—  

Your dizziness has been nonexistent these past couple of weeks. You’ve been able to help Lucienne in the library much more. However, this morning, if you could even call it that in the Dreaming—it’s like you’ve been getting hit from all sides.  

A breeze on your cheek while you were indoors.  

A shimmering red when you paged through a book.  

And whispered words of “regret this” and mumblings you couldn’t decipher.  

But this is your strongest one yet.  

It’s not images or scents, not even a noise, but an expansive, all-encompassing feeling blooming within your chest. You swear you’ll burst when Lucienne sees you steadying yourself against a table.  

She says your name. “Are you alright?”  

The feeling keeps getting bigger and bigger, and then Lucienne seems so far away, then the entire library. And you realize it’s time.  

“I think…I think I’m waking up.”  

A moment after you spoke, it feels like you're falling backward.  

Your eyes open with a quick inhale, and you look around.  

You’re in a bed, and everything feels so much more tangible. There are soft sheets, a comforting breeze from the open window, and that unmistakable feeling of something new beginning.  

You slowly rise, but where you thought there would be soreness, none comes.  

You've healed.  

You laugh in disbelief, running out of the room and to the one person you need to see.  

He’s creating dreams, something you’d usually take a moment to marvel at, but you can’t seem to give a damn.  

He glances over his shoulder, lips ticking up when he sees you.  

He’s about to speak. Then, his eyebrows twitch downward when you don’t stop walking, and you barely contain your smile before you kiss him.  

It takes him no more than a moment to grip your waist and pull you closer. To feel him like this instead of those phantom pressures, it's indescribable.   

You reluctantly retreat, and he stares at you with this kind of awe, tracing the back of his knuckles down your cheek, his features brighter than you’ve ever seen.   

“How are you feeling?” he asks.   

You take a moment before answering. “I’m okay. Everything feels…stronger now.” You give him a small smile. “Real.”  

“Not many have visited the Dreaming as you are,” he says. “If you’re overwhelmed, please tell me.”  

You shake your head fondly. “Not overwhelmed, just…happy.”  

“I am glad.”  

Your hands rest on his chest as you stare at him, too thrilled to care that maybe you should say something. But all you want to do is look at him—feel him now that you’re back in your body.  

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind.  

He’s gripping your hips, the lightest of touches, yet it almost burns you in the best way possible. His thumb grazes one side, grabbing your attention. Like he knows you’re daydreaming. 

“I must give you something,” he says.  

He reaches within his coat, and in his palm is a gold band embedded with a ruby, a piece of Morpheus’ Dreamstone.  

“Stay with me,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “Come and go as you please, but always return. To your home.” He pauses. “To me.”  

You stare at him, eyes wide with wonder and glistening.  

“Yes,” you breathe, beaming.  

He strokes your cheekbone with his thumb before cupping it fully and slotting his lips between yours.  

You giggle. “I have to say I really didn’t see this coming.”  

If Morpheus was one to roll his eyes, he would have.  

“Do not make me regret this.”  

The lit in his voice pulls a playful gasp from you.  

“It’s too late. You can’t change your mind,” you say, eyes alight.  

His warm smile sends gooseflesh up your arms.  

“Never,” he whispers.  

Destiny has strange ways of working, but after centuries of unanswered questions, you finally think you understand why he chose you.  

Maybe the eldest Endless has a softer spot for his younger brother than any of you realize.

Taglist: @sayumiht, @hatterripper31, @snowsatsu, @1950schick, @navs-bhat, @bookshelf-dust, @sapphireonline, @fictional-hooman, @steph-speaks, @ladyredstar1991, @secretdreamlandmentality, @ababycake, @morpheuss1mp, @boofy1998, @alice-the-nerd, @herfantasyworldd, @poemfreak306, @under-kitty

If you’d like to be added to any taglists, please comment or message me with the character you’d like updates on. 

[lizzybeth1986]

Laylat al-Henna

Book: The Royal Romance

Rating: PG

Pairing: Kiara Theron x Hana Lee

Word Count: 1, 882 words

Summary: It's the night before Kiara and Hana's wedding! What fun things do Kiara's cousins from Fes have in store for their henna night?

A/N: You'll find details and visuals on the fashion and henna designs (as well as faceclaims for the OCs!) in this post.

Tagging @kiaratheronappreciationweek for KTAW Day 1: Culture, @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW/LGBTQ Archive, @choicespride as well even though it may be a bit early for the pride event.

It is tradition - Kiara has been told over and over, wedding after wedding, from the time she was twelve - for a woman to have her bridegroom's name hidden in the designs of her henna.

Their families back in Fes would make a game of it on their wedding night; the groom could touch his bride only when he found his name, tiny and dark and perfect - leaving the most beautiful stain on her palms.

At least four (well...three, really) of those cousins had giggled over how it all went down at their own wedding nights. Nour's henna had her husband's name written in extremely small print, squirreled away among a row of curls. Imane's flowed along the curves of a large, floral paisley. Nissrine's husband was rumoured to have taken hours searching for his name in her henna and poor Fatimazahra's collapsed into an eight-hour slumber before he could even truly try.

All four of them laughed even harder when they were told that Kiara would be marrying a woman.

At first Kiara assumed it had to be the fun of celebrating two brides rather than just one. Double the joy, double the dancing, double the bridal henna!

Should've known better, Kiara mutters to herself as her eyes search frantically for telltale signs of calligraphy along the darkened vines on Hana's palm.

She almost lets out a triumphant yell when she catches a lovingly inscribed kaaf, deceptively mirroring the vines. That's before she realises the other four letters are scattered in Arabic all over Hana's palm.

Kiara purses her lips, immensely annoyed. Why did she think this to be so romantic in the first place?

"Oh!" Hana whispers in delight, "Look! I've found mine." Her finger lightly traces the soft skin underneath Kiara's little finger, caressing the spot where her own name is inscribed, in Mandarin....as a whole word. Her eyes sparkle in childlike glee.

Kiara manages to catche an alif peeking out from behind a flower on the soft skin just below Hana's thumb. She lets out a small huff of laughter, shaking her head.

Perhaps she should thank every deity of every faith that her parents' gave her a name as short as Kiara. Imagine her plight if it had been as long as Fatimazahra's, zut alors.

"My darling cousins," she says, her eyes still roaming over Hana's palms. Now...now she understands all those hearty cackles Nour seemed to be making, at the idea of arranging a henna party for two women. "Elles me conduiront à ma tombe!"

--

Every woman at the henna party in Castelserraillan that night shared very knowing grins as Kiara and Hana entered - completely blissed out, skin dewy and aglow, a mixture of a french lavender scent and the earthy aroma of ghassoul clay emanating from their bodies.

They'd been brought into the hall like princesses of old, carried in jewelled palanquins, dressed in caftans and takchitas whose golden threads reflected the soft light of the hall, the candles that seemed to receive their own henna treatment in tones of pink, purple and rose gold, and their light glowed softly in trays of pure gold.

Having experienced the joys of the pre-henna night hammam baths themselves, most of Kiara's aunts and cousins could tell how good the treatments must have been within the first ten minutes of a bride entering the ceremony.

Beneath her golden veil, Kiara's eyes roamed around the hall, in awe of the sheer love and detail that must have gone into planning this party alone. Both women being daughters to a multitude of cultures meant that Kiara and Hana had to pay their respects to several of their homes - Bethulia. Castelserraillan. Udvada. Orleans. Fes. Shanghai. Cordonia. - in different ceremonies, and include a multitude of relatives.

Which meant that Kiara's aunts and cousins knew this night was their moment to shine.

Hana was whisked to another corner of the room before Kiara could even get a chance to speak to her - a bevy of ladies already surrounding her to fulfill requests, give her mint tea, admire the henna's artist's craft or just for a small chat. Anything and everything Hana wanted. Tonight (and this was exactly how Kiara wanted it) Hana was going to be treated like a queen.

From under her lashes, Kiara sneaked a look at Hana. The woman she would call her wife tomorrow. Listening, nodding, her silken brown hair catching the glow of the lights as she threw her head back at a joke her aunt Hala said.

"If you stare any harder you'll bore a hole in the wall behind her," Nissrine came to her, grinning as she followed Kiara's gaze. She looked around the hall, slightly doubtful. "How did we do?"

Kiara laughed, placing her free hand on her cousin's arm, reassuring her with the word they would all use to describe something as beautiful. "Zwina."

Fatimazahra - who had been minding the caterers this whole time - seemed to appear out of nowhere, chukling. "Tomorrow is her wedding night. Of course everything will be zwina. The macroute will be zwina, her henna will be zwina, her wife will be the most zwina."

Kiara moved her gaze from Hana to her own palms, admiring the naqasha's speed and precision. The henna felt cool on her left palm, the designs on her arms already beginning to dry a little and the paste itself smelling pleasant and earthy - the way real henna should.

The naqasha - an experienced henna artist from their hometown whose team had become popular among the family circles for their vast knowledge of different henna styles (Indian, Pakistani, Khaleeji, Fassi, Marrakechi, Meknessi, Saharawi - you name it) - had finished making a beautiful dome at the centre of Kiara's palm, and was now referring to a tiny piece of paper Imane seemed to have given her before carefully writing out Méihuā - the name Hana's paternal family often used for her - in Hànzì script.

Kiara smiles mistily as she watches Soraya, the naqasha, labour over each character of the script, making sure she never got a single line or slant wrong. Hana often told her that that name reminded her of happier times, far more than her own birth name did. It meant plum blossom - the flower that grew fragrant and resilient in the snow, China's national flower. Her Năinai's favourite flower.

And over the past year...she'd begun to answer to it a little more too.

Kiara mouthed a silent "thank you" to Imane as she sauntered to her side, looking very pleased with herself.

"Wonderful work, Soraya," she patted the naqasha lightly on her shoulder, "What oils did you add in the henna paste this time?"

"Tea tree, geranium and lavender," Soraya said, smiling, "She can hold her hands in front of some herbal incense later. A lovely rich colour and the scent will be incredible."

"Ohhh...what a deep stain it'll leave behind when the henna comes off!" Imane looked back at Kiara, winking. "Remember what our aunts used to tell us, Kiara? The darker the stain of the henna, the deeper the essence of his love. Or her's, in this case."

Kiara was grateful for her golden veil as heat creeped up her neck. Maman loved that adage, ever since her own wedding where - if Kiara's aunts were to be believed - her henna deepened to a dark, rich brown without even holding her hands to a brazier like everyone else did.

Kiara always liked to call herself a practical woman. But this didn't stop her from dreaming of showing Hana her palms, rich and deep brown from both henna and their love.

"Is Hana liking her designs?" Kiara asked Imane.

"Iyyeh," Imane nodded. "Soraya's girls have really outdone themselves. Indian designs are usually very elaborate, but Hana wanted something simple, a little floral."

She gave Kiara a wolfish grin, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "I think you're going to love it."

Kiara narrowed her eyes at Imane. She knew that look. It was the kind she would give all her cousins when, as children, she was about to do skin her knees climbing the branches of a fig tree.

Kiara was going to open her mouth to ask what Imane had in mind, when the low, deep strains of the guembri rang throughout the room.

It was Nissrine's younger sister Nour, closing her eyes in reverence and plucking the strings of the family guembri - a legacy from her father, a renowned Gnawa master himself. The guembri had been in the family for generations, itself decorated with henna patterns so intricate it would amaze even the best of naqashas.

As the women in her family got up to dance to "Toura Toura", a song Kiara would listen to and relish in 12 hour lilas every year in Fes (singing in Bambara - a language neither she nor her cousins truly understood but loved to hear), she found herself somehow dancing next to the woman she had been craving to see for the last few hours.

"Well, hello there," Kiara said, sneaking a kiss to Hana's cheek.

Hana giggled. "Fancy running into you."

They danced until their feet were sore, until their eyes begged for sleep, until their henna dried - leaving behind a stain that was a deep, dark, rich brown.

--

"They did that on purpose!" Kiara huffs, ten minutes after she has triumphantly shown Hana the final letter - the rāy curling at the base of her wrist. "They were planning to annoy and vex me this entire time. If they were here right now I'd tell them to go cook themselves an egg."

For all her grumbling, however, Kiara was quite overjoyed. She had hoped that her extended family in Fes would adore Hana just as much as she did, that they would love her and pamper her silly. They went above and beyond; they made Hana's first real experience of Morocco practically unforgettable.

It was. In every sense of the word. Even if that involved secretly pulling Kiara's leg.

Hana pouts, her fingers still tracing the name on Kiara's palm. "I wish they scattered letters for me too. Seems like more of a challenge." She shifts a little more into Kiara's arms, turning her gaze to her own palms. "Not that I don't love your henna already. It's gorgeous; look at these curls in the center! They remind me of a compass rose."

Hana runs her fingers purposefully along the length of Kiara's body. She presses five tiny kisses along her face.

"A kiss for each letter," she hums happily against Kiara's skin, "A just reward for your hard work."

Laughter bubbles in Kiara's throat. "Only five?"

"Kiara Yasmine Thorne," Hana's voice takes on a raspy, sultry quality, "Don't be greedy."

"Ma moitie," she whispers back, "I believe tonight's the one night when greed is allowed."

Hana bites her lower lip to stem her own laughter, then lets her lips roam free over Kiara's face.

"Fine, then," Hana huffs in mock-petulance, only too happy to go along with the joke, "Eighteen kisses it is."

Kiara buries her hands in Hana's hair as she breathes in the fragrance from between her shoulder and neck. "I won't mind if you give me more...but alright. Eighteen's a start."

Translation -

Darija:

Kaaf (ك), yaa (ي), alif (ا)(twice), rāy (ر) are the isolated letters that - I think - will form Kiara's name in Arabic. I believe that it may look somewhat like this (كيارا) when written as one word, but the letters are meant to be scattered around Hana's henna just to tease Kiara.

Ghassoul/Rhassoul clay - a type of clay that some people use as a cosmetic product for their skin and hair. It’s a brown clay only found in a valley in the Atlas mountains of Morocco. The term “rhassoul” comes from an Arabic word that means “to wash.” Typically used in hammam baths.

Zwina - a compliment, literal meaning is beautiful or good.

Macroute - a diamond shaped sweet cookie filled with dates and nuts or almond paste.

Naqasha - Henna artist

Guembri - a three stringed skin-covered bass plucked lute used by the Gnawa people

Lila - a rich ceremony in the Gnawa community, of song, music, dance, costume, and incense that takes place over the course of an entire night, ending around dawn. Learn more here.

Toura Toura - Popular Gnawa song. Here is a version by Innov Gnawa.

French:

zut alors - an expression of annoyance, like saying "darn!" or "damn!", mostly used in non-serious instances.

Elles me conduiront à ma tombe! - They will lead me to my grave!

Va te faire cuire un œuf! - Literally, "go cook yourself an egg!". An expression of annoyance, similar to "go take a hike!" or "leave me alone!"

[targcrazies]

Moonless, Dark Night. Pt. 6

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC!Strong (half Targaryen) Words: 3.2k+ Warnings: Violence and Graphic Descriptions, Emotional Distress, Mature (ish) themes, Mentions of Self-Harm and Su*cide, Adult Language, Incest.

This chapter has spoilers from the actual Fire & Blood storyline and sm*t

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7

9th Day of 7th Moon, 126 AC.

He found me behind the large, looming bar of bricks in our new grand apartment, his fingers grazing my waist before I winced in surprise and broke into a run. It rained outside and breezed speedily, a rarity in King’s Landing. The air tingled on the skin like gentle kisses and the smell of soil overtook every Dornish incense. The night melted onto the earth as the shower stole the humid air of the day earlier, when he and I had been wed. What a grand day it was, only second to Aegon’s weddings! Despite the grandeur, the joy, and the successful confluence as such; the heat was unbearable. We all drank honeyed wine and ate so little. The rest of the food was dutifully distributed among the smallfolks. Their joy was insurmountable and they all promised to pray endlessly for my and my husband’s welfare.

My husband! What a delight to call him so! He is finally mine. And whilst he always felt mine, there was always this qualm that held my tongue in place. But now, I shall call him mine before the whole realm. My husband, my Aemond, my Prince, my Bejeweled Prince! And, no one shall ever have the nerve to object. He is mine and mine alone and none but he and I are each other’s. 

So, when we retired to our new apartment after a whole day of festivities, Aemond having vehemently refused to let anyone bear witness to our “bedding”, saying, “Oh, she and I will bed alright. You needn’t watch us for you will hear us. Now leave!” I must have turned ten shades of red but he seemed upright and everyone fled shortly. I was honestly grateful and even though we were not exactly living up to the promise he had made, I could not care less!

As we had unclothed down to our shifts, the rain began with a thunderous vigour! The strong, mighty rain took down, with the clouds, almost all the candles. The only source of light was the lightning then, which was awfully, conveniently frequent. I requested my husband to let all the smallfolks who had come to congratulate us for our wedding in, to allow them respite and warmth alongside food. My dearest husband found my notion kind and followed through. I know that the castle does not hold every smallfolk in King’s Landing now, but I feel at peace that it holds many!

My husband had then come in with the expectation to find me totally bare, his eye gave it all away when he found me still in my shift. I took a ribbon of mine and blindfolded him, I asked him to play with me, and my dear husband followed through! Again!

He touched my arm, belly, back, hair SO MANY TIMES. But, each and every time, I ran! It was dark and then light, both of us failing to ascertain accurately where the other one was. However, that is the thrill of it! The sheer fun of it! I knew that I was tiring the man out. If Lady Cass were in my place, she’d fear exhausting her husband out of their bedding. But, honestly, the idea of bedding scared me sort of; even though Rhaenyra told me everything to expect and anticipate, to say yes and no, to ensure that I experienced optimum pleasure myself. 

Finally, I think, my husband had caught on to my antics, for his arms wrapped around my bosom so tightly that I could not twist myself out of his grasp. He called me his ‘dearest wife’ and his ‘impish wife’; before turning me to face him! I was ‘his’ as he was ‘mine’. I was so pleased that I took the ribbon of his eye myself and told him that he had won, he had won it all. The game, my life, my all – he took me in his arms and made me feel so small but so whole, so VERY WHOLE. He hadn’t touched me so in so long! We had been betrothed but he hadn’t even kissed me. He teased and teased and teased. I didn’t know what to say or do. I didn’t know what to mention here! What was I to say? My betrothed touched my lips and leaned closer to say there were bits of eggs on my lips? Or that my betrothed had me pitted against a bookshelf with his giant body to only pick out a book and hit me on my head with it? Or HOW his foot would always find its way on top of mine but he ALWAYS pretended that he did NO SUCH THING?

And then, HE KISSED ME. Finally, FINALLY. I felt so… floaty. My feet couldn’t feel the ground underneath. There was nothing but clouds. I was so taken by his kiss that I held on to him for DEAR LIFE and he laughed in the kiss. My heart felt so heavy from the fullness and wholeness that I could have cried. When we stopped kissing and he looked at me, the sky had cleared up and the moon shone upon the earth so brightly. And it kissed his face for how else did it seem so beautiful? I don’t know, I couldn’t. My husband is a beautiful man. A true Valyrian dragon-riding Prince. He is so very beautiful that I always fawn. However, last night, one would only have to see him themselves to understand exactly what and HOW I mean it when I say that HE LOOKED SO VERY BEAUTIFUL that my CHEST HURT. It felt like someone had knocked the air out of me when he smiled at me. Oh, his smile. His happy, calm, loving smile. My dear, dear husband. My heart, my love, my dearest sweet husband.

I don’t know why or how I had the notion, but I said, “You have not played with me in so long. Tonight, we shall play more.” He looked at me so befuddled, and I shoved his arms off me and ran off, told him to catch me. The white curtains flapped and flew into the wind and I, like a child, ran all around them and shoved them into his face and obstructed his running! He, for once, did not express any irritation if he felt any. He laughed and called my name with such love and ran for me! Anyone who says he is a grump and irritable, I wish they could see him with me. He has so much love for me and ONLY ME. I feel so special!

He finally caught me when I got myself hopelessly tangled in one of the curtains. He laughed at me and asked me if I was alright. He helped me untangle and CARRIED ME TO THE BED, OUR BED. He meant business, I say, WHOLE BUSINESS. He was so gentle with me, assuaging all my fears and filling me so comfortably. It felt so wrong to not have done this before, to not have had him in me. He fit me like a glove! It was so perfect and divine and warm and… titillating, if I may say! He was so wonderful. He kissed me everywhere. He put his all into ensuring that I felt the most wonderful! His hands and his mouth are magical! They hold every magical thing in this world! I felt like I’ve experienced the world and beyond last night in his arms!

My dear husband! My wonderfully dear husband! I will never let anyone come between us. No Lady Cass, no Lord Hightower, no Queen! He’s mine and I am his. Oh dear, I am in utmost bliss! I am enthralled by my dear husband. Oh, how he loves. How he loves me!

Aemond had stolen her old journal after their marriage had soured toward the beginning of the war. He often placated himself with it, despite knowing the wrongdoing in breaching her privacy. He loved his wife, he did, dearly. But oftentimes, he’d find her brooding, in this quiet, stagnant rage. She’d be as cold as iced steel, her gaze giving away so little that he felt like his soul was being torn to shreds whenever her eyes would deliberately seek him out. Her lips, straight and unwavering, remained so. He often wondered how it was possible for someone capable of such exuberant warmth to be driven with mad, critical rage. 

She’d either yell, scream, and drain herself of the venomous anger. Or, she’d let it brew her soul bitter, the smell of charred flesh wrecking up the abode. This time, she was somehow angry enough to have yelled so much that she brewed darker than ever. She was Strong, in name, and in temper. Thus, it really helped to have a remnant of her uncorrupted warmth in his hold, even if it was wholly wrong.

“Why husband? If you have nothing to hide, why don’t you seat yourself beside me like the dear husband you are? I must interrogate Alys Rivers regarding how she’s exploited the kindness shown to her.” She was aware that despite his regular constraint, he’d be even more so, given her state. She was taking advantage of it.

“Of course, Lady Wife. I have nothing to hide, at all.” Aemond took a big gulp of his wined honey, knowing better than to refuse her then. He waited for a while, keen upon knowing the whereabouts of Alys yet adamant on not making any inquiry on the matter himself.

After ten or so minutes, Alys was brought before them by Larys. The brother had taken it upon himself to attend to every whim of his sister. Aemond knew what the man thought. With both of Aegon’s sons having passed, Aemond was heir to the throne. With Aegon’s supposed injury, he might be left unable to produce any more heirs of his own. If Aemond were to have sons, he’d have a strong claim to the throne following Aegon. The one deserving of the Iron Throne, Aemond himself, could one day sit upon the Iron Throne. He’d have the woman he loved beside him, and that’d strengthen him and his reign. 

“Alys, I hope you’ve slept well.” Her voice interrupted his trail of thoughts. He daren’t look at the woman before him, he needn’t worsen her chances of a pardon.

“Maam, it was cold and unkempt. I slept not much at all.” Alys sniffed, indicating having caught a cold. “Must I ask why I was detained so abruptly?”

“Alys, I will ask you, plain and clear. If you like your comfort and do not want to be in loss of it, could you clarify what has been going on between you and my Husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen?” Sansa’s voice was without any emotion, leaving little for anyone to assume of her mind. She spoke the way a neutral adjudicator would, without having anything to gain or lose from the outcome of the situation. 

“Why Lady Strong, nothing at all!” Alys looked at the Prince, scouring for mercy and attention. She found none. “I have only been a loyal, faithful servant to the Prince.”

“And serve him you did!” Sansa laughed dryly, “My husband says you’ve been a true companion, holding intriguing conversations, providing politically astute advice, even having visions in his favour?” Sansa aptly raised a single eyebrow, “That consists more than I have done for my husband in the nineteen years I’ve been his companion myself.”

Alys stood tall, “My Lady, the Prince and I have had limited interactions that have consisted almost entirely of the current dispute. My loyalties align with King Aegon the Second and the Prince’s cause.”

“Hmm,” Sansa took a sip of her watered down wine, “How old were you again, Alys?”

The hostage seemed the most alarmed at the inquiry, “Yes, my Lady?”

“I remember you being good looking even when I was young myself. It’s like you haven’t aged a day from when you were a wetnurse to Harwin Strong, my deceased older brother?”

Alys’s eyebrows furrowed in utter confusion, “My Lady, you are mistaken. I might be old, yes, but not old enough to have let your brother suckle on my teat. We were childhood companions!”

“You’ve had your share of companions, I see.” Sansa leaned forward, “That makes you what, Alys, three-and-forty, or four-and-fourty?”

“My Lady, I am barely a day over forty.” Her voice was low then, her eyes stuck on Sansa’s feet. 

Sansa looked at her brother, who nodded in response. “That is more believable, I suppose, than the age my husband thought you were.” There was a devious chuckle in her voice, “He thought you were thirty, my innocent husband.”

Aemond’s eye stung with tears. He looked up at Alys for only a moment or two to find her face contorted in utter hurt and humiliation. “I apologise for the lie I told, my Lady.”

Sansa cocked her head to the side, “How about the lies you told a moment ago?”

“My Lady,” Alys looked close to tears, “I don’t understand.”

“Oh dearest, you do.” Sansa slowly nodded, “The Seven Kingdoms are in a state of war, which puts me in an awfully compromising position. I cannot send you anywhere to serve, fitting your status. And, you’re not highborn enough to be allowed to stay anywhere else as a guest.” Aemond’s chest burned as Sansa went on, “You will be designated to one of the chambers, which we shall conceal for very obvious reasons,” She cast a look at her husband, so incisive that Aemond had to look her way. She smiled. “You will not be allowed out of your chamber. Your chamberpot will be cleaned every night, your meals will be provided duly. Your garments and linens will be washed and provided duly. However, if I hear a peep of your attempts of escaping or conversing with anyone who’s not accessorising your captivity, I will have your tongue.” She then turned to her brother with a gentle smile, “Take her away, brother, you know where.”

Aemond watched his wife’s shoulder fall to rest as her brother followed her command. She took a generous bite of her bread, chewing heartily. She casted a glance towards her husband’s plate, “Dearest husband, your bread looks awfully dry.” She pushed hers away and took his, slathering fatty, molten butter and coating the bread with sugar, “This will fill you right up and help you prepare for the sacking of more villages here.” She raised the bread to his lips, and he had no option but to do as she expected of him.

“I should have known better,” He thought to himself, “Bitch Rhaenyra is her favourite cousin, after all.” 

Sansa knew that she was preying on Aemond’s vulnerability, however, she could not find it within herself, the kindness to let him be. He may deny till his last breath, but she knew what he had done. He had betrayed her trust and gone to bed with another woman. There was no forgiving for a crime so shameful. She knew he loved her, she saw it in his eyes, plain and clear. He should have just been more mindful of his love and maintained loyalty.

As time went by, her belly grew. Aemond refused to stay at Harrenhal for long after the Battle by the Lakeshore, being aware that his uncle could strike at any given moment. Criston left for King’s Landing and Aemond took Sansa with him to stay in castles belonging to minor lords whose loyalties lied with the greens, atop Vhagar she saw the world and wished her child had no need to be born under such circumstances. She felt more lethargic with time, her cravings becoming more queer and severe. She wrote ravens back at Harrenhal and checked in on Alys every once in a while. She made sure that Wylla, one of the girls down in the kitchen and her brother were the only ones aware of Alys’s whereabouts. She wished she could punish her husband instead of the woman who owed her little loyalty, however, the war had laid out constraints. Despite the frequent travelling, Aemond had ensured her utmost comfort, seeing to all her needs and whims being attended to the best of their abilities. News of Criston’s demise at the Butcher’s Ball reached them shortly after and Sansa could not conceal her glee. The man had dipped toes in unnecessary business, she thought, he had it coming. The babe in her belly stirred.

“I cannot wait for the birth of our son, my dearest, then your suffering shall come to an end, too.” Aemond visited Sansa after she had thrown up whatever little supper she had had, “We will name our son together.”

“What if it’s a girl, Aemond?” Sansa sipped on warm tea, trying to calm her nerves as she breathed in its floral scent.

“That’d be jolly news as well, dear wife.” Aemond responded, “We can think of names for both a son and a daughter, if you so desire.”

“What’s the point?” Sansa casted her eyes away from her husband, taking the large moon in, “It’s all pointless.”

“You mustn’t speak like that, Sansa.” His voice softened, “Dearest, do you want to know what name I’ve considered?”

“What?” She wanted to get it all over with.

“Baelon, after our grandfather.” Aemond beamed with pride.

“Did you know that Grandfather was cold to my mother?” Sansa began, “He couldn’t stand the sight of her, said it reminded him of his betrayal to a wife who had died when he had slept with my wretched grandmother. If it weren’t for Uncle Viserys and Uncle Daemon, my Mother would have been miserable.” 

“I am certain Grandfather loved aunt Visenya,” Aemond kept his hand on hers, “They say that she was the last person whom he desired to see as he passed. Aunt Visenya was a Targaryen through and through. It was hard to not fall in love with her.”

“You were so cold to my Mother until her passing,” Sansa recalled, “She tried her earnest to speak with you, to look after you, to be there for you after your injury. She felt so thwarted. She did not deserve to suffer such humiliation.” Sansa sighed with a heavy heart.

“I was… I was not pleasant at that time and I was-”

“You have no respect for my Mother at all, do you? You kept your mistress in her bedchamber…” Sansa swallowed, “It’s one thing to be unfaithful, dear, it’s another to choose my Mother’s apartment for it.”

Aemond’s eye became glassy, “Dearest, you mis-”

“I do not misunderstand, Aemond. I am neither a child nor a fool. I saw what I saw and I heard what I heard. You haven’t needed me how you needed her then in long.” Sansa could not keep her voice from breaking as she thought of how much she missed being able to cradle her husband’s face on her lap.

“You haven’t allowed me such intimacy for a while now, dear wife. You must remember how you rejected me.” Aemond interjected, “The fact that you are with child is an accidental lapse on your part. You couldn’t look at me in the face the next morning…” Aemond looked away, gulping back snot. 

“You were so happy with that crown on you,” Sansa recalled, “You could not fathom how the crown looked better on you than anyone you’d ever seen. You couldn’t stop yourself from remarking how Rhaenyra would look like a fat cow wearing gold. It disgusted me to think that this was the man I had made love to the night before.”

Aemond sat before her quietly before he looked up at her face, “We’re at war. It makes us do things and say things that we are not exactly proud of-”

“You admit you’re in the wrong?”

“Dearest, we’re all in the wrong.” 

For the first time in long, Sansa found a remnant of her old husband in Aemond’s words and his gaze. “I miss you, my love. I miss you so badly.”

“Then, let me in. Please, I beg you. Let us be how we once were. I am so tired of not being able to hold you and touch you as I will, as my heart wills, dearest.” Aemond had left his chair and knelt before her. He took her hands in his and found her eyes, “I promise to be loyal and attentive. All my love, my heart, everything- it’s all yours, dearest. Please, let go of the grievances. I love you, I have always loved only you. And now,” he put his hand on her belly, “Our child grows within you, a symbol of our love.”

“You cannot complain if the child is a girl, I can’t make promises about what child I give birth to. I do not desire that level of pressure on myself.”

“Of course, dearest. Whatever child, girl or boy, will be dearest to me. You could give me ten girls and I’d rejoice. I don’t need a son, I need you, Sansa.” 

He rested his head on her belly gently, kissing there. His eyes shifted to her bosom, more ample than he remembered inside her shift. He knew that she was watching him, but he could not resist burying his face on her left tit, his lips kissing there gently. He felt her relax beneath him, her soft sigh encouraging. He planted soft kisses all over her bosom, his mouth then seeking refuge at the skin beyond her shift. Her soft sighs became breathier, her fingers holding onto his silver locks.

That night, they made love. He took her from behind, allowing her to rest on her side as he thrust into her passionately, his hands touching and caressing whatever he could find in his hold. His mouth peppered her shoulder and neck with gentle kisses. Before he knew it, she had gotten on top of him, ready to mount him in passion. She looked beautiful, he thought, swollen breasts and belly from his child, her skin glowed as her raven black hair fell over her beautiful lilac eyes. She took his hands and moved her hips fluidly, her eyes never leaving his as soft moans escaped her lips. He laid her on her back and positioned himself appropriately, chasing his high as her face contorted slightly in pleasure. She had forgotten to let go with him, he realised. His thumb located her small bud, pressing at it exactly how he remembered her liking. A cry emerged from her throat, his name, some swears. She stopped him, held onto the headboard and turned her back to his as she positioned herself on her knees. He entered her from behind, bending forward to meet her mouth in a passionate, fierce kiss.

She fell asleep as soon as he licked her to her peak after having achieved his own. Her lips were red and swollen, small bruises left on her shoulders and neck. She slept peacefully in his arms, breathing gently. He was rather drowsy himself, but he feared so much that she would change her mind in the morning and he’d not be able to touch her again like this, let alone kiss her and hug her.

His worst fear remained so, for she had evidently tired of their distance as well and chosen to let go, for then. She was warmer with him, and despite not being able to achieve the love and closeness they shared before the war, he found joy in thinking that they were making good progress. He also realised, after a few fortnights had passed, that he hadn’t even thought of Alys even once.

Sansa grew everyday with the babe. The Maesters said that the child must be in great health, pointing out how the closeness between the husband and wife must be contributing strongly to the child’s growing strength. Larys would often be found cooing to his sister’s belly, her laughter erupting like music in the air. However, he had to leave soon as well, and despite his not telling Sansa where, she knew that he had left to be with Aegon. She had plenty of lamb and goat, feasting on many fruits as well. Aemond was happy to be able to provide her with comfort. He could tell, however, that despite her being more joyful in recent times, she could not help but find her belly rather humbling, her exhaustion catching up to her at the realisation that she hadn’t even half the help she would have had were the situations different, normal. He tried to be there as much as possible. At times, he forgot about the war. It somehow comforted him.

One morning he awoke and found the space beside him empty. Sansa stood by the door with a parchment in her hands, trembling slightly. Aemond hadn’t seen her so distressed in long. He shot up from the bed, rushing beside his wife. “Dearest, what has happened?”

“It’s- it’s from Daemon.” Sansa muttered, “The letter states that you killed Uncle Simon and my little cousins… is that true, Aemond?” Aemond had concealed the news of their killings, and Larys had complied, agreeing that it would be harmful for Sansa’s health. She was told that they all had managed to flee successfully. 

“They died in the ambush, my dear. Forgive-”

She put a hand up to his face, “No,” she grimaced, “I’m tired of apologies. You are fighting your war.” She breathed in her whole chest full before breathing out, “My house shall not survive this war and fade into oblivion.”

“You’re a Targaryen-”

“I am a Strong first, Aemond.” She did not look at him as she shoved the parchment into his chest before walking toward the bed, “Uncle wants to meet you.”

“What?”

“He’s now in Harrenhal, where he found out about your massacre. He is challenging you to a duel, Aemond, one on one.”

“Yes…” Aemond walked up to his wife, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“What will you do, dearest?” Sansa looked up at her husband, her eyes were bloodied with tears streaming down her face. He felt a pang of guilt in his heart.

“I don’t believe I have the luxury to say no, my love.” Aemond put his hand on her head. She stared at him quietly for a few moments before breaking down in tears, her body dropping to the ground below. He bent down beside her, hugging her, trying to soothe her from her pain. She spoke through her tears, muffled from the impact of her grievous cry. “Dearest, I can’t understand you.” He removed her hair sprawled across her face.

“You will die, Aemond. He will kill you. He will kill you.”

[residentweasels]

Radiohead Songs With Resident Evil Characters

Featuring very few characters this time cus I took the time to apply correctly and describe why I put what..

Equally so, the descs of the songs do not match the actual meanings, I applied meanings that I believe would fit the characters themselves ! Every character got two, and some got a bonus :^)

Chris Redfield -

Vegetable (points towards having done so much for what feels like nothing, repetition in the refusal to stop and to spit at anyone who tries to stop, overall a tired song of someone who is on the cusp of giving up),

(Nice Dream) (The minute hope and joy in one good dream could put a pause on everything else in reality, that one sheer, minimal good thing would be a deal-breaker against what is just another day all the same against what has been a stalemate on earth for as long as he's been around to try and solve it. That if at night, he could sleep and have a good dream it would be what he needed only then.),

BONUS: MAN OF WAR (pretty self explanatory, descriptive of being designed to kill despite the eventual fact of death sooner or later only meaning he'll be food for the worms)

Leon Kennedy -

How To Disappear Completely (after everything done, everything experienced is a hum and a denial that "I'm not here" creating an implication of dissociation towards events, something I apply as a hc but yk. not to mention the idea of moments like that already passing, as if the pause in action could reverberate the worst of it all in a single second),

Street Spirit (expectations of perfection, protection and a steelish way of life that can't keep itself together, broken thoughts become lyrics in this with the slow rising ticking and picking of the song to act as the time being always just out. Mentions of death like a glaring concept as if the mere idea of death being so close isn't a shock much anymore)

Ethan Winters -

Paranoid Android (Applicable lyrics against things he's faced, feelings he has, repetitive notions towards different lyrics, ending off with "God loves his children" bringing back to the catholic part which is a friends hc!)

Fake Plastic Trees (dissatisfaction in a life deemed unreal, sad tones and consistent mentions to being worn out but still going, wishing to just escape)

Albert Wesker -

All I Need (a continuous sentence of indecision, whether things are right or wrong. Putting oneself down and then up again, consistently denying yet desiring someone to love "you are all I need, you're all I need" before it shifts into the rest of the song being "it's all wrong" "it's all right")

Videotape (Depictions and descriptions of hesitation, repetitive audio creates that feeling of being unable to properly finish the beat, the thought and therfore the words against someone who they won't ever see again)

BONUS: Ill Wind (a short quiet echoed song of reverberating the belief that showing emotion could make an ill wind, a cold blow of words that "must not be spoken")

William Birkin -

My Iron Lung (love driven away, consistent tone of something eery, a cynical happiness towards something that really isn't happy, but under the facade of sarcasm/humor in the midst of suffering)

No Surprises (with everything someone can do in a life, there comes a point where you're only living to provide, to leave that lasting mark while making an internal promise to not leave anyone behind who needs them in their life, "no alarms and no surprises" is a quiet, gone feeling of just slipping away, not in control)

Sherry Birkin -

Everything in Its Right Place (repetition, glitched out memories of words, but the tone shift between the pacing and singing makes it feel like a slow moment in a fast scene, constantly dealing with everything at a time with no near end)

Ful Stop (true ignorance is bliss, choosing to know and ignore the wrong you see is its own form of moronic tragedy. This song represents the harsh reality that someone can face, and how destructive it may prove to be if you can't accept the truth. Most of the song is the repeated lyrics of "truth will mess you up" accompanied by a picked up pace in speed of the song as "all the good times" floods over the truth, covering up what should have been accepted a long time ago.)

Excella Gionne -

Nude (Soft, even tones and higher pitches as if it's a calm scene, but it describes a sort of guilt inducing scene, as if the nice sounds of the song are meant to be a false sense of safety to let the 'truth' in, a guilt towards either not being enough, or being too much for someone),

Burn The Witch (a sharp, repetitive song meant to replay a single type of feeling as something builds up, a feeling of confident anger accompanied solely by the idea that its meant to represent a panic attack. The chorus is a break in the pace to be a reminder of the duty, the reminder of being the messenger, the voice of the song)

[yellowocaballero]

this entire chapter was a joy to read but I gotta say I 100% understand knives’ fear of brad—the opening scene was one of the most strangely fear inducing things I’ve ever read. kudos and 10/10 for making me feel nauseous over what turns out to be a very funny scene of knives getting murder-grounded

Love this ask. Love asks about experiences that surprise me a lot, in a good way - part of me is always like 'write a dialectical essay on why you think so???' and the other part is 'the picture and vibes you've painted is incredibly funny and I love it'. Thank you for the ask anyway. Get to talk about Brad and Luida FINALLY.

I'm deciding that this is a victory, because it gave you a great insight into exactly how Knives felt LMFAOOO. He has spent literally this entire story acting superior, holier-than-thou, won't shut up about how he's physiologically and mentally leagues ahead of you puny humans, you're so lame and pathetic and Millions "Genius Cool Guy Surgeon" Knives is soooo much better than you. And then the minute he goes home and sees his foster parents he is suddenly the goodest little boy who you would both introduce to your parents and give a doggy treat. They are two geriatric astronauts and Millions Knives is pants-shittingly terrified of them.

I was legitimately a bit worried that I wrote Brad as too harsh in the flashback scene, or uncomfortable-in-a-bad-way in the beginning scene. I was really careful with both. How Brad and Luida raised Knives is absolutely not a great method of parenting, lmfao. But they weren't really raising a child - they were taming a tiger. I think you can safely assume that Knives was not given a single inch his entire adolescence. He didn't get away with shit. That's how behavioral conditioning works. I really can't stress enough that, although Knives is a pretty good guy in the present, he is still the literal actual Millions Knives. And what 14yo Knives here got up to wasn't all that different from what canonical 14yo Knives was getting up to. The difference is Brad and Luida - and they knew exactly what they were trying to prevent. They knew they couldn't fuck up. They knew what would happen if Knives didn't change. It must have been a lot of pressure.

The sheer balls on the guy who walks up to Millions Knives and just goes, "Okay, asshole. Kill me. Do it.". So insane that it gaslights Knives into believing that Brad and Luida are the only superior lifeforms to himself.

But at the end of the day, what that scene still conveys is - it's a farce. Their family is a social contract: Brad and Luida will give Knives what he wants (a meaning to his life, and on a deeper level he won't acknowledge, a family), and in return Knives politely pretends that they are remotely capable of controlling him. A handcuff is an insanely restrictive method of grounding somebody - and obviously Knives could have gotten outb of it any time. But Knives lets them do it, because if he doesn't then it would break the keyfabe, the farce. And that would destroy Knives' only path towards becoming a good person. Because Brad and Luida told him that they are the only path towards becoming a good person. And if you aren't a good person you have no reason to exist btw. Also we don't love you anymore.

Kinda fucked up if Knives was, like, a regular child? Yes. Only sensible thing to do if the child was Millions Knives? Yes. It's complicated but that's why I really love it. Also for the insane funniness of Knives experiencing fear.

TL;DR Handcuffing your child to its bed is only okay if the child has bad vibes and is unfun to be around.

[secretlilsis]

A girl that has noticed shes been stalked, to avoid any worse outcomes she has decided to leave town - shes now sleeping in a motel half the country away finally feeling at peace again. Then at night she hears the door ruttle, someone unlocks the door, comes in, close it behind him. And he just stands there, menacing, looking at her from where he stands. "Did you really think you could escape me?" He comes towards her. She recoils. "Why do you reject me so badly, my love? All I have for you is love. Id never wanna hurt you." he comes closer and theres nothing she can do. Her heart is beating to her throat. Suddenly her expression switches up. And she starts to get a grin on her face. "So youve found me? Took you long enough!" She says in an annoyed voice. "But anyways, youve found me. Want your reward?" Theres a horny glimmer in her eyes now. She pushes the blanket off, lies there only wearing her underwear. He looks taken aback, almost like the control he knew he had just a moment ago was stolen. But if this is true.. this would be like everything hes ever wanted. He wanted to be accepted by her. Loved by her. Close to her. Wanted to feel her skin. Is this a trap? Is she tricking him? Yet he cant do anything but follow his instincts, get lured deeper into her light. His knees touch the bed as he leans into her and starts kissing her, on her face the same grin. She leans into him too and kisses him back with such a passion, that he almost feels she cant be faking this. "So you were leading me on?" He asks, breathing faster, now hes the one nervous. "You wanted this? Youre happy I found you?" She bites his lip. hard. nearly drawing blood. "I couldnt reject you if I tried. But it was nice to see you go so far to come get me." His hands find hers and he pushes her hands above her head, to the mattress, taking a second to take how she looks into him. She looks beautiful to him. She struggles slightly against him holding her down, then softly giggles. "Wait- Now I cant touch you anymore. But fine. You need the control, dont you?" Its like shes teasing him, like she knows him much better than he assumed she does. She surrenders with that amused smirk to her. He looks at her like shes the most precious thing, that is now slowly actually becoming his posession. "Youre so beautiful." He breathes into her ear as kisses trail down her neck playfully. "So are you. I thought the most handsome man out there is after me." She speaks. "Dont get mad cause I tested how far youd go, alright?" "I would never get angry at you for that." He starts to massage her breasts gently, cupping them. "How badly did you long for this?" She asks. "How long did you wait? Spend all this time stalking me, desiring me, yet never outright facing me? You must be sooo pent-up" She teases. He starts to touch her more roughly, starts to bite her skin, leaving red marks on her. His hand slides down her belly to where her legs meet and he starts to touch her clit roughly. She moans loudly into his mouth, and his eyes light up. The total joy she is experiencing being touched by him. This is all he couldve dreamt of.

He hears her soft giggles mix with her moans, as the moans get louder and louder. The pleasure clearly visible in every muscle on her face. How her mouth moves. How her eyes flutter shut and then open again.

"Fuck, ive wanted this. Ive wanted this." She moans. The reality of this is still catching up to him. How long did he already have her without even really knowing it? How long did she make him believe he was preying on someone unwilling? How long did she intent to keep the little charade up? Just to see her unveil like this, lose herself in the pleasure he was providing. Looking at him with that begging stare in her eyes, that told him she needed more of this. More of him.

He unbuttoned his pants, quickly climbed out of them and positioned himself on her entrance. Looking into her eyes all he saw was sheer pleasure and ecstasy. That his entire being could have this effect on her. How well she had hidden it from him these past months. "Show me how badly you wanted this, dont hold back." She finally says, her voice but a mere whisper.

He obliges.

[unknowncruiser]

King Carlos Butt Plug

"Hey, Ethan! I brought something special for us to try today," Carlos said, holding up the sleek and luxurious butt plug.

Ethan's eyes widened with anticipation. "Oh, I've heard great things about this one! I'm excited to see what it can do."

Carlos followed Ethan into the living room, where they settled on the couch. He placed the butt plug on the coffee table, giving it a little spin to showcase its elegant design.

"This is the Imperial Silicone Butt Plug, designed for unparalleled comfort and pleasure," Carlos explained, his voice oozing with excitement. "Its tapered shape and smooth, body-safe silicone make it perfect for effortless insertion and extended wear."

Ethan leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued. "Tell me more about its features, Carlos. What sets it apart from other butt plugs?"

Carlos picked up the plug, running his fingers along the velvety-smooth surface. "Well, this beauty boasts a powerful yet whisper-quiet motor, offering ten different vibration patterns. You can explore a range of sensations, from gentle pulsations to intense vibrations."

Ethan's eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Sounds amazing! How about we put it to the test?"

Carlos nodded, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Absolutely, Ethan. Let's embark on a journey of sublime pleasure together."

As they delved into the experience, Carlos guided Ethan through the process of preparing and inserting the butt plug. Their conversation intertwined with whispers of pleasure and encouragement, creating an atmosphere of trust and exploration.

In that moment, the Imperial Silicone Butt Plug showcased its prowess, delivering waves of exquisite sensations that left both Ethan craving for more. It was an intimate encounter that brought them closer, exploring new depths of pleasure in their shared journey.

"Carlos, this plug is incredible. I can't imagine parting ways with it. Do you think... maybe you could leave it here?" Ethan's voice was filled with a mix of longing and excitement.

Carlos chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, Ethan, I must say, you seem to have developed quite the attachment to this exquisite piece of pleasure. But it's from my personal collection, you know?"

Ethan's pleading expression intensified. "I understand, Carlos, but I've never experienced anything like this before. It's like it was made for me. Please, just let me enjoy it a little longer."

Carlos paused for a moment, contemplating Ethan's passionate plea. He couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction in seeing how much his product had captivated Ethan. With a playful smirk, he finally relented.

"All right, Ethan," Carlos said, a twinkle in his eye. "Consider it on an extended loan. But remember, this plug is part of the King Carlos collection, so I expect you to take good care of it."

Ethan's face lit up with joy, grateful for Carlos's understanding. "Thank you so much, Carlos! I promise to treat it like a treasure and make the most of every pleasure-filled moment.".

"Ethan, my friend, I have a proposition for you," Carlos said, his voice filled with excitement. "This plug... it's more than just a pleasure device. I believe it has the potential to take our gooning sessions to an entirely new level. Imagine the sensations, the intensity, the sheer bliss of combining the plug with our dumbzone journey."

"You think this plug can enhance the dumbzone experience?" Ethan asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

Carlos nodded vigorously. "Absolutely! Just imagine the feeling of being completely filled, every nerve ending electrified as we surrender to the goon. The plug will keep us anchored in pleasure, intensifying the sensations and amplifying the power of the dumbzone. It's like a catalyst for pure ecstasy. Trust me my bro.."

Ethan couldn't help but be captivated by Carlos's enthusiasm. "How about we take have a little goon sesh right now, bro?"

The dimly lit room enveloped Ethan and Carlos as they settled into their gooning session. The air was thick with anticipation, and a sense of transformation lingered in the atmosphere. Carlos suddenly took the lead, his voice carrying a hypnotic cadence.

"Relax, Ethan. Let the dumbzone embrace you," Carlos began, his tone commanding yet soothing. "Feel the weight of your thoughts drift away, as your mind opens itself to the depths of surrender."

Ethan closed his eyes, allowing Carlos's words to wash over him. But something was different this time. Ethan's thoughts began to unravel, his sense of self blurring at the edges.

"Carlos... I... I don't understand," Ethan stuttered, his voice tinged with confusion. "Why... am I feeling this way? Why do I... feel like dumbzone?"

Carlos's expression remained calm, a glimmer of intrigue dancing in his eyes. "Good boy, Ethan. Let go of the need for understanding. Embrace the dumbzone. In the depths of the dumbzone, boundaries fade, and identities merge."

As the session progressed, Ethan's confusion gave way to a strange sense of liberation. He felt Carlos's energy surging within him, a newfound boldness and confidence permeating his being. The roles were shifting, their personalities intertwining as if caught in an ethereal dance.

"Gooooon....dumbzone....bliss" Ethan whispered, his voice carrying a mix of awe and realization as he stroked himself dumb.

Carlos smiled, the lines between them blurring further. "Good boy, Ethan. Together, we explore the vast landscapes of the goon. We transcend the limitations of individuality and merge into a powerful force, unlocking hidden depths and untapped pleasures."

In the midst of their profound exchange, the boundaries of self dissolved, replaced by a profound sense of unity. Ethan, now embodying Carlos's essence, surrendered to the goonful obedience, relishing in the liberation it offered.

As the session unfolded, the lines between guide and follower blurred, and the two became entwined in an intricate dance of dominance and submission, exploration and surrender. Within the depths of the dumbzone, they embraced the thrilling ambiguity of their roles, reveling in the transformative power of their connection.

Carlos's transformation into the goon guru seemed almost effortless. His demeanor exuded confidence and authority as he observed Ethan's deepening state of dumbzone-induced bliss. A mischievous smirk played on his lips, a testament to his growing control over the situation.

"My dear Ethan," Carlos said, his voice laced with a newfound authority. "You are truly embodying the essence of the goon. Your mind expands, your inhibitions fade, and you surrender to the intoxicating currents of mindless pleasure."

Ethan, lost in a sea of dumbzone-induced haze, nodded absentmindedly, his eyes glazed over with a mixture of confusion and ecstasy. "Gooooon." Giggle. "Goooon."

Carlos continued, his voice resonating with an almost hypnotic quality. "Good boy, Ethan. In this journey, I am your guide, your mentor, and your goon guru. I will lead you through uncharted territories of desire, pushing the boundaries of your mind and body."

Ethan's lips curled into a vacant smile as he murmured, "Yes, Master Carlos. Lead me deeper into the realms of the goon."

Carlos's smirk widened, his confidence growing with each passing moment. "You have only scratched the surface, my dear Ethan. You're going to be giving in more to Master Carlos from now on. do you understand?"

Ethan's eyes gleamed with a mix of anticipation and surrender. "Yes Master. I am yours to mold, Master Carlos. Mold me into the ultimate goon, a vessel for pleasure and obedience."

Carlos's voice dropped to a low, commanding tone. "Submit to the goon, Ethan. Allow it to consume you, shape you, and elevate you to new heights. Embrace the primal urges within, for in the realm of the goon, there is no judgment, only liberation."

As Ethan basked in the waves of dumbzone-induced ecstasy, as drool started to drip over his lips, past his chin and down onto his cock. Carlos's role as the goon guru solidified. With each passing moment, he grew more adept at guiding Ethan through the intricate pathways of pleasure, deepening their connection and solidifying his dominance.

Carlos reveled in the power he now held, a budding master of the goon arts, as Ethan willingly surrendered to his authority, lost in a world of pure, mindless bliss. Ethan's journey into submission to Carlos had just begun.

As Ethan basked in the depths of his dumbzone, his mind blissfully empty and his body pliable under the influence. His cock grew slippery with drool. Carlos now took on a nurturing role, embracing his newfound position as the goon guru. With a gentle touch, he began to massage Ethan's head, applying just the right amount of pressure to alleviate any tension that remained.

Carlos leaned closer, his voice a soothing whisper. "Relax, my goon. Let go of all thoughts and surrender yourself to the sensations. Feel my touch as it eases the burdens of your mind, melting away any remnants of resistance."

Ethan's eyes fluttered, his drool escaping the corner of his mouth as he emitted a soft, contented sigh. His body responded to Carlos's touch, each stroke of the massage fueling his descent into deeper levels of dumbzone-induced relaxation.

Carlos continued his ministrations, his hands expertly navigating the contours of Ethan's head and neck. He reveled in the power he now held, the ability to guide and shape Ethan's destiny, to tap into the wellspring of pleasure and obedience that lay dormant within him.

With every touch, every stroke, Carlos cemented his authority over Ethan's goon journey. The once confident and charismatic Ethan was now a vessel of submission, pliant and receptive to Carlos's guidance. The transformation was complete, the roles reversed, as Carlos embraced his new identity as the goon guru, a master of pleasure and manipulation.

As the minutes turned into hours, Carlos's massage became a symphony of touch, coaxing Ethan deeper into the realms of goonhood. He relished in the power dynamics, the dance of dominance and surrender that played out between them. In this moment, there was no denying the connection that had been forged, the intertwining of their desires and aspirations in the pursuit of ultimate goon bliss.

And so, in the dimly lit room, with the scent of relaxation oils in the air, Carlos continued to massage Ethan's shoulders, his touch a testament to his mastery and the depths of their shared journey. Together, they embraced the duality of their roles, reveling in the symbiotic dance of gooner and goon guru, lost in the intoxicating allure of submission and pleasure.

As Ethan drifted deeper into the realms of his dumbzone, his mind enveloped in a fog of blissful submission, Carlos saw an opportunity to assert their new routine. Tonight was just the beginning, a taste of what was yet to come.

Carlos leaned in closer, his voice low and commanding. "Ethan, my loyal gooner, remember this feeling. Remember the pleasure, the surrender, and the liberation that comes with embracing your dumbzone. This is just the start of our journey together."

Ethan's eyes glazed over, his gaze fixated on Carlos as if entranced by his words. A faint smile danced upon his lips, a reflection of the profound satisfaction he found in his state of dumbzone-induced goonhood.

Carlos continued, his tone confident and assertive. "You will return to this place, Ethan, time and time again. You will crave the intoxicating release that comes from embracing your goon nature. Each visit will deepen your submission, strengthen your loyalty, and reinforce the bond between us."

Ethan's expression was a mixture of dazed confusion and eager anticipation. He nodded, his mind filled with the desire to experience more of what Carlos had to offer.

Carlos placed a hand on Ethan's shoulder, his touch both reassuring and possessive. "Remember, Ethan, you are mine to mold and shape, now. Your devotion fuels my power, and together we will unlock new levels of pleasure and enlightenment. You are my goon, my loyal disciple, forever bound to me."

Ethan's voice was barely a whisper as he replied, "Yes, Carlos... I am your gooner. I submit to your guidance, to the depths of the dumbzone. Lead me, master me, and I will follow."

Carlos's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, the power dynamics between them solidifying. "Good boy. Embrace your goon nature fully. Allow yourself to be consumed by the desires that lie within. Together, we will explore the uncharted territories of pleasure and domination."

And so, as the night grew darker, Ethan surrendered himself more fully to the dumbzone, knowing that each visit to Carlos's domain would strengthen their connection. Their routine was now established, an intricate dance of dominance and submission that promised new adventures, deeper explorations, and boundless pleasure in the days to come.

Ethan blinked, still feeling a bit foggy as he tried to recall the details of what had just transpired. His mind felt hazy, the memories distant and elusive. But before he could dwell on it, Carlos intervened, dismissing his concerns with a wave of his hand.

"Don't worry about the details, Ethan," Carlos reassured him, his voice confident and assuring. "The mysteries of the dumbzone are not meant to be fully understood. Embrace the experience, let it wash over you, and trust in its power."

Ethan nodded, a small smile forming on his lips as he surrendered to Carlos's words of wisdom. He realized that overthinking would only hinder his journey. It was best to simply go with the flow, allowing the goon spirit to guide him.

Carlos shifted gears, his tone becoming more upbeat. "Now, my friend, let's set our sights on tomorrow. I have a special workout routine planned for us, one that will tap into the depths of our goonhood and unleash our hidden potential. Meet me at the gym at 8 am sharp."

Ethan's foggy mind struggled to process the information, but he trusted Carlos implicitly. "8 am, got it," he replied, his voice still tinged with a hint of confusion.

Carlos patted Ethan's back, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Good. Rest up and prepare yourself, Ethan. Tomorrow's workout will be unlike anything you've experienced before. It's time to push the boundaries a little and embrace my power."

"Yes Mast...wait what?" Ethan could comprehend neither Carlos's words nor his own response.

With those parting words, Carlos bid Ethan farewell, leaving him in a state of anticipation and curiosity. Ethan watched as Carlos walked away, his presence leaving an indelible imprint on his mind.

As the fog began to lift, Ethan couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation for what awaited him. He knew that Carlos held the key to unlocking his true goon potential, and he was eager to follow his lead, even if the memories of their encounter were hazy.

With a renewed sense of determination, Ethan decided to put aside his doubts and embrace the journey ahead. Tomorrow was a new day, a chance to delve deeper into his goonhood and discover the limits of his desires. And as the fog fully cleared, Ethan found himself filled with a sense of anticipation for the adventures that awaited him in the realm of pleasure and submission.

[casspurrjoybell-23]

The Raven - Chapter 26

*Warning Adult Content*

It is not long before the raven grows tired of being cooped up in his dreary tower after finally having a slight taste of freedom, the solitude of the barren room could never compare to the insurmountable joy he feels while in Prince Henry's company.

Courage stirs within him, his overwhelming desire to be close to the prince igniting a spark of brave rebellion he could never have imagined he would feel before.

As the adrenaline surges through his veins, Caleb decides to sneak out to see the boy who has recently been consuming his every thought, nothing could sate the hunger inside him quite like the mere sight of his prince.

Once again, he finds it easy to slip through the West Wing without being noticed, which only further fuels the thrill tingling down his spine.

As the raven meanders through the main halls of the castle in his shadow form, he is careful not to be caught by any patrolling guards or wandering palace staff.

He is not even the slightest bit sure about how people would react upon seeing a shadow moving so freely and he would prefer not to find out at this moment.

Instead, he would much prefer to keep his focus attuned to seeking out his prince.

The sudden sound of melodious laughter lures him in, drawing him down one of the many winding hallways.

Following the entrancing sound, the darkened form of the raven hopes it will lead him to his destination.

To his beloved Prince Henry.

As he gets closer to the source and the joyful noise grows louder, Caleb can tell that it is definitely Henry's voice he is hearing.

The prince is happy, laughing heartily, the cheerfulness in his voice is unmistakable.

This brings a smile to the raven's face and a radiating warmth in his chest, for he loves seeing his prince undeniably happy.

Closer and closer, the black-haired boy's steps take him until he reaches a room that looks similar to what he would imagine the prince's bedroom to look like.

This must be it... he is about to enter Henry's room.

His heartbeat quickens, the warmth within him spreading through his body as excitement entangles him within its grasp.

He approaches the door cautiously, his slow steps allowing the anticipation to build within him until he feels he might explode.

Halting just outside the door, Caleb can now hear a second voice floating from within the room.

A feminine voice.

The realization that there is a woman inside Henry's bedroom hits Caleb like a ton of bricks, stealing the air from his lungs as his mind whirls with possible scenarios of what could be happening just mere feet away from him.

Does this voice belong to Princess Elaina?

Why would Henry allow her into his bedroom?

Panic begins to overtake Caleb's entire body, his pulse racing and his breathing becoming labored and erratic as his heart swells and throbs with fear and a pain he has never before known.

Has Henry changed his mind or worse, did he not mean the words he said?

Does he not love Caleb?

Has he decided to marry the princess instead?

"Oh, Henry. You are so funny," the female's voice giggles dramatically, the sheer volume of her high-pitched and squeaky tone causing another crack in the raven's already damaged heart.

As Caleb's mind spirals out of control, jumping to conclusions and imagining all of the worst-case possibilities that could come of this precise situation, he finds he has difficulty breathing altogether.

His previously strained attempts to force oxygen into his lungs have somehow become even more challenging and the raven is left gasping for air that seems to no longer exist.

This is an entirely new occurrence for him, what is this?

Hyperventilating is not something that Caleb has ever experienced before.

It must come with whatever raging emotions the boy is feeling right now.

Whatever it is, he really needs to calm down before his somewhat noisy failures to fill his airways draw attention and lead him to be caught skulking around the palace.

Closing his eyes, the raven takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, convincing his mind to hold onto that panic for later when he is alone, it is far too unsafe to show his weaknesses out in the open like this.

Right now, Caleb must decide what to do.

He had intended to visit Henry but the prince is not alone, should he risk being found out and sneak into his bedroom?

He cannot even be sure that Henry wants to see him right now, he may very well be far too preoccupied with his current visitor to even notice Caleb's unexpected appearance.

Perhaps he should simply return to the tower, where he can deal with this new onslaught of feelings and wait for his prince to come to him, Henry could not possibly be through with him altogether, not after the immense feelings they have shared.

Could he?

The raven dislikes that he has been put in this predicament with every fiber of his being but he knows he cannot blame Henry for it.

The prince did not even know that he was going to visit him, he could not possibly have been prepared for his sudden arrival.

Letting out a sigh, Caleb decides to return to his own room, leaving his prince behind to continue with whatever it is he is currently doing alone in his bedroom with the princess.

Caleb does not realize that he is so overwhelmed with emotion that tears are streaming steadily down his shadowy cheeks until he suddenly sniffles.

The sound startles him, having echoed more loudly through the empty corridor than he could have anticipated, luckily, there seems to be no one around to hear his humiliation.

The raven can feel his face flush with heat, his eyes likely beginning to glow their luminous red as embarrassment overcomes him.

As quickly as he can, he moves his shadow form along the wall with haste, doing his best to remain unnoticed should someone suddenly appear within the hallway to investigate the noise.

The faint sound of a sniffle draws Prince Henry's attention away from his guest, his eyes darting toward the doorway of his room.

His brows furrow in confusion as he tries to decipher the goings-on in the corridor.

What was that sound?

Is someone crying out there?

His heart pounds heavily against his ribs as his face suddenly drops in defeat, could it be Caleb?

It would undoubtedly be a pleasant surprise if his little raven had ventured out of his tower and sought him out of his own accord.

However, the prince's chest feels weighted down at the mental image of tears dampening that lovely pale face and glistening in those enchanting ruby orbs, the severity of the thought has his ribcage practically crushing his heart.

Removing himself from his seat, the prince makes his way to the partially open bedroom door and peers into the seemingly deserted hallway.

"Caleb?" he whispers, his voice both hopeful and full of sorrow simultaneously.

[t-swift-converter]

POST 2 - Childhood trauma

To begin Day 1, I’d like to introduce Dave’s background with Taylor Swift before he married me. Obviously, many things in his life improved when he asked me to marry him, but it wasn’t all dreadful for my man’s younger years. One reason I married him is because Dave has sisters. 3, actually. Which is more than I can say I even have siblings. He also has two older brothers, but they aren’t relevant here. Sorry to my brothers-in-law (Brother-in-laws? BRETHREN-IN-LAW??) if they ever see this.

Dave’s 3 older sisters have been a Godsend to our marriage in many ways (I found out that he is familiar with the classic bloody underwear in the sink). I feel for the kid. He experienced the puberty of a girl three times over before he even hit puberty himself. But it has made him a stalwart partner, not ashamed of much he encounters thanks to me.

Well, in addition to the period messes and hair-clogged drains, his sisters lovingly exposed him to the gold that is Taylor Swift’s first album. This back-fired, though, because it was on repeat so much he became resentful. Thus, Taylor Swift is not associated with much joy in his early youth.

This kind of childhood trauma MUST be considered as I try now to not just undo the damage inflicted, but actually reverse it.

I was given a glimpse of the sheer possibility of Dave learning to like Taylor Swift when we had this breakthrough moment on a road trip. We went camping for the weekend in the MIDDLE OF NOWHERE in Utah. Literally, nothing around. It is a protected Night Sky area, so the stars were incredible. Besides the point. I’m almost always in the passenger seat where I DJ from my Spotify and the few rare moments I took a turn driving, I was still DJing from my phone. Dave is not one to play his own music, mostly because he has no playlists built because he never listens to music. It's a vicious cycle. Well, I think, I THINK, he got sick of my songs because he asked me (HE asked ME) to make him a playlist called “Dave likes.” I was thrilled. I hate having to guess what kind of music of mine he’ll like ‘cause he only ever speaks up when he absolutely detests a song, so it's a ton of pressure to handle as DJ.

The game became this: I would play all my liked songs on shuffle and couldn’t skip any based on what I thought he might not like. He had to say whether to skip the song or add it to his playlist. I gotta say, it took some guts for me. You know how there are just those songs that you like but you would skip them everytime if any other person was around to hear? I swear every single one of those songs played on this road trip. But it was so much fun because things I assumed Dave wouldn’t like would go on his playlist. And he was being CHOOSE-Y. Wow, let me tell you. This man has such a God-complex when it comes to music. He himself is very musically gifted, I will say. Like, he writes his own songs and stuff, so if he doesn’t like the song, he will RIP into it with such authority and audacity. He will slander the artist, too, for making such a poor song. Then, he will slander the people who listen to this “crap.” I am usually that listener.

Alright, so he’s got like 5 of 30 songs that have played thus far added to his playlist when a miracle happens. “Delicate” comes on. Now, try not to hate me when I say this, but I didn’t looove Taylor’s “bad girl” Reputation Era. Some of those songs are total bangers, don’t get me wrong. I love a good rock out session to “Don’t Blame Me” or “Call It What You Want,” but I don’t like those popular, rougher songs like “Look What You Made Me Do,” “...Ready For It?” or even “Bad Blood” from 1989. The softer Taylor is so my taste. That’s why I am not surprised at all that “Delicate” quickly became my #1 song from that album. Though, it’s still got a really good beat.

The interesting part is I made a scoff noise when it came on, knowing who it was. But Dave said “don’t skip it, it’s good.” We listened to the whole song, me interchanging between singing along and holding my breath. Then finally in the last few notes he gave me permission to add it to the playlist.

BOOM.

My man likes Taylor Swift. At least one song. And I know he already forgot he liked one song. But he does and it’s forever in the playlist promising to haunt him for the rest of his life.

So what’s this mean?! This means I actually have something to work with!! A song, a beat, lyrics, sound, there are so many ways to tackle this. The next project is to find a song with a similar vibe and again present it to him. Should I stick with Reputation and work my way through the album? Should I bounce around to test other eras? We need to fill this playlist with Taylor Swift before he can realize it. Toss out song ideas!!

Here’s what I’m thinking of introducing to him next:

Similar beats ~ Cruel Summer (Lover), Lavender Haze (Midnights)

Similar love stories ~ Afterglow (Lover), the 1 (Folklore)

Same album ~ Call It What You Want, Getaway Car, New Year’s Day

Thoughts?

[markwatsonsbooks]

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[dailyaudiobiblechronological]

1/6/2023 DAB Chronological Transcription

Job 10-13

Welcome to Daily Audio Bible Chronological. I'm Jill. Today is the 6th day of January, and I know I say it a lot, but it's the truth. It is my joy, my honor, and sheer pleasure to be reading the Bible for us together in community. I'm so glad that you you're here day six, and I just want you to stop and take notice that it's day six and you're here and you're in the Word and the Bible is coming alive to you and God is speaking to you through his Word. And a lot has happened so far and yet we're just getting started and it's very exciting. No announcements today. We're going to just jump right into the word. Today we're reading Job chapters 10 through 13. And this week we're reading the New Living translation Job chapter 10. 

Commentary:

I found today some really key things hidden in just a couple of lines. The first thing is at the very beginning of the reading Job ten, let me complain freely. My bitter soul must complain. And then that bitterness is unleashed and we hear it and it starts getting cringy. But haven't we done the same thing? Don't we long for safe places? And we so often just sit with it in our mind, in our own self. And then comes the shame. Like, why am I speaking that way to God? Why am I questioning God? But yet we find we have questions. So let me complain freely. Fair enough. Especially in tragedy, safe places are essential to just spit out the venom that we're holding inside that seems to be eating us at times. And do we have safe places? I think the greater question that we have to ask ourselves is, are we a safe place? We may not be able to have a safe place available to us. So in the meantime, can we be what is missing in our own lives for somebody else? And do we need to have the answers and a response back when someone is unleashing their English, exposing the bitterness that they've been holding inside? And then maybe we take that a step deeper. Why do we feel the need to have the answers? Are we uncomfortable with what we're hearing? Are we uncomfortable with someone being upset or angry at God? Can we just hear them? Can we just sit shiva with them? Can we just be presence for them? Can our greatest offering be a listening ear to someone without feeling the need to fix the problem? There is a time for wisdom to speak, but there's also a time for wisdom to know when not to speak. The next little hidden set of questions come when Zophar opens his mouth to Job. Shouldn't someone answer this torrent of words? Is a person proved innocent just by a lot of talking? Should I remain silent while you Babylon? When you mock God, shouldn't someone make you ashamed? Here's the thing they're valid questions as he continues on. Can you solve the mysteries of God? This can be so complicated because there's the juxtaposition of valid points. He's got valid questions here. But are they helpful? Are they helpful in someone's time of English and someone's need to be heard rather than to be talked back to, to be talked down to? I think as we hear this dialogue and we continue it will, one, validate our need sometimes to just be able to safely say what we hold inside and internally wrestle with. And then secondly, it exposes those things that we say with good intentions, with a hope to help and to learn that it might not be as helpful as we thought it was. Here's the last thought of the day for today. We can so easily think we know what we would do in somebody else's situation, even though we've never been in their situation. We can so easily dismiss and diminish the severity of someone's pain and experience because we have not experienced it until we experience it. And then we want the whole world to grieve with us. One of the great benefits of listening to someone in their pain and in their experience is preparation for our own lives. None of us are guaranteed to come out unscathed through pain or suffering in this life. And yet I see, especially as Christians, we will do everything we can to avoid it, to dismiss it, to pray it away. And what we need to understand is grief. And pain that is undelt with eventually turns to bitterness and anger and it will seep its way out of the tightest of nooks and crannies and usually it bleeds all over the people that we love the most. And again, the point from yesterday, sometimes we don't know what we need in our pain and in our suffering, but sometimes we need to process through it. We don't want or need the words of good, meaning people that can be our very best friends. We sometimes want God to come and explain himself. And I'm pretty sure we're going to see the same thing in this story with Job. And so we pause here today in this story as we will turn the page tomorrow and the dialogue will continue. And we're just really getting started here with Job and his three helpful friends. 

Prayer:

Father, we thank you for your word today, your transformational word that shows us some parts of us that we don't necessarily want to take a look at. And they're hard to look at because the voice of shame can be very loud for some of us. We don't know what to do with that. But we thank you that you, God, are safe. We can bring that shame to you. We can bring that exposition of what has been revealed and that part of us that we might not even like, but our own self, we can invite you into that. We do that just now. We ask you to come to soften the shame as we hand it over to you and as we make necessary changes, as maybe we have underestimated the power of silence, the power of just being present, the gift of showing up and just being present with someone who needs a safe place. And I pray God, that we, as representatives of you, to learn to be a safe place, to listen, slow, to speak, quick to hear and listen for the voice of wisdom before we move forward, thank you that you go with us. Pray this now. In the name of the Father Son, the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Announcements:

Daily Audio Bible. That's home base. Check it out. If you have not, take a look around. Download the app. Take a look around at the store. If you have not, there are some resources available there that are intended to enhance your journey through the Bible. There are journals. If you are just like me and you're like, no, I need that pencil to glide across the page. Typing on a little tiny notepad on my phone just does not cut it. I'm your people. We have journals, we have pencils available. Black wing pencils. They are good, real nice. Coffee, tea. Sign up for the subscription, have it freshly roasted and delivered to your front door. All of that is available at the store. If you would like to partner with us, we thank you so much for your partnership. We could not do this without you. If you're giving by mail, DAB PO Box 1996, Spring Hill, Tennessee 37174. Or if you're utilizing that mobile app, hit the Give icon. It's up at the top right hand corner. Lastly, look for the Give icon on the website if you need prayer. If you'd like to pray for someone that's previously called in several different ways for you to do so 800-583-2164 or utilizing your app, hit the red circle button up at the top right hand corner. You have two minutes on the prayer line, hit Submit, turn the wheel to Chronological and it will get to the right place. That's it for me today. I'm Jill. We'll turn the page and continue the story of Job tomorrow. Until then, love one another.

Community Prayer Line:

Hey DABC. It is Refined by the Fire in Ohio and I wanted to reach out. Wish everybody a Happy New Year. Welcome everybody who is new this year, whether it is new to the Daily Audio Bible as a whole or just to chronological, and you may be either switched or double dabbing, or however many dabs you're doing, but welcome. I know when I first started it was something new and I wasn't sure, but I have just come to love all of you over at chronological. Obviously, Jill in China, both of you are so spectacular in sharing your wisdom and your insights and just how the Spirit is moving you. So I thank you for being the main voice and being brave enough to step out there to trip over all the words that I know none of us would be able to read those out loud. So you are so super brave and I appreciate that. Thank you all. So I just wanted to tell each of you welcome and also that I am always out here praying and lifting each one of you up as you call in, as well as celebrating together and mourning together through all of the events. And I know none of us know what this year is going to bring, but we're in this together and one day we will all celebrate in person together with Christ. Love you all. Happy New Year.

Father God, thank you so much for the Transcription team at the Daily Audio Bible and Daily Audio Bible Chronological. Specifically, I'm thinking of Janel and Angie as I'm posting this prayer request to the Chronological. Father God, thank you that they have a heart to serve. Thank you that they love you and that they're on fire for you and that they burn for you, Jesus. Lord God, as they go through the year, this year in transcribing the spoken word of Jill and China as they read through Chronological and they comment on the scripture and they close out with prayer and encouragement from people that call into that program, Father, bless them with strength and courage and endurance for the journey that lies ahead. It's hard work, Father God, but work that they've been called to, and I'm so thankful to have the opportunity and the blessing to get to know them and to do this work with them. So, community, if you would please lift Janel and lift Angie up in your prayers as they take and transcribe the spoken word from Jill in China each and every day and post it off to the Tumblr site that's associated with the transcriptions for the Daily Audio Bible Chronological. And if you didn't know that that was a resource, there are people that are finding great value in being able to go back and read what's been spoken on the program. I hope that you would find great value in that also and that you see there in the work that Angie and Janel are doing is life giving along with the tremendous work that Jill and China and the Hardin family does. Jill and China, thank you for your ministry. You're being prayed over every single day. We love you.

Hello, DABC family, this is The Burning Bush that will not be devoured for the glory of our God and our King. Yay. We made it through a year. That was my first year going through DABC, guys. I've been with DAB for a loose count now, I think probably 15 years, 14 ish, I can't remember now. But yeah, this is amazing. This is just phenomenal and I'm glad to be back and I'm actually going to try to do DAB and be a double DABer like some of you guys. Hopefully I can pay attention and focus and listen to the two at the same time. Anyway, I know this is a very casual call and I just wanted to extend a lot of love to all of you. And for those who are just joining us for the first time, welcome. You are in for a ride. The Word of God is amazing to be in every day. You know, that's why you're here. But the little icing on the cake is this community, this community that loves on you all year long. There will never be a time you will log on and somebody will not be awake somewhere in the world praying for you because this is international. And anyway, I love you guys. I look forward to hearing your voices. Bye.

Hi, everyone. It's Christie in Kentucky. Happy New Year, everyone, and welcome to all the new listeners to DABC. You are going to love this journey and find that we pray for each other earnestly and love one another very well. So welcome. I know that you're going to love this adventure in your life. It has been so wonderful in mine and my husband's. I wanted to pray today. Lord, we thank you for this most beautiful day that you've given to us, Father. And our sister Lisa has called in from Oklahoma and she's asking for a favor in her business this year. And Father, we are asking for that along with her. And we thank you in advance for the wonderful things that are going to happen in Lisa's life this year. Father, we pray for Tiffany, Lord Jesus, and praise the Lord. Thank you, Jesus, for baby Elijah being born on Christmas Eve. All Christmas Eve babies so special. Of course, all babies are special. That I have a special love because my grandmother was born on Christmas Eve and what an amazing moment of God. She was so excited to hear about what God is going to do in Elijah's life. We're praying for you to heal from this birth and that you and your husband will be guided by the Holy Spirit in each and every decision that you have to make. Family, I have a biopsy on Thursday. By the time you hear this, it will be over with, but I'm praying that you will pray that it will go well and that there will be nothing to be concerned with. Asking you to continue to pray for my beautiful husband who has been diagnosed with ALS and we have been walking through that for a year and trusting the Lord every step of the way. He is a miracle working God. Amen. All right, everyone, I love you. I pray each of you have a blessed day.

Hey, DABC family. This is Eliza in California. And Debbie, I heard your request for prayer this morning and my heart is crying out to the Lord for you. So I am just praying that you would feel God's love surround you each day, that you would know he has a great plan for your life and for the life of your baby, and that you would let him pull you out of your mental struggles right now. So I am just going to keep praying for you, Debbie, that the Lord shows you how lovable you are because he loves you and you are worthy of being loved.

[sleephyjhs]

When You’re Expecting (Taehyung Headcanon)

pairing: taehyung x pregnant!reader

warnings: mention of fertility & pregnancy complications

note: i’ve been craving to write a bts x pregnancy series for a while so here we go !! if there’s a specific member you’d like to see next, shoot me an ask :)

m.list

FINDING OUT

even before finding out you were pregnant, you both had so much love for your child

there was nothing either of you could have wanted more than a baby

it was always at the forefront of your mind how much you wanted a little human of your own

it was approaching a year since you began trying seriously

a few false hopes and two miscarriages later, fertility drugs were looking to improve the chances of conceiving

the raging hormones which came with the drugs were all worth the positive test

early september - sickness had hung around your throat for days

headaches lasted longer than usual, and crying at the most mundane things had become an unwelcome habit

in the bathroom cabinet, you’d collected a small stockpile of electronic and stick pregnancy tests

one of them would eventually show positive, right?

taehyung sat on the bathroom tiles with you

waiting two minutes felt closer to waiting two months

he crossed his legs, bouncing his knees impatiently

your knees came to your chin; high hopes weighed heavily on your heart

the alarm set on his phone beeped quietly

your heartbeat rose suddenly to your throat

taehyung reached out for your hand as you turned to read the results

two blue lines - as clear as day

they became less clear as your eyes coated with thick, salty tears

he began to chuckle as his happiness trickled down his cheeks

“we did it baby! we’re gonna have a baby!” he whispered, choked up by his own anticipation

no words were left swirling in your mind

your jaw hung open as though the hinges were faulty

shakily, you lifted the electronic test to triple check

pregnant.

as you crashed into taehyung’s open arms, memories of the past loomed in your mind

it was only inevitable

a positive test was a familiar joy to you both

however this familiar joy had only ever been followed by crippling devastation

as much as you tried not to think about it, you couldn’t help but retain maternal caution

however, this time also felt different

taehyung’s spirit, your spirit - it was as though fate didn’t want to disappoint you any more

someone out there decided it was finally your time to grow a mini human to bring into the world

of course, no time was wasted in contacting the maternity clinic

seeing your baby on a screen was now a top priority

just to see their little head, maybe even hear their heartbeat

just to know they were okay

just to know you were keeping them cosy and safe, that’s all you needed

taehyung couldn’t hold his excitement

from leaving the house to reaching the hospital, his toothy grin never wiped from his cheeks

he never said anything at the time since his main focus was always on comforting you

but losing his babies near enough tore him apart

even when you tried to comfort him, taehyung restricted himself just to protect your wellbeing

of course, the worse had already crossed his mind

but it wouldn’t get the better of him

it couldn’t.

you soon learned you were already 6 weeks pregnant

the midwife had to point out where your little baby was hanging out; they were such a tiny thing after all

briefly, you took the opportunity to hear their heartbeat

it was faint over the machine, but fast

there really was a life within you.

“there’s something else, if you just look over here...” the midwife prompted, turning the monitor so you could grasp a better view

taehyung leaned slightly over your chest to peer closely at the smaller monochrome screen

with the mouse, she circled a second bean shaped figure

“the fertility drugs increase the chance of twins. looks like you guys got lucky!”

twins. you were having twins.

THE PREGNANCY

like with most pregnancies, you were advised to wait until the 12 week milestone to begin announcing your impending delivery

and even though he understood the importance of patience right now, taehyung could hardly contain his excitement

it didn’t help that a little bump had already begun to grow

keeping a secret was much more difficult when the evidence was near impossible to hide

already, taehyung spent early mornings talking to his little angels

telling them stories he seemingly made up on the spot

or even borrowing some from his own childhood

“you know they can’t hear you yet? it’s about 7 weeks until they’ll be able to, honey.”

“i know, i’m just practising for when they can.”

of course, you wouldn’t admit that you did the same when you were alone

you attended more midwife appointments than other expectant mothers might

the pair of you much preferred being on the safer side

in the car, when on a quieter, less congested road, taehyung often reached over to cradle your still-growing bump with a free hand

you slotted your fingertips between his for additional sappiness

“you two have so many people waiting for you here, hmm? many people are already so in love with you both. me and mummy included.”

on a sleepless night, you’d made a small pact with tae

it was a rash decision, but sincere nonetheless

“no matter what, they are always going to know how wanted they were. always.”

taehyung hardly needed reminding of this, but it was still a weight off your shoulders

as you tried to conceive, the pregnancy diet had already been implemented into your daily routines

however now that you were carrying two precious babies, there really would be no more ‘cheat’ days for you

no more extra half cups of coffee on slower mornings

although you usually took over the role of head chef in the house, taehyung dedicated extra effort into preparing you both healthy and yummy foods

sautéd rice with green vegetables and lean meat/tofu appeared to be his go-to

but you still opted to supervise just in case

finally being able to announce your pregnancy was another heavy weight lifted from your mind

the other members were over the moon for you both

particularly when they reminded themselves of the struggles you had experienced previously

and also remembering the utter devastation of their taehyung when he had to break it to them

all of them kept their eye out for little gifts and outfits

each week, taehyung came home with a new stack of pale rompers or neutral-tones teething toys

these babies would have the best uncles; at least that much you could be certain of

announcing your pregnancy on social media was a looming task, but one he was determined to pull off perfectly

for filler content between schedules, the members had been asked to film a 5 minute vlog of their daily life

well, what a perfect opportunity!

towards the end, taehyung made sure to include some shots of your now protruding bump overlaid with some more vintage camera settings

safe to say, that day you had broken the internet

love, congratulations and blessings poured in from every corner of the earth

a few comments complimenting how much pregnancy suited you touched you especially

self image is commonly effected by the progression of pregnancy, and you were no exception to that

although it was amazing how your body grew and made a little home for your tiny babies, it was still quite strange to see yourself changing so quickly

your favourite clothes didn’t fit around your doubled bump anymore

and your skin seemed to hate sharing nutrients with two extra people

but for the days where you struggled to love yourself, taehyung easily filled in the gaps for you

sneaking up behind you in the bathroom

(although the mirror kinda gave him away)

he’d wrap his arms around your just-moisturised bump and carefully rest his chin on your shoulder

“tell me all your worries honey.”

you gushed over how much you missed wearing your favourite jackets

and how strange it was to look at yourself in such a new and confusing way

“i know it’s normal, and i know i have to do it for them. but i guess it’s just weird - i don’t look like myself anymore”

he sighed and planted a kiss on a spot of bare skin

those small kisses still tickled you like they always had

“well, you definitely look different,”

you really hoped there was a second part to that sentence, mostly for tae’s own good

“but why does that have to be bad? not gonna lie, it actually kinda makes you hotter. maybe we should make babies more often!”

“make~?”

LABOUR AND DELIVERY

originally, you had wanted to try and stick to the natural route for as long as you could

but after a few contractions, that idea was immediately out of the window

to help steady yourself and wait out the pain, you held onto the kitchen island and swayed to your own pace

eventually, taehyung joined you

copying the same movements while timing your contractions

“they really must be desperate to come out, huh?”

“well do you think they could hurry it up a bit?!”

the pair of you had been prepared for this for over a month

the hospital bag was ready by the door with all of your essentials packed tightly inside

not forgetting the pots of instant ramen taehyung insisted he must bring in case of an emergency

just as he was readying to back out of the driveway, taehyung took a mental stock check of everything packed in the back

“do you think we have everything?”

“i love you but stop talking please.”

thankfully, he understood well that the sheer pain made you cranky

so long as he assured himself that it was ‘just the contractions’, he’d be just fine

as much as he couldn’t wait to announce he was about to become a father to everyone, he kept himself grounded when walking you to the maternity ward

one corridor in and you’d suggested that a wheelchair might be a better mode of transport

breathlessness and contractions didn’t sound like a favourable mix to you

the assessment of your fast dilation granted you an immediate spot in the labour ward

you’d picked this suite specially due to its expansive space

the option of a birthing pool was still available if you so needed it, but the mood lighting and access to aromatherapy was what attracted you to the room in the first place

a serene paradise for your angels to be born into

it was perfect

taehyung explored while you adjusted to your new surroundings

of course, it didn’t take him long to find the birthing ball

“what’s the difference between a yoga ball and a birthing ball?”

there obviously was none, but you took a few seconds to try and be smart with him

“well, sit on that and you might have a baby the size of a watermelon come out of you soon.”

taehyung cradled his torso and pulled a shocked expression, which was enough to make you giggle and cause another contraction

less than a few hours passed, and you had already attempted to scream the building down once or twice

“get these babies out of me. no i’m serious, i need them out.”

realising your deadpan expression, taehyung soon attended to you at the head of your bed

stroking your slightly sweaty head and patting a ice cold flannel on your clammy forehead

he braced himself for a crushing hand grip which came about sooner than he’d prepared for

you weren’t the biggest fan of commotion, and so being surrounded by nurses and doctors was close to being your worst nightmare

taehyung focused his voice into your ear, trying to minimise the tension coming from below your pelvis

his motivational words were broken up by short bursts of pushes

many of which were followed by a string of curse words which just slipped out

and then, there it was.

the first piercing cry belted across the room

a tear or two may have happened to slip from your eyes

finally the moment you’d waited for, nearly two years in the making, was here

the first of two, a little girl who already had a head full of the most luscious black hair

taehyung wanted to hold back his happy tears in order to show some kind of strength

but you and him both knew he’d never hold it back for long

within the space of 4 minutes, the second baby was born into the world.

but this time, there was no immediate cry

the whole world seemed to slow down in that moment as you waited

and waited

midwifes gathered around the new infant, looking for any kind of obstruction

but, soon enough, your son said his first hello to the world

[powdermelonkeg]

Symphonies of Time

This is a continuation. You can find the first part, Secrets in the Breeze, here, and the second, Where the Wind Doesn’t Blow, here.

Small breakers indicate swapping worlds. Big breakers indicate timeskips.

I’ll make better breakers soon.

I also included a few music cues! I don’t know if it’s something I’m ever going to repeat; I kind of just felt like it, but it was fun. Click on the music note when you see it!

Sky gripped the Master Sword’s hilt tight, his knuckles white as he spoke to the younger hero. “Look around. What do you see?”

There was a pause. “...The sky is dark. Everything around me is bluish.”

“More specific. Items, patterns, things moving.”

Another pause. “There’s a circle beneath my feet. It’s like the one I stabbed with the Master Sword.”

Sky gave a sigh of relief. That was all the confirmation he needed. “Good. Stay in that circle for now; as long as you’re in there, the realm won’t wake up.”

“...Sky? I’m sorry.”

The hero’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Wind repeated, hugging his knees. He grit his teeth, fighting to keep from crying. “I took the Master Sword from your stuff, I played that song when I shouldn’t have, I broke the tablet—that wasn’t mine.” He felt the lump rise in his throat. “If I don’t make it out of here—”

“Woah, hey, calm down,” Sky said gently. “You’re not going to die, okay? I’m right here.”

“But...the Phantoms—”

“They won’t hurt you. They’re agents of the Goddess—they’re just trying to protect what she made,” Sky replied. “The worst they can do to you is send you back where you started.”

The spoke softly, doing everything he could to be comforting in the terrifying situation. It was a technique Wind himself had used with Joel and Zill back on Outset. And yet, even still, he found it reassuring to know there was someone more experienced guiding him through this. But, still...

“Do you forgive me?”

“Of course I do.” Sky didn’t hesitate to answer, speaking firmly and sincerely. “I know how the Master Sword calls more than anyone; if she didn’t want you to take her, she wouldn’t have let you.” He gave a soft sigh. “We’re all just glad you’re not hurt, and we want you to come back to the Realm of Sound.”

“...Okay.” Furiously scrubbing at his eyes, Wind fought for his composure, taking a deep breath as he slowly stood up. Time to be a hero and face the new challenge. “How do I get back?”

♪

“Look around you. Do you see any guardians?”

Wind looked around the clearing, alert for silver glints of armor. “...Two.” He frowned. “No, three. There’s a light through the trees.”

“That’s a Watcher. If you need to go near them, you need to be very quiet and sneaky; they can only see what falls into the light underneath them, but if they catch you, they’ll wake the guardians up.”

Wind gulped. Worse than Forsaken Fortress... “Okay,” he replied.

“Now, there should be something colorful and glowing in the clearing. The Goddess never places one too far from the start.”

This one took Wind a moment to spot. Everything around him was gray, but...He spotted something among the dull colors, tucked behind a tree. “I see something pinkish!”

“Pinkish? ...Okay. When I count to three, I want you to run out of the circle as fast as you can and grab it. If it is what I think it is, it’ll put the Guardians right back to sleep.”

Wind frowned. “And if it’s not?”

“Then I want you to book it back to the circle. We can try a different direction.”

The colorful sparkle behind the tree called to him, almost as much as fear did from the direction of the Silent Guardians.

“Okay,” he said decisively, eyes narrowing as he braced himself for a sprint. “I’m ready.”

“Three...Two...”

“...One.”

The instant Wind left the circle, Wild saw his ghostly form materialize in a teal shimmer. He watched with wide eyes as the younger hero darted through the clearing, ducking behind a tree and snatching something up, holding it in the air with a pink flash.

“I got it!”

Sky side-eyed Wild, watching him track Wind’s movement with interest. “Did the sky turn back to blue?”

“Yeah, it—” he paused.

Sky’s ears perked. “Kid?”

“...There’s a flower. On my arm.”

Wind stared at the blossom as it unfurled, the petals spiraling out on the back of his hand as a vine spun itself around his arm. A pinkish-orange light illuminated one of the many buds along its stem, and one of the petals slowly started to turn brown.

“That’s your spirit vessel.”

“What’s that?” he asked, poking the glowing bud cautiously.

“It’s how the Goddess tracks your progress and time. One of the flower petals should be darkening.”

“It is. Should I be worried?”

“No, it’s supposed to do that,” Sky replied. “As long as that flower’s intact and you don’t walk into any Watchers’ lights, the Guardians will stay put. There should be buds along the stem of it.”

“There are. One of them’s lit.”

“Good. Count them for me.”

Wind took a moment, twisting his arm to count the little glassy bubbles. “...9, I think.”

Sky sighed in relief. “Oh, good. It’s a short one.”

“I have to find eight more of those? In the Lost Woods?”

Sky blinked. “...The what?”

“Like the others talked about—the forest tries to spin you around and put you back where you started. It did that with me when I was being chased.”

Sky frowned, then turned to the others. “...Do you guys know what he means by ‘Lost Woods?’”

Half the party present looked at him like he was crazy. Sky narrowed his eyes. “It’s important. I need an expert.”

“I’m an expert,” Time said, raising a hand. “I grew up right next to the Lost Woods. They’re a pain to navigate.” He glanced over at Wild. “...I think we need to strategize.”

Wild looked back, eyes wide. “...We?”

Wild held his torch carefully as Time scribbled down on a map, his eyes trained on Wind’s transparent figure. It was already night time again; Wind had failed the trial more times than he could count. If Wild had to guess, the “lower number” Sky had talked about when explaining the Spirit Vessel was only a small mercy from the Goddesses to account for the sheer confusion that was the Lost Woods.

Wind scaled a tree, then jumped down, rapidly fading pink light in his hand. He turned in the direction he thought his companions must be and gave a thumbs up, unintentionally showing them his shoulder instead. Wild held back a snicker—if the situation weren’t so nerve-wracking, it would almost be funny.

“The kid says he found another one,” Legend’s voice came through the Sheikah Slate, jolting Wild out of his thoughts as he fumbled the torch. “Can you confirm?”

Time caught the torch before it could fall. “Give us a second.” He raised his eyebrows at Wild expectantly.

The blue-clad hero caught his breath and pulled the slate off his belt, coming face to face with Legend’s eye. Wind’s Gossip Stone needs a volume slider... “I can confirm. It was in a tree.”

“Great. That should be all 9. How’s the map?”

“It’s good.” Time peered over Wild’s shoulder. “I’ve marked all the Guardians he’s come across and all the borders the woods has.”

“Then we’re ready for the final run?”

Wild glanced up, watching Wind count on his fingers and no doubt doing his own calculations. “We’re ready. Tell Sky.”

“Got it.”

Wind’s ears perked as he listened to Sky tell him the plan. He lit up, jumping for joy as he realized it was going to finally be over, then waved for Wild and Time to follow as he raced off in a random direction.

Wild sighed in relief. “Tell Sky to tell Wind to wait for us at the gate.”

“Will do. Signing off.” Click.

Time looked over the map critically as the others crowded around him, rubbing his chin.

9 tears, 14 guardians, 6 watchers. 9 minutes of time to spare between each tear, provided Wind wasn’t caught.

His eyes followed possible routes, running the times in his head. This was just like his adventure with Cojiro back in his own time; the amount of times he’d failed to deliver a bottle of eyedrops in time and had to go get another dose had made him an expert at routing.

“...Alright.” He finally said, after a long period of mental puzzle solving. He pulled a charcoal stick from his belt and started drawing the route. “The first tear is the easiest to get; from there, he’ll need to go northeast and grab the one in the lotus pond. There should be enough time to wait out Watchers.”

The others listened intently as Time explained the plan to its completion. “From the last tear here—” He tapped a circle on the map. “—he can just walk off to the right and be warped back to the clearing here. There’s no watchers on that edge of it, so it should be an easy run back to the circle.” He pointed at Wild. “You can see him, so you’re going to run the route with him. Whenever he grabs a tear, tell us through the Gossip Stone where he needs to go next, and how many Guardians are marked.”

Wild saluted. “Yes, sir.”

He pointed the stick at Sky. “Sky, keep the kid up to date as much as you can. He needs accurate information as fast as possible.”

Sky nodded, fierce with determination. “Understood.”

“Great. Let’s do it.”

Wind snatched up his seventh tear. “Got it!”

“Great! Just two to go. Turn left—the next one is the one inside the crack in the ground.”

“Alright. Going left.” He gave Wild an invisible thumbs up, then jogged off after the tear.

After this was all over, he was going to ask the older hero how that spirit vision of his worked.

“There’s a pair of Watchers up ahead, so be careful.”

♪

Wind’s ears twitched as he heard the telltale bell sounds of the Watchers, and his eyes narrowed. Stealthily, he snuck his way through the forest, pressing his back up against the tree trunks one by one, face scrunched up in concentration.

He was so close. There was no way he was going to fail, not this time. He wanted out of here.

A light passed over his location, and he froze, the watcher’s lamplight bleeding through the branches. Wind held his breath in anticipation. Don’t move. Don’t move. They can’t see you.

...A moment passed, and the Watcher departed, returning to its route. It was all Wind could do not to collapse with relief then and there, but he had a job to do. Slowly, he crept towards the fissure in the forest floor, the pink light of the tear seeping through the leaves. He knelt down and reached his arm in, snatching it and booking it back to his post, just in time to avoid the return of the two Watchers.

He peered around the corner, watching them move, his heart pounding in his chest. Their lights overlapped directly on the crack, and they both paused.

Wind swallowed. Did they notice the tear was gone?

After a moment of eerie silence, the watchers looked at each other, then turned around and departed in opposite directions, resuming their patrol. Guarding the tear was not their job, catching intruders was.

With a sigh of relief, Wind gave a thumbs up to Wild. “I got it,” he whispered, voice cracking in stress. “Which way now?”

“Go right. The last one’s under a rock, it has a Sky Guardian in the tree above it. As long as you get there in time, you’re home free.”

“Okay.” Carefully, he made his way away from the Watchers’ patrol routes, then broke into a run. Freedom was so close, he could taste it.

The rock came into view, pink light seeping out from under it, and the cloaked guardian hovering menacingly above it. Gritting his teeth with courage, Wind charged forward with a shout and shoved the rock, practically falling onto the tear.

The flower on his hand shone, the pink light leaving the little glass buds and flooding it with energy. Wind gasped happily, leaping to his feet. “I got it!!!” He exclaimed. “That’s all of them, I’m done!!!”

“Great! Come on back, let’s get you out of there!”

Wind beamed, heading for the woods’ edge to warp back home.

And then...it began to rain.

When the first drop hit Sky’s head, he froze, looking up at the cloudy heavens with a look of sheer terror on his face.

When the second hit, he panicked.

“Kid!” He exclaimed “Get shelter, right now!”

“What? Why?! I’m coming back!”

“It’s raining!”

“So?”

“Water and the Silent Realm don’t mix. If even a drop of that touches you—”

♪

“—the guardians are going to wake up.”

The words hadn’t even fully left the hero’s mouth when a shiny, metallic drop hit Wind’s arm.

As he watched, horrified, the glowing flower on his arm shriveled away into nothing, and orange flooded the Silent Realm.

“Kid? Kid, answer me, did any of it touch you?”

The Sky Guardian behind him drew its blades.

“YES!” Wind shouted, taking off into the forest as fast as he could. He just had to get lost, he just had to get lost, he couldn’t lose this now!!!

The mist faded in around him, and the clearing came into view with an eerie light. Wind raced past the two Earth Guardians, his lungs screaming at him for air as the swing of a massive club just barely missed his shoulder, and dove into the circle—

Wind awoke with a gasp, eyes wide, bolting to his feet and ready to take off like a wild rabbit.

“Hey, kid, it’s okay!” Warriors grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. “You’re alright! You’re safe.”

Wind stared at him, then sat down with a heavy thud. “I...” He looked at his arm.

His skin no longer shone silver, the flower gone. The chirping of crickets and gentle patter of rain filled the silence that had only been occupied by Watchers and his voice for the past day.

It was over.

He’d won.

Wind collapsed back onto the ground, staring up at the sky as the other heroes approached with a hot meal and blankets. “...It’s over.” He finally breathed, relieved. “It’s done. I made it.”

“You sure did.” Warriors offered a hand and a smile. “Proud of you, kiddo.”

Wind glanced at him, then at his hand, before taking a deep breath and grabbing it.

“It’s good to be back.”

Wild slurped up the hot soup happily, bundled up in a blue scarf and furry hood, and glad to finally have something in his stomach.

“I don’t get it” Sky frowned. “The flower should have turned into an item as soon as you went back to the Gate, not sent you back immediately. The Goddesses wouldn’t make a trial for nothing.”

“Wouldn’t they?” Time asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sky’s eyes narrowed. “No,” he said. “They wouldn’t.”

Hyrule put up his hand quickly. “Maybe you did something different?”

“There isn’t exactly much to do different.” Sky crossed his arms, thinking. “When I went into the Silent Realm, I played the harp to summon the gate, then knelt and stabbed the Master Sword into it. When I came back, I just drew it and went on my way.”

At the last sentence, everyone turned their eyes to the purple-hilted sword.

It still sat, resting in the gate.

Waiting.

Wind stared at it for a long moment, then looked at the others. “...I...should probably go get that.”

Four put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure? One of us can.”

“I’m sure.” Wind puffed up his chest. “Whatever it does, I can take it. Nothing’s worse than the Silent Realm.”

Time looked over at Wind with worry, the fears from that morning returning full force.

“Hey.”

He turned, coming face to face with the hero of Twilight. “He can take it,” Twi said. “He’s drawn that sword before.”

...He has, hasn’t he? Time sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Despite everything...he wished he knew what that sword could do consistently.

Why had it singled him out?

He shook his head, tossing the thought away. A question for later. He turned towards the camp. “Hey.”

Wind looked over, eyes wide.

Time offered a small smile. “Finish dinner, then let’s see if this trial of yours was worth the effort.”

♪

Wind stood in front of the Master Sword, the same as he had all those years ago, in the basement of the submerged Hyrule Castle. Squaring up, he grasped the hilt of the sacred blade firmly, bracing himself against the ground as he drew it from its pedestal.

The Silent Realm Gate withdrew into itself as the sword left it, the blade itself glowing with heavenly light. Wind pointed the blade skyward, determination in his eyes, then raised it above his head, its might not lost on the young hero.

Wind took a deep breath, then smiled, swinging the blade twice then performing a spin attack, then sheathing it with a flourish.

The Chain clapped in approval, and he bowed, then turned and offered the Master Sword back to Sky. “Here you go,” Wind said, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish smile. “I think I’ve had enough of that sword for a little bit.”

Sky chuckled, taking the blade back and slinging it onto his back where it belonged. “Next time the sword calls to you, tell me.” He ruffled Wind’s hair. “I’ll help you figure out what’s going on before you get stranded in another realm.”

A sharp crack startled the heroes out of their exchange, and everyone turned to look at what was left of the stone pedestal.

The rock split in two, its purpose served. It dissolved into dust like the tablet before it, revealing yet another stone artifact to follow. Immediately, Legend snatched it up for examination. “...Hm.” He rapped his knuckles against it. “This has some strong magic in it,” he said, “but I can’t tell exactly what. It feels almost like song magic, but...” He offered it to Wind. “Any ideas?”

Wind hesitated, worried for a moment, then took the tablet and flipped it over to study it. He shook his head. “No. I’ve never seen this before.”

Just then, Four’s ears perked. “Kid, does your baton normally do that?”

“Huh?” He looked down at his belt.

The Wind Waker sparkled, begging for attention. Wind frowned. “No...Hold this for me,” he said, handing the tablet off to Hyrule and pulling out the magic artifact.

No sooner had he done so than the new tablet lit up, markings like before appearing on its surface.

Wind looked up, then stared in shock. “Eight notes?”

“That’s new?” Hyrule asked.

He nodded quickly. “I’ve never conducted any higher than 6/4 time!” He looked up at Time. “...Can I...?”

Time hesitated. Following destiny’s call wasn’t the safest move, and they’d nearly had a close call with this whole Silent Realm business. And yet...he knew meddling with the Goddess’ plans was a surefire way to incur disaster. He’d learned that the hard way.

Reluctantly, he nodded. “Go ahead. Just be careful.”

Wind lit up excitedly, then drew himself up to conduct, playing the notes as directed. Everyone watched with baited breath, waiting for whatever the Goddesses could possibly give them next.

...Nothing.

Wind frowned. “Come on, that’s not right. You’ve gotta do something for all that work.” He tried again, attempting to time it better. “Maybe it’s just a repeated 4/4...”

As Legend watched the conductor’s attempts, he squinted. He recognized it, he was sure��of it, but...

He snapped his fingers, eyes wide, then quickly grabbed Sky’s bag and fished out the Skyloftian’s golden lyre.

“Wh- HEY!”

“I’m borrowing it.” He shoved the bag back into Sky’s arms, then stepped in front of Wind. “Kid. Conduct me.”

“What?”

“Conduct me.” He held the Goddess Harp to his shoulder, fingers on the strings. “I know that song, but I don’t know what it does. I want to find out.”

Wind’s eyes widened. With a nod, he held his baton up, then began to conduct. Legend watched his movements closely as he played, the tune matching his memory exactly.

It was...almost scary.

♪

It didn’t take more than a second for the melody to click into place; he’d only heard it once, but you don’t exactly forget a meeting with the Oracle of Ages easily. As he played, blue flecks of light shimmered at his fingers and the Wind Waker’s tip, the etherial music filling the air.

The rain froze, water droplets suspended midair all around the heroes, as time itself ground to a stop. A cerulean glow pulled itself through the newly made prisms, filling the air with rays made of sapphires. They wove themselves together in a net, then spun, before shattering to bits at the song’s conclusion.

The fragments rebuilt themselves into a blue archway appeared before them, a dark vortex of midnight blue spinning into nothingness.

The Chain looked at each other in shock.

They recognized this.

Even if it was different.

You learned Nayru's Requiem! The power of the Oracle of Ages fills the Wind Waker; you can now travel through time at will.

[dialux]

It is not a dream, whatever they say afterwards.

...

She is born at the stroke of midnight, on the hottest day of the year. Anaire sweats and curses through the last week of her pregnancy. Fingolfin claims to have hauled blocks of ice down the Calacirya for his wife’s comfort, balanced on his broad shoulders.

But none of it matters, because the moment that little Aredhel, blood-slicked and howling, slips from her mother’s body, lightning flashes, thunder claps, and the heavens open up around her.

...

She is born in rain. She is born into a tempest that shatters trees and warps stone. She is born into the kind of elemental fury that cannot be taught, only experienced.

...

“There is not only joy to be had in life,” says her mother, once, tending to cuts on Aredhel’s back that were carved by a bear that Aredhel had attacked, armed with nothing more than a knife and her own courage. “There is duty as well, my little girl. Duty and kindness and love.”

Aredhel laughs instead of screaming. “The day I find love shall be the day of my death.”

“Do not say that!”

“I have seen it.”

“Aredhel!”

“Wish freedom for me, if you must offer me something,” says Aredhel, and rises, ignoring the blood staining her gown and the pain. “But not love, and certainly not duty!”

...

The gown had been white before it was ruined. Aredhel washes it in her own bathroom, scrubs and scrubs until her blood and the bear’s blood finally fade, until the sun has bleached the stains to nothingness.

Then she wears it again, braids her hair out of the way, and stalks into the forest.

She doesn’t return until she has tamed the bear into friendship.

...

Forever after, she wears white.

...

It is a reminder: life is a stain. It might begin clean, but it shall never end that way. The only thing to do is to wash it out, and to scrub until one’s arms ache, and to let the cloth dry out before being stained once more.

Aredhel learns many, many tricks to removing the stains.

...

I will have vengeance, or I shall have death, Feanor had snarled in the courtyard of Tirion.

Anaire does not ask any of her sons to remain. She does not even speak to Fingolfin. But she is in Aredhel’s rooms when she returns, sitting in the silent darkness.

“Do not go,” she whispers.

Aredhel remembers bears and blood and bitterness on her tongue. Her life in Aman has been a cage, glittering and golden, and if the world outside it shall be dangerous- well, she has a knife, and her own rage, and the knowledge to scrub out stains.

“Do not try to stop me.”

“Have you no love for a mother?”

“I will have freedom,” says Aredhel levelly, and watches her mother’s face crumple, and refuses to feel guilty for it. “I will have freedom, or I shall have death.”

...

(She does not tell that story to her father. The one time he asks- they all know where Anaire was, that last night in Tirion- Aredhel looks at him, steadily, until he turns away.)

...

There are unforgivable things. Those boats- well, Aredhel has never been a forgiving person, and she does not wish to become one now.

...

There are immense storms on the Helcaraxe. Aredhel hears, sometimes, Lalwen laughing so loud it sounds like a scream. She does not weep: she has not wept for many, many years. Even as her people- those she trusted, those who trusted her- fall like flies, Aredhel does not falter.

The tears would freeze on her face, and she has no time to brush it off.

...

When Elenwe dies, Aredhel allows her brother one night to mourn. She holds little Idril in her arms, soothing the shudders away, and doesn’t release her to anyone else. Her brothers are with Turgon; her father is tending to their people. What Idril needs is someone who remembers her.

The next morning, Aredhel wakes Idril, and she brushes the little girl’s hair out until it shines, casting more wood than strictly necessary to ensure it doesn’t freeze. Aredhel’s fingers are not nimble enough for the proper braids, but she manages a reasonable enough facsimile for her niece.

Then she takes her to Turgon’s tent.

“Get up,” she says coldly.

Argon is curled around Turgon, trying to keep him from fading through sheer force of will. He sits up when he sees Aredhel, eyes wide, and she bares her teeth.

“Get him up,” she says flatly.

“I don’t think that’s...”

“Get out, then,” says Aredhel, and doesn’t watch him scuttle out. Argon will bring someone- either Fingon, or her father- and all that means is that she doesn’t have too much time. She glances down at Idril. “Watch.”

It is four steps from the entrance of the tent to the bed. Aredhel takes the steel knife she once used to attack a bear with- the knife she’d left deliberately exposed to the elements- and places the flat very cleanly against Turgon’s throat.

Turgon jerks at the chill. Aredhel goes with him, fluid as water, so she doesn’t cut his throat but keeps the knife against his skin.

He is stronger than her. Aredhel lets him finally throw her off- though it takes longer than she’d expected- and waits, because Turgon’s  thrashing has finally led him to catch sight of his daughter, his little daughter with her braids done in the Vanya style, looking like the miniature of her mother. The grief in his eyes is simply awful.

Aredhel waits.

And when he finally draws himself around Idril, sobbing but not the terrible, bone-chilling silence of an elf on the verge of fading, Aredhel leaves.

...

“You cannot save anyone,” Aredhel tells Idril, when Turgon finally allows her out of his sight. “But you can offer them a path back. Whether they take it or not is their choice.”

“The Burners,” says Idril, then- that’s what she calls the Feanorians, precocious child that she is- “will you give them a path back, then?”

Aredhel had loved Celegorm, and Curufin, and the twins, too. But she is not a forgiving person.

“If someone burns their bridges,” she says finally, “you do not owe them more tinder.”

...

(That is a lie.)

...

It is not that she is unforgiving.

It is that she does not wish to be forgiving.

...

When Fingon saves Maedhros, Aredhel visits the healer’s tent in the dead of night. She watches the agony of her cousin’s hroa, etched into his skin, and she does not feel triumph.

If she sees Celegorm again, she will fall into his arms, and she will forgive him everything.

But Argon is dead, and so is Elenwe, and so had they all come through the ice, embittered and betrayed. It is not that Aredhel does not want to forgive her cousins; it is that she fears what will happen if she does. She cannot spend her life waiting for a knife in the back.

Turgon wants nothing to do with them.

Fingon will not leave them behind.

And Aredhel does not wish to see another brother dead. She kisses Fingon, and she kisses Fingolfin, and she kisses Finrod and all his siblings, and then she disappears into the night with Turgon, having not spoken to any of her Feanorian cousins since before the Helcaraxe.

...

“Freedom is not a dream,” she tells her mother, once. “I don’t want it. I need it.”

“If what you wish for is total freedom,” Anaire had replied, “you will never have it.”

Aredhel thinks about her mother, who had loved to dance but been forbidden from it by her grandfather; she thinks about how beautifully Anaire dances in the privacy of their home. She thinks about the way Anaire has chained herself down to the thunder and fury of the House of Finwe, and she laughs.

“You would say that,” Aredhel tells her.

...

She builds Gondolin and she leaves Gondolin and she returns to Gondolin.

The day she finds love- the day she knows she finds love- is when she takes a spear meant for her son. It all cracks open and bleeds away, all the rage seething beneath her breastbone, all the fury she’s spent centuries tending to, all the anger that she’s never known the beginning or ending of, and Aredhel is burning with it, blazing, bright as the father who would soon ride to his death and the brother who would collapse under betrayal and the gods she’d once rejected.

She dies from it, of course, but Aredhel has never feared flame.

...

She is set free upon the river, her corpse dressed in the hands of the niece that she’d once cradled so tightly, her hair braided by the brother she chose to follow. To her son she has given her hairclasps; to Idril she has given the knife that once saved Turgon from fading.

(They say steam rose from her body, so great it enveloped all of Gondolin in a great fog for weeks to come.)

...

That knife- that trusty, small little knife- saves Idril and Earendil from Maeglin, atop the wind-battered tower of Gondolin, when Morgoth finally attacks.

...

Later- years later- Ages later- Aredhel falls into her mother’s arms once more. She is a mother now herself, and she has watched and walked beside and touched and loved dark things, and she is not the girl who’d walked into a forest to conquer her fear with not even a knife to defend herself. She was born in rain and died in a river, a High Lady of the Noldor. She was not felled by Morgoth. Poison took her at the end; not hatred, and not blood, and not flame.

She is the first of her family to be reborn.

“Was it worth it?” asks Anaire, once and only once. “Your dreams of freedom- was any of it worth it?”

Aredhel tosses her hair, bares her teeth.

Smiles.

“It was,” she says, “necessary.”

[causalgelato1993445]

Drunken Snaps & Unrequited love

Chapter two

pairing: felix x reader, with a hint of chan

word count: 1,376 

warnings: mentions of alcohol abuse and fighting

group: skz

The morning is fresh, and rich with the smell of earthy autumn leaves. A cool breeze drifts through the holes in my cream sweater, and on any other day, I'd exhale with a smile and thank the universe for a cool day to break the cycle of endless heat. Today, however, I'm holding in that breath. My body is tense and stiff. I’ve dreaded this Monday morning and its consequences for two days.

As I slide into the seat of my car, I open snapchat, and read over the messages to which I still haven't responded. Part of me feels guilty, and rightfully so. Felix does not deserve to be left on open. However the situation is tricky, and I fear saying the wrong thing. 

Last Friday, I made a big mistake.

Before Christopher arrived, Felix Lee and I were best friends. We grew up together, experienced middle school alongside one another. We giggled together when Mrs. Miller would mispronounce words, or when Peter DeWitt would run down the halls screaming profanities. The beauty of public school was the friends i’d made, and the heartbreaks, and the fights and make ups. And all the while the smaller blonde remained by my side, faithfully, as if it were his only responsibility.

It never occurred to me why…

Felix is a straight A student. He does his community service at the local animal shelter to play with all the “lonely dogs”. He’s on the swim team, and swimming has given him a beautiful physique, but the boy only wears baggy sweaters and hoodies. He is trustworthy and patient, and anyone would be lucky to have him. And yet, he chose me.

In another life, if I'd never met Christopher, I might have loved felix.

When Chris moved here, and started school our freshman year, Felix grew distant. He hung around less, came over less, and began cancelling plans. He snarled his nose when I would speak of chris. He would act annoyed when I would lose myself in thoughts of him. And now, I understand.

The smell of sweat, and ungodly amounts of Victoria's secret perfume hits me like a brick as I walk through the doors. I’m eyeing my surroundings, turning every corner with caution so I don't run into Felix unintentionally. Of course, I plan on confronting him eventually, but for now, avoiding him seems to be the most promising option. The homeroom bell has not rung yet, so i opt for a quick stop by my locker. It would benefit my stressed out mind not to have 30 extra pounds of weight on my back.

But my heart stops when I see him standing at my locker. Why him, why now. 

“uh...Chris. What’s up?”

He’s leaning against my locker, arms crossed with a friendly smile. 

“Oh, hey, I was waiting for you!” He speaks in his thick aussie accent. I do my best not to melt into a puddle.

“Yea, I noticed. What can I help you with?” I ask. It’s too early for this.

“Actually, (y/n) was it? I need some help with something, and I was told you could help. Do you know Clara?” He asks. I flinch at the name. And suddenly i realize, she was the blonde girl with the flowers.

“You mean Clara Casteel? Yeah, Why?”

“Well,” he reaches a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “I was hoping you would talk to her for me.”

“uhhh...Clara and I haven't talked since 5th grade. You know we aren’t-”

“I know I know, the big fight, your parents, the drinking. You aren’t friends with her anymore. But why would that stop you from at least trying?” He persists. I stare at him in confusion. Why would he push me to talk to her if he knew what had happened. And who told him that I would?

“I...i’m gonna get to class.” I mutter, brows furrowed.

The lunch bell rings, and I’m awoken from my class nap. Nobody seems to have suspected anything. I rise from my seat slowly and stretch out my stiff limbs. Something catches my eye. A tiny ghost notification. My heart beats a little faster and I curse at myself for being so afraid. 

I open up a snap, and as I suspected, it’s felix. This time, without thinking i open it to reveal all four messages. 

“(y/n)? Did you get my snap?”

“Am I bothering you?”

“When can I see you?” and finally

“(y/n) i’m sitting in the far left corner at the empty table. Please come sit with me.”

I sigh, collecting my things and trudging to the lunchroom. When I arrive, marissa waves me over, but my eyes instinctively drift to the far left corner. And there he is. In front of him is a single chocolate muffin and a ceramic travel mug of tea. He’s sporting an oversized blue knit sweater and a pair of ripped jeans, his platinum locks tousled from the outdoor wind. He must have walked to starbucks for lunch. 

The boy has his slim legs crossed at the calves, and he’s giggling at something on his phone. I almost want to go sit with him. I start to turn to head towards marissa’s table, when i see felix pop his head up. He immediately looks at me, and breaks out in a grin. Suddenly, the boy waves me over, pulling a small Starbucks bag up from the seat next to him. Que the guilt.

Against my better judgement I start to walk over, and he’s practically buzzing with excitement. When I reach the table, the boy is at his peak of happiness. 

“Oh, (y/n) for a second i thought you wouldn’t show, but i’m so glad you did. I saw you finally opened my snaps, you must not have gotten them until today.” he rambles. I crack a smile. 

“Yeah, I got them. Is that for me?” I smirk. He grins, and he resembles the sun.

“Oh, yeah! It's a lemon pound cake. I know it’s your favorite.” he bounces it off his seat as he hands it to me. It’s a little crumbled. I chuckle.

The blonde stares down bashfully as I take a bite of it, pulling his small hands into the holes of his sleeves. For a minute I can see the sheer infatuation in his eyes. He’s so genuine, and full of life. He deserves to have someone, he deserves to be loved on. But I just don’t want to push him further away than I already had.

“You know,” he mumbles, “I almost questioned if that snap was even for me. But why else would you have talked to me at hyunjin’s party?” I frown, resting my chin on my palm. “Anyway, I'm glad you did. I’ve loved you since 6th grade. I felt so bad for you after what happened with Clara. I thought you were still hung up on chris.”

“Well…” I begin “we’ll see what happens.” I gave a weak smile, taking another bite of the treat. 

“Can I take you out this weekend? Well, I mean...you’ll have to drive us, but dinner is on me.” he smiles bashfully. 

Before I have the opportunity to answer, the bell rings yet again. We stand, and Felix does a small stretch. He waddles over to me with his arms outstretched, and embraces me around my waist. He has a look of joy on his face, almost as if he were a child holding a puppy. 

As the lunchroom grows empty, the boy looks at me in the eyes for the first time with red cheeks. Platinum bangs falling into his eyes. 

“(y/n), i missed you. Please don’t forget about me this time.” he whispers. The room is silent as we stand alone in the far left corner of the lunch room. I brush the hair away from his face and he wrinkles his nose. 

“I’ll pick you up at 5:00 on friday” I whisper to him, letting go of his small body and exiting through the metal doors. 

Outside the art room, Clara Casteel giggles, twirling her hair as Chris smiles his lopsided smile. Our eyes meet as I pass by.