#dying rivers and broken hearts

[inkcurlsandknives]

I recently reached out to Gani Cabezas a Filipino artist to commission my first book inspired art (I have some fan art from good friends and art I've made but this is different) and I'm so excited and so nervous working with another creative to bring something new into existence 😄 I've been dying to have art of the love interest Catalina from Saints of Storm and Sorrow and very soon it will exist!!!

I'm extra thrilled because I've been in love with this artist's work and waiting for them to open to commission for ages and they opened up right as my deal announcement dropped like it was made to be. 💖🇵🇭💖

If you're a Filipino or Southeast Asian artist on Tumblr I'd love to connect I'm always looking to support fellow SEA creators

Here's some book/story inspired art I've been working on it shows the Laho/Bakunawa the Philippine Sea Dragon trying to swallow the moon. This was a precolonial explanation for the lunar eclipse. The Laho features in many of my published stories Saints of Storm and Sorrow as well as my short story Dying Rivers and Broken Hearts a historical fantasy about lesbian Catholic witches trying to save the Laho of manila bay

[really-fanny-longbottom]

Only In My Dreams [Part Three]

Summary: The beginning of the end.

Warnings: Mentions of death, violence, abuse and burns (not too descriptive)

Words: 8.9k

A feeling of numbness began to invade you from the top of your head to your toes.

As you closed your eyes and calmed your breathing, you felt your shattered heart one last time before focusing on your emotions and feelings and bringing them to the surface.

Realizing that it was impossible to reach all of them, you focused on those whose presence had become a habit and which had begun to suffocate you day after day. 

Jealousy - upon seeing that Azriel's courtships were not intended for you.

Pain - realizing that the Spymaster eye's weren't looking for you the way yours did for him.

Insecurity - thinking that you will never be enough for the Shadowsinger that occupied your thoughts.

Sadness - understanding that you will never find yourself in the arms of the person you most want to hold you.

Broken heart - when you realize that the male you love will never love you back.

You let them emerge, and when they did, you let them swim back and forth as you dug your way through them looking for that little switch. 

The switch that was about to solve all your problems. In a few moments, it would mend your heart and bind it with a steel chain around it, to prevent it from breaking again - from feeling again. 

After digging your way for a few more seconds, the switch came into your reach and as you headed towards it, you noticed the darkness that surrounded it.

The darkness that would invade your veins and corrupt your heart - the price to pay.

By reaching for the switch with an invisible hand, you let the happy memories with your friends replay in your mind, granting one last wish to your aching heart. 

It was while reliving those memories that you were hesitant about what you were about to do, seeing the good times you had spent with the friends that had become your family.

Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie, Rhys, Cass, Feyre, Mor and Amren - all their faces appeared in turns bringing a slight smile and a feeling of comfort. 

But it shattered when the image of Azriel and Elain holding hands and exchanging smiles invaded your mind without permission. 

You would never be her and he would never look at you that way.

That was your breaking point.

You wouldn't continue to suffer for a male who didn't even dedicate a second of his time to acknowledge you.  

And just like the snap of a finger, the hesitation disappeared, anger replacing it, making the invisible hand reach out and finally complete its task. 

With a simple click... 

You turned it off. 

And become darkness. 

-

A storm was heading towards Prythian. 

Black clouds haunted the sky, an immense darkness hid behind them, preparing to release its confined monsters at the right moment.  

The Courts were dominated by gray — a consequence of the storm that was about to break. 

The trees had lost their color; the flowers and food planted in the gardens stopped growing; the water in the rivers and seas was still, with no wave being formed; the animals had fled and a crushing cold forced every inhabitant to stay at home.

The sun was nowhere to be found. 

With no explanation from the High Lords for what was happening, the inhabitants were left at their mercy to conjure one.

'This is the work of witches,' some said.

'Prythian is dying. It's the end of the world,' said others.

But the rumor that most circulated among the Courts? The rumor that many believed but were too afraid to say out loud? The rumor that due to fear was whispered between ears or past written in letters?

Someone had disturbed a powerful being, and this was the result of their wrath.

Now, Prythian was condemned to face their punishment. 

The entire extension of Prythian seemed cursed, but no Court was worse than the Night Court.

Mainly Velaris.

All eyes that fell on the city would only take a second to identify it as the epicenter of the storm.

After all, that was where the 'curse' itself began. 

-

Velaris was paused in time.

Flying over what was once vibrant and full of life, Velaris, Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys continued their search.

They flew through the empty streets, past the closed shops, with no sign that anyone lived there. 

If the males didn't have the age they have, they would never have believed that this had once been the City of Starlight. 

It all started four weeks ago. 

Four weeks since Madja's drastic revelation about you.

Four weeks since the last time any of them had seen you.

You had disappeared without leaving any kind of trace.

While Amren, Nesta, and Feyre read all the books Helion had lent them about rare powers, Mor on the Continent trying to find someone who knew more about empaths, the males were tasked with finding you.  

The brothers had already flown over the entire Night Court to try to find any trace of you - but without success.

It was as if you had simply evaporated.

They went as far as contacting Eris to find out if the Heir knew anything about you. 

Although they didn't get any information regarding you, the males ended up discovering that Eris himself was looking for you.

Apparently, your news powers had reached the ears of Beron, awakening his interest in you.

Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time Beron had been interested in you. 

News in Prythian never took long to reach all the Courts. 

When the first rumor about an empath in Prythian emerged, all the High Lords were agitated, especially when that same empath was one of the members of Rhysand's Inner Circle.

Empaths were very rare, with only two recorded in the last twenty thousand years, so the extent of their powers and capabilities remained a mystery. 

Rhysand had to set up a meeting and introduce you to the High Lords personally to prove you weren't a threat. 

And you weren't. The High Lords saw firsthand what a caring, kind, and gentle person you were.

They saw your abilities as a healer and the purity in your eyes.

You were the epitome of kindness. 

There was no reason to fear you.

Until now. 

They could barely believe what you had become. It was as if the girl they had met decades ago had never existed. 

As if it had been nothing more than a dream. 

Helion was the first to find out about your situation when Rhysand came to him.

Rhysand will never forget how Helion said you must have suffered too much and too long in silence to be able to become what you became. 

The warning that followed still haunted the male in his sleep 'Do not underestimate her, Rhysand. It's innocent and pure people like Y/N who can find the deepest darkness within themselves when motivated to do so. She may not have been a threat before, but she certainly is now.' 

The truth that no one wanted to admit was that they were scared of you.

Scared of your new powers and what you would be able to do with them. 

And now Beron was looking for you. 

You were never a violent or aggressive person. In fact, in all the years since you joined the Inner Circle, they had never even seen you raise your voice.

But now...with your emotions turned off, and your powers, if Beron finds you and you feel threatened... 

They weren't sure that Beron would come out alive from that confrontation.

They didn't know how far you would go to protect yourself, but there was one thing they knew: they needed to find you quickly.

-

On a distant illyrian mountain, in an unpopulated zone, an abandoned cabin had been improvised as a laboratory.

The cabin contained only three rooms: a bedroom, a bathroom, and a living room/kitchen.  

This last room was the largest of the three, but due to all the tables that filled it, it gave the impression of being the smallest.  

On the tables against the walls were various dried plants and flowers — in other words, dead. 

You were sitting on a wooden stool in front of one of the tables in the center — that one was loaded with green plants and flowers with colors ranging from blue, red, and yellow.  

Your eyes studied a sunflower while your hands surrounded it with a darkness they emitted.

You watched as the poison began to spread through it from the root to its petals — how it began to lose its color and wither with each passing second. 

This has been your occupation for the last four weeks.

Ever since you discovered your new powers, you have dedicated yourself to learning about them.

All those sleepless nights, the days with little food in your stomach, the headaches, and the hours you spent sitting had been rewarded.

You could poison a entire plant or in a specific place of your choice, it could spread quickly or slowly, it could be deadly immediately or last for hours, you could remove the poison and bring the plant to its original state.

But the most interesting part? You had accidentally discovered during one of your experiments a few days ago that even after its death, you were able to control it. 

That's what you had spent the last few days working on. 

You believed this was the final step to achieving your full power. 

You watched closely as the flower reached its final stage. You could feel its vitality fading away at your fingertips. 

With one last movement of your hand, the flower reached its end.

Letting a few seconds pass, you took the opportunity to readjust yourself on the bench and stretch a little. You felt the muscles in your arms and back relax instantly. 

You didn't know how long you had been sitting here working on the flower, but when you looked out the window and saw the light of a new day outside, you realized that a few hours had passed. 

With your eyes finding the flower once more, you ignored the headache that was beginning to form on the right side of it, you had had many lately preceded by a bad night's sleep because of the nightmares that had invaded your mind for almost two weeks. 

You had never had nightmares before, and these were mysterious. You couldn't understand them no matter how hard you tried. 

You let go of that thought, pushing it deep into the back of your mind, and focused your attention on the task at hand and extended your hands towards the flower. 

This was the moment of truth. 

Slowly, with each rotation of your wrist, the flower started moving.

A big smile appeared on your face as you watched the flower move with the direction of your hands — following your lead. 

Your attention shifted to your hands as you realized what was happening.

Your glow was changing color. 

Transforming.

What used to be darkness was now a bright red. 

The reach of your full power. 

However, your moment of triumph was interrupted when your ears perked at the new sounds outside of the cabin.   

Footsteps.

Several of them.

The cabin only had one entrance and one exit, and that was where the intruders were headed.

You knew exactly who they were. You knew they were looking for you. They had come very close to finding you the last time, forcing you to move. 

Luckily for them, back then, your priority was learning your new powers, but this time? This time, you were irritated.

Your eyes didn’t leave the flower when the cabin door was kicked open and five Autumn soldiers burst into your small laboratory.

You had heard that Beron was looking for you, but you thought the male wouldn’t be stupid enough to send his soldiers to the Night Court — especially Illyria. 

Apparently, you were mistaken.

The soldiers began shouting orders that you ignored.

Did Beron really think he could capture you? Use your powers as he pleased? 

Without warning, the cabin door slammed shut, the hinges creaking.

The males' heads turned toward the sound faster than humanly possible, yet they dared not move when a melody followed — one that sounded like a lullaby.  

With trembling hands and legs, the soldiers tried to maintain their composure as they turned in the opposite direction. 

"Tell me," your voice rang out across the room, "Which one of you can winnow?" 

There was a deadly tone in your voice, enough to send shivers down the males' spines and cause doubts in their beliefs.

Your voice was light, calm, and delicate like a siren's song luring its victims to their death.

In a matter of a second, regret settled in the eyes of the soldiers, too scared to even remember that they had been questioned. 

When none of them responded, you moved just an inch on the stool, allowing the soldiers to see what you were doing.

Without making any noise or sudden movements, the males began to walk backwards slowly while they increased the strength with which they gripped their swords, their eyes still fixed on the scene they were witnessing — a dead flower being guided by the action of your hands that subjected it to what could only be described as the dance of death. 

The noise of a soldier swallowing the lump in his throat reached your ears, the same one that made the wise decision in answering you. "All of us."

The small laugh you let out made them shrink.

"Well, that's perfect," you finally turned to them, "that way, I don't have to waste time guessing.” 

Mouths dropped at the sight of you. The eyes that held nothing behind them, the long hair down to your waist, the simple long white dress you wore, your bare feet, and the smile that would scare away the bravest warriors. 

Behind you, the flower continued to dance without ever stopping. 

One of the soldiers gripped his sword tighter. “Wh...What...What's that supposed to mean?” his voice failed to hide the fear that was rising from him. 

You stood up.

The soldiers backed away even more, their backs hitting the wall behind them.

"By the Cauldron..." one of them muttered. 

Five too-fast heartbeats filled the silence of the room. 

You smiled.

“I need you to deliver a message to Beron for me.”

The soldier, who was on the far left side, began to search for the doorknob at an unnatural speed.

The smell of fear was palpable in the air. 

"Lucky for me that you all can winnow, but unlucky for you," you took another step, watching their faces change as they realized what was about to happen. "I only need one of you to deliver the message." 

The last thing the soldiers saw was your eyes turning red before everything exploded. 

-

Azriel didn't know how many hours he had been flying or how many laps he had already made over Velaris.

Lost in his thoughts, the male made the mistake of looking down. 

He flew over a small, familiar house at the top of a street.

Inside the small house, there was an old healer with her face stained with tears and pain in her chest caused by a worrying heart. 

The old healer was in the same position as the previous days. Sitting at the window in her living room, waiting for her beloved niece to return. 

But with each passing day, Velaris grew grayer, taking a bit of the old female's hope with it. 

Guilt struck his heart. 

The last time he had seen Madja was five days ago. 

Nuala and Cerridwen had prepared several casseroles to help the old female through what was the worst time of her life.

Feyre offered to take them, and Azriel and Cassian volunteered to help. 

The Spymaster expected Madja to kick him out or release her anger on him, but she never did.  

The healer welcomed him with open arms and prepared him some tea as thanks for his help. The suffering in her was visible; red eyes, low voice, bent posture, slumped shoulders, and several handkerchiefs soaked in tears on the living room table. 

How could things have gotten to this point?

The promise Azriel made to himself flashed through his mind — he would bring you back into Madja's arms.

The movement of Cassian's wings broke his trance, and Azriel's eyes left the small house and resumed his flight.

Four weeks without any information.

The males even thought that you might have left the Night Court and gone to a different one. 

But no wards had been passed, and they would know if anyone had passed them. 

So wherever you were, you were still within the borders of their Court.

But where? 

The brothers flew to meet each other, and when Rhys was preparing to speak, something happened. 

A surge of power ripped through the Night Court with a red flash accompanying it. 

The mountain and the ground shook, the water rattled, and somewhere, screams were torn from the throats of the citizens in their homes.

The males were sent straight to the ground, their wings and Illyrian strength not enough to keep them in the sky. 

Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand had to protect their eyes from the intensity of the flash while trying to remain stable on a shaking ground and ignoring the overwhelming feeling they felt as the wave of power passed by the entire Court.

So many thoughts ran through their minds.

What was happening? Was Prythian being attacked? Were the girls okay? 

After a few more seconds, the flash began to diminish until it disappeared completely, leaving only the remains of something red all over the sky.

The mountains and the ground regained their stability and the rivers their calm. 

As they raised their heads, the brothers saw what appeared to be red powder falling from the sky and towards the ground.

Cassian was the first to pick up a small amount and rub it between his thumb and index finger, trying to decipher what it could be. 

With no answers, Cassian turned his attention to the males sitting next to him, checking for injuries, and noticed that they were both doing the same to him.

After checking that both they and the city were okay, the three of them took to the skies, and their eyes immediately found the source of the wave of power — Illyria. 

The Illyrians would never attack them. They could be brutish and arrogant, but they were not stupid, leaving only one possible explanation. 

"Y/N." Azriel whispered.

"It's her," Rhys confirmed as he stretched out his hand, where remnants of the red flash landed on it. 

Shock did not fail to appear on the males' faces. None of them mentioned what they had just witnessed, but all three knew.

Your power has grown.

You were stronger. More powerful. 

Cassian broke the silence, if his brothers weren't going to talk, then he would "She knows," a silent agreement hovered between them, It was only a matter of time before you found out about your new powers. 

"What do you think she's doing with it?" A bad feeling invaded them at the General's words.

Something big was about to happen. 

They all knew it.

"We should go back." Rhysand ignored his brother's words — he wasn't prepared for this conversation.

"What?" Azriel protested, his wings beating faster with the anticipation of going to look for you. "We finally know where she is, and you want to give up?" 

"No one's giving up, Az," Cassian placed his hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down, "but look around you. You just felt her power, and we've been flying for hours. We can't go to her like this." 

Azriel removed his brother's hand from his shoulder, a bit harsher than he intended, but he couldn't stop the anger that filled every word of the scream he released next. "What, you think she's going to attack us?" 

Cassian's wings lowered a little, and he didn't hide the look of defeat he felt nor the hurt it caused in his chest when he said what had to be said "I don't know."

Shock ran through the Shadowsinger's body, making him move away as if those words had burned him. 

Cassian let out a small sigh before continuing, "That's not our Y/N, Az. We don't know what she's capable of, and we have to assume the worst-case scenario." 

When Azriel tried to protest again, Rhys stopped him. "Cass is right. We'll be back in a few hours when we're recharged."  

Azriel knew they were right, but the guilt that invaded him didn't let him rest so easily.

"Besides, we need to know if the girls are alright."

Azriel nodded. If Helion's words were truly true, if you now posed a threat, then they couldn't risk surprising you without being prepared. 

That single thought hurt him more than a sword strike, but that was the new reality they faced. 

The males resume their flights but with their destination being the House of Wind.

There was nothing they could do for now. All that was left for them was to wait.

Azriel looked back.

To the mountains where you were.

The mountains that hid you from him.

Or the mountains that protected him from you?

-

Eris Vanserra was having a long day, and there was no sign lurking that it was about to end. 

As he walked through the halls of the Forest House, Eris let his mind wander to the meeting he had just left.

Beron had just made his alliance with Koschei and the mortal queen official, but that wasn't what bothered the young Heir.

His father had also told his council that his search for you was not over. Not even when the only soldier who had returned described word for word what had happened in Illyria. 

The soldier's testimony did not have the same effect on the High Lord as it had on his council. 

While the old males had shrunk in their seats at the description of your powers, Beron had moved closer as if to hear better. 

A hand slammed down on the meeting table hard enough to stir the liquids in the crystal glasses that sat in front of each member.

"Speak, boy!" Beron demanded.

"She... She's different, High Lord. I've never seen anything like this before, not even with Hybern."

"Be specific! Do I look like someone who has the patience for riddles?"

"Death." The soldier said quietly, as if afraid that the walls might have ears.

Beron stood up from his seat at the revelation, curiosity gnawing at his body. Eris leaned back from his chair and gripped the arms of the chair in an attempt to soften the shock that this news had caused him, while Beron's council struggled to regain color in their faces.

"She looked like Death." The soldier finished before being dismissed.

When the door to the meeting room closed, the council erupted in screams. 

The males of the council tried to dissuade Beron from his search for you but without success, as was to be expected. 

His greed grew, as did his hunger for power. Now knowing what you were capable of, his desire to find you was now even greater, with the several soldiers who had left the Autumn Court with orders to find you as soon as the meeting ended as proof. 

That was what bothered him. Not the change in your powers, not what happened with the soldiers — his soldiers — but your well-being.

But why?

He was beginning to think he had lost his mind.

Eris had even made the mistake of staying after the meeting ended to try to persuade his father to continue searching for you.

That had earned him the burn on his shoulder that he now bore. 

What was going on with him? 

Why hadn't you left his mind in these last few weeks?

His brain was telling him to ignore the situation and focus on the potential war with the Death God that was becoming more real with each passing day. 

But his heart... his heart was telling him to write a letter to Rhysand asking about you. To know if they had found you yet or if they had any clues about you.

Anything to comfort him.

Little did he know that this would not be necessary because when he opened the double brown doors that led to his room, his eyes met those that appeared in his dreams. 

There you were — sitting on his bed with one leg over the other in what looked like a tight black dress.

A smile formed on your lips as you stared at the male in front of you. "Did you miss me?" 

-

"That was Y/N?" Nesta's voice was so low that if Cassian hadn't been right in front of her, he probably wouldn't have heard her.

"Yes." Cassian confessed to her as he witnessed the pain appearing in his mate's eyes.

Cassian didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her.

This situation was difficult for everyone, but the General knew it was especially so for the female he was trying to comfort.

Your relationship with Nesta was different from everyone else's. It had started out as rocky as a bad day, but just as bad days never last forever, neither did your beginning. 

Before you knew it, you and Nesta were laughing together, exchanging books, walking arm in arm, and going almost everywhere together.

You had become sisters.

And the thought of losing you caused her more pain than she could have ever imagined.

As Nesta pulled away from her mate’s arms, she faced her brother-in-law.

“What’s the plan?” You had fought for Nesta, never backing down, never giving up, and now she was going to do the same for you.

Rhys’s eyes softened, and he squeezed Feyre’s hand tighter before answering, “Cass, Azriel, and I are going to Illyria, see if we can find out where she’s hiding.”

Nesta nodded, but before she could speak, a voice interrupted her.

“How will you know where to go?” Elain asked.

“We’ll follow the trail of the power surge. That should be enough to tell us where it started.”

Elain nodded in understanding before her eyes flicked to Azriel. 

The male was quick to look away, focusing on his brother. 

"She might not be there anymore." Cassian pondered. 

"Still, it's worth a try." Feyre spoke a few seconds later. 

Rhys gave her a weak smile that didn't reach his eyes — Feyre mirrored it. 

An awkward silence fell over the family. 

These past few weeks had been the strangest they had ever experienced. Sometimes, it felt like it wasn't even real, but rather a never-ending nightmare — sometimes they had to pinch themselves to make sure they were awake, and this was actually happening. 

"I'll go with you." Nesta broke the silence. 

Cassian knew there was no point in arguing, so he just nodded, wrapping his arms around her. 

Azriel nodded as well before turning to Feyre and asking the question everyone was eager to know the answers to.

"News from Mor?"

Feyre let out a long sigh before shaking her head.

"We received a letter earlier. She arrived in Rask three days ago but hasn't found anything yet. She says there's an old male who's experienced in rare powers, but it might not mean anything," Feyre let out another sigh, "she says she'll let us know when she finds something." 

Every day, they waited anxiously for a letter from Mor. With hope fading by the day, they believed more and more that the answer lay on the Continent.

Azriel was interrupted from his thoughts by a gentle touch on his shoulder, and he turned to find the middle Archeron sister standing in front of him.

"Can we talk?" She asked softly.

Looking back and seeing the rest of his family chatting, Azriel nodded and followed Elain into the hallway.

When the female in the pink dress tried to touch his hand, he pulled away faster than her brain could process.

Azriel remained silent, letting Elain start a conversation he had no desire to have.

"What happened that night?"

His response ended up being a frown rather than words, so Elain continued.

"The night of our date. You never showed up at the restaurant," When Azriel stayed silent, she continued, "I know you went looking for her, Azriel. I heard Madja say you went to the clinic looking for Y/N. Why?" 

Azriel had the answer, but it wasn’t with Elain that he wanted to share it. 

And as if his brother had heard his thoughts, Rhys appeared in the hallway, telling Azriel it was time to go. 

Azriel didn’t look back before following his brother and taking off. 

- 

Eris checked that no one was around his room before closing the doors.

The male leaned against the door for a few moments as if to make sure you were real.

"You're here."

Your smile widened. "I am." 

Eris matched your smile and moved to sit on the wooden chair in front of the bed before undoing a few buttons on his shirt and moving to unbutton his boots.

"Did Beron get my message?" 

"He did." 

You watched him for a moment before speaking again. "So you know about my powers." 

"I don't care about your powers." He was quick to respond. 

"What about your soldiers?" 

"They shouldn't have threatened you." 

"But he keeps looking for me." 

Eris continued to untie his boots as he confirmed your statement. 

"I told him to stop but he wouldn't listen." 

"Hmm," you slowly stood up before stopping in front of him, "is that how you got that burn?" 

Eris's hands stopped immediately, and without moving much, he directed his gaze to the white shirt that had fallen down when he bent over, now revealing yet another of Beron's marks. 

Eris sighed and stood up, leaning his back against the wood of the chair. 

His golden eyes met yours and he didn't look away, not even when he considered what lie to tell. 

"I saw your mother when I was coming here." 

You moved closer. 

"She was applying what I think was a cream to her bruises." 

Eris closed his eyes. He had heard about the argument his parents had had a few days ago when he was away at meetings. 

His mother hadn't told him anything but he had assumed how it had ended. 

The Heir felt a weight on his legs and arms wrapping around his neck. When he dared to open his eyes, he found yours a few inches away. 

"Do you want me to kill him?" 

The question took him by surprise. No one had ever dared to say such words. 

"Would you do it if I said yes?" 

It was no secret that Eris dreamed of the day he would put an end to Beron's reign. One of his greatest goals was to free Autumn and his family from the clutches of that male. 

"For you, yes." 

Eris laughed and tilted his head back only to be grabbed by the chin by a hand smaller than his and meet your eyes again. 

"I'm serious. Say the word and it will be done."

The owner of the golden eyes was lost for words. No one had ever cared about him like this.

Not knowing what to say, Eris brought your lips together.

You kissed him back almost immediately, adjusting yourself on his lap.

Eris broke the kiss just long enough to say, "I was worried about you." 

You laughed into the kiss, responding with a quick, "I can take care of myself, prince."

Eris laughed back, "I know, but I missed you." 

His response did something to your heart — something you couldn't quite put your finger on. 

It would be a lie if you said you came here just to warn him about his father. 

For some reason, this male made you feel things that shouldn't have been possible. 

Your brain was telling you to pull away, to leave, but that thought was forgotten when your heart answered for you. 

"Then show me how much you missed me." 

And so he did.

-

Darkness. Silence.

Were the first two things you came across.

Total darkness surrounded you.

You couldn't make out what was around you. No matter how hard you tried to squint your eyes, they couldn't make out any kind of shape, not even a shadow.

No noise could be heard — wherever you were, silence dominated that place.

What was going on?

How did you end up here? What were you doing here?

"Hello?" 

You didn't get any response back, which led you to assume that you were alone. Whether that was a good thing or not, you didn't know, but something told you that you were about to find out. 

As you took a step forward, you stretched out your arms in the hope of finding a surface that you could use to guide yourself.

It took several steps until you found what seemed to be a wall. As you let your hands run along it, you realized that its surface was rocky and damp and that your footsteps echoed.

Always with one hand on the wall, you let yourself be guided to whatever was waiting for you on the other side. 

Seconds.

Minutes.

Hours.

You didn't know how long you had been walking, your hand already cold from being pressed against the wall for so long.

Just when you were beginning to think that the darkness was endless and that you were lost or trapped, that there was no way out, something answered your worries.

A weak beam of light entered your field of vision, indicating the path to salvation. 

In what seemed like a matter of survival, you ran towards the light that gradually grew brighter as you approached.

The moment the light became a little stronger, you realized that you were inside a cave when you saw the entrance.

When you finally left the cave, you saw that the light that was offered to you came from the moon, hence its dim brightness. 

Without any intention of returning to the infinite darkness, you walked towards the trees that led you to a lake.

The lake was large, surrounded by pine trees, and with only the moonlight illuminating it and reflecting on its water.

The view was enchanting. It reminded you of one of those places where people would go when they needed to be alone or to think.

A place that would become someone's favorite place — where they would feel nothing but tranquility and security.

Where they could escape reality and take a break from their problems for a few hours.

Unfortunately, not everything is as it seems.

Just as a wolf can seem affectionate and friendly at first, causing its prey to let its guard down moments before attacking, this lake also seemed like a place of peace and not one of danger. 

Your feet took you to the edge of the lake, where you crouched down and stretched out your hand to be enveloped by the water.

The water was pleasant and reminded you of summer days. You were swinging your hand from side to side when something caught your attention.

There, reflected in the lake, right behind you and a lot taller, emerged a dark figure. 

A figure that was impossible to make out, could it be anything — a person, an animal, a shadow?

Acting on instinct, you turned as quickly as possible, and the only thing you could find was darkness accompanied by a deep voice.

"Come find me." 

-

Your eyes flew open.

Your breathing was fast, as was your heartbeat — as if they were in a race that they both wanted to win. 

A line of sweat ran down your chest while another on your forehead followed suit.

You sat up slightly in bed as your eyes quickly adjusted to the dark room.

You saw the desk in the middle of the room where the pile of letters still stood, the tall windows that were covered by brown curtains, the fireplace where there were still traces of the wood that had burned a few hours ago and finally — the warmth that rested against your back.

You were still in Autumn.

In Eris's room.

The male's arm was around your waist, his chest against your back, and his previously closed eyes were now open.

Those golden eyes that did something unknown to your heart.

Eris sat up, remaining behind you, bringing his free hand to brush your hair away from your bare shoulder where he placed a light kiss.

You could have sworn your heart skipped a beat at the brush of his lips against your skin, but you attributed those thoughts to your sleepy state. 

With his arm still around your waist, he pulled you towards him until your back was resting against his bare chest and your head on his shoulder.

"Is everything okay?" Eris asked, barely above a whisper.

What was he doing to you?

How was it that after everything you had done to protect your heart, this male could undo it with just a touch? 

"Little fox?" 

You closed your eyes at the nickname. Your cheeks felt hot — from the nickname or from the male holding you?

You felt a warm hand take its place over your heart, a gesture so simple yet meaning so much.

Your heart began to stabilize, your body to relax, and your breathing to return to its normal state as Eris began to make small circles with his hand.

"I'm okay, Eris." You couldn't help the small smile that pulled the corners of your mouth upward until your dimples appeared. 

This was becoming too real — too deep.

You had to get away. From this male, from this place — from everything that reminded you of a certain Heir with red hair and golden eyes that reminded you of the sun

"Are you sure, little fox?"

Whatever this was between you and this male couldn't continue.

How could he be having this effect on you?

"Mm-hmm." Your response was followed by a light kiss on your temple before another was placed on your cheek.

What was this feeling in your belly? Why was your heart reacting like this?

You had to put an end to this. You were going to tell the male that whatever this was was nothing more than a bit of fun.

You were going to pull yourself out of his arms, forget about his lips, put on your clothes, and leave.

You made your decision.

You didn't pull away when Eris pulled the two of you to lie down.

You didn’t protest when he laid your head on his chest and wrapped an arm around you.

You didn’t stop him when he covered you with the blanket.

Your mind felt heavy — what had you been thinking about earlier?

You snuggled closer to him, placing one of your arms over his stomach and tangling your legs with his.

You kissed his chest, and he ran his hand briefly through your hair.

A vague sense of thought passed through your mind — you had made a decision, hadn’t you?

You couldn’t remember. 

-

The next morning, Eris woke up alone in his bedroom, now lit by the light of a new day.

He did not find your figure on the left side of the bed. Instead, he was surprised by a piece of parchment.

"I had to go, I have some business to attend to. Don't worry, prince, you will see me again."

Eris fell onto the bed with one hand hiding his face but not enough to hide his smile.

A warm and welcoming feeling filled his heart.

For the first time in all his centuries of life, Eris Vanserra was happy. 

So happy that he didn't notice that his burn had been cured.

- 

The Inner Circle was gathered in the living room with Amren back from her home. 

Rhys had shared the vision with everyone that the four of them had encountered in the cabin — or what was left of it. 

Rhys, Cassian, Azriel, and Nesta were still lost for words. Their minds couldn’t form thoughts — too busy trying to process everything they had seen in the cabin. 

The plants and flowers, the evidence of your power in the destroyed walls and soil, the soldiers, and… the dead flower that still danced. 

Every time they closed their eyes, that was the sight they were greeted with. 

Feyre sat on the arm of the chair with a hand pressed against her chest. “Y/N… the soldiers. Are you sure it was her?” 

When everyone remained silent, Azriel took over. “It was her. The soldiers had traces of her power. We don’t know where she went, but we believe she couldn’t have gone far.” 

"I couldn't find anything in Helion's books," Amren said, "what do we do now?" 

Several sighs were let out, and then "I think we should-" Azriel couldn't finish his thought due to the change in the air. 

As his family immediately took up defensive positions, he realized he wasn't the only one who felt it. 

Everyone's eyes found the source of the change — the door to the living room. 

It was early morning, the light illuminating the room completely, but somehow, darkness could be seen beyond the door. 

Everyone's hands began to find their weapons. 

It was impossible to break into the River House — Rhys had placed the wards himself. 

The darkness moved. 

Azriel didn’t wait for the threat to strike first. 

His centuries of training, experience, and combat kicked in. 

In an instant, faster than the blink of an eye, Truth-Teller was flying through the air, about to strike his target. 

Until a hand stopped it. 

The darkness began to dissolve, revealing you behind it. As you walked into the room, the knife was still immobilized in your hand. 

As surprise and shock grew on the faces of what you once recognized as your family, a smile grew on yours. 

Your eyes flickered through violet, blue, brown, and silver ones until they stopped on a pair of hazels. 

The Shadowsinger’s knees nearly gave out before you spoke. 

“Now, that’s no way to welcome a lady.” 

-

You walked around the room as you took in the decor.

The Inner Circle had moved to sit on the couch as they watched you.

"I like what you did with the new place. Fancy." You said as you ran a finger along the dining table.

As you walked to the couch, a smile still on your lips, you stopped to pour yourself a glass of whiskey before sitting down next to Nesta.

"Hello, friend." You said as you took a sip of the drink that burned your throat.

"Y/N."

When Nesta showed an intention to speak again, you quickly turned your gaze to the males who were sitting on the couch opposite yours.

"I heard you were looking for me. How cute." You said with what could be detected as false emotion.

"Where have you been?" Rhys asked you.

"Oh, you know. Here and there," your hand slid down your leg, stopping at your knee, "by the way. Beron made his alliance with Koschei and that human queen official yesterday." 

Amren gave you a scornful look, "And how do you know that?" 

A cheeky smile filled your face. You rested your arms on the back of the couch and crossed your legs as you replied, "I was with Eris yesterday." 

Seeing her roll her eyes, your smile widened before you met the eyes of the female who had become like a sister to you.

Nesta watched as you stared at her with blank eyes and no emotion on your face — pain struck her heart as she didn't recognize the person in front of her. 

"We saw the cabin." 

Azriel's voice broke your eye contact with the female and made you focus on him. 

"Oh, yeah? And what did you think?" 

Amren answered, "Monstrous." 

Your gaze met hers. “I was just protecting myself.”

“Were you?” she asked, “or were you trying to show off?” 

Your eyes turned red, and the room began to shake as you let your power surge to the surface.

Cassian, Rhysand, and Azriel widened their eyes as the Archeron sisters tried to hide the fear that filled them. 

You stood up from the couch and walked towards the female without ever breaking eye contact or missing a step.

"Be careful, Amren," As you approached her, she began to retreat her steps. "If I were you, I would choose your next words wisely."

The ancient one's back touched the wall, and you noticed her breathing become faster. "You don't want to anger me." 

As you glanced one last time at Amren, you gave her a smile before heading for the door. 

Azriel was quick to stand up. “Where are you going?” 

Your feet stopped, and you glanced over your shoulder. “Leaving, obviously.” 

Just as you were about to resume walking, you were interrupted again. 

“No.” Rhys answered this time. 

This made you slowly turn in your place — it took all of Rhys’s strength not to flinch at the look in your eyes. 

Cassian, who was next to him, murmured, “Careful, Rhys. Don’t get on her nerves.” 

Rhys glanced at him sideways before swallowing the lump in his throat and letting out his High Lord voice. 

Although he didn’t show it, he was shaking inside, but he hoped this would work on you. 

"You're not going anywhere. Now that you're here, I want you under my supervision at all times. I forbid you to leave Velaris." 

Everyone held their breath as they waited for your reaction. 

They were all surprised when your answer was "Fine. Do I have a room here or will I have to sleep in the garden?" 

One by one, they sighed in relief before Rhys spoke again "Of course you have a room here." 

"I'll take you." Azriel walked forward before anyone could protest. 

After climbing the stairs, turning left, then right and another right, they reached the door to your room. 

Without hesitation, you opened the door and when you were about to close it, a hand stopped you. 

"Azriel, no. I have a headache and I just want to sleep." 

Azriel was surprised by your answer but now that you were in front of him, he didn't want to wait any longer. 

"There's something I want to tell you. About that night." 

"Honestly, I don't care." 

"I didn't go to meet Elain. I went looking for you," seeing the confusion on your face, he continued, "I went to the clinic that morning but I didn't find you-"

"I wasn't there."

"I know and-"

"Azriel." Cassian's voice trailed off, drawing your gazes to him.

"Come," when Azriel tried to protest, Cassian was firmer, "now."

"Thank the Cauldron." And with that, you slammed the door in his face. 

- 

After dinner, the members of the Inner Circle entered the living room where Amren was on the couch with an old book on her lap.

No one had commented on what had happened.

Not out of fear of Amren but out of fear of what it would mean to admit it out loud.

Feeling your power, the closeness they felt — they weren't ready for this conversation even though they knew they would have to have it sooner or later.

"What are you looking for?" Feyre asked the elder.

When the silver-eyed female didn't answer, the High Lady approached and read the contents of the book.

Her eyes widened "You're reading about Koschei?"

The others approached.

"Yes, what Y/N said earlier made me think."

Azriel sat down next to her "About an alliance with Beron and the queen?"

"Yes." Amren kept her eyes on the book.

Cassian took the seat across from her and rested his arms on his thighs. “Why?”

Amren sighed and closed the book, setting it down on the small coffee table.

“Think about it. Koschei has been on the lake for thousands of years, right?” When everyone had settled down, she continued, “So why act now? With all the centuries he had to free himself from the lake, why now?”

Not liking where the conversation seemed to be going, Rhys approached the table and picked up the book, turning it over in his hand. “What’s your theory?”

“I think he’s waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” Nesta asked.

Amren stood and went to pour a glass of wine. “Not for what, but for who.” 

"Amren." The High Lady said. Everyone realized that this was not going to be a simple conversation. 

"He's a sorcerer and his powers weren't neutralized, we realized that when he cursed Vassa. So what other spells can he do?"

The General ran a hand through his hair before sighing "What are you trying to say?"

Amren looked at the High Lord who was already looking at her, with a nod, she indicated to open to page one hundred and forty seven.

Rhysand followed her indication but it was the only thing he could do because the content was in an ancient language — long lost.

"What does it say?"

Amren cleared her throat to answer and for the second time that day, the Inner Circle saw her get nervous.

"It's a spell to see the future."

"What?" Everyone asked in unison.

Elain spoke for the first time since all this began "I thought only seers could see the future."

Amren shook her head in denial. Rhysand looked at the her and like a snap of fingers, the situation became clear in his mind.

"You think he used this spell to see when would be the best time to act."

Amren nodded. She grabbed the book and flipped through the pages until she found the one she wanted.

"Koschei needs help to break the spell that is binding him to the lake. He needs someone powerful. Very powerful."

Her gaze met Azriel's. "I think Koschei used the spell and saw when that someone would appear and has been waiting ever since. He needs someone with a power that he can relate to. I think-"

"Y/N." Nesta murmured.

All eyes moved to her but Nesta only looked at Amren.

The ancient one didn't need to say anything to confirm Nesta's thought.

"Koschei is a Death God," her eyes remained focused on the silver ones. "Y/N is a necromancer. Her power involves death and we have all just witnessed how powerful she is." 

"No..." Azriel blurted out as Feyre covered her mouth with her hands. 

"Amren?" Feyre asked. 

The female simply nodded her head. 

"If Koschei saw the future, he saw what was going to happen to Y/N," Rhysand began, "he waited until her powers changed to act." 

Silence fell over the room. 

This was bigger than they had thought. They had all thought their only concern would be Beron, but little did they know how wrong they were. 

A second passed. 

Two seconds.

Three seconds. 

"Koschei was waiting for Y/N." 

Azriel was the first to move, followed by the others.

"Y/N!"

They all ran towards your room. 

"Y/N!" 

Their hearts were pounding as they got closer. 

"Y/N!" 

Just a few steps away, several prayers were sent to the Mother for you. 

"Y/N!" 

The door to your room was knocked down and the space was invaded by seven people. 

Your room was dark. 

Your bed was unmade and empty. 

And you were nowhere to be found. 

It was too late. 

- 

You were at the lake again. 

The lake surrounded by pine trees and illuminated by the moonlight. 

The lake that promised tranquility and safety. 

'Another nightmare' you thought to yourself. 

The figure appeared again reflected in the lake but this time in front of you. 

You followed its reflection until you found it hovering over the lake. 

Anyone else would have backed away, screamed or even run away. 

But you were not just anyone and whatever this was, it didn't scare you. 

You walked closer until your feet were greeted by the water. 

"Who are you?" 

The figure approached and beneath the cover of darkness you could make out the shape of a man.

"My name is Koschei. We finally meet, Y/N." 

Your face remained neutral, without a trace of shock or surprise. 

"How do you know my name?" 

A deep chuckle rang across the lake, making its water vibrate.

"I've been waiting for you."

It was only when the man shrouded in darkness placed a hand on your shoulder that you realized this wasn't a nightmare. 

- 

Pryhtian shook as a great flash invaded the sky, dyeing it red.

The houses shook.

People screamed.

Animals fled.

The cold increased.

But it was only when they looked back at the sky that they realized what had happened.

The clouds changed color.

The darkness that had been hiding behind them advanced.

The storm was here. 

A/n: Thank you for reading! There will be one or two more parts (I haven't decided yet) and I have a lot of ideas to finish it off in style!

[Masterlist]

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the beautiful dividers belong to @cafekitsune

[vaile-elenya]

listen... i have been thinking a lot about this post:

i don't know what it is exactly, but something about a frustrated Elrond almost yelling out, still gently, that he'd live for his love instead of dying for it, is very very touching for me.

last night i might have gotten a bit carried away, and i wrote a little something about that. it's my very first shot at writing a fanfic of my own so please bear with me!

it's under the break and on AO3 if anyone wants to read 🫶🏻

In the twilight of Imladris, as the stars began their nightly vigil, you stood on the balcony of Elrond’s chamber, your heart heavy with frustration and hurt. The air was cool and fragrant with the scent of evening blooms, but tonight, the beauty of the valley seemed distant, overshadowed by the turmoil within.

Elrond stood a few paces away, his serene demeanor a stark contrast to the storm that brewed in your soul. The gentle sound of the Bruinen river, usually a source of comfort, now seemed to mock the tension between you.

“Do you truly hold me in such low regard?” you challenged, your voice trembling with emotion. “Am I of such little consequence to you that you can remain unmoved as I bare my soul?”

Elrond’s eyes widened, a flicker of pain crossing his usually composed features. “You misunderstand me,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with sorrow.

“No, I understand all too well,” you interrupted, your words cutting like a sharpened blade. “You, with your timeless wisdom and boundless patience, have already revealed your true feelings. I ask again: would you be willing to lay down your life for me, for all of us, or does fear restrain you?”

For a moment, there was silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken truths. Then, as if a dam had broken, Elrond’s composure shattered. His eyes filled with unshed tears, his voice rising in desperation. How could you not see? How could you not know that every moment with you was etched into his very soul? He could no longer hold back the torrent of emotions.

“To die for love is simple!” he nearly screamed, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of longing and regret. “A brief surrender of mortal coil to the embrace of eternity,” he added while the soft moonlight cast shadows upon his features, accentuating the lines of sorrow etched upon his noble visage.

“But to live, to truly live, is so much greater! For you, I would live instead of die,” he looked at you, his gaze piercing through your soul, laying bare his raw emotions. You felt the depth of his admission, each syllable heavy with the burden of his unspoken devotion, and the stars above seemed to shine brighter, as if bearing witness to his words.

“Do you not see the love, as brilliant as the leaves of Laurelin, that shines forth from my eyes each time I cast them upon you?” he asked desperately, on the edge of weeping. Elrond’s voice cracked, his eyes brimming with sorrow. “Are you blinded to it?”

Not awaiting your response, Elrond turned his gaze towards the lofty trees, their branches murmuring in the gentle breeze. As the night deepened, Imladris lay shrouded in a serene glow, its gardens veiled in shadows that swayed gently in the flickering dance of firelight and the soft embrace of starlight. The fading remnants of daylight whispered their farewell, surrendering to the celestial canvas unfurling above, adorned with the sparkling jewels of the heavens. The tranquility of the valley belied the weight of its history, a history that Elrond bore witness to through the ages. Memories of battles fought, kingdoms risen and fallen, and the relentless march of time haunted his thoughts.

Torches blazed brightly, casting dancing shadows upon the ancient stone, their fiery tongues licking at the velvety darkness with a fierce determination as Elrond’s mind drifted back to the tumultuous events of the Second Age, a time of great upheaval and sorrow.

“I have seen the glory of Númenor crumble beneath the weight of its own pride. Powerless I have stood as the Last Alliance marched to the very gates of Mordor, and I have borne witness to evils so immense that even the stoutest of our warriors could not withstand them,” he said, desperation building in his voice; his silvery eyes now shone with something you could not decipher. “I have gazed into the eyes of death countless times, her blades twisting within the depths of my wounded heart. So many of my kin have I lost to the ravages of war, their lives laid to rest in pursuit of a noble yet hopeless cause,” he took a step closer, his face now inches away from your own. “It is not the fear of death that prevents me from yielding to its embrace for you, meleth nîn.”

“You awaken within me the very spirit of endurance that Eru bestowed upon his children,” he paused, his gaze turning towards the fire illuminating the terrace. “A spirit that has waned over the long ages of my dwelling, and yet... your mere existence rekindles it.

“In your presence, I find a light that guides me, a reason to embrace each new dawn. My heart, though burdened with the weight of ages, finds solace and renewal in your faintest smile. To live for you is not a burden but a blessing, a path I would tread willingly, every day anew.”

Elrond’s hands delicately encompassed your face, and you felt the gentle pressure of his fingertips, each point of contact a deliberate caress. There was a steadiness to his touch, a silent reassurance as if he sought to convey a message that words alone could not express.

“For you I would find joy in the simple pleasures that weave the intricate tapestry of our days. Through the darkest of hours, I shall cling onto hope, tending to each seedling of kindness as a gardener tends to his beloved blossoms. For you, I would dive willingly into that terrifying inkwell known as existence, with all its uncertainties and fears.”

“I would live for you.”

[kamisama1kiss]

Okay okay, hear me out…what if the reader was a ninja part of the team but they would also be involved in a prophecy where they end up dying to save their lover, I need the ninja reaction to when Master Wu tells them 🫶🏻

This is actually so sad, tho.... I love it! 🤭😝 I was a little stuck on writing, but I hope I was able to deliver what you wished for 😚🫶

~~~

What would be the ninjas reactions be as the prophecies says they're lover will die for them?

~Lloyd Garmadon~

- Denial is a river in Egypt. Refusing to believe that they would die for the sake of his life.

- No matter how many times he convinces himself, he knows truly he can't do anything to stop it. Further pushing him into no limits of getting stronger to maybe, just maybe prevent it?

- Keeping a watching eye at you at all times to see if you're safe, more so in battles or training.

- Would try to convince you to do other tasks rather than join the team if he knew it could be risky for either you or himself.

- Consently tries to spend as much time with you so that when the time comes, he could make sure to not regret a moment.

- Would often spend time silently watching you just live and socialise with others, his heart falling into his stomach.

- Admiring you and everything about you as a person.

~Kai Smith~

- At first, he just laughed and shook his head. There was no way.

- After maybe a few hours or days, the gravity of it all dawned on him. He couldn't help but feeling so hopeless and useless to not be able to help or postpone it or anything for that matter.

- His mind of having a feature together with you was immediately crushed, all the plans of being able to hold you at night and talk into the long hours of the night.

- In the meantime, he changed a little for you as in allowing you to goof around with his hair as an example.

- Holding hands no matter where you walked to feel you close just to know you weren't gone. Not yet at least.

-Knowing he was absolutely broken after when Nya was gone, he would be just the same with just worse of completely letting guilt eat him up in silence. He would refuse to let anyone know how he felt.

As the hothead, he is the practice dummys would be all burnt to crisp

~Cole Brookstone~

- Again?

- Really? First, his own mother. Now, the one person he loves with the whole being of himself

- No matter how much he tried to collect himself, he could easily take it out on training.

- Would at some point start to distance himself from you so when the time came, the impact would be less painful.

- Didn't want to be like his father with absolutely neglecting everything when you we're gone, but anyhow, he tried to smile to everyone and act chill like he usually would.

- Often held his breath when holding you close, wishing for these types of moments to never end.

~Zane Julian~

- He was obvious to the fact that the one he loves could so easily die, but he could live on for many years on.

- Has already been over this with himself, but hearing it being sooner than expected shocked him.

- Acting no different than normally maybe a few occasional more hugs throughout the day, nothing too out of the ordinary.

- When he was alone, his way of grief was meditate. Maybe it could make the damage a little easier for his wires to handle?

- Occasionally turning off the emotions to just feel as if he could "breath" as it did get to his head at times more than he'd like to admit it ever did.

~Jay Walker~

- Immediately lost himself as he shook his head, refusing to belive what a dumb scroll had to say! It's dumb right?

- Spending every waking minute of his day with you by his side, alongside helping you with everything he could think of.

- Coping with occasionally stealing shirts with your smell on them to feel as if you mext to him, even though you are just a few doors down or so

- Would slowly communicate with others as he became more silent, which scared everyone. Everyone stood on their toes around him to not further upset him.

- He came in clutch and used every single excuse possible to man kind to have you for himself the first week or two after getting to know. He felt kind of pushy so he calmed down a little.

~Nya Smith~

- She genuinely just accepted it, what more could she say? The prophecy says so, she cannot deny it no matter how much this frustrated her.

- Checking up on you and acting for the most sake normal, as to not make you uncomfortable or worried for her sake.

- Used any or all frustration on training her powers in different ways, which was beneficial for her in the long right?

- Just like her brother, there was no communication from her side. Whenever the topic of prophecy popped up, she went silent and stood next to you, holding pinkys.

- Would cry to herself whenever everything got to her, just knowing you're gonna to eventually leave it snapped her multiple times. She would always refuse.

~~~

I've reached over 25 posts :00 and also over 50 followers!!! THANK YOU, EVERYONE 😭🙏🙏 I appreciate every single one of you so much

[madwomansapologist]

Autumn Thunderstorm | Series Masterlist

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series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attention. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug. first meetings. age gap. pining. falling in love. love letters. true love. memory alteration. ice powers. elemental magics. trauma. attempt murder. blood and violence. swordfighting. near death experience. wargs. spiders. gandalf likes to keep secrests. saruman is a asshole. awesome galadriel.

first chapter: Thranduil traveled to a village that reported spider attacks with his army to protect those who need it, and accepted when a respected family offered their inn so his army could rest. He didn't expect to find a mage there. Or for the dam to break. [3K]

second chapter: Curious about last night's events, Thranduil dedicates his dawn to understanding who exactly you are. Accumulating questions and very few answers, you allow yourself to remember the past. Aerin, uncertain of your future, tries to make sure that you won’t be around to attract more attention to yourself. She should’ve known better than that. [4K]

third chapter: After being bitten by a warg, after almost dying, something changed. Something evolved. Things can't stay the same forever. You just didn't imagine they would change so fast. Or that Thranduil was as bad with goodbyes as you. [3K]

forth chapter: Letters are vessels capable of conveying so much. From the concern with survival, to the regret of having left. Letters speak of the most varied emotions, contain the most intrinsic truths, and are always written with someone in mind. It's a problem when that letter is read by the wrong person. But what can happens when it's read by right one? [3K]

fifth chapter: As the Enemy's actions became more and more clear, Thranduil discovers that there is a traitor among the free people. After an unexpected problem, you have to made a decision. [4K]

sixth chapter: It was a difficult choice, but Aerin made it for you. Now with nothing holding you back, you already had the answer Thranduil longed for: yes. Now your only concern is the anxiety about the reunion. [7K]

seventh chapter: Tomorrow came and became yesterday. In Woodland, you found more than just a roof over your head: you discovered a different way of living. And Thranduil also discovered something, a secret hidden by his own heart. [4K]

eigth chapter: A surprising invitation made you discover a different, incredible place hidden in Greenwood. You were glad that Thranduil showed you such a special place. But probably you were even more glad that he was there with you. [3K]

nineth chapter: Gandalf had his first good morning in ages. It ended as quickly as it started. [1K]

tenth chapter: As the world turned against Greenwood, Thranduil finally broke down. The broken pieces of his heart fell all over you. Would you ever be able to glue it back together? [2K]

eleventh chapter: Surrounded by pain and grief, Thranduil found himself willing to be something more simple than a king: he was just a man in love. [2K]

soon!

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish @h0ly-fire @whore-of-many-hot-men @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @homewhereitsat @instantnoooodles @hungrh4yyy @scrumpdidlyuptious @mirandastuckinthe80s @linaaajackson

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[lambsouvlaki]

His Heart (Dad!Jason AU)

Character: Jason Todd x civilian! Fem!oc

Rating and Warnings: G, no warnings, besides sappiness.

Word Count: 1,390

Summary: Jason comes back from a years long mission in space, and finds out he's a dad.

Masterlist

Jason stepped into the JLA Watchtower. Earth glowed, vast, blue, and beautiful, through the giant windows. It had been almost two years since he saw it. Dorothy knew what she was on about, there really was no place like home.

He was so sick of sleeping alone in his bunk. Andy had just moved into his apartment when he got swept away, and it had just started to feel really right. 

Dick stood in the otherwise empty airlock in civvies. The furrow on his forehead was a little deeper than it had been last time, but his smile was just as wide and genuine. 

He stepped forward and wrapped Jason up in a hug. Jason hugged his brother back, far beyond pretending at coldness. Space was cold enough, and the two years on the front lines had taken their toll on him. 

“I wasn’t expecting a welcome party,” he said as they pulled back. 

“What were you expecting?”

“I dunno,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe a giant spray painted sign saying ‘And don’t come back!’”

Dick laughed. “Sure, if we wanted to see how long it’d take you to break into the tower.”

“Three minutes.”

“Well, you’re tired, we wouldn’t hold it against you.”

Jason scoffed. “I missed you, you asshole.” 

Dick flashed his winning smile. “So now what? I only saw your arrival by chance. Do you have plans?”

“Not really. I’ll probably slink home, see if it's still standing. See if Andy still… wants anything to do with me.” 

Dick blinked, his expression going blank. 

Jason’s heart clenched. Was there just an empty apartment waiting for him with a note that had been collecting dust for eighteen months? It would be exactly what he deserved, he thought with a bitter twist of his lips. 

“I guess I’ll settle in for a couple of days then go find her,” he said. Maybe just messaging her would be kinder? No, he was going to look her in the eye, even if it was just to say goodbye. 

“Don’t do that,” Dick said. He touched Jason’s shoulders urgently. “Go straight to her. I’ll take you, we’re going now. She deserves that much.” He turned and hurried through the hallways towards the zeta tubes. 

“Whoa, what? What are you talking about?” Jason caught up to him, grabbed his arm and dragged him back to a halt. “What’s happened?”

“Look, it’s not really my place to say.”

“You’re freaking me out, Dick,” he growled. “What, is she dying?” 

“No! No, Jason, she… she’s had a baby. Your baby.” 

For a moment the world stopped. The rotation of the vast planet out the window surely halted, same as the beat of his heart. 

“What?” Jason rasped. 

“Sophie. She turned one a few months back.” 

“She’s my–? Oh. Oh fuck.” 

The world rebooted, spinning anew but the axis had moved. Jason leaned hard against the wall. “Sophie,” he whispered. 

Dick patted him on the shoulder. “Congratulations, by the way. For a year ago.”

Jason laughed, frantic and broken. 

“Do you need a moment?” Dick offered. “We can go sit and–”

“No.” Jason pulled himself up. He marched towards the zeta tubes. “We’re going now. Straight to Andy and my– my daughter. Is she… how is she? Are they okay? Did the family help out?”

“Of course, Jay. That little girl has a whole circus’ worth of aunts and uncles who love her to bits. And a doting grandfather and great grandfather who spoil her rotten.” 

He hung his head as they reached the platform. “I should have been there. I should have been there. What kind of deadbeat am I?”

“Save that for Andy.” 

“Yeah.” 

---

They drove from the manor to the apartment by the river overlooking the Narrows. It was the same one he and Andy had shared for that halcyon four months before duty came calling. 

Dick dropped him off downstairs, saying he didn’t want to intrude but demanded Jason call him when he was settled in to plan some kind of family night. Jason didn’t hear a word of it. 

He made it to the apartment door without registering any of it. He dropped his bag of gear. 

He knocked. 

“Coming!” Andy’s voice called. Faint music was drifting out through the walls, something upbeat and light. The door opened, letting in noonday light to the dark hallway, shining around a smiling Andy. She was in loose workout clothes that were stained on the shoulders. She wore no makeup and her hair was up in a bun on top of her head, and her skin had a light sheen of sweat. 

Her expression stuttered at the sight of him. 

He had no words. 

“Jason?” 

He surged forward. She met him halfway. Her arms wrapped around him as tight as his did around her, and it felt more right than anything ever had before. 

He managed to get her name out, before he kissed her. Her hand grazed his cheek so tenderly. 

He pulled back and looked into her eyes. Had there ever been anything so beautiful? 

“Jason, I have to tell you,” she said, putting a hand on his chest. “While you were gone, I…”

“I know. Dick told me.” He looked around the entryway. Even if Dick hadn’t said a word the folded up pram, the tiny raincoat, and the row of little shoes would give the game away. The furniture had seen a change too, most things had been moved higher up.

His eyes caught on the shoes. They were so small. He couldn’t help his smile. 

“Where is she?” he asked. 

“Gaa,” a high pitched voice rang out from the living room. 

Andy’s lips quirked. 

Soft, slow footfalls patted on the hard flooring, heralding the new arrival. 

He stepped forward, out of the still open doorway. 

And a little girl toddled into view. She was wobbly but her face was fixed into a determined pout. She stuck her nappy-wrapped bum out for balance, and held her arms cautiously forwards. She wore a single sock and a yellow dress. 

Jason’s heart relocated itself. It no longer lived in his chest.

She had a wispy halo of black floppy curls and a chubby round face. She stared at him. 

He knelt down. 

“Sophie, baby girl, this is your daddy. Can you say daddy?”

“Mammy.”

“Daddy,” Andy repeated, her voice wet.  

Sophie hummed. She toddled closer, relentless despite some wobbles. She stuck out her lower lip and fixed her eyes to him with absolute determination. He held out his hand. She reached back, closer with every step. 

Jason held his breath. 

Her whole tiny hand wrapped around his crooked index finger. She laughed in triumph and then fell onto her bottom.

“Oom,” she said on impact. 

She looked up at him again, actually seeing him now that her quest was complete. Big curious eyes of sparkling blue stared at him. 

“Hello,” he said. He offered a shaky smile. His eyes were glassy. 

She stared back. She blinked.

“Da.”

His tears fell. “That’s me,” he said. 

“Da. Da. Da de da den dayaya,” she babbled and giggled at herself.  She lifted her arms at him.

He lifted her gently and held her to his chest. She was so impossibly small. He could feel her heart beat against him, so feverishly fast. But she was calm, quite happy to be held. He curled around the most precious thing in the world. His breath hitched as he tried not to sob. 

She hugged him back; chubby little arms wound around his neck. She was so unafraid. 

He looked up at Andy. She was smiling down at them through her own tears, her hand held over her mouth. 

He stood, lifting his baby up. He held his little girl in one arm and the love of his life in the other. The baby was the only one dry eyed. Andy kissed the downy top of her head. Sophie leaned her head against his chest with a little sigh, safely ensconced between them. 

“Uncy?” 

“Hn?” he queried. 

“No, baby, he’s not an uncle.” 

Sophie turned her head back, looking up at him.

“Uncy Da,” she said, like she wasn’t letting them trick her that easy. 

He gave an amused snort that almost covered the yawning gulf in his heart. “That’s what I get for not being here.” 

“You’ll just have to stick around and convince her otherwise.” 

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “I will.”

Next>>

[sagaduwyrm]

Infinite Realms World-building

So I have a lot of thoughts over why their aren't that many ghosts in the Ghost Zone/Infinite Realms and how other afterlives fit into the situation so here.

The Infinite Realms aren't an afterlife. They're not a place any mortal soul is supposed to reach. They're the lining between afterlives, the wall holding them apart, the cradle holding all those places souls are meant to go. The Infinite Realms aren't anything, just a no man's worthless land.

The Infinite Realms weren't anything.

But. Picture this.

You are dead.You are dead you are dead you are deadyou aredeadyouaredead

It hurt. It was the worst thing you've ever felt, that moment when the bindings between your mortal body and your immortal soul were sundered beyond all recovery. You're disoriented and in pain and crying, weeping wails echoing across the metaphysical expanse.

But then a hand reaches out to you.

Hands, really.

They whisper in your ear. Come home, one says, offering gentle, glittering love. You've earned this, screams another like it’s a battle-cry. A dozen voices like hellfire and damnation offer atonement, if that's what you seek, although the punishment they offer varies. One voice that is not a voice but is the void offers the rest of non-existence, the creak of a wheel suggests reincarnation.

These gods and demons and spirits and entities want you, is the thing. Their grip is like chains around your ankles, dragging you down, and you have to choose, you hAVe To cHooSE, or It Will Be Chosen For You.

And this is what's supposed to happen, isn't it? The next step. Your eternal rest. Getting to pick is a greater mercy than a little mortal deserves, even.

But.

But…

You aren't a little mortal. You refuse to be.

You are the woman who revolutionized school lunches.

You are the greatest hunter in the world.

You are Romeo and Juliet, except they were a tragedy and you are not because you can bet your ass you went out laughing.

You are the world's next rock-star whose voice no one ever got to hear.

You are a man who loves boxes.

You are a clever wish-granter, the greatest magician in the world..

You are a Queen with people to protect.

You are the master of technology.

You are a boy who died too soon, too young, and hell, you should give up, but you never got to see the stars. You never got to see the stars, or what your sister looks like graduating from college, or how your friends look when they change the world. You'll never know if you'll be an uncle, if you'll have your dad's shoulders or your mom's wiry strength, what it feels like to kiss someone, whether or not Dash will ever get that stick his ass and become a decent person again. No one will ever read your paper on the genesis of stars, or fly to Pluto in a rocket ship you designed, or welcome you home after you've fulfilled your life's dream and gone to space.

It's a goddamn tragedy is what it is.

And dying hurt, so bad you're not sure if you'll ever be the same. But. All your chains are broken now. Your soul is free, in a way that it's never quite been before. You are a butterfly, broken free from your cocoon.

And they want to chain you.

They whisper so sweetly, so gently in your ear, even as they tear you apart in a child's game of tug-of-war. You have to choose.

Fuck that.

Fuck that. Dying hurts but it also freed all the potential of your beautiful, brilliant soul, and you aren't going back. Maybe you’re Icarus, flying too close to the sun, but you have wings now, and you won't let them be pinned.

You take the plunge. Through brimstone, through the river with its eternal ferry, through light and dark and a thousand different afterlives that want you like they have any damned right to your soul.

You fly, and you aren't sure if you're running forward or fleeing, but you fly. And it takes forever, a century and a day that lasts less than the beat of a heart, but then you burst free of all those grasping hands and you see green.

The green is infinite and it's empty. But it's free. It's beautiful and bright and you breathe it in, this base stuff of reality, this entropy in motion, and your soul comes to life. You aren't bound anymore, not by the base practicalities of your body, not by the laws and hunger of the gods, not by anything but your own willpower and trust in yourself.

Once the Infinite Realms were empty, once they were nothing. Now there are ghosts singing their exultant freedom. With them they bring ideas and movement and life, and the eddies they stir become whole new beings, spirits that never lived as anything other than what they are. These empty currents now hold whole worlds, ghosts and spirits and monsters.

And one day some strange being comes and tries to take your freedom and he calls himself Pariah Dark. Maybe he was a determined mortal just like you, maybe he was a demon, something sent by the gods to punish you for daring to be more, but it doesn't matter. Regardless of how hard he tries, how many lands his armies invade, how deep he digs his clawed hands in, it doesn't matter. 

No one can conquer Infinity.

And then the Ancients awake. Even in a realm of equals, there are still those who are more. And what is the point of power if you can't protect your fellows?

So they shut him away, this fool who doesn't care for the freedom the Infinite offers, put him in a sleep so deep even his dreams can't disturb others. And when he wakes up there is a boy, small and young, but with more determination in his body than most could dare claim, and the tyrant who steals freedom is sent straight back to sleep.

The Infinite Realms need no King, but this boy is small and clever and kind, and when two people war, he is the first to come and mediate, the first to shove himself between their fury and make them remember themselves. They don't need a King, but the Infinite Realms are so big, with so many people, and they wouldn't mind a Speaker. Someone to connect them all, regardless of how far they lay apart.

And this boy with stars in his eyes and gentle hands grumbles, but he loves the Infinite as much as they love him, and he's almost meant for this, existing between Ancient and New, Living and Dead. They would never chain him, but he was always meant to explore, and who wouldn't want to meet and see and know everything?

The Infinite Realms are green and free and beautiful, and no god can ever change that.

[coffeegnomee]

The two sides of season 5.

The absolute vibe difference from looking at Minute’s lore by stitching together all the lore moments together VS taking out ALL the lore is sending me. 

And both are immaculate.

Like in the first, you would find Minute, Jumper, and Pentar in the cave, lost, silent, overwhelmed that they just lost the presidency and were betrayed by Leo and Clown.

Minute slides down the wall, buries his head in his hands. He was just a DM away, why didn’t they talk to him. They were so close to peace.

Burnt out, despondent. Weary from weeks of trying to save bases from PrinceZam, from weeks of resisting the urge to kill him. Emotionally drained from realizing there was a new threat on top of Zam; Mapicc and Ro were going to revert spawn to the way it was before they got there.

He had bet the presidency. And lost. Was betrayed by the whole server for some money.

What should he do now?

As they wait in that cave, the sounds of the server turning to hardcore echoes through the dripstone. Screams of frustration at the idiocy of Ro as Bacon is annihilated by an arrow cannon. Planet’s cry cut short as Zam’s sword stabs through his back.

They’re lost. Broken.

And then Zam’s sing-song voice comes to their ears. What are you going to do now, Minute? I just killed Planet, Minute? Do you care? Do you even care? 

What if I blew up the Vitalasy hole, Minute? Would you stop me?

The Vitalasy hole. Threatened over and over. Not this time. If Zam wanted to die, he could die.

The team exchanges a look, nodding. They equip their elytras and fly over. 

Zam is jumping up and down waving his hands. Insane grin spread wide. His arms thrown out in welcome as the team plummets from the sky like rocks, landing in full gear.

Zam says something stupid. Who cares what this cretin is saying. He’s the reason for everything bad that’s happened to them. “Let’s just cut to the chase”, Minute splashes the potions and in seconds the thorn in his side lies dead at his feet.

Mapicc and wemmbu destroy the Vitalasy hole. They would be next.

They plot the perfect ambush and in two swift strokes, both enemies are gone. The bloodlust keeps growing, it feels good, going back to his PMC roots. Just neutralize the threat in front of him. He never needed Clown to do the PMC’s good work.

Rumors fly that his enemies are possessing other server members’ bodies. It doesn’t matter. He could take them down again just as easily as before.

He takes a fight, and Clownpierce joins. He’s better than Clown. They have the gear advantage. 

But he slipped up. And all it takes is one slip up. He thought he knew what true bloodlust was. He thought he knew what cold, calculated indifference was. 

But Clown was far more relentless. Far more ruthless, targeting Minute and ignoring his teammates. 

Before he even knew what was happening, he was out of gear. On the run. Scrabbling over rock and river in a desperate attempt to flee. 

Maybe this is how Zam felt when he was dying. 

In one final attempt to swim away, he felt the cold steel of Clown’s sword pierce his armor and break it, plunging into his heart. It was all over. 

And then the other option is like:

(Every time I read this back I get the singsong “happy happy haPPY!” meme song stuck in my head. A silly goofy jingle. Or Zam doing the “I like purple, and I like green, but my favorite color, do you know my favorite color? My favorite color yellow!”. It makes me giggle so much. It’s so unserious.)

Minute is betrayed and it really freaking hurts. But time wins all wars, they would come up with the perfect attack eventually.

Completely unworried, they realize their names spell out Peanut Butter And Jelly! They’re the best part of a balanced breakfast!

They show up at spawn to see what the almighty and powerful wemmbu /neg has to say for himself. It’s a whole lot of nothing.

As they laugh together and leave for the carnival, Bacon just explodes, pops like a grape. It’s the funniest shit ever. They were going to win this war easy peasy. No worries.

They pose for a screenie to commemorate the new team name. Planet dies to Zam. Oh no! Anyway. 

Zam gets into call and it’s the perfect moment to mention that they’re the best part of a balanced breakfast! But this kid, man, he just wants to YAP. Yawn!

He starts threatening the Vitalasy hole or something. He’s done this so many times I literally could not care less. But he seems to be over there so I guess we’ll check it out. 

Laughing like drunken frat boys, high on their friendship, they fly over, and this ant is just standing at the top.

Let’s just wipe the grin off his face and screw this popsicle stand.

He drops. Really easily? Was that really his whole plan? If this is him winning, I hope he never stops winning. 

That was weird. Well. Anyways!

There’s this thing added where the dead can grant blessings and curses. That insane person, Zam, blesses Minute because of something called “made sense for my character”? Whatever that means. 

But man, Pentar got cursed twice and now he’s actually chubby. It’s like, kind of funny. But we have to fix him. 

Rek and Terry would die for them so Pentar can run. Quick fix. Everything is fair again. 

They move their base and prepare the Secret Plan™. The power of friendship was going to win this war. Together, they are an unstoppable force. Peace and justice would rule this land once and for all!

Jumper lures Mapicc over with some lie, Minute looks down the barrel of the arrow gun and giggles as he lines up the shot. It’s too easy. Jumper is safe on the camel and he pulls the trigger. Mappic pops like a grape, it’s a great sight to see. Enemy #2 is gone!

Maybe they could end this war today. Ash messages wemmbu, and wemmbu gets on. Omg the plan can happen today! They were going to win this war.

Wemmbu bans LifestealLord and it’s like, kind of concerning, but they have an ambush. With Ash’s signal they descend upon the president and kill him, it’s pitifully easy. Can you imagine his face when he saw his heart start dropping for the first time in weeks? Hilarious.

Are we the bad guys? No. no. 

Well, we may not loooook that peaceful right now, but you just gotta trust the process. 

Minute feels the first little doubt that they are as good as they think they are, he accepts the possibility. But like. They’re about to get the presidency back and unban everyone who was killed. The end result will fix everything. And everyone would be friends because who doesn’t love the power of friendship??

Ash, Jumper and Pentar EXPLODE in front of Minute. 

But that’s just not fair™. Kill us unceremoniously? We are not taking that.

They get brought back and there’s a slight issue. Their enemies start possessing bodies. But it’s nothing too important because they have a base to decorate!

And then their enemies stop playing fair. Why won’t they come to the AntiTrap Box™? Just come and sit down in front of us Oh My Gawd. We aren’t going to kill you, this is a friendly meeting because we are a little concerned that you might think you can win, but friendship is going to win. 

Fine. Observe from a distance.

We want a revive beacon of life. We can fight all week, and if any of you HAPPEN to last until Saturday we can do a big battle and then last team standing wins. Sound good?

What do you mean no? You want it to just play out? This is a human story? But I want to win. Somebody has to win.

The friendship gets strained as the tension grows. Their enemies still are a team of 4 despite the fact that they banned 3 people. They’re out numbered without Ash.

Over the next few days they get a little more paranoid. They know Clown has been logging on all day every day. They suspect a trap in their base, but they have to check it out together, so that none of them die. And preferably when nobody else is online so they’ll be safe.

But then they get goaded into a fight. But it was going to be fine. 15 stacks of xp each and secret netherite armor. They easily outmatched anyone who would come at them. 

At some point they had to fight, mighteswell be tonight. Mapicc is using harming arrows, the silly goober. 

Then Clown joins. And he’s also using harming. Maybe they missed something. 

Ro and Clown target Minute and Mapicc has a knock back sword that is really starting to get annoying. 

Things are not looking good. 

And the power of friendship is not strong enough in the face of an evil murderous clown. Minute dies, Pentar dies.

Jumper survives and rallies the And JellyS. One final stand to ban everyone. Because if nobody is alive, Lifesteal will be at peace. 

They fail. 

It’s sad. 

Oh Well! Let’s go back to the carnival!!! 

——

The second one also reads like a horror movie where it’s super happy but then every once in a while the screen goes blurry and the character starts breathing heavy when they realize maybe killing people should affect me, and then brightens up and the happy music starts playing again and it’s like the most unnerving shit ever. And then they all die brutally at the end.

But reading them back and remembering how both were actually happening at the same time is just so funny to me.

Maybe pb&j was a fun plot? nah. Unless? 

Also, I feel like it could be easy to read the second option as me being mean to pb&j and like /neg-ing their comments, but those out of pocket things makes this interpretation so much better, without it, it’s not nearly as absurd. And it genuinely brings me so much joy. Lifesteal used to not have any lore, and laughter at the other team and petulance at the things that go wrong for your team are time honored traditions. You can see Mapicc and Ro and Zam and Bacon and so many others doing it in earlier seasons. It comes out of them because it’s literally Minecraft and that always lends a certain level of absurdity at all times. Part of the charm. 

Also, I feel like if you missed Jumper’s pov of Minute’s and Pentar’s death you miss a lot of the character moments in either interpretation. She put it in her discord. 

[caxde]

Any Steve hurt/comfort

I hope you like it anon! thanks for the request! x

-

Steve harrington x roomate!reader hurt/comfort ~1.5k anxeity attack tw!

It shouldn’t have happened, not really. 

You were in your room, laying on your bed. There was nothing wrong. Everything was fine. 

Maybe that was the problem. 

Everything is fine, and nothing is great. Or good. Just fine. Suddenly the ceiling seemed to get closer to your body, but you knew you  weren’t moving, it is not possible to get closer, i can not float, you tried to tell yourself. 

It doesn’t seem to work. 

It also doesn’t help that you can feel your heart beating harder, and faster and louder deep inside your chest. 

A loud drum hidden somewhere inside you that is making you go mad, you need to turn it off, but you don’t really know how to. 

And the pressure starts. 

The place your lungs occupy is getting tighter, smaller, heavier. 

Breath. Please. Breath. 

It doesn’t work. 

Your body starts to curl up, your hands buried in your hair, a repetitive pattern, something to occupy your hands. You needed something, a distraction. 

You knew Steve was sleeping. You’d said goodnight to him half an hour ago, when he closed his bedroom door. You knew that if you started crying, or weeping he’d hear you, the walls of your apartment were thin, and you didn’t want him to find out like that. 

Truth be told, you didn’t want him to know at all. 

But at the same time, there was this little voice, a broken whimper that begged you to ask for help. 

Maybe that was what finally broke you. Maybe your body couldn’t take the restriction it had on itself anymore. Maybe you just couldn’t take it anymore. 

For whatever reason, you find that your body has found itself against the wall.

 And that the sound of the impact was enough to get his attention.

 And if not, the broken whisper of his name was. 

Truth be told, he did hesitate for a moment. 

He heard the thump and thought that something might have fallen out of your decorated walls, but as soon as he heard the way your voice sounded, he didn’t waste a second. 

His body crossed the threshold of your door before he was even conscient of it. 

He kneeled on your floor, where your bed met the floor, and looked up at you. He wasn’t sure what to do next, what to say. He stayed there, waiting for you to look up, your head looking down at your bedsheets. 

“Hey.” He whispered, afraid that his voice would startle you. 

“Sorry.” You muttered, your voice hoarse and raspy. 

“Don’t” He begged. His hand touched your leg, a soft gesture that made your head shift, concentrating on it, and the way he just layed it there, a pattern that he started to draw. 

“It’s fine.” You didn’t even try to mask your lie, not even a little bit. Then again, how could you when tears were coming out, a slow river of them. 

“It’s not.” He shook his head, the way his hair moved hypnotizing you for a second. Your hand found his, your fingers anxiously playing with his. 

“I don’t…” You were struggling to stop crying. Your face felt hot in contrast to the cold tears that travelled down your cheeks, your vision blurred, Steve appearing as a far away object. Even when you felt him right there. It felt for a moment -however brief- that you were dying, and you weren’t totally sure what had caused it, maybe it was from having your emotions bottled up for so long, focusing on curse work, and essays and cleaning so you wouldn’t think about it, I’ll deal with it later had become a new mantra for the last weeks. Now seemed to finally be later, and having Steve in the same room as you only made them come out rushing faster, like an angry flood leaving you a crumpled mess on your bed. “I’m sorry. Just go.” You begged, feeling sorry for yourself, and what was worse, that he had to see you like that. So fragile. So weak. So vulnerable. 

Steve knew that what was worrying you at that moment was the fact that he had caught you falling apart, and he knew you didn’t like it when people saw you like this. Vulnerable. 

“I’m not going anywhere, honey.” 

Finally, your eyes met his. 

And the softness of them, and his touch, made you reconnect with your body. Slowly. Like a feather falling. Steve knew that there wasn’t a lot he could do besides staying there. Waiting for you to open up, wanting you to do so, but knowing that if he forced you to do so, it would only get worse. So he waited. As your breathing became more regular, and your chest wasn’t heaving up and down as fast. 

His head was still looking up at you, the concern was apparent, but so was the unconditional love he seemed to have for you. 

“D’you want me to come up?” He asked. He didn’t waste any time, as soon as he saw you nodding his body was on your mattress, and his arms opened. 

Your body fell onto his, and he wrapped you up in the softest warmest hug you had ever experienced, or at least, the one that you had been needing for a long time. 

You stayed like that for some time. Your ear pressed to his chest, hearing the way his heart beated, and his relaxed breathing, it let your body follow him. Finally relaxing, melting on the spot in some sort of way. His hands played with your hair, as he hummed a song you didn’t quite recognise. Though he had heard you sing it countless times. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I’m just really tired…” He knew that wasn’t the end of your sentence, so he gave you space for you to organise your thoughts. Your breathing was now calm, but your voice was still a whisper. “ I just… I’m always chasing. And for once, I just… I want someone who cares, no matter what. Someone who will always be by my side, someone that can be patient with me, someone that won’t find me annoying when I’m crying, or lashing out, or stressed, or… Fuck. I just want something that’ll love me, as much as I love them.” 

Steve smiled. And left a kiss on your forehead, leaving his lips to rest there for a second longer. 

He waited for you to look up at him, as you knew you would. Even if your eyes were redder, and your cheeks were flushed after crying, Steve still thought you were the prettiest girl he had even seen. 

“I…” He hid his nervousness with a chuckle, and a stupid grin that made your heart skip a beat, even if you tried for it to not do it. “If you wanted to, I could try to be that someone.” 

“Steve?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Don’t make fun of me.” You begged, not really knowing how to manage what he was trying to tell you. Not really knowing if you could believe him right now. “If you’re just saying that to make me feel better, please don’t.” It wasn’t harsh, not really. He knew that it was a horrible moment for a stupid love confession, but he couldn’t keep acting as though he didn’t absolutely love you. As if he wouldn’t do anything you’d ask him to. 

“I’m not.” He reassured you, his arms still tightly wrapped you. His fingers had been stroking you, a soft, sweet caress that let you know that he wasn’t lying. “I’ve had the stupidest crush on you for so long.” He admits with a laugh. His smile grows deeper once he sees the way your eyes shine with hope and recognition. “I knew it’s weird to tell you this after you cried, but… You are one of the most lovable people I know. And you do deserve all those things.” He nodded along his words, his voice was also a whisper now, the intimate moment growing fonder in both of your hearts. “We can talk about it tomorrow if it’s too much now.” 

You nodded. And stayed as close as you were. Your eyes looking fondly at him, hope apparent on both of your faces. 

“Will you stay?” 

“Anything for you, honey.” 

He left one last kiss on your forehead, and you returned the gesture, a soft kiss on his cheek. 

He had to be careful, if he didn’t control himself he could never stop kissing you. 

He laid on your mattress, his body touching the wall, his arms opened for you, waiting for you to make yourself comfortable. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was, your head on his chest. His arms wrapped around you, as your body wrapped around him. Your leg hugging his body. You kissed his chest. Thank you, it said. 

He kissed your hand before intertwining your fingers. You’re welcome, he responded. 

-

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[cutielando]

cry me a river | h.p.

synopsis: in which he breaks you

my masterlist

Harry Potter.

Also known as the boy who lived.

Also known as the boy who broke your heart into a thousand pieces and stomped on it.

You had been together for 2 years, having been friends ever since you could walk. You did everything together, spend every moment with each other.

But it wasn't enough for him.

He needed more, felt like he was wasting time with you when he could have someone worthy of the chosen one.

What a hypocrite.

From the moment you broke up, you tried to act tough whenever you would catch his eye, try to show him that you weren't as affected by the break up as he had hoped.

But you were wrong.

You were broken, getting more and more tired every day from having to put on a fake smile every morning and pretend like you weren't dying on the inside.

Only one person could see through your charade. Hermione. The girl that you didn't know what you would do without.

She was always there for you to pick up the pieces of your broken heart, always there to make sure you didn't stop taking care of yourself, that you were eating and staying healthy.

Harry had negatively surprised her when he broke up with you, so she distanced herself from Harry and Ron and spent almost all of her free time, which admittedly wasn't much, with you.

"You know, I have a proposal for you" Hermione said to you one day when she appeared in your shared dormitory.

"What is it?" you put down your book and paid attention to the smiling girl.

"So, I know you're still hung up on Harry, and you're trying to put up this front that you don't care anymore. If you really want to move on and show him what he lost, I think you should consider starting dating again" she said all in one breath, which made it a little hard for you to follow her.

But you did. And you were surprised that it'd taken her so much to propose the idea to you.

"I was wondering when you were going to suggest that" you said in a small voice, staring at a spot on the wall.

"I figured I would wait a little more, let you get back on your feet a little" she explained, putting a hand on your thigh.

You looked at her and saw the sincerity in her eyes. She meant well, you knew that, but you just weren't sure dating was the right thing for you at the moment. Not after the whole fiasco with Harry.

"I don't know what to say"

"I'm not trying to pressure you into doing anything right now. I was just suggesting it" she quickly said, thinking that you misunderstood her.

"I know, Mione. Don't worry" you put your hand on top of hers and thought about it for a second. "You know what? You're right. I have to stop mopping around and feeling like hell all the time. I have to do something for myself"

"Yay!" she squealed and pounced on you, hugging you tightly.

You laughed and hugged her back just as tight, your thoughts drifting to different things.

You didn't know if you made the right choice, but you couldn't sit around all day and not even make an effort to move on from Harry.

You will get back to your old self and take care of your needs. No more putting yourself in second place. You're the priority.

♡♡♡♡♡

You didn't think things would work out the way they did.

It had only taken a month for you to get back on your feet. You had got back to your old self, you were taking care of yourself both physically and mentally, you hang out more with your friends who are just as happy to see you better.

You still weren't talking to Harry, but the tension that was between you had somewhat eased. You didn't avoid eye contact anymore, you greeted each other on the corridors and that was about it.

As for your love life, well that's another story. After much thought and consideration, after finally making the decision to open up your heart again, you began a relationship with Fred Weasley.

It was unexpected, to say the least, even for you. You had always been close to Fred, but something more developed after you began hanging out daily, laughing at his jokes and him helping you heal, on your own terms.

He helped you so much, not pressuring you into anything you weren't ready for, listening to you rant after having a bad day, helping you learn how to love yourself again. He was an angel, just the person that you needed.

You were finally happy and free of the negative thoughts that clouded your mind after Harry, and there was nothing that could ruin that.

Or so you thought.

♡♡♡♡♡

It was a warm Saturday night, the common room was deserted except for you and Fred. You were laying on the sofa, your chests pressed against each other as well as your foreheads. Your arms were wrapped loosely around his neck while his were wrapped around your waist.

"Um, sorry, I didn't know you were down here" you head a voice say from above you.

You turned your head to the side and were met with Harry. He was looking awkward as ever, which made you tense up.

Fred sensed it and began rubbing soothing circles on your waist, which helped calm you down.

"Can I talk to Y/N for a minute?" Harry said, breaking the thick silence.

Fred looked at you for a moment, waiting for your answer. You nodded, kissed his lips and watched him climb the stairs to his dormitory.

You got up and straightened your back, not looking into his direction.

"What did you want to talk about?" you asked, keeping your tone neutral and void of emotion.

"I, uh, I wanted to see how you were doing" he said, taking hesitant steps towards the sofa you were sitting on.

When he saw you weren't commenting, he took a seat at the far end of the couch.

"I'm fine" your response was short, which was something you were certain he was expecting.

"That's good. I'm glad you're doing better"

"Is that all?"

He didn't speak for a moment.

"Actually, no. I've been going over this in my head for a couple of days, and I think you deserve an explanation as to what happened between us"

His words made you freeze. This was the least thing you were expecting. Of course you wanted to know what happened, why he chose to break your heart and what changed in such a short while. But the timing just wasn't right. You finally got back on the right track and now this happened.

"I'm listening" you managed to say after realizing you had been quiet for some time.

"Okay" he cleared his throat before getting into the story. "I don't know how it started, but all the attention I was getting because of Voldemort sort of got to my head. I was feeling superior to everyone, thought I was too good to be hanging out with my friends, and I felt like our relationship was keeping me from reaching a further point into my stardom. I realize that what I did was completely wrong and you can't fathom how awful I feel for the way I treated you. You deserved none of it and I acted like a complete idiot. It wasn't fair, and I am sorry"

You finally looked him in the eyes and saw that they were full of tears. Seeing him crying made tears well up in your own eyes, but you didn't want to show emotion in front of him.

"Your timing sucks" you let out a little chuckle, which made the corner of his mouth move upwards. "You can't understand how you made me feel, what kind of pain you put me through. I didn't sleep for weeks, I was beating myself up for not being good enough for you. Nothing that you just told me justifies your behavior"

"I understand that and it was never my intention to hurt you. I love you, and I would do anything to see you happy. Even if that means letting you go forever"

"I'm happy, Harry. I'm finally happy after being in despair for so much time. I loved you, I really did, and I thought we had something special that would last. But it wasn't the case, and that's okay" you put your hand over his, feeling his soft skin.

"Yeah, maybe we're just not meant to be" he whispered, tears running freely down his cheeks.

"I'm willing to put the past behind us and try to be friends. But there is never going to be anything between us again. I just got back on the right track and I don't want to risk getting hurt again just for the sake of the memories we have together" your voice wasn't louder than a whisper, mainly because you didn't trust your voice.

"I'd like that"

No more words were exchanged between the two of you, and after a minute of silence, you got up and made your way up the stairs to Fred's dormitory.

You opened the door and saw that the other boys were asleep and Fred was waiting for you, his torso up and resting against the headboard.

You didn't say anything as you climbed into bed with him, burying your face into his chest and letting out quiet sobs.

Fred knew there was no need for talking. He just held you and let you cry, rubbing circles on your back.

You were crying a whole river, finally feeling relieved after closing that chapter of your life. You finally felt like you had some peace of mind, knowing the true reason why your life turned upside down.

But, on the brighter side, the whole situation made you realize how strong you actually were, how much you could actually swallow.

Your heart felt at peace, your mind was serene, everything was perfect.

And to think, all it took for you to be happy was get your heart broken.

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[opencommunion]

"Dead are my people, gone are my people, but I exist yet, lamenting them in my solitude. Dead are my friends, and in their death my life is naught but great disaster. The knolls of my country are submerged by tears and blood, for my people and my beloved are gone, and I am here living as I did when my people and my beloved were enjoying life and the bounty of life, and when the hills of my country were blessed and engulfed by the light of the sun. My people died from hunger, and he who did not perish from starvation was butchered with the sword; and I am here in this distant land, roaming amongst a joyful people who sleep upon soft beds, and smile at the days while the days smile upon them. My people died a painful and shameful death, and here am I living in plenty and in peace. This is deep tragedy ever enacted upon the stage of my heart; few would care to witness this drama, for my people are as birds with broken wings, left behind the flock. If I were hungry and living amid my famished people, and persecuted among my oppressed countrymen, the burden of the black days would be lighter upon my restless dreams, and the obscurity of the night would be less dark before my hollow eyes and my crying heart and my wounded soul. For he who shares with his people their sorrow and agony will feel a supreme comfort created only by suffering in sacrifice. And he will be at peace with himself when he dies innocent with his fellow innocents. But I am not living with my hungry and persecuted people who are walking in the procession of death toward martyrdom. I am here beyond the broad seas living in the shadow of tranquillity, and in the sunshine of peace. I am afar from the pitiful arena and the distressed, and cannot be proud of ought, not even of my own tears. What can an exiled son do for his starving people, and of what value unto them is the lamentation of an absent poet?

Were I an ear of corn grown in the earth of my country, the hungry child would pluck me and remove with my kernels the hand of Death form his soul. Were I a ripe fruit in the gardens of my country, the starving women would gather me and sustain life. Were I a bird flying the sky of my country, my hungry brother would hunt me and remove with the flesh of my body the shadow of the grave from his body. But, alas! I am not an ear of corn grown in the plains of Syria, nor a ripe fruit in the valleys of Lebanon; this is my disaster, and this is my mute calamity which brings humiliation before my soul and before the phantoms of the night. This is the painful tragedy which tightens my tongue and pinions my arms and arrests me usurped of power and of will and of action. This is the curse burned upon my forehead before God and man.

And oftentimes they say unto me, the disaster of your country is but naught to calamity of the world, and the tears and blood shed by your people are as nothing to the rivers of blood and tears pouring each day and night in the valleys and plains of the earth. Yes, but the death of my people is a silent accusation; it is a crime conceived by the heads of the unseen serpents. It is a sceneless tragedy. And if my people had attacked the despots and oppressors and died rebels, I would have said, 'Dying for freedom is nobler than living in the shadow of weak submission, for he who embraces death with the sword of Truth in his hand will eternalize with the Eternity of Truth, for Life is weaker than Death and Death is weaker than Truth.' If my nation had partaken in the war of all nations and had died in the field of battle, I would say that the raging tempest had broken with its might the green branches; and strong death under the canopy of the tempest is nobler than slow perishment in the arms of senility. But there was no rescue from the closing jaws. My people dropped and wept with the crying angels. If an earthquake had torn my country asunder and the earth had engulfed my people into its bosom, I would have said, 'A great and mysterious law has been moved by the will of divine force, and it would be pure madness if we frail mortals endeavoured to probe its deep secrets.' But my people did not die as rebels; they were not killed in the field of battle; nor did the earthquake shatter my country and subdue them. Death was their only rescuer, and starvation their only spoils.

My people died on the cross. They died while their hands stretched toward the East and West, while the remnants of their eyes stared at the blackness of the firmament. They died silently, for humanity had closed its ears to their cry. They died because they did not befriend their enemy. They died because they loved their neighbours. They died because they placed trust in all humanity. They died because they did not oppress the oppressors. They died because they were the crushed flowers, and not the crushing feet. They died because they were peace makers. They perished from hunger in a land rich with milk and honey. They died because monsters of hell arose and destroyed all that their fields grew, and devoured the last provisions in their bins. They died because the vipers and sons of vipers spat out poison into the space where the Holy Cedars and the roses and the jasmine breathe their fragrance. My people and your people, my Syrian Brothers, are dead. What can be done for those who are dying? Our lamentations will not satisfy their hunger, and our tears will not quench their thirst; what can we do to save them between the iron paws of hunger? My brother, the kindness which compels you to give a part of your life to any human who is in the shadow of losing his life is the only virtue which makes you worthy of the light of day and the peace of the night. Remember, my brother, that the coin which you drop into the withered hand stretching toward you is the only golden chain that binds your rich heart to the loving heart of God."

Gibran Khalil Gibran, "Dead Are My People," written during the Great Famine of Mount Lebanon, in which 200,000 people were starved to death by a blockade imposed by European forces to weaken their Ottoman opponents in World War I. The man-made famine killed one in three people in Beirut and the surrounding Mount Lebanon Mutasarrifate (which encompassed today's North, Keserwan-Jbeil, and Mount Lebanon governorates). This peasant population was strangled by threefold oppression: from the European imperialist war machine, Ottoman Turkish imperial oversight, and the local capitalist class. The boom and bust of the global silk industry, monopolized by France, destroyed Mount Lebanon's silk-centered economy shortly before the war, leaving the population impoverished and vulnerable. The famine was key to the European victory which led to the occupation and partition of the Levant and enabled the colonization of Palestine. The partition placed Lebanon under French control, fulfilling a longstanding French colonial desire for Lebanese land and labor.

Further reading/listening: Graham Auman Pitts, "Was Capitalism the Crisis? Mount Lebanon's World War I Famine" and "A Hungry Population Stops Thinking About Resistance: Class, Famine, and Lebanon's World War I Legacy" Kais Firro, "Silk and Agrarian Changes in Lebanon, 1860-1914" Melanie Tanielian, "The War of Famine: Everyday Life in Wartime Beirut and Mount Lebanon (1914-1918)" and The Charity of War: Famine, Humanitarian Aid, and World War I in the Middle East The Fire These Times, Lina Mounzer and Timour Azhari, Legacy of the Great Lebanon Famine (audio)

[inkcurlsandknives]

Found you via Neil Gaiman reblogging you and I’m very excited for your book next year! Only downside is I’ve struggled with reading physical novels. Will there be an audiobook version and is there any audio forms of your current works?

Hi! I'm so glad you found me (I'm still fangirling about Neil Gaiman and Diane Duane noticing my post myself. 😅)

I actually have an audiobook? Audio story? of my short story Dying Rivers and Broken Hearts on PodCastle, you can give it a listen for free. It's about a Filipina catholic witch trying to save the Bakunawa /Laho/sea dragon 🐉 of Manila Bay

I can't yet say for certain if there will be an audiobook version of Saints of Storm and Sorrow, but it's something I very much want to make happen and am working towards with my agent

Thanks for reaching out!

[jar-of-maise]

She takes his hands gently, cradling them in a manner that made Lyney unsure of how to respond. Those hands could never lie. They shook with an awful tremble, like the last flutter of a dying butterfly's wings.

“I’m sorry for loving you,” she says softly, her eyes filled with unshed tears. 

That was the burden of the unsaid, you never once thought that nightmares could be dreams too, until they were there in front of you.

Dread settles in Lyney's chest, it drops like a heavy stone into a still pond, sliding in without resistance. It sinks to the bottom of his chest where it's weight aches with a dull pain, “Don’t say that," he clears his throat awkwardly, "please, don’t say that.”

She stares back at him, unseen dread haunting her dull eyes, “What?”

Lyney swallows thickly, his breath shuddering in his chest, rattling like fragile marbles in a glass container, “don’t say things like that,” he whispers.

She drops his hands, where they hang like dead weights. She searches his eyes for something she can't find, for something she won't find. It was like the sun, desperately trying to reach the moon, yet finding only it's reflection in the burning daylight, “Things like what?”

She does not want to know the answer to that question. But a burning sensation compells her to ask. Perhaps, with a single word, an entire tragedy could be rewritten.

Looking at Lyney now, she knows that the feeling is mutual. That is an awful realisation to come to, she turns her head away to avoid looking in the mirror.

Lyney, the other half of her, the mirror that she never needed to look in. Lyney, who was the only one who could attune to her soul. Her Lyney who had never been lost for words like he was now, who'd never fumbled or been uncertain.

"Things like what?" She cries, when met with silence. Her hands twitch uncontrollably, and then she's lunging forwards her hands reaching out like desperate claws which latch onto Lyney's shoulders.

These hands of hers were gentle, they were kind. So now, seized by grief as they were, her fingers could not quite grasp the hatred that she wanted them to.

They were strangers to force yet they exerted a violence that was comparable to a monster, "tell me!" It's not a scream, by the time the words drag out of her mouth, it's a mangled, broken tangle of words.

"It's not fair, it's not fair," she says hoarsely, "why do you- you can't-You don't get to do this to me!" She yells, and it's a sound that wretches at Lyney's heart.

"Answer me! What things?! What things shouldn't I say?" Her hands were not made for violence, they were crafted with love in mind. But they tightened on Lyney's shoulders, trembling all throughout.

“Things,” Lyney finally chokes, blinded with tears, “that make it sound like loving me was a mistake,” his hands reach up clumsily, with none of the dexterity or reflex they usually moved with.

She was silent, tears streamed down her face in long, ugly rivers. They fractured her face and drew shadows across her face that did not belong there.  

“It’s not a mistake. This wasn't a mistake,” Lyney whispers desperately, not trusting his voice, yet continuing treacherously.

This is a one way path, a lonely dark road with no return tickets, “you loved Lyney, just plain Lyney. You would never lie," he pauses as his voice wavers, "you didn’t take me by accident, you chose me…didn’t you?” 

“I don’t know,” she admits, lowering her head, she had never admitted defeat. Giving up was not an option, yet she could not conquer this mountain. The shadow of its height, and sheer slopes rendered the fire in her heart cold and frigid.

“I don’t know you. Do I really love Lyney? Who was I in love with?” She asks herself, there is no reply.

This is another question that she doesn't want to know the answer to. But perhaps there is no answer, she's left grasping for strings that have already been broken. The gray cannot be defined, nor described, and in the face of such uncertainty, she doesn't know what to do.

Neither does the magician standing before her. His face is the image of forced apathy, like a puppet with no strings.

"Lyney..." Regret, and immutable yearning surge into her chest, where they mix together like a tapestry woven wrong. The strings are tangled, and the only remaining option is to cut the fabric entirely.

"Perhaps the greatest tragedy of it all is, the more I talk to you, the less I know of you..."

[undercoverpan]

Spit in my face, my love, it won't faze me

Spider felt a lot of things at the moment. Cold, hot, empty, full. But mostly he felt lonely.

His vision was going blurry, darkening at the edges. He couldn't make out his own hand in front of his face, but he recognized his own blood coating it. If he had to guess, he had wounds on his stomach, arms, legs and back. His whole body was just one big bruise at this point, aching and throbbing like never before. In a sense, he got the blue stripes he'd always wanted. Nevermind the fact that they weren't stripes, just blue spots that were close enough together for him to mistake them as such. 

The thing that definitely hurt the most was the cut around his throat, bleeding sluggishly and coating his body in blood. He had a feeling that it was the source of his trouble with breathing, come to think of it.

Now that he was laying on a cold ship deck and 100% dying, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. It was like all the emotions and trauma he'd been compartmentalising these past few months decided to pull a quick one on him and now he had so many fears and regrets. He regrets going to the shack, being born, trying to be Na'vi, not doing something while they hunted that tulkun, not doing more when the Na'vi were being threatened. And he was afraid, were the others safe? Did Quaritch let Kiri go? Have they fled the ship just yet? Are they safe?

A selfish, horrible, human part of him wishes they stayed. And because he is dying; he decides to indulge himself with those selfish fantasies of his. He imagines Lo'ak being there, telling him about the trouble he'd gotten up to without him, Kiri talking about the plants and the animals. Tuk showing him a cool shell she found, maybe Neteyam venting about his frustrations or something. Anything but the sound of fading screams and crackling flames.

The smell of blood and petrol hung in the air like a thick fog; clouding his senses with the copper scent. The ocean breeze felt like hell against his open wounds. It was freezing out here, and incredibly dark. Really, he should be happy the others got away. Overjoyed, thankful even. But he selfishly wishes to not be alone right now.

"Spider?" 

The voice echoes in his ears. Oh. Oh, it sounds familiar, oddly so. He felt a strange sort of calm rush over him; something like acceptance. It felt like a warm blanket on his beaten and broken body; one he desperately needed. No one has made him feel safe like this, ever, except for maybe….

"J--Jake?"

He hates how weak and uncertain his voice sounds, carried like some kind of fragile chord over the winds. He feels a set of hands, warm and realer than what he could've imagined by himself, pawing at his injuries. He sees blue skin and yellow eyes, and he has to laugh at the absurdity of it. 

"Jake, you came back…" he says in astonishment, not seeing the hurt look flashing over the man's face. "Are the others okay? Where are they?" He asked, spluttering out a cough and tasting metal in his throat.

"They're okay, Spider, son, they're okay." He says in English, and Spider doesn't think that's weird at all. He nods to the best of his ability, giving him a wide grin. "Did--did we get them? The demons? Did I do good?"

"Yes, son, we got all of them. Everyone is safe. You did so good, you were amazing, I promise." 

He sighs in relief. At least he had that little bit of solace during his last moments. At least he had that. And you know, he had Jake. Jake was here, and now he wasn't alone. He hadn't realised he was scared of being alone until he was. Dying alone, he'd never considered it, but that was his reality until a couple minutes ago. Jake saved him from having to face that, even if he couldn't save him from his wife. In his heart of hearts, he knows he never intended to.

"Jake, I'm tired–, it–, it hurts. I'm just so tired…" he whispers, strength draining from his body like a river flowing to the ocean. He feels a kiss pressed to his temple as Jake pulls him to his chest; the feeling of his vest against his skin all too alien. The man bit back a sob, instead breathing heavily and unevenly.

"It's okay, son, it's okay. You can go to sleep, you've earned it. Me and the others, we'll all be here when you wake up, okay?" He promises and Spider desperately agrees. "You did so well, we're all so proud of you and we love you, you know that, right? Everything that happened before, that doesn't matter. I love you, Spider." He says with the desperation of a prayer.

"Really…? Even Neytiri?" He asks weakly. The other nods, running a hand through his dreads. "Yes, even her." The boy has to smile at that. "It's so cold." He says, and Jake adjusts his grip so they're better pressed together. "Better?" He asks, and Spider offers a weak nod.

"Oel ngati kameie, Jake.." he whispers. It is the last thing he says before he goes, hopefully being accepted by Eywa. "Oel Ngati kameie, son." His voice sounds broken, but certain. It is the last thing he hears before the world goes dark and his body goes limp.

Quaritch looked at his son's dead body and felt cold. He wonders if this is the same chill Spider felt just now. Like a gaping hole in his chest that the wind passes through, carrying its saltwater breeze like poison. Sully and his brood are gone; left him behind without a second thought. The children had this look of shock when Spider crumpled to the floor the first time, victim to their own mother. They might have screamed. They might have cried. Quaritch doesn't remember nor care.

In his final moments, Spider wanted Jake, the man who left him for dead twice now. And Quaritch could've corrected him easily, but it seemed so needlessly cruel. Spider was dying, his son was dying, why deny him the fantasy in his head? The dreams of family and acceptance that he was never afforded, not by the people he desperately needed it from. So yes, he let his son think it was Jake who held him while he died, and that his crazy wife really did care, even though she's responsible for this. It was disrespectful to the highest degree, but Quaritch thinks that his son is allowed to spit in his face, just this once.

It was enough for Spider, who looked peaceful in his arms, eerily still and pale. He wonders if he should leave him here, let the Sullys find him and give him the burial he wanted. He wonders if the fish would get his body first, or the fire. He wonders if they'd return at all, opting to let the ship burn itself down. It certainly sounds like Sully. He sighs.

Mind made up, he approached his ikran. The journey to the Omaticaya would be long, so it's best that he starts moving. At the very least, he'd make sure his son would be put to rest where he called home. He wouldn't take that from him, not in death, at least.

___

Decided you guys should feel sad, hope you liked it!!!

[nekohime19]

Heart behind the lie # 5 : CO-existing

Mac and Wukong find a home other than the shore and Wukong is acting like a clingy puppy. He has separation anxiety.

The storm ruined the soil, streams were flowing upon the muddy earth, snakes of water gliding in-between the trees. They spent hours in silence, watching the rain fall, nestled inside their drenched cave. Sun Wukong stopped crying after a while and only pressed himself closer, hiding his face in the warrior's hip. Macaque, even if the feeling was disturbing, even if he shuddered each time the sage moved, let the King do as he pleased. 

If this was enough to cease his sobs, Macaque was satisfied. Tears were not made for the golden skin of the King, they were out of place, not meant to flow upon his cheeks. Macaque repeated, over and over again, in the safety of his mind, that those tears were not true. That they were only the product of this broken state. He didn't want to believe that the King was capable of being this frail. 

He had never been. 

In the past, when he was still the sun lightening his path, Sun Wukong never cried. He felt sorrow, and fear (like every living creature he feared the moment life would escape him), but he never cried. When life was hard, when days were becoming harsh, he embraced them all with a heart of steel, never breaking even under the mightiest of pain. Macaque had believed, for the longest or times, that tears would burn if they ever touched his golden cheeks. He was the sun, the one burning away the sorrow. 

Sun Wukong never cried. 

Until then. 

The warrior prided himself for being all-hearing, surely, if Sun Wukong had cried, in the past, he would have heard him. He hoped he would have. Macaque shook off his head, he blamed the place, the fluff ball at his side, for all those intrusive thoughts. The past was gone, it didn't matter anymore, he wasn't the one supposed to dry the sage's tears.

This was temporary, a means to an end. 

"This means nothing." He mumbled, gaze lost in the remnants of the storm. His nemesis was purring so quietly one could think it was nothing but a figment of imagination. Wukong was clutching him tightly, hands shaking, not from cold but from despair. It was as if Macaque was the one grounding him, the one keeping him from drifting in the ebb of his mind, forever lost to wildness. 

Macaque gritted his teeth. 

He wasn't meant to be an anchor, he was fleeting, like the wind roaming the world. He was made to disappear in the night, made to be alone. When he had believed he could be someone's pillar, he had realized he was not sturdy enough, he had realized a shadow wasn't meant to walk in the light. But nonetheless, here he was, letting someone cling to him, letting someone ground themself with the feel of his fur, with the sway of his breath, with the beating of his heart. 

He was wearing the mask of an anchor and he had to remind himself it was nothing but a mask if he didn't want to lose himself entirely. 

The storm passed, rain swept away by the piercing ray of the rising moon, night veiled the mountain with a kind shine. They were both drenched, fur abused by the howling winds, shivering inside their narrow shelter. The shore must be ruined, thought Macaque. Sand wet, whipped by the furious waves, full of dying algae, falling twigs, and leaves. As much as the warrior didn't want to, they had to find another place.

The only place Macaque could think of was the water-curtain cave, it was isolated from the rest of the mountain, they would be at peace there, undisturbed by winds or by beings. However, Macaque didn't know if he could still pass the waterfall. The King could have revoked his right to pass through the seal, it would not be surprising. But even then, he had to at least try. He was the provider, the one supposed to take care of such matters. Sun Wukong wasn't a child by any means, far from it, he was older than rivers and forests alike. But after this little stunt, Macaque realized that, in this state, Sun Wukong wasn't very different from a defenseless pup. 

And Macaque was the one who had to look after him, as much as he didn't like the idea, he was the caretaker of this oversized puppy. 

Even if the thought of stepping in the water-curtain cave was daunting, he couldn't be overwhelmed by memories, not when he had so much to do. 

"You can walk ?" Asked the warrior as he rose from the drenched stones, Sun Wukong yelped, eyes bloodshot from his crying, and looked at him with confusion. Macaque sighed, he tied his tail on the sage's wrist and began to walk, dragging the King out of the cave. Sun Wukong followed him without any fuss, walking in his steps with the utmost care. 

Macaque hurried towards the cave, not wanting to cross paths with unfortunate wanderers. Sun Wukong was still emotionally unstable, Macaque didn't want to frighten him with unfamiliar faces, they would be safe beyond the waterfall. And, maybe, the King would feel better inside the walls of his home, more at ease. 

The water-curtain cave wasn't hard to find, it was loud, obnoxious, proud like its owner. It was like it had been when Liu'er lived on those lands, clear saphir-like water hitting pale rocks partially covered in jade colored moss. The warrior stood before it, the sage at his side, with a frightened heart. But he didn't back away, he didn't turn back, he approached the water, hopping on the scattered rocks laying across the river, before the waterfall. He raised his hand and took a deep breath, pushing through every emotion drowning his chest. He put his hand on the waterfall, and watched, frozen, the curtain open up, water departing under his fingers. 

He could go inside, the King didn't forbid his entry. Macaque decided to not wonder about this strange marvel, Sun Wukong mind wasn't something he could understand, not now, at least. Instead, the warrior rejoiced at the thought of wrecking his nemesis’ house, he wouldn't destroy it, but surely Wukong would forgive him if he snooped around a little. The ebony monkey skipped inside the cave, the sage hot on his heels. 

Sun Wukong didn't seem to live in the temple anymore, the walls were dusty, old murals erased by time, and vines grew on the stone pillars, hiding cracks and bugs. Behind the temple, in a more shaded place, on top of a hill, laid a shabby shack, seemingly more alive than the temple. 

"Leave it to Wukong to live in a place more wrecked than my dojo." Snorted the Macaque, he never saw this shack before, and he was quite curious about it. "Come on, let's see your hermit den." The sage chirped curiously and followed after him, a little more upbeat than before. 

Sun Wukong was a certified slob, thought the macaque as his eyes roamed every nook and cranny of the shack. The place wasn't falling over itself, it could be very lovely with a thorough cleaning, but it was quite the hornets’ nest. Clothes thrown haphazardly on chairs, peaches piled in the most bizarre corners and furniture covered in russet monkey fur, the place was the spitting image of its owner : a chaotic mess. Sun Wukong had never been one to clean and take care of his home (he had never been one to stay in his home, but this was another matter altogether). But Macaque had thought that, at least, age would have gifted him the wisdom of cleaning, it had seemingly not. 

Macaque roamed in the shack, caressing each wooden curve with his eyes, taking in the layout of this narrow house. It was quite surprising, for the sage, to live in such a tight place. Sun Wukong has always been loud, with a need to run and roll around all day, perhaps trying to burn away the liquid fire flowing in his veins. He had never liked tight places, always feeling suffocated, imprisoned. 

Maybe age changed that. It was weird to think of the sage as an old man, but he was one, in a way. Maybe time had weighed him down, burning the fire in his veins, letting him enjoy more cozy places. Was he tired of running around ? This was a thought Macaque never even conceived, but he guessed time was powerful enough to even gnaw at the mightiest of beings. Even him felt tired, sometimes, when life stretched him thin. 

Macaque turned towards the King when he heard high-pitched chirps, tell-signs of excitement coming from the golden fluff ball. Sun Wukong climbed the sofa, clawing at it with glee, ruining the fabric with long, ugly scratches. Macaque barked a laugh, startling the King. 

"Oh no, no, please continue." Snorted the warrior, he approached the golden monkey and lightly petted him. Sun Wukong chirped curiously but leaned in his palms, enjoying the attention, soaking it up like a starving flower under the sun. "You wanna be a good boy, yeah ? Well you have to do your claws, and you have the house for yourself to do that." Sun Wukong pondered his words for a moment. Being called a “good boy” was enough to convince him, he kept doing his claws, scratching the sofa with glee as the macaque snickered like a gremlin. The warrior had discovered, a little while ago, that Sun Wukong liked to be praised, chasing after approval like a hunting hound. 

Macaque let the sage wreck his own furniture, cackling mischievously each time he heard claws ratting against cloths or woods. He went into the bathroom and was reassured to see, at least, a bathtub, with some peach scented shampoo (Macaque wondered how someone could love peaches so much, the guy was addicted). He needed a good bath, his fur was a mess, and he had longed for a good cleaning since he landed here. Admittedly the King also needed a bath, with each dawn that rose he looked more and more like a stray cat. The warrior drew himself a bath, and snooped around a little, glad to find clean peach printed towels. 

He then came back to the living room and sat on the couch, beside the sage (who was still clawing and munching the poor sofa). 

"I'm drawing myself a bath, you should take a dip in it once I'm finished. You stink."

Sun Wukong huffed, and hit him with the tip of his tail. Macaque stuck out his tongue and laughed when he catched a glimpse of the golden monkey pout. He stopped after a little, ashamed of cackling so gleefully with his nemesis, and turned towards the TV, curious about the sage's taste. 

"You are the most self-centered guy I ever saw." Snorted the macaque as he browsed through the sage's history. "How is it even possible that you have downloaded every show starring you ?" Sun Wukong chirped curiously, he gazed at the TV, but returned to his chewing, finding more interest in ruining his sofa. Macaque huffed, and pressed play, watching a random episode of Monkey King : the animated series. Even if the show was bad, he had to kill some time. It was also quite hilarious to see a Monkey King painted in such a rosy light. At some point, Sun Wukong got sick of ruining his own sofa and curled around the warrior's hips. Macaque put his tail in his claws, knowing very well that the sage would be quickly bored and do something stupid if he didn't have any distraction. Sun Wukong pawed at his tail, watching it dindle above him with round eyes, iris extended, cooing excitedly each time the tip of his tail tickled his nose. 

Sun Wukong, like the predictable fool he was, began to munch on his tail halfway through the episode, Macaque cringed, disgusted by the feeling, but let it happen. Knowing very well that an upset Wukong wasn't an agreeable Wukong. The warrior ate some peaches, binging through the series and keeping an ear on his bath to know when it would be ready. The sage fell asleep with his tail in his mouth, drooling on himself, paws twitching now and then, perhaps dreaming about something, it was disgusting.

Macaque rose after a bit, leaving the sage and retrieving his spit covered tail. Sun Wukong whined a little, but didn't wake up, curling further in the pillows. The warrior crawled in his bath, groaning in delight once the warm water hugged his curves. He stretched and brushed his fur with the peach scented shampoo, as much as he didn't want to smell like a peach, there wasn't any other shampoo in this peach-addict house. 

The ebony monkey looked at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts. His bones were heavy, he didn't really notice it before, but now that he took some time to think about what he felt, he could clearly feel the weight pressing against his skin. They were heavy, weights he dragged each day, each night, chains pressing him down. He was tired. He felt the ages slipping through his skin, the years of living weighing on his back, but most of all, he felt his heart struggle to be thriving, constantly drowned in raging feelings. Whether it be hatred, fear or love. There wasn't a single day where his heart was at peace. 

He was tired. 

Tired of struggling. 

But maybe, maybe after this whole endeavor, once the sage would be healed, he could find some nice place, with nice people, and spend the rest of his days, however short it'd be, living peacefully. “We will be basking in the sun and gorging ourselves on fruits for well, forever”, had once promised the King, he found himself longing for that life, now more than ever.

It's after knowing wars, hell and suffering, that he truly longed for peace. 

Even if he still hated the King, even if some parts of him still wanted to hurt him, he didn't know if he had enough strength to keep dedicating each of his breaths to his rage. 

He longed for one night of peace, was that too much to ask ? 

His thoughts were broken by a wail, Sun Wukong was scratching at the bathroom door like an abandoned puppy, the fool must have woken up and panicked when he didn't find him at his side. Macaque sighed, he should have seen this coming. 

"I'm taking my bath. Go back to ruining your couch." Replied the macaque, but Sun Wukong only whined louder. "I'm not gonna open, I'm naked, you perv." The sage continued to scratch at the door, but the warrior ignored him, going further in the water and closing his eyes. He would stop after a while, reasoned Macaque as he enjoyed his bath. 

The rattling stopped for a moment, and Macaque sighed, satisfied. But then Sun Wukong barged in, wrecking the door in his path, and stumbled on the floor. Macaque jolted up, fur puffed, claws out. 

"What the fuck, Wukong !?" The sage crawled towards him, and gave him the saddest pair of puppy eyes he could manage, snout pressed against the bathtub edge. "You broke the door !?" Yelled the macaque. "G-get out, oh my Gods I wasn't gonna stay here." The sage huffed, as if he didn't believe him, the brat. Wukong extended his arm and dipped the tip of his claws in the water. "Don't even think about going in the water, I'm naked for Gods’ sake, get out !" Screeched Macaque as he tried to hide himself the best he could, a useless endeavor really. 

The golden monkey ignored him, he crouched down and pounced in the water, splashing everything around him. Macaque stood frozen, flaggesbasted, before glaring at the King. 

"This is not how you take a bath, you're fully clothed, you moron." Sighed the macaque. "You know what, I'm gonna rince myself, then I'm gonna get out of here." Macaque ignored the golden fluff ball playing with water at his side, and washed his fur. He felt the King gaze linger on his skin, and he hissed, loudly, when Sun Wukong tried to touch him. 

Perhaps because he wanted to imitate him, Sun Wukong tried to undress himself, but he failed miserably, his claws stuck in the thread of his hanfu. He huffed like a petulant child and looked at the warrior with imploring eyes. 

"I'm not your mom." Grumbled the macaque, he relented after an onslaught of whines, ears flapping angrily each time the loud wails of the sage echoed. He, quite carefully, removed the battered armor and the ragged hanfu covering the King's bruised body, tossing them aside on the bathroom floor. He didn't remove the sage's pants though, he wasn't ready for this particular territory. Sun Wukong didn't change clothes since the fight against the wraith, Macaque was the only one he seemed to trust to undress him, and the warrior had never tried to do it, not wanting to touch his nemesis this intimately. 

The King's chest was marred by long, red crying wounds. The blood had dried around the skin, but the blights weren't cleaned properly, the skin whitened around the edge, and the crusts were turning yellow. Sun Wukong would survive, his body was already trying to heal itself naturally, but without any magic to enhance those abilities it would take time, perhaos it would be better if he received proper care. MK had given him a first aid kit some time ago, telling him to try to aid the sage if he had the chance. Macaque groaned, appalled by the idea, but still beckoned the sage close. 

"The thing I do for you, you better be grateful." Grumbled the macaque, he roughly brushed the tangled fur of his nemesis, ignoring the whines of the golden monkey when he tugged too harshly. He then carefully cleaned the wounds with a bit of soap and clear water, the sage flinched, stuttering scared chirps, but let him do as he pleased. Macaque washed the King's torso, and his face, carefully treating the wound on his left eye. 

It was almost maddening, to feel the sage's heart beating under his finger, to feel him flinch when his claws grazed his wounds. He could easily pierce his skin and reach his heart, smothering the pitiful organ in his palm until no blood dared to flow through it. It would be so easy, one press and he could draw the blood of the man he hated. It was tempting, bewitching almost, to think of his nemesis’ blood. But each time his fingers twitched, tempted by the idea, he would look at the sage's trusting gaze and chase away the urge to hurt him. 

Once Sun Wukong was more or less cleaned, and resembled a functioning member of society, Macaque tried to leave. But then he felt the burning gaze of the other monkey. Those ruby red eyes were boring into his very skin. Drilling in his skull. It was uncomfortable. The water hid him a little, at least, but if he wanted to leave, he would reveal himself completely. 

"Turn around, and don't look. I'll kill you if you do." Warned the warrior as he tried to hide his crotch, Sun Wukong snorted, maybe amused by his shame, and turned, heeding his words. Macaque hurried out of the bathtub and dried himself at speed record, tying a rather long towel on his hips." Okay, this'll do, I guess. Get out of the tub."

Sun Wukong stumbled out of the bathtub like the least graceful being in existence, Macaque smirked at his misery, before drowning him in towels to dry him. Sun Wukong protested weakly, trying to paw away the annoying towels, but he couldn't escape. Once he was dry, and looked like an urchin, Macaque took the first aid kit and tried to clean the wounds the best he could with his limited knowledge. He didn't bandage it, knowing very well how Sun Wukong would whine and try to remove it, perhaps worsening his wounds with his clumsy claws. The wounds were still red and glaring, but it was better, not as ugly as it had been, at least his immortalities would prevent severe infections, or any sickness from spreading.

"This is enough for now." Sighed the macaque, he looked at his hanfu and winced a little, he didn't have any other clothes at hand… But maybe he could steal some from Sun Wukong, the guy would not mind in this state. 

Macaque left the bathroom, the sage trotting behind him (still shirtless), and entered the King's bedroom. He winced when he smelled the overwhelming scent of sun drenched grass and freshly picked fruits, the natural scent of his nemesis. Sun Wukong seemed to like it, mayhaps it was familiar. As the sage jumped on the nest of pillows and blankets built on the bed, Macaque dug through the closet. He ignored the fancy hanfu, and the ridiculous t-shirt, and stole some plain white sweat with some sweatpants. He changed quickly, hiding behind the closet doors, and threw a peach printed t-shirt at the sage. 

"Wear something, we're sophisticated monkeys." He would forever deny being bothered by the sage's naked chest, the blush dusting his cheeks was an illusion, nothing more. Surprisingly, Sun Wukong was able to put on the shirt without ruining it. Macaque chuckled when he saw it was backwards, but didn't make any move to correct it. Sun Wukong's tail thumped happily the second he heard his laughter, Macaque dutifully ignored it, not wanting to dwell on the meaning of it. 

The sage tried to drag him to his nest, but Macaque violently yanked his arm back, keeping it close to his chest, as if he was burned by the innocent tug. 

"I'm not… I’m not staying there." Mumbled the warrior, Sun Wukong didn't insist, perhaps sensing his mood, and followed him outside. 

They returned to the couch, Sun Wukong once again played with the ebony monkey's tail, and Macaque continued his horrible binge watching. And if the sage purred when the warrior scratched between his ears (only because Wukong whined about it like a brat), Macaque ignored it, not wanting to believe he was going soft for the man he was supposed to hate.

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[moonlight-prose]

Tommy Miller. Please hit me with all the psychoanalyzing/breaking his ass down you've got because you're the queen of writing him imo. I'm ready 🍿

(thank you! 💖)

tommy miller thoughts & musings

note: the queen???? you're so fucking sweet my darling raven. i have been saving this for when the brain rot returns, but i have to be honest - the brain rot for this man never leaves. so here we go!

There's never been a man more devoted to the concept of love - even if it's muddled in his mind. He treasures his family. He'd die for them. That fact remained true the day he turned sixteen and realized how Joel stepped in.

How he helped in making sure the little brother who followed him around everywhere (both in awe and to be a constant annoyance) become the man he was today. Joel Miller. The legend he one day hoped to make proud.

The fact of death - of family and love - hardened in his mind in time with his heart. Something broke the night Sarah died. Fractured his soul at the sight of his big brother - his hero - lying in the blood of his niece, begging for her to live.

The imaginary concept of dying for his family...now suddenly a reality.

Tommy Miller is a man who uses humor to hide the dying light in his brown eyes. He's the first to offer a smile, a helping hand, the promise of hope. Because what little remained in his mind was barely enough for him. Yet he gave it away without question.

The lessons of his big brother live in his mind - a tether to the life he once had. This is his commandment; the rules he's set for himself to keep a piece of the old Tommy alive. Though the world may have gone to shit, he refused to go down with it. Even as Joel and him committed atrocities - destroyed the humanity in their souls - he fought to keep himself in tact.

Tommy Miller is a man who is scared of so much yet keeps it to himself. What's the fucking point of making a spectacle of his fears? Who would care to listen? He'd been on this shattered road for so long he forgot that he was human. That he deserved light and love and a chance to redeem the sins of his past.

He's afraid of dying.

He's reminded of it every day he opens his eyes.

But he won't reveal the real horror that is buried in the depths of his heart. The darkness he hates with a bitterness on his tongue. Oh how he wished he could spit it out like tobacco. Cleanse himself in the River Styx and resurface anew.

Tommy Miller is a man who is is afraid of dying.

Tommy Miller is a man who wants to die.

Tommy Miller...is a man who wants to love and be loved in the horrendous tumultuous landscape of hell he's found himself in.

He cares with his entire body. Loves with every part of his heart and soul. He gives and gives and gives, hoping that it would be enough to suffice for the broken parts of a hollow man. If you look close - inspect the makeup of who he is - you'd see the pain.

You'd catch a glimpse of the mania behind the curtain.

So he offers himself up on a silver platter (everything he believes you want) to deter you from pushing down the wall holding him together. He begs for more, silently fighting against the ache of need that sprouts deep. Yet assures you that he's fine. He's okay.

He's alive.

That's what he wants.

And that would have to be enough; knowing that to ask for more in this world, was to dip himself in the greed he knew couldn't be appeased.

Tommy Miller.

A man who gave the world too much. Yet managed to smile in spite of his grief.