#healed my aching soul and revived me

[cupidskissx]

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I can’t be the only one who is still extremely unwell over the fact Max didn’t blame Charles once for the red flag! It was...

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[adore-laur]

GOLD RUSH: PART TWO

— part one

——

Harry doesn't want to let go. He hasn't been this close to you since what feels like a lifetime ago. After a grueling year of separation, considerate greeting hugs and instinctual touches that respected boundaries can't hold a candle to this moment. 

He can feel your heartbeat. The organ that once beat fiercely for him is now pounding against his own, its unsteady pulse fueling him with love. 

Who is he kidding? He has always loved you. Even when you screamed at him on the other line, poisonous words creeping into every crack of his heart, he still couldn't bear the thought of never having a place in your life again. Even if that place wasn't beside you anymore. 

You told him you were proud of him a mere minute ago. It was a simple statement but also a diminutive glance into your mind. What do you think about when you're pressed against him, aware of his hands on your back and the kisses left on your head? What feelings do they ignite? All Harry wants is to spread you open and lay your cards on the table, both the good and the bad ones, and just talk to you. He only sees you a handful of times a month, so the questions that have been piling in his throat beg to spill out. 

He fears his patchwork heart would also spill out onto the floor, and you'd see how miserably he's been coping. Mentally draining months were spent mending the broken relationship. Yet, the last and largest shard that couldn't piece it together again was the one that was simply the dying relationship itself. 

A year should be enough time to get over someone, but when that someone is his ex-wife and the mother of his beautiful child, he reminds himself that time never stops in moments of hurt. His personal life and career had to chug along even when the train constantly veered off the tracks. 

The regret he feels for not putting his family first kills him inside every time he opens your door to take his daughter for half the week. It's never enough time, and to see you for much less weighs heavily on his soul. The haunting supposition of being unable to notice every tiny detail about you one day is the nail in his coffin. He remembers opening the door a few months ago to find you with shorter hair. It shouldn't have affected him the way it did, and he couldn't help but think that you probably would've asked for his opinion on it if you were still together. 

He also hasn't kissed you or had sex with you in over a year. There have been no romantic dates or nights cuddled in bed, limbs tangled like the wilting vines of your love. He has not held your hand or watched you be a mother except for fleeting moments. He doesn't want those things with anyone else, so why can't you forgive him? Why can't you revive your love for him? 

Harry knows asking for a revival of love is irrational. 

"When do you need to be on stage?" Your voice reaches him, warm like melted honey and gentle like a balm that heals his wounds. 

"Doesn't matter," he says, fixing the twisted strap of your dress. "I can be a little late." 

You step away from the hug, and he feels an ache in his chest due to the loss of physical contact. "No, you can't." 

He tilts his head to the side and smirks. "Says who? It's my show." 

You narrow your eyes dubiously, but they slowly soften when they drift downward and take in his outfit. He'd be lying if he said he didn't plan a revealing outfit just because you were coming. 

"You look handsome."

Handsome. When was the last time you called him that? He can't remember, but the word sends a tidal wave of shivers rolling across his body. 

"Thank you. You look lovely, as always. How've you been?" 

"Fine. Work keeps me busy." Something nearby clatters to the floor, and you nod your head toward the culprit, who has a guilty expression. "Her too." 

"Not overworking yourself, are you?" Harry asks. God knows he's seen you at your worst because of it. 

"Not as much as you. I still worry about you with all this traveling." 

He stuffs his hands into his pockets while moving closer to you. "Yeah? You worry about me?" 

You nod and look past his shoulder. He misses when you didn't shy under his gaze. "But the videos I see ease my worries. I know you're safe and having fun." 

He clears his throat and asks, "What videos?" 

There's a heavy lull of silence before you say, "Ones of you performing. They pop up on social media all the time. You're pretty famous if you didn't know." 

He ignores your teasing because he's grasping at straws, needing to know if you still keep up with him like he does with you. "And you watch them?" 

"Yeah," you say, nervously touching your earlobe. "It's hard not to with those outfits and how happy you look, you know?" You point to your daughter and add, "She loves to watch them too." 

Harry roughly swallows and curls his hands into fists. Your admittance makes the ache in his heart grow tenfold. He never would have guessed. 

Someone suddenly knocks loudly on the dressing room door, making him flinch. "Harry, we need to start heading to the stage! Right now, preferably!" 

With a sigh, he heads over to the connected bathroom to grab his mic pack and in-ears, but not before crouching in front of his daughter. "Hey, Dad has to go," he tells her. "Gonna stay with Mama and watch me?" 

She nods and lifts her arms. He picks her up before setting her on his hip and swaying her. "Do I look okay?" he murmurs. 

"Mm-hmm," she hums, grabbing at the silk material of his vest. 

"Good." He kisses her forehead and then rests his own against hers. "I love you, all right? Dance your heart out for me." 

She impatiently squirms in his arms. He sets her down so she can play with the toys you brought and then moves to quickly fix his hair in the mirror. He can already tell tonight is going be one of his favorite shows, and it has everything to do with the fact that his two favorite people will be in the audience.

After he puts his in-ears in, he shuts the bathroom light off and shakes his arms to get any remaining pre-show jitters out. He looks at you the entire time, watching you glance around his dressing room like it's an art gallery. All of his vulnerable belongings are out in the open and on display—his shirts you used to wear stuffed in his duffel bag, printed pictures of his daughter tucked into the mesh pocket of his suitcase, and a pack of diapers he had delivered earlier today in case you forgot or ran out. 

Most vulnerable, however, is his wedding ring right next to the microphone that you're about to grab for him. It's the same ring he kisses every night before he goes on stage, never having gotten rid of it because it's one of the only things he has left of the love you once had for him. 

You freeze, your hand hovering over the microphone. The color drains from Harry’s face as he stands there, dreading your reaction. 

"Harry..." Your voice is weakened with a certain sadness that could break him if he let it. 

People gather in the room, trying to get him to start heading to the stage, but he's stuck in place. Paralyzed from fear. Everything is a blur around him, and all he can focus on is the shake of your hand when you pick up the damned ring that was cursed from the beginning. You set it in your open palm, then stare at him with a slightly parted mouth and confusion swimming in your eyes. 

Harry then makes a stupid fucking mistake. 

He rushes toward you, grasps your cheeks, and smears his lips over yours with pitiful desperation. His eyebrows pinch painfully, and he lets out a muted sob when you don't return the kiss. Your hands push against his chest, making him stumble back. 

There's no time to apologize since he's immediately being escorted out the door and down the hallway toward the stage. He wants to look back, but he knows the expression on your face will tell him all he needs to know. 

You don't love him anymore. 

——

[official-big-q]

Heyyy papa idk why I am invading ur inbox rn DNFNFNFB I just wanted to say stuff about how for some reason I like hearing your memories maybe cuz I never had like those kind myself just the feelings of things that happened in cannon

So I like you talking about them or your wings and your HUGE nest in las nevadas I think I would have liked to be there just us sleeping and you wrapping your wings around me and me wishing to be able to fly around with you

I think I always liked the idea

Of being a big dragon and fly around with my wings and have fun and spend time with my family

I didn't make the entire revived AU for nothing dnfbfjr

If you want to ramble abt your memories idm I love hearing them :]]

-tilin⭑

I ALWAYS LOVE RECEIVING EXTRA MESSAGES FROM YOU KIDS - ITS OK !!!

AND THATS VERY VERY SWEET HBSJDBD

That’s heartwarminngg hhhhh<3

I WOULD HAVE LOVED FOR YOU TO BE THERE IN MY NEST AS WELL - that nest was so cozy it made me feel so safe and it was SO MUCH BETTER THAN WHAT I HAVE NOW SOB

BUT I TOTALLY WILL RAMBLE - ILL ALWAYS RAMBLE VIA REQUEST >:D

I was so very very vocal around you kids - dsmp and qsmp,, im just full of bird noises :]!! Coos, chirps, quacks, squawks, you name it !!! I had a large variety of bird noises I made towards you and your siblings <3 !!

In the dsmp i had a bad track record with love and was verY traumatized so the way I showed love at first was through gifts !!! I used to spoil Tommy rotten :]. (Tubbo wouldnt let me - he refused to take my gifts)

And then after I healed and realized I didnt need to hide my affection for others - I gave out words of affirmation and physical touch !!!

I WAS LIKE. PRETTY FUCKED UP ???? In the dsmp, after I got my injury to my eye/face, I had to take a couple weeks at least to be able to properly navigate again. Karl and Sapnap forced me into using a cane, which was something I very much needed if I didn’t want to walk into something or just fall over-

And just the eye thing in general messed me up permanently ??? Like I stopped using my cane and was okay most of the time without it - but my vision was really fucked and I couldn’t read cursive at all and needed bigger writing on documents to be able to read them, but the dsmp wasn’t a very accessible space so I just sucked it up and dealt with it.

I even learned braille because of it !!! Sam taught me braille !!! Sam also taught me some basic ASL and Foolish taught me more in depth ASL.

I remember Wil getting bad back pains and just aches after they got revived. I think it was just a side effect they had to deal with after it all. We couldn’t do much to help it, but I always made sure to give them a heating pad and some good pillows !!

Speaking of - I believe both me and Wil had chronic fatigue ? I think I just had it while Wil got it as a side effect from getting revived - either way it SUCKED

I remember playing with Fundy during Pogtopia and making sure he stayed fed and kept him company when I could :]

This isn’t a memory but in my head I always refer to Ranboo as the weird stray cat my kids decided to start feeding that never left lmao /lh /aff

Phil took care of me once ???????? I’m pretty sure I was grieving Wilbur and dealing with a whole bunch of feelings about that entire situation when he died - and I ended up on Phils doorstep basically completely shut down and he took me in and just started fully taking care of me. It was a weird experience- I don’t like the man for my own personal grudges but he’s still a kind soul.

Wilbur had a tendency to work himself or keep himself busy until he passed out - he hated sleeping after revival.

Schlatt but the bi in bitch - and other than that fantastic line I don’t want to talk about him lmao

OH I once panicked after I couldn’t find Tommy in the penthouse thing we stayed in in Las Nevadas and made various chirps and warbles while searching for them- they were simply in another room and I was panicked for no reason , Tommy did end up responding with quiet confused chirps hhdjdbd

I HAD SHARP FANGS AND TALONS >:D!!!! I think I also wore fingerless gloves too - sometimes just wearing plain gloves to hide the burn scars that I had on my hands

AND I DONT HAVE AS MANY QSMP MEMS BUT I remember feeling uneasy around Bad ????? He was a friend of mine n all but I remember avoiding him for a bit and feeling unsafe around him annnd I don’t quite know why

OH AND I DEFINITELY PERCHED ON ETOILES SHOULDERS !!! He was THE friend ever actually :3

Jaiden and Baghera were / are like siblings to me, almost !!! I remember we were pretty close :D !! Jaiden and I were close friends and Baghera and I had more of a sibling relationship !!

I vaguely remember Maximus introducing me to his daughter !!! She was pretty cool and it was an awesome experience

THATS ALL I HAVE FOR NOW- I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS !!!!!

[magpie-moon]

I am a dawn

My heart yearns for a bloom of fire, morning sun

to end this devastating numb

I have become a creature 

Bereft of comfort, habit consumed by harmony

It haunts, fair in golden-pale sunlight

I plead with a star blurred hope

That the crosses i bear will lessen with age

And the teeth gnawing on these hollow bones

The marrow sucked dry from

Luminous winter nights, over and under, trapping weaves in baskets keen

For warmth beneath this great dark eye, will finally glimpse

The sky and see

Purity, breathe through holes poked in the afterlife 

So bright, the fantomes fly home

A windless and cold tribunal

A funeral, staring at a body that might once have been mine

Dressed in the clothes they chose for me, my hair shines

Lips burn red, bright in candlelight

Igniting the waste

I am squandered on sympathy

Empathetic tyranny 

Understand my place, inhale with my lunges

And feel my heavy heart beat with every blood filled pump

I am deceased

Undercovers, find me 

I am lost, soul searching only left me

In a search of higher places 

In debt, my heart wants for wider spaces

To hold me down

The crying never stops, it only slows 

Keep me with you always, i might drown in brevity 

Aching for serenity 

Lover, love me dearly 

For if you ever stop i fear i might stop being

A person in this plane, existing for existence sake

I pray

For something

Someone to keep me safe 

But the fall of rain matches the patter of her breath

Footsteps heaving, hear her on the steps

Nightmares at the door, i slept so well these last few nights

But nothing, save nothingness, ever lasts. I’m breaking

Swelling at the seems, clashing, i’ve never been seen

Only perceived with preconceived notions 

Hold me back, i may run, dressed in nothing but a rash decision 

Caressed by darkness, give me strength to sever and create

Hold me still, for thrashing under weight only brings injury

My eternity, cut short, please exhale life unto me 

And give me another start, a chance at flight

Hold on to fragile butterfly wings 

They break so simply, try to see me. Truly see me 

Please 

Revive me in my hardship, running only makes them faster, grasping further with sticky 

hands

Devour my fear, my hunger, my sickness

Eat my innocence and retch it up, its hurts doesn’t it?

This frail naivete kept hidden, degrading under constant pressure

Understating its devine measure

Humiliation lasts a lifetime, praise but a second 

And I can only lie in bed and count my ceiling fan’s rotation as if they were sheep and i 

a shepard

An exodus of sleep rending me from tranquility. Its lovely, however, no answer to my 

many questions

And the hunger never ends, my sin an overwhelming din above a cliff’s searing edge

I was born and shall die with my eyes unmasked, not to be blinded by the pretty lies 

they said, its so telling

How he won’t have anything to do with me

A devil child of her own heart, raised and bred by her blood

And later trapped in his maw, surrounded by wolves so cruel and so drawn

I grew and became 

A sword too dull to use, i cannae cut anything but myself 

And even then it only bruises 

My words pierce like spears, thrown so hard i tumble in after them

Threatened and deceived by their violence, i am rejected by my own mind, i’ve been 

gutted

And i cannot harden this heart of mine

It breaks with every word

Starshine, no remedy, heals no wounds, only fills me with clarity

Cures of this kind only work for a time

Desperation looms, a flick of a knife

I will forgive her, bloody knuckles save me, give me momentum

Love me with strife, oh mother, my heart

Laden with tremulous oaths broken like original wedding china

Hold me gently, i bleed constantly

My fingers plucked clean of flesh and bone

Every morning, i awake 

To a light so blue it blinds

My skin frigid, nauseated, my stomach empty, crawling

I bend beneath iridescent luminance, forehead against cold porcelain

Stones driven deep with uneven breath, i tremble 

Take me home

Oh mother dear

Leave me be, save me from my malady and let me plod this path in peace

Sling your past from my back

My strength is failing. I cannot sustain your vice on top of mine, mother please, i beg 

of thee

Sing me to sleep, so i may know rest before death takes me

And what a shame that you ever spoke my name, made me a known entity

Exposed me to a poppy field of pain

Numbing all my hurt, even as you claw your way back into my brain

Your breath reeks of wine and decay, rot outshines its sweetness

Let me in, show me a sign

Of motherly devotion and i will grant amnesty for your crimes, yet you only play games

You set in motion

My decline, proclivities notwithstanding, i attempt to rise

Above your demise

I am a dawn, so clear, so eager to render anew 

Weep as woe-begotten tomes tell tall tales 

Of remembrance and honeyed betrayals, the bells ring out and time rectifies

Yet i am forever tied to this life of mine, and though we both may carry shame

You and i shall never be the same

[wretchedmosses]

Every day as I walk, the world around me looks different, even if it was a circle, even if my feet light on the same ground.

It was some time ago, though remember not I how long- Some days it feels a few minutes, and others an eternity, but isn't that the nature of a memory?- But well, I pranced through a meadow. The path was young then, and the grass weren't trodden, it sprung beneath my feet, a soft mat. The world was bathed in color, the sun shone warm. Butterflies swirls, and I could hear the calls of many others, laughter and jeer and sweet birdsong. It was a delicious time, and no matter how many spurs nicked and rocks cut my feet, I did smile, for every color was my favorite, and I danced as the animals did, shouting their calls back and never seeking an answer.

The sun did grow, some time later. It grew indeed, grew bright and hot and smoldering. Still I delighted in the warmth some, for a moment, but fast I knew something to be wrong. I wearied of my dancing so fast, and as the other animals stopped their calls, didn't I try to go on? They stared while I did danced, and the first time I listened for my answer, the silence was deafening. Those flowers wilt and wept for my aching heart and head beaten of the sun, as colors turned, to whites and blacks and reds, and my step became a rush on this path of matted grass, quickly drying, spurring my soft feet and trying to rile the cuts there. I recall there was a collapse, when the burn and prick and slice overcame me. And as tears bitter did run, the grass did not green again, the little water I could gift was tainted.

I did rise again, a time later. My walk was a trudge now. I do not even recall why I bothered dragging my feet along. Perhaps I was so terribly desperate as to search for a sign of the old joy that lived here once, or did I simply seek comfort in the walking? Some memory of the calls might have lived in it, in heels now calloused crushing once-jubilant hay into dirt. In this dying glade, for the first time I did look around, and no animals were left there at all. Not petal nor green blade, only a path of black among brown and yellow grasses, a circle, though broad, a place paved by my own two feet. Fertilized with the delicate green they'd destroyed, and the red that had crept into it from the damage it did me. Eventually, again, I sat, as hopelessness sunk it's fangs deep. My path lead nowhere new. I walked so long hoping for solace, and only now saw that I walked nowhere new, only toward the same, lonely suffering. I sat, too worn for tears and with no cause to laugh, and finally the sun's glare was obscured.

The harbinger it summoned loomed high now. Great black clouds, so high over, shielding a worn soul from the fury that birthed it, but bringing something so new along after. The first drops fell thick and heavy, and to a soul already scorned, felt like beatings about my head again. For a time I wailed, a time I despaired, consumed in the misery of it all, brought no comfort. I longed only to see the sun's kinder face again, no interest in this heavy darkness, the weight of wetness pulling my hair and soaking my skin, muddying my earth-caked feet. So I wailed, wailed and wailed, wept until there was no weeping left, the tears had run and gone, cries drowned out by the thunder and salt washed loose by the rain. And I sat alone.

And I felt, as I sat, I fell quiet, the world a-roar around me. The rain did batter, but were the burns not soothed after the aggravating fall? The dirt came washed away from my long-traveled skin. For all of the soaking, it could not bring those once-gentle feet free of callouses, but the aching, the weight in my bones, it added a burden without, to force my within to be still, to rest. I sat under the rain a long time, I think. My scrapes and fiery skin did heal over, and the dying grass came loose in the storm, never to be revived, but drowned and rotted, down, down into the dirt again, to make room for what was new.

Wasn't that so long ago? I stood again, at some point since. I've stood and sat many times. And walked, too. Walked long, searching for the solace in the steps. Tis no meadow any longer, no meadow at all. The flood brought in many other things, and a wood it's become. Young trees are stretching into the sky, just budding, and their first dainty little saplings emerge. Little flowers sprout dainty in the sunbeams that stretch between the gaps of their branches, and fat, squat toadstools emerge in the darker places, thriving amidst the soil still rife with strands of old grasses. I take refuge in their canopy too, some days, among the mushrooms when the sun turns to glare on me again, and I do not despair, for I have seen the end of that hardship. The deeper parts of the meadow became pools, and there is where I sit. I soak my feet again, when the rain takes it's time in coming, and marvel at the color of the flowers. I'd no favorite for a time, for despite the sun, the only thing I'd seen was blackness, the dark loomed all around, and within.

Do you see my pond, reader? There is a little hut I want to weave amongst those trees down yonder, not too far from the banks. I picked just the right spot. And I hear those calls again, little echoes, just sometimes. I hope the animals will come back here one day, or maybe a new sort will creep in. I'll learn their dance, too, and sing with them as I used to, invite those who sing and dance along. But I have a confession for you, reader, while my little forest grew joyful again, the memories still haunt this place. A bitterness claws in my throat when I remember these things. The steps brought me solace once, and my feet did carve that circle around the glade, it stands there still, it remembers me. But there are days I do not wish to remember it, that path of sweetness, and suffering too, and one question makes my hand quiver at the thought of laying down the roots of my hut.

What, my friend, do you think lays beyond the border of my wood?

[aworldofmymaking]

From Forgotten Melodies to Soulful Revival

By: Mohamad Swee A. Yusop (GE5 9AM-10AM) -MWF

sharing this piece taken from the strings of my emotions today 👇👇👇

This day is one of those busy days but I found myself walking into a room and guess what? I saw a piano! 🎹 A tone went repeating in my head. 🎶 I can’t figure out the title yet but I know I knew the song. It’s right at the tip of my tongue. I felt a strong opportunity to linger on those thoughts.

When I sat in front of the piano and start recalling the right tone, gentle waves of relief came running through my veins as if it's been years that I haven't known what a stress reliever is. 😅

This song opened the door to limitless imagination bringing me into a different dimension. I was there before — I realized that it has been awhile that I haven't played each of the keys and every note of the song… even forgot the majestic name of that dearest song. 😁

What amazes me even more is the union once again of the musician and music itself without trying hard to scan through the memories in my head. I played that song once again bringing me to the place that I once knew — paradise. Alas! I remember it now! It's "Castle in the Sky"! 🏰☁️

The spirit that music brings gives not only comfort but also the strength and motivation archived in the depths of our memories especially the beautiful ones which at some point were forgotten because of the struggles we go through that highlights the negative over the positive.

✨️ What a blessing music is — not just to comfort our weary hearts but also heal our aching souls.

[regina-del-cielo]

Immortal Siblings AU | Four, then three, then four again

I mentioned that the bulletpoint post describing how the Guard from the Immortal Siblings AU found Joe had totally run away from me. It has, in fact, become a study on them grieving over Lykon and then finding Yusuf. 

I have, somehow, reached a sort of natural end to the amount of bullshit my mind can add to this list/fic draft. So, if you want to give it a read... grab a snack. It’s long. I’m sorry.

Warnings for Wikipedia levels of historical accuracy - I added links to the relevant pages when quoting historical events, but since I was just trying to work out a timeline (famous last words), the research wasn’t extensive. There’s a lot of hand-waving.

By the end of the 11th Century, I think Andy, Quynh and Nico haven’t been in Europe for a while, not really. They moved south, and then east, after the sack of Rome of 410 CE. Seeing the great cities fall has become hard for them, especially for Nico, who is a nomad at heart but has a soft spot for cities, together with Lykon, the true city boy in the group. He’d seen it happen to Athens, he wasn’t sure he could deal with seeing Rome wilt.

For reasons I cannot fathom, my mind is settled on them having been in India when Lykon dies (possibly sometime around the middle of the 6th century, in the mess that was the crumbling of the Gupta Empire???)

Seeing him die destroys them, and they take a break from any battlefield to grieve their friend and brother. They wander, occasionally helping but almost never raising their weapons, too leery of injuries and of losing each other.

(Quynh, who was the first to notice Lykon’s wounds, has nightmares that make her cry in her sleep. Andromache holds her so tight Nico can feel the tension on her muscles against his back. He and his sister barely sleep, scared of the open spaces of Asia as they’d never been before. Lykon was the youngest of them and he died, what if they stop healing too?)

(If Nico stands guard over his sisters and feels an ache in his chest seeing how they hold onto each other, he’s never going to say it out loud. His Mache deserves the love she shares with Quynh. But sometimes he wishes he had someone to hold him like that, one he can call his heart.)

The first time they go to battle again like in the old days it’s almost the end of the 10th century, and they’re helping Quynh’s lands gain independence from China. They have a reason and a specific side to root for, and it’s the kind of cause Lykon would have approved of. They find purpose again.

They are distantly aware of how things are holding up in the west – they know Constantinople has crowned itself capital of the Roman Empire (what is left of it anyway); they know of the new religion, Islam, and how it was brought further east with the armies conquering Persia. They met the Varangians on the Northern Plains of the Rus’, when Andy insisted on going back to their steppes for a while.

They acquire new swords, repair the old weapons, make improvements on their bows. They travel, and help, and listen. They learn new languages. They heal.

They’ve just spent the winter in Samarkand when they hear merchants newly come from Constantinople talk about the Frankish armies that took Antioch and making their way further into Palestine. 

The words ‘freeing Jerusalem from the infidels’ make Andy sigh in exasperation and twist Nico’s guts. The three of them don’t really understand the point of going to war for a god, but Jerusalem is old, and she’s been coveted by many throughout their long lives. Things like this never end well, they know it intimately.

But they’ve been away for a long time, centuries at this point. Things are very different from when the Romans had the power. They are less eager to throw themselves into the battlefield now, and there’s much they don’t know about the dynamics of Europe and the Levant. Still they’re worried, and decide that they’ll move west to see if something can be done, for the civilians at least.

At first they travel slowly, keeping an ear out for gossip spoken by the caravans coming from the west. Things radically change, however, when they dream of a new immortal (a man, with a curly black beard and shining dark eyes) dying on the walls of Jerusalem and reviving to an unprecedented slaughter – said man is, obviously, absolutely terrified and they feel it.

He’s also woken up surrounded by living enemies, with high risk of being killed or injured multiple times, and of being seen.

They are still too far away to do anything more than hope that the new guy is clever enough to keep himself alive until they can reach him, but now Nico is all for moving west at full speed to get him out.

“What the everloving FUCK is happening over there?!” is the common theme in their thoughts; nothing about this war they’re walking towards is making any sense.

Yusuf al-Kaysani is, in fact, clever enough to keep himself (and a few other civilians to boot) alive and get out of Jerusalem when it becomes clear than no matter how many Franks he kills he can do nothing to stop them alone. (It’s a fucking carnage, and he’s so tired). He walks away from the battle and tries to reach some sort of safety in the desert.

When he’d decided to stay in Jerusalem and fight instead of escaping the siege, Yusuf had considered the possibility of dying. He had not accounted for waking up from a fatal wound with no sign of having been hit in the first place.

And then there are the visions. Or dreams, he’s not sure. They don’t seem to make any sense? Who are those people?! Is his mind so addled by the war that he’s conjuring scary warrior women and a stupidly handsome man, armed to the teeth and camping in the desert?

(fantasizing about handsome men in his sleep isn’t exactly news for him, but there were never women in those. And none of his usual dreams involved weapons. Something is definitely off)

For the following days, Yusuf makes sure to stay away from human settlements while putting as much space as possible between Jerusalem and himself – the last thing he needs is to become a potential target for any invader that may cross his path.

But he’s alone, having nightmares, constantly on edge, and in a body that suddenly doesn’t feel like his own anymore, since he doesn’t even have the scars to prove that the injuries he sustained were real to begin with.

After a couple of weeks, the appearance of the strangers in his dreams starts feeling safe and comforting; they seem to operate like a little family, and God knows how much he misses his own.

(should he try to go back home? Would news of the siege reach his family before he does? Would he be able to go back to his previous life in the state he’s in? Could he keep this secret from them? Would they still love him or think him a monster?)

Despite their impressive warrior appearance, they feel... kind. And gentle. Sometimes, it feels like they’re trying to reassure him, even. Especially when he dreams from the perspective of the man.

The sensation those dreams leave on his skin is like a cape. You’re not alone, it whispers. Wait for us.

Andy, Quynh and Nico have just left Baghdad when the dreams change, and not for the better - Yusuf was passing through a village when a band of marauding Franks started harassing the locals. He moved to defend the villagers, but was overwhelmed and what’s worse, the Franks saw his wounds close too fast. Their reaction was vehement: they called him a demon, incapacitated him and then brought him back to their garrison, with every intention of ‘properly getting rid of him’.

Nico wakes up screaming and Andy has to sit on him so he doesn’t just sprint ahead without actually knowing where the fuck he’s going.

“We can’t just raid every single Frankish encampment in a twenty mile radius around Jerusalem, Nico!” “TRY ME” *Aggressive Sibling Bickering follows* *Quynh doesn’t bat an eye and just rolls out a map of the area she purchased and starts mapping out the fastest routes*

Yusuf is having a Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week at the hands of his captors, who are getting disturbingly creative in their tortures, but whenever they let him fall unconscious he sees the people of his dreams travelling much faster than before, looking Royally Pissed Off, and the surroundings are... starting to look familiar too? 

If he tries to pay more attention to the conversations his torturers are having with each other outside of the tent he’s in and hoping the dreams go both ways, so the maybe-real trio can find him easier, now that’s nobody’s business but his own.

(spoiler: it works)

When they are in sight of Jerusalem, the immortals find a drunk “pilgrim” boasting about his band capturing a ‘pagan demon’ while coming back from their victory at Ascalon, follow him back to his camp, and as soon as it’s feasible they attack.

(Andy will later gripe that Nico didn’t leave her anything to do because he just paved his way through the Franks like he was harvesting wheat.)

seeing the Stupidly Handsome Man of his dreams standing in front of him covered head to toe in blood, with a double-bladed axe in one hand and a sword in the other, staring intensely at him as if to peer directly into his soul is... an experience for Yusuf.

(he may have composed a lot of poems about that first vision of Nico through the centuries. The words ‘avenging angel’ have been used quite profusely, too)

The protective instinct that Nico has felt for the newest immortal since the first dream clutches at his throat when he finally sees him, chained to a pole and so thin his clothes barely cling to his body, but with the softest dark eyes staring back with a glint of recognition when he comes closer.

(he could cry with relief at the knowledge that he’s not scared of him. Nico has seen the faces of the men that were keeping him captive, he knows he looks a lot like they did, and that he paints a gruesome picture.)

“Are you alright?” Nico asks first, in Greek. (He knows, from the dreams, that his captors prayed in Latin. He wants to make sure that the other knows that he’s not like them.)

“You were in my dreams. You came.” Yusuf answers back in the same language, although his sounds much newer than Nico’s.

“Of course. We’re not meant to be alone… and no one deserves to be in a cage”.

Nico uses the axe to break the chains, and by the time he’s done Andy and Quynh have reached them and his sister throws the keys at him to open the shackles.

“Couldn’t take a moment to get them yourself, little eagle? You wanted to show off your skills to the new one?” Quynh teases, just to see Nico blush. Andy stares at her brother and their new companion for a few beats, before finally asking his name.

“Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad Al-Kaysani, known as al-Tayyib” he answers, letting out the first smile in weeks at the raising eyebrows of his saviours. “Just Yusuf is fine.”

“You have a sense of humour, brother. I like you!” Andy snorts, before cutting her palm with the edge of her axe, and showing him her fast healing.

“We are like you, Yusuf. That’s why you dreamt of us, and we of you” Nico adds gently, while Quynh offers her waterskin to Yusuf. They also offer their own names.

“We need to clean up this mess and move away from here” Andy says, while Nico helps Yusuf up. “One of those fuckers was boasting about an undying demon with others in a tavern, the last thing we need is to fight our way out against their whole army because someone else decided to come check if he was saying the truth.”

“It’s been a long time since we were in Kush” Quynh whispers, and Yusuf sees their faces open in a look of affectionate grief he remembers seeing on his Baba’s eyes when he talked about his own mother.

“We can talk about it more when we’re somewhere safer” Andromache suggests, before moving to set up the stage of an ‘accidental’ fire.

As they’re riding away, Yusuf turns slightly to watch the camp burn, leaving no trace of the invaders that hurt him. Jerusalem looms in the distance - lost, and wounded. If he were a little less exhausted, he could  easily work out a metaphor about his own situation.

But then he looks at the three people of his dreams – Quynh, Andromache, Nikolaos – that came for him. Who are the same as him, immortal.

His world has turned upside down, and there are so many questions to ask, and he could sleep for a month straight – but one thing is certain. 

He’s not alone anymore.

[wallgirl]

The Little Nereid Part 17

Record of Ragnarok fanfiction

Poseidon x OC

Word count: 1,800

Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate… and painful. Loving someone like Poseidon is not easy period, let alone as your first love. But Dynamene is young and naïve, and all she wants is a chance to be at the sea god’s side.

Categories and warnings: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending, slow-burn (ish); no sexual content. Graphic violence parts 15 and 16.

Updated regularly; will have about 20 parts total.

Warning for this chapter: references to injury and blood, largely at the end of the chapter. Avoid if squeamish.

—

Am I dead?

It was the first thought to arise as she woke out of a thick haze. Tiny motes of dust drifted before her, but when her eyes tried to focus on them, they seemingly disappeared. Had they been there at all?

She blinked rapidly to clear her vision. Before her was an endless expanse of black, completely impenetrable and all encompassing. She instinctively knew that it went on forever, despite not being able to see anything besides her own pale body. She felt some sort of tepid liquid beneath her feet - was it water? - but couldn't bring herself to look down past her shoulders. She remembered in horrific blurs what had happened to bring her to this place, and feared what she might see there.

But I don't feel any pain. Could it be...? Dynamene looked hesitantly down at herself.  Her white peplos stretched clean and untorn across her intact chest. She pressed her skin hesitantly, but felt no pain. It was as if the wound had never existed.

Now that she had gotten her bearings, she turned about in hopes of spotting something, anything, in the endlessness. Is this purgatory? Dynamene knew that when deities perished, so did their souls. Their consciousness ceased to exist along with their body. I think, therefore I am. I must not be dead. So what's going on? A neutral silence did nothing to sate her curiosity. Is this it?

Seconds ticked by with no change. A feeling of dread sunk in her chest. No, this can't be it. I still had so much I wanted to do.

I was such a fool.

She thought of her family, and her final argument with Ianeira. I'm sorry. I should have listened. She pursed her lips as she fought back tears. If this is the end, I apologize. I didn't mean to hurt you all. I wish I could change it. I wish I could see you again.

Then, suddenly, there was something bright that stood out against the void before her, a long, long ways away. It seemed to call to her in the distance with its brilliant white light. With nothing else to do and no answers to her questions, Dynamene ran toward it. Her feet splashed through the black water, droplets lit by the faint glow emanating from her being.

She stopped, breathless, after what might have been a few seconds or a few hours. The something had taken on the shape of a person, a bit taller than her, and with their back largely turned to her. Dynamene stepped forward cautiously, allowing their features to come into focus.

It was him, standing there before her in the black. His body emitted an eerie white glow, just like hers. She stood in bewilderment for several moments. She could only see the edge of his cheek with the way he was turned, no other part of his face. Dynamene was at a loss. "Why are you here?"

There was no answer. He didn't even move. Was he really there? Was it just a figment of her wounded body's imagination? She curled her fingers uncertainly as she considered reaching out to see if she was merely hallucinating.

Then his face tilted slightly towards her, making it clear he had heard her. Still, he refused to show himself to her entirely, and Dynamene's eyes widened. There was something in the bowed angle of his head...

Are you ashamed?

As if trying to dispel the notion, he finally stepped to face her completely. His colors looked washed out in the white glow, while the faint shadows traced the edges of his face. It seemed he was at last in a place every bit as fittingly ethereal as he was. But he continued to remain silent, and Dynamene's gaze shifted away in frustration.

"You're the one who brought me here. So why have you come now?" She couldn't veil the accusation in her voice. "I tried to tell you. But you didn't stop. You killed me."

Here in this endless vacuum of existence, Poseidon held no power over her. She was already on death's door, that much seemed certain. He couldn't harm her now. Dynamene was free to speak her mind completely. "Why didn't you believe me? Did you call me to your room just to kill me?" There was more bite to her tone now. "Was my love only a burden to you?" Her accusations echoed across the space.

His gaze finally flickered to meet hers. She felt no joy from it, only a strange sensation of tired defeat. Her shoulders slumped. "I suppose I'm going to disappear forever now, aren't I?" She twisted her peplos with guilty hands. "And I... I brought it on myself. I didn't listen to my family. I didn't see... I didn't understand. They'd warned me."

Nothing in his somber expression changed, but the shadows had deepened across his face. He took a single step closer to her, and she looked up at him with a miserable expression. Then he lifted one hand to clasp over hers, stilling her worried fidgeting. "I didn't mean to bring you here, Dynamene."

Her lower lip trembled, and she had to look away as he continued. "I thought you were a fake sent to replace the real you. I thought someone might've abducted you. I couldn't hear your heartbeat; your appearance had changed; I sensed strange magic about you."

So you didn't mean to hurt me, yet... "So your first response was to maim?" Dynamene pulled her hands away. "You would've lost the only chance to find me if your theory had been true."

"I-" Poseidon's words came to a stop mid-breath. It was the first time she'd ever heard him halt in the midst of a sentence. She turned her eyes back to him in confusion. He looked at war with himself; what was it that he'd meant to say? He took a moment to settle on a fitting response as his expression smoothed back out into stoicism. "I allowed my rage to get the better of me."

Her mouth nearly fell open. Poseidon was admitting fault. He had just, before a mere Nereid, confessed that his emotions had got the better of him.

Emotions spurred on by the thought that she might've been harmed.

She looked away as she absorbed this. The little motes of dust had returned, flickering gently in their light. They danced in little waves, fading in and out of sight. Poseidon had gone against the appearance he fought so hard to maintain for her. He cared about her. His heart had thawed at last, just as she'd wanted.

But there was no change within her heart except something bittersweet that ached. Her bleak expression remained as she looked up at him.

"Do you not forgive me?" He asked in a hushed voice. A vulnerability she didn't recognize had crept into his words.

Dynamene pursed her lips, thinking desperately about how to respond. Do I forgive you?

I... I think I do.

I do forgive you, but it doesn't change the way I feel right now.

That terror I experienced, that agonizing pain... You say you didn't mean to inflict it on me.

But how many countless others have you taken in the same way, with no regret? Your own brother, the Titans... People who have wronged you. People who would do you harm. And people who you perceived to have slighted you. Now I finally understand it all.

You did them the same harm, and you didn't feel anything.

"I forgive you," she whispered, but the words were meaningless. This wasn't about forgiveness. Something nameless had changed beneath the current.

He lifted his hand to gently smooth back her unruly bangs. His dark eyes drank in her face, even as she remained largely unaffected by his gesture. The girlish infatuation of before was completely extinguished. Now disappointment prevailed in her eyes.

But regardless, his feelings were unchanged. Now, for the very first time, they were truly alone. He finally admitted his desire for her to himself, even though he still didn't understand it. And as he leaned down closer to her, his eyes closed for the first time as he allowed himself to become immersed in his emotions.

And despite her disillusionment and sorrow, she loved him yet. A man of ice who had thawed only for her. Allowing him to enfold her in his embrace, her lips met his.

Two beings of light, entwined in the dark.

---

Dynamene gasped, a ragged, excruciating sound. Poseidon drew back in shock, staring down at her with sharp eyes. She coughed violently, wracking her thin body with the effort. Poseidon quickly lifted her shoulders to help clear her airway. Lifewater dripped from her lips, tainted red with his own blood. It was then that he understood what had happened. Before, when he had bit his lips in anger...

His blood was reviving her. Poseidon immediately bit his lip again and kissed her once more, pushing his blood into her. He forced several breaths of air into her, desperately willing her to keep breathing, before moving back to monitor the effect.

The flesh around her wounds had stopped disintegrating, though they were not healing. She gave another gasp for air, then fell silent.

He wasn't going to give up. He removed one glove and tore through the skin of his finger with his teeth. The gash began to drip blood, and he held it above her open mouth. As drop by drop ran down her throat, she began to move once more. He squeezed his hand, willing the blood to run faster, to hurry her revival.

After many agonizing seconds, Dynamene's eyelids twitched. Her bleary eyes opened slowly and focused on him. The sound of dripping lifewater stopped.

Poseidon exhaled. He rebandaged her chest, pulled her back into his arms, and stood. She was healing. She would live. Now to get out of this forsaken place and back to the palace. She would need more medical care as soon as possible.

Dynamene's eyes remained open, but she said nothing. Even if she had wanted to, her body wouldn't have been able. Her drowsy gaze didn't leave his face once. Something was ending now, but for however long as they had, she just wanted to drink him in. Poseidon... Her Poseidon. Just hours ago, this would have been a dream come true. Now, where had that exhilarated part of her gone? Had it remained behind in the blackness of that silent space? Had their conversation even taken place, or was it just a feverish dream?

What's changed?

No, I don't need to ask. I know.

Just let me enjoy this while it lasts. While I can still see you so close like this, and be in your arms, without any regrets.

She allowed her sore body to rest limply against his, and despite the speed at which he moved through the water to bring them home, her gaze never wavered.

---

We're going to the end now. I can't believe it. This is my longest fanfiction ever. I've gotten to know Dynamene so well. I don't think she'll leave my mind, even after the fic is finished.

I spent the most time on this chapter because I had a very specific mood for it in mind that required a lot of editing and re-writing. I let it sit for a few days before going back and putting more meat into the gaps. That's how I prefer to write - get the important stuff out first, and garnish with detail later.

There was this song by Kaskade that I thought about a lot with this chapter. It's called Borrowed Theme. Maybe I should've titled this chapter that, but that feels a little childish. The title kind of references a different song, anyway lol

[fandom--desires]

Over the City

Fandom: Destiny

Rating: K+ Character(s): Commander Zavala Word Count: 1,349

You needed space to breathe. To think.

The last few weeks have been an endless onslaught of Vex, Hive, Cabal and Taken. You have lost count of how many times your Ghost has had to heal broken bones and gaping wounds, bring you back from the brink of death and revive you. Your body aches from the pain and abuse of it all. The last encounter with Cabal that morning had broken seven ribs, punctured a lung and almost eviscerated you.

Now, as it nears midnight, you find solace in peace. There’s a small nook in one of the western stairwells that opens to a maintenance hatch on the side of the wall. The ledge is sheltered and provides a beautiful view of the Last City that you fight each day to defend. It was worth it, but the constant kill or be killed took its toll mentally. Many guardians that you knew had taken themselves off on solo trips to every corner of the solar system to try and recuperate. Some were gone a few weeks, others took years to find their peace of mind again.

You could probably do with a similar bought of soul searching, but you remained purely for selfish reasons: you couldn’t leave him. Zavala. Titan Vanguard and Commander.

Since the first day you had stepped into the Tower you had admired him. His voice could put you to sleep, his honour and kindness melted your heart, and his determination to always do the right thing inspired you. At some point during this long, second life, you had fallen head over heels in love with him.

You completed each strike, mission and bounty he sent you on, but the time away from him made your heart ache. You hardly saw him at the tower either, only to collect and turn in your tasks, public announcements and when he would occasionally wander the Tower. It was a foolish love, but love nonetheless, so you had committed to working through the internal blackness of the fight at the tower, so you could still hear his voice, see his face and willingly complete the tasks he asked of you.

“You know, at some point he’s either going to figure it out, or you’re going to snap.” Your Ghost mentioned, idly floating by your shoulder and as though guessing your train of thought.

“It’s been this long and he hasn’t.” A small smile plays at the corner of your mouth. Was that a good thing? Hard to know anymore. Maybe confessing your undying love to him and getting shut down would be better for everyone. You were sure some of the other guardians were starting to piece it together, and Ikora had been giving you a look recently. If Cayde found out it would be public knowledge in a week.

“We could disappear to Nessus for a few weeks.” Ghost insisted. “There’s still a large Vex population. Just a few weeks away, see if that clears your head.”

You hummed in partial agreement, swinging your legs over the concrete ledge of your perch. Maybe it was time for a break. You weren’t a teenager, you had a job to do. “You’re right. Nessus could be good.” You agreed eventually. “I can speak to Ikora in the morning. See if she can put the request forwards to Zavala. Can’t focus on this forever.”

“Can’t focus on what?”

The deep rumble of the Commander’s voice made you jump and you damn near slipped from your ledge. “Nothing!” you answer far too hastily, your head snapping to the left to see your unwelcome intruder. How did he get here? When did he get here? “Stuff. Evening.” You really hoped the Commander couldn’t see the blush racing across your face, burning your cheeks. He probably could. You could see every inch of his solid build, from shining boots to raised eyebrow.

“Good evening.” Zavala cocked a smile. “You probably shouldn’t dangle off the edge.” He nodded towards you and, almost instinctively, you shuffled back against the wall and drew your feet up to rest on the concrete. Zavala chuckled and manoeuvred down to sit next you, tucking one leg under the other and dangling one foot over the edge. “It’s a nice evening.”

“It is.” you agreed. Look away. You urged yourself, your eyes transfixed on the side of his face. Your heart was beating a thousand beats a minute. Why was he here? You had never been alone with him like this before.

“Now, what seems to be the problem?”

You stared at him, blinking and forgetting your voice. “Nothing.” You manage to choke out eventually, pulling your eyes off his profile and out over the city. “Nothing important.”

Out of the corner of your eye you see Zavala shift and turn to face you. The blush comes rushing back to your cheeks. “If it is worrying one of my most hardworking guardians, then it must be important.” He urged, almost gently.

“It’s nothing, really, just… thinking. Maybe I need a break? I don’t know. Ghost suggested maybe taking an extended order on Nessus. A few weeks. Nothing more. Maybe. I’m not sure. I like being here. In the Tower with everyone. With you.” Shit. “All! With everyone.” Double shit.

If Zavala picked up on your rambling mistake (he almost certainly couldn’t have missed it) he didn’t say anything. If you had been able to pluck up the courage to look at him, you would have seen a gentle smile playing out across his features.

“Sorry.” You shake your head. “I can’t imagine you’re here to listen to my problems. Are you here to give me an earful about being out here?”

“Not at all.” Zavala chuckled. “I’ve known about your secret for months.”

Secret? What secret? Did he mean the wall or-

“I just thought you might like some company. I can go?” the Commander offered, making to stand.

“No!” Too hasty. “Ah, it is nice to have the company. I thought I was slightly more discreet about my hide out, that’s all.”

“I can see it from my office.” Zavala smiled, turning his attention back towards the city. “I thought best to leave you be for now, but you seemed different after your strike today. I was concerned.”

“Thank you.” You said gently, letting your legs drop back down over the side. “I appreciate the company. Today was hard, but we do it for a reason. Being out here helps me remember why we fight.”

The two of you fell into gentle silence, watching the lights of the sprawling city far below. It was nice. Calming. The stress of the day was already falling away and the pain in your ribs hurt just a little less than before. Eventually, Zavala broke the silence.

“If you want to take an extended order, I will not deny your request.” He said gently, turning once more to look at you. “I shall miss you, but I will authorise it.”

“Miss me?” you couldn’t help but look at him. You mean to argue that there were other guardians just as dedicated, just as skilled, if not more so, but those bright blue eyes caught yours and you felt yourself getting lost in the way he looked at you. Really looked at you.

“Yes. I will miss you.” Zavala said, reaching out and taking your hand. His hand was warm against yours as he placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “But I can let you go if you need to. Just as long as you promise to come back.”

You nodded mutely, your hand still clasped in his. “Always.”

Zavala smiled and placed another kiss on your knuckles before dropping your hand into your lap. “I don’t know about you, but I need dinner. I think the noodle hut is still open. Dinner?”

A smile pulled at the corners of your mouth and you ducked your head to try and hide it. “Dinner.” You agreed, and allowed him to pull you to your feet.

Maybe just a quick strike on Nessus would suffice.

[oswinpond]

Even after the new film, which certainly popularized Amy/Laurie in a way I’ve never seen before, I keep hearing a lot of the same old arguments: “Laurie never stopped loving Jo”, “Laurie didn’t really love Amy”, “Amy was a second choice/consolation prize”, “Jo should’ve been with Laurie” etc. And a lot of these people claim this is book canon. As I’ve just reread the book, I’ve got a lot of thoughts on all of this... 

(Note: This is all purely based on book canon.)

In the book, after Amy harshly scolds Laurie, he decides to go back to London and work for his grandfather to better himself. At first, he thinks he’s doing it for two reasons: Amy despises him and that hurts him, but also the idea that if he does something “splendid” Jo may love him (or at least respect him, as Amy put it). 

So Laurie decides to write a requiem for Jo “which should harrow up Jo’s soul and melt the heart of every hearer”. But he can’t come up with anything because he keeps humming the dance music reminiscent of the Christmas ball in Nice which he spent devoting himself to Amy all evening. So then he tries to compose an opera with Jo as his heroine, but it doesn’t work. “He wanted Jo for his heroine, and called upon his memory to supply him with tender recollections and romantic visions of his love. But memory turned traitor; and, as if possessed by the perverse spirit of the girl, would only recall Jo’s oddities, faults, and freaks, would only show her in the most unsentimental aspects.” 

Jo no longer fits as his heroine, no matter how hard he tries. So he gives up on that, and his imagination promptly comes up with another heroine for him without even trying: 

“This phantom wore many faces, but it always had golden hair, was enveloped in a diaphanous cloud, and floated airily before his mind’s eye in a pleasing chaos of roses, peacocks, white ponies, and blue ribbons. He did not give the complacent wraith any name, but he took her for his heroine and grew quite fond of her, as well he might, for he gifted her with every gift and grace under the sun, and escorted her, unscathed, through trials which would have annihilated any mortal woman.”

While Laurie doesn’t realize it, the woman he’s imagining is Amy. Amy with the blue ribbons in her golden hair, who put roses in his buttonhole, who he watched feed the peacocks in Paris, and who he first saw again in a carriage drawn by ponies. It’s also a little prophetic, as he does escort the real Amy through future trials. (Bonus: at the same time, Amy spends her time sketching some faceless man who clearly resembles Laurie, but she doesn’t realize it either.)

Contrary to what some in the fandom would claim, Laurie isn’t at all forcing himself to love Amy just so that he can be part of the March family. He doesn’t even realize that she’s become the “heroine” in his story, that she’s the woman he’s fantasizing about. He thinks he’s doing this to improve himself for Jo, but it’s Amy that’s inspiring him. 

And then Laurie realizes that his feelings for Jo are disappearing:

“Laurie thought that the task of forgetting his love for Jo would absorb all his powers for years, but to his great surprise he discovered it grew easier every day. He refused to believe it at first, got angry with himself, and couldn’t understand it [...] Laurie’s heart wouldn’t ache; the wound persisted in healing with a rapidity that astonished him, and instead of trying to forget, he found himself trying to remember. He had not foreseen this turn of affairs, and was not prepared for it. He was disgusted with himself, surprised at his own fickleness, and full of a queer mixture of disappointment and relief that he could recover from such a tremendous blow so soon. He carefully stirred up the embers of his lost love, but they refused to burn into a blaze: there was only a comfortable glow that warmed and did him good without putting him into a fever, and he was reluctantly obliged to confess that the boyish passion was slowly subsiding into a more tranquil sentiment, very tender, a little sad and resentful still, but that was sure to pass away in time, leaving a brotherly affection which would last unbroken to the end.”

This passage alone pretty much puts to rest the idea that Laurie never got over Jo. He actually got over her so easily and quickly that he felt disgusted with himself, thinking this made him fickle. His romantic feelings are gone, and soon will leave only a “brotherly affection” when the last of the hurt is gone as well. Maybe he got over her so easily because he simply mistook his strong bond with her for romance, or maybe it was just a rash and immature first love that was never going to last long anyways, or whatever else... point being, he got over her.

And Laurie was actually trying, and failing, to rekindle any love for Jo (unlike his unconscious growing feelings for Amy, which he wasn’t pushing for at all). As a last ditch attempt to revive that love, he writes to Jo asking if she was sure about her refusal, and when she responds that she absolutely could never love him that way, he accepts it without sadness or complaint this time. He’s already over her, so there’s nothing to be heartbroken over. That was his closure. He takes off the ring she gave him and locks it away with her letters, and that’s that. 

And that’s when he’s ready to open his heart to Amy. He starts corresponding with her so often their letters are flying back and forth constantly. He wants to go back to her, but he doesn’t want to until she asks; she finally does after she hears about Beth’s passing, and Laurie immediately drops everything to go to her “with a heart full of joy and sorrow, hope and suspense” (and this is after he knows she’s turned down Fred, so we know what he’s hoping for now). Amy is his first priority after Beth dies, even though Beth was dearest to Jo. Laurie meets Amy in Switzerland and, without saying anything, they both know their relationship has changed. 

They spend weeks doing everything together and spend all their time out at the lake. Despite the sad tidings, they wind up being their happiest together in Vevey. They both know that they’re in love with each other without even having to say it (they really seem to develop an unspoken communication at this point). And while Laurie knows that she’ll say “yes” to his proposal, he’s still nervous so he puts it off to enjoy his time with Amy in Switzerland. He imagines proposing to her in the chateau garden at moonlight, but instead blurts it out while they’re on a lake in the middle of the day:

Feeling that she had not mended matters much, Amy took the offered third of a seat, shook her hair over her face, and accepted an oar. She rowed as well as she did many other things; and, though she used both hands, and Laurie but one, the oars kept time, and the boat went smoothly through the water. “How well we pull together, don’t we?” said Amy, who objected to silence just then. “So well that I wish we might always pull in the same boat. Will you, Amy?” very tenderly. “Yes, Laurie,” very low. Then they both stopped rowing, and unconsciously added a pretty little tableau of human love and happiness to the dissolving views reflected in the lake.

And there’s so much to say about this little scene. While he had to beg and argue with Jo just to finally accept her firm “no”, he just has to ask a simple question with Amy and he gets his simple answer because they’re on the same page. The rather blunt metaphor of rowing well together, even when he uses one hand and she uses two, is all about how despite their differences they work. They keep time. And it calls back to Jo’s talk with Marmee where they both agree that Jo and Laurie never would’ve worked, in part because their similarities would clash horribly in a romantic relationship (but mainly because , y’know, Jo never once felt a single shred of romantic love for Laurie). 

Now, I can understand where people come from thinking Laurie was “replacing” Jo with Amy with lines like "Laurie decided that Amy was the only woman in the world who could fill Jo’s place and make him happy”. I get how this can be interpreted as Amy filling in for what was meant to be Jo’s place in his heart. But it makes a lot more sense in the context of Laurie’s speech to Jo towards the end when he explains his feelings:

“I never shall stop loving you; but the love is altered, and I have learned to see that it is better as it is. Amy and you changed places in my heart, that’s all. I think it was meant to be so, and would have come about naturally, if I had waited, as you tried to make me; but I never could be patient, and so I got a heartache. I was a boy then, headstrong and violent; and it took a hard lesson to show me my mistake. For it was one, Jo, as you said, and I found it out, after making a fool of myself. Upon my word, I was so tumbled up in my mind, at one time, that I didn’t know which I loved best, you or Amy, and tried to love you both alike; but I couldn’t. And when I saw her in Switzerland, everything seemed to clear up all at once. You both got into your right places.”

Laurie didn’t settle for Amy. Amy took Jo’s place in the sense that they swapped places in how he saw them, from romantic to platonic for Jo and vice versa for Amy. And those wound up being their “right” places. He believes he was always meant to fall in love with Amy and see Jo as his sister, and that he would’ve gotten to this point naturally even if things had played out differently.

I’ll admit I wasn’t a fan of how the 2019 film portrayed Jo in this situation, because in the book she was absolutely thrilled for Laurie and Amy, and is happily surprised when Marmee tells her she’d been hoping for them to fall in love. But in the film, they take her sadness over her loneliness too far IMO, and make it seem like she was actually bitter over Amy and Laurie being together, which unfortunately fuelled the “Amy stole Laurie from Jo” crowd a bit. And after her conversation with Marmee where she admits that she only wants Laurie because she longs to be loved, and Marmee points that “that isn’t the same as loving”, this makes movie!Jo seem “silly and selfish” as book!Jo puts it (because in the book, that was only a “what if” she entertained and never wrote any letter). 

Anyways, to conclude on all of this, when Amy and Laurie are married at and home, we get the thoughts of other characters on their relationship, and the unanimous opinion is that they’re completely in love and happy with each other. Jo herself insists that their happiness will for sure last, and notes how proud Laurie seems to be to call Amy his wife. Laurie, meanwhile, can’t stop talking about Amy through to the end (and Amy is clearly just as smitten). I dare you to read the last half of Part 2 and not find Amy and Laurie adorable together. 

And to hammer that last nail in the coffin on Jo/Laurie as a romance, we get Laurie meeting Professor Bhaer. It’s specifically noted that while Laurie is suspicious of Bhaer and notices his interest in Jo, it was “not of jealousy” but a “brotherly circumspection”. Amy even asks him if he’s at all jealous and Laurie tells her “I assure you I can dance at Jo’s wedding with a heart as light as my heels. Do you doubt it, my darling?” and it says that Amy’s “last little jealous fear vanished forever”. Laurie actually winds up happily supporting Bhaer once he sees he’s a great guy for his sister Jo, and suggests to Amy that they should try to help them out as a couple.

So no, Jo never loved Laurie romantically, Laurie absolutely did get over Jo, Laurie and Amy are so happy together it’s almost obnoxious, Jo is pro-Amy/Laurie and Laurie is pro-Jo/Bhaer, and Amy wasn’t a second choice, she was Laurie’s “meant to be” by his own words.

[mariamfaysall]

Dont turn around

a dead body fell to the ground

a painless kill with no sound

it was meant to never be found

a mercy is upon you

shall this love be butchered like i do ?

a silent scream could be heard from their dream

a gentle touch gliding like a cream

soft to the touch fire to the bones

an echo ringing through the throne

" the queen of the doomed

they are asking for my name

is it my turn to put it all down to flame? "

i run again and escape you

feel the heat of the flames rising

like a hell let loose

all the demons are here and following me

i can't defeat them nor they can kill me

the traces of your touch on my skin

is what keeps me

the light of yours is heavenly

you slice my heart with your eyes razor sharp

they cut deep as i weep

my soul is aching and breaking

a lonely child cries are heard from afar

realization strike with no mercy upon this heart as it believed they're not the only star

in someone else's sky

have you lost yourself to heal ?

doing anything just to feel

i hurt myself thousand times just to revive the dead , with words left unsaid

i'll never be free from desolation and despair

silence is what i learned

as i watch you slip away and my hands are too tired to beg you to stay

i don't wanna live in a world that is tainted

and is painted with colors just to decieve. -M.F

[thirtysomethingloser92]

If The World Was Ending

Pairing: Daniel Sousa x Reader

Warnings: Angst, small smut scene, mentions of torture. “Daniel Sousa can’t lose someone else he cares about”

Daniel Sousa sat by the light pod, his own body covered in bruises and scrapes. His arms folded over his dark blue dress shirt that now carried a stain of your blood on it. A bloody liaison across his head, a purple bruise forming across his lower jaw. He was in pain, yet his eyes never left the steady rise and fall of your chest, because as long as that was happening, you were alive. You were safe and breathing.   He had been so close to losing you he realised, he had been so close to standing at your grave rather than sitting next to you in the light pod. The panic he felt in his heart when he watched you laying on the table, your eyes barely open and you barely conscious from the painful injections you were given earlier, the doctor picked up the scalpel and held it tauntingly over your chest; (“I just want to see what makes an inhuman tick,” Those words would never be erased from his brain, no matter how much he tried to will them away) was something he never thought he could feel, he was positive that it was strong enough that you could feel it even as you hit the ground. He emptied his own gun into the perpetrator, but it still didn’t feel like it was enough. It was barely enough that he was pleading for you, begging for you, to stay with him. That he pulled your almost lifeless body into his lap, brushed your hair from your face, and began talking to you. Him whispering what a pain in his ass that you were to him, he told you stories about the war, stories that he probably wouldn’t have told you any other time. Except now you were dying, evacuation was still a bit out, and he was terrified that someone he had come to care about so deeply would die in his arms. He smiled as Jemma came and checked on your stats, telling him that you were stable, and your wounds were healing. He smiled a little less when Daisy came in and stood by his side, telling him stories about The Battle of New York; she showed him videos on her tablet of you running around and fighting aliens. She tried to remind him that you were strong, and it would take a lot more then a crazed Hydra agent to kill you. He didn’t even bother smiling when Coulson came in, leaning against the wall and staring at the scene in front of him. “She’s a good person.” He began, watching you with soft eyes, “Her powers don’t define her. Despite what Ross says,” He continued staring, “I don’t know how much she’s told you about her past, but when I found her, she was on SHIELD’s radar. She can manipulate people’s emotions, she can read them; like a human lie detector,” Coulson shrugged, “As a result, the higher ups thought that she would be able to weed out spies, use her powers as a type of interrogation technique,” Daniel’s eyes barely left your body, but his eyes showed the sadness in them, “They wanted her for their own purpose,” Coulson nodded, “So I took her under my wing, trained her up, made her see that she was more than what they wanted her to be. She was so determined to prove her worth,” He gave a sigh, “Still to this day I think she’s trying to prove something to me. She doesn’t need to worry I trust her fully and completely. She has nothing to prove,” Daniel nodded, “She’s a good person. I’ve noticed that she seems more lighter since you’ve taken that bracelet off. More carefree,” Coulson nodded in agreement, “Ross wanted her contained for her original purpose, to help him interrogate those in the Sandbox and the Raft. The ultimatum was either wear the bracelet which would bind her powers until she agreed to work with him or work for him then and there and well, you know what she chose,” He looked down at Daniel who still looked worried at the woman in the pod, “She’s going to be okay. She’s dealt with blows like this before and she’s made it out,” “She stopped breathing,” Daniel swallowed deeply, “I was talking to her, and she just stopped. I tried-“ He swallowed the lump in his throat, “I tried to keep talking to her, I tried to revive her and I thought for a minute that she,” He shook away the tears that were welling in his eyes. Coulson continued to stare at Daniel, “You care about her deeply,” It was a statement rather than a question as he could see it on the other man’s face, the desperation, the need to have her eyes open, to see her smile again. He remembered those feelings with May, like a physical ache in his chest. Daniel stayed silent, neither confirming nor denying Phil’s statement. Instead his eyes just focused on the pod in front of him. “Did you want us to take you home?” Phil asked quietly, seemingly already knowing the answer, but asking it anyway. A small sigh escaped Daniel’s lips as he leaned back in the chair, making himself more comfortable as his eyes never left the chamber, “I’m right where I need to be,”

  You were so tired, every bone in your body ached in a way you never knew before, but you couldn’t focus on that as you stormed into your apartment; the sound of the familiar limping following quickly behind you. Your lips were cracked and split, ribs broken. You know that the man behind you didn’t fair any better, but you were so wound up in your head that you could barely comprehend the pain you should have been feeling at that moment. “Would you say something already? Get it out?” Daniel called out to you as you went to walk straight into your bedroom. Every part of your mind said to ignore him, to walk away and deal with everything in the morning when you weren’t so tired, and your body wasn’t screaming for relief. Your mouth, however, opened before your mind could even catch up to what it was doing. Walking away wasn’t your strong suit. “You screwed this whole operation up!” You stalked forward like a lion stalking it’s prey, “You were told to stay back, I had this whole thing handled,” Your chest was heaving and you could see his brown eyes watching your every move, making you abnormally hyperaware of every movement. His face was blank and that was what angered you even more; “I couldn’t leave you in there at the hands of Hydra. With what they were doing to you,” He said calmly. You scoffed and shook your head, placing your hands on your hips, “I had back up in the form of Daisy, of May, and Mack and Yo-Yo and Deke; we’re trained for this!” “What? Trained to be tortured the way you were?” “I’m a superhero Sousa,” You didn’t miss the slight flinch at the mention of his last name, “I’m an Avenger. This is what we do. We save the world whether we survive it or not,” The crack in his mask finally broke as he looked at you incredulously, “I knew a woman like you. She wasn’t a superhero, she didn’t have powers, but she was strong, and stubborn, and never knew when to ask for help,” You think you finally understood the out of time man as you shook your head and bit the inside of your cheek. You didn’t think that you were that bad, you always asked for help if you needed it- at least you think you did. “I get it, I do. You fell in love with someone back in 1955, and we took you away from that, your heart is broken. And I’m sorry that you were pulled out of your own time and you never got a proper chance with Peggy, I really am-“ During this speech, Daniel had turned around to face the front door, he looked as if he was taking a few calming breaths. You had never really seen Daniel get mad before, not in the few months you had known him. You had seen him argue back if he thought something was wrong or unjust, but you never had to watch him physically turn away and calm himself down. Daniel spun around quickly to face you, “See, I don’t think you do get it. Because if you did get it, we wouldn’t even be in this mess. You’re a superhero, like you keep calling yourself, but you have this habit of letting things get worse thinking that you have it under control and ultimately you end up paying the price when it goes south. It’s like you get a thrill from the danger” “You want me to apologise for that?” “No. I want you to ask for help when you need it! I want you to trust me enough to ask for help! You almost died out there,” He argued back, stepping closer to you, his brown orbs searing through your soul. You shook your head and threw your hands out, “Don’t even try to pin this on me, you heard the name Peggy Carter and you flipped. I had everything under control, and then you came barging in like John Wayne and nearly got us both killed,” “You don’t think I don’t realise that I screwed up?” He stepped closer to you, “But you’re wrong,” You tiled your head to one side, “No I’m not. You let your emotions get the better of you. You need to learn to let go of her. You can’t do that every time someone mentions her name,” “I didn’t do it because of her. I did it because I saw what he had already done to you and what he was about to do to you,” Daniel moved even closer, “You’re everything to me. If something happened to you, I couldn’t deal with that,” “Do you want to go home Daniel?” You whispered as he moved even closer again, his hand moving to ghost over your face. He shook his head, “Not anymore,”

  The kiss was burning, almost searing into your skin. His hands on either side of your hips as he tried to pull you closer. His tongue traced your lips,  hands slowly moving from your hips and touched your face, his fingertips moving across your soft skin a centimetre a second, barely touching your flesh as if you were something breakable, something precious, across your cheeks and behind your ears, moving down to your jaw and neck, across your neck under your jaw. You couldn’t help but to move your head back to allow him access to your neck as a breathy moan escaped from your lips. You felt the hungry opened mouth kisses, the scraping of his teeth against your sensitive skin as a louder moan escaped from your mouth.

You felt as he moved down, his lips on your chest, down the slopes of your breasts, his fingertips leading the way, brushing lightly around your breast, moving slowly, a centimetre a second. His lips found a nipple and gently closed on it, lifting it, before allowing it to drop back. His mouth continued to pepper your body, his hands reaching around your back and pulling you closer to him as he lowered himself to his knees.

His fingers moved down the outside of your legs, Goosebumps rising from your skin as his fingertips lightly traced your skin, around behind you knees before moving back up your thighs and to your buttocks. You almost collapsed on top of him from the feeling of his gentle lips and soft touches. You could feel the wetness in your underwear as he kissed your inner thigh.

You watched as he stood up, you giving him a slight hand, his fingers moving to his shirt buttons, one by one they were undone, revealing his chest to you. He slipped the shirt from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor.

Biting your bottom lip, your mouth suddenly went dry at the site in front of you. Of course, you had seen him in his white singlets, many times in fact, but nothing could have prepared you for the sight in front of you.

You reached for his belt, but he took your hand away.

His eyes never left yours as you cautiously reached out and touched him, his hands painfully slowly undoing his belt and kicking his pants off out of the way near the door.

He turned you around, so you fell easily on to the bed, his eyes watching your now bare body with almost animalistic glee. You watched as he removed his false leg and placed it by the end of the bed. You knew that by him doing that meant that he trusted you implacably. He wanted you to see all of him, and you realised in that moment that you think you were completely in love with the Agent out of time.

He stooped over you, and kissed you in the same, only just touching way, that he had done before. Soft almost imperceptible moans emerged from between your lips, your hips moved with a rhythm unguided by your mind.

"That feels so good." You heard yourself whisper as a finger slid between your wet folds soft and delicately.

His finger moved to your entrance. Your legs parted to allow him free access, but instead he chose to concentrate teasing it just a bit longer without venturing inside.

His finger entered you slowly until it was fully inside. Your hips rose as you arched your back to force him deeper

“Please,” You whispered, noticing the small smirk on Daniel’s face. As if he knew exactly the type of emotions that you were feeling.

He leaned forward, his lips once again brushing against yours, as his hand moved between the both of you to guide himself into your entrance. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as he rested his forehead against your own, his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of you contracting around him.

He began to move inside you, slow and steady at first, before his movements became harder, more exquisite. You continued to meet his pace as your skin started slapping together. Your hands moved up to his shoulders, nails digging in as a loud moan escaped his lips. He reached down once again and kissed you, this time so much harder than his previous times, this time was needy, desperate. As if he needed the comfort.

A large wave of emotion overcame your body, heightening the experience. The feeling of adoration, the feeling of feeling wanted and equally needed.

The feeling of love.

You wondered whether that came from you or Daniel, either way it made you climax harder than what you ever really had before. He must have felt it too, because as he pumped himself inside you his forehead came to rest upon yours, his chest heaving and his hands brushing your hair off his cheeks as he peppered your lips with kisses.

You don’t remember when he rolled over or when he wrapped his arms around you, but that night, you fell asleep feeling safe, secure and satisfied.

The days events had floated away in your mind as he pulled you closer to him, leaving no space between you.

“I can’t lose someone else I love,” He whispered, his breath brushing across your back, leaving goose bumps in it’s path.

You felt him press a small kiss into your shoulder as his thumb traced your hip bone and you closed your eyes, a smile gracing your face.

[thatscalledtoughlove]

decay

I can’t quite remember when it started, because it feels like all my life it’s been there.

It comes slowly at first, eating away at the edges, pulling away pieces so small I don’t notice until it grows bold, and tears chunks away, feasting on what little light remains until there’s a gaping wound impossible to ignore.

Decay.

That is the only word that matches this feeling. The wounds fester, they poison me from the inside out, and I want to claw the ache away, but I know that I can’t. I’ve tried before. I’ve tried to bury the sadness, the guilt, the shame, the disgust. It always comes back.

And I wish I could tell people how it feels like I’m dying from the inside out, and yet I know that if I did, they wouldn’t really care. Sure, they say they do. They always offer the same “I’m here for you” line, perhaps hoping that will be enough, that the mere thought of someone caring will magically cure me, will make everything better.

But covering up the decay with perfume doesn’t mask the rot forever.

I used to think I was put on this planet for a reason. I used to believe that I could make a difference in the world and save it one word at a time but now I know that it was a fool’s dream, that I am not the good person I tried to make myself believe I was and am instead full of rage and spite that coats my tongue and throat until I start to choke on it.

No one can know the darkness inside. No one can know that what they see is a ghost, a long-faded apparition of the person I once was. Of the person I will never become. No one can know that the everlasting nothingness beckons me forward every single day.

Decay.

I am sometimes sickly-sweet because I rot from the inside out. It would be too kind to call myself broken because that’s not what I am. I am death. I am a walking corpse that still clings to life, grasping at the few moments when I can remember what it felt like to be alive, to believe that my destiny did not lie at the bottom of a river.

Most people leave when I drop the mask and confess that it’s hard to keep moving. And I don’t blame them. If I were in their shoes, I wouldn’t want to be that close to death either. To be in the presence of a vampire, sucking all the good in the world away. It’s funny that I once thought I was a light, that I just now realized I am the darkness that envelopes everything.

How silly of me to think I would make it out of this alive. For a while, I thought that maybe fate would be kind and that I could heal, but now I know that you can’t finish a puzzle that has always been missing a piece.

I should be used to it by now. I should accept that I will continue to decay for as long as I live. And yet I foolishly hope that someday I will be resurrected. As if writing meaningless words will revive this withered soul. As if simply hoping to feel loved for the first time in forever will change this emptiness inside.

But we cannot bring the dead back to life, no matter how much we might wish we could. Miracles do not happen.

And so, I can only do one thing.

Decay.

[rufousnmacska]

Submersion

Back in 2018, I wrote a short nessian scene set right before the teaser at the end of acofas - Awakening (trigger warning - self harm, depression). Recently, it showed up in my notes. Then today we got the announcement of the title and release date for the nessian book. I went searching through my drafts and found the companion Cassian pov that I’d written for the scene. It’s been sitting there for two years. 😔

So, in anticipation of A Court of Silver Flames, and for the revived nessian fandom, I’m posting it here. I recommend reading Awakening first.

***Trigger warning - self harm, depression

Cassian had nowhere to go.

The townhouse had been taken over by Mor when Rhys and Feyre moved into the River House. The House of Wind was often overflowing due to the audiences now held each week. Velaris was a bustling city with no place for him to escape prying eyes.

He longed for the mountains, the crisp air, towering evergreens, the entire landscape sure to be frosted over with the change of season. The solitude, the lack of concerned stares and quiet pity … He so desperately wanted to fly home. But he couldn’t.

She was here. And despite everything, he couldn’t leave her. Wouldn’t leave her. No matter how much he wanted to go, no matter how hard she pushed everyone away, he knew Nesta needed help. He just didn’t know how to give it.

A group of children, some high fae, some not, ran past him as he trudged onto a small bridge over the river. The giggles and gentle taunts to continue their race home made him smile. But it was short lived. The scene stood in stark relief to anything he’d see in Illyria, where outsiders were shunned, and the boys and girls rarely played together.

Following in the wake of their joy did nothing to improve his listless steps across the bridge. His mood had been declining for some time and he wondered how much of it was due to Nesta, and how much was due to the problems at the camps. The ever growing discord among the war bands added to his itch to return to the mountains. Cassian found a secluded spot on the bank and sat down heavily, propping himself on bent knees.

It was late afternoon and he wondered where Nesta would be spending her night. How much longer could she continue like this?

How much longer can I, he thought bleakly, only to quickly chastise himself for wallowing. He’d been through worse, succumbed to his own demons and fought them off. How similar those demons were to Nesta’s, he could only speculate. But something told him they were. At least, closer than she could imagine.

How could he convince her that he understood? She wouldn’t speak to him, let alone allow him to speak to her.

Cassian cursed and stood up. Enough. Nesta was beyond him. He was going to fly home before nightfall. With a ferocious flap of his wings, he shot into the air.

Of course his route over Velaris took him directly above her apartment building. Cassian cringed at the shabby appearance. Even from the air, it looked dirty and ill-kept. While he respected Nesta’s desire for independence, admired it even, he couldn’t see the place as anything more than a sign of a troubled soul. As a human, Nesta had been impeccable, never a hair out of place. Being made into a high fae had not changed that. Despite being forced to live as her worst nightmare, she’d maintained that air of propriety, that harsh need for control.

All of that was gone now.

He found himself circling above the building, like some pathetic-

Out of nowhere a sharp pain flared inside him, jerking him from the air. Cassian landed on her roof and spun around, looking for the source of the attack.

But no. He slowly realized no one had shot him. This was Velaris. Its shields were intact, nothing was amiss.

The pain struck again and this time, some basic understanding flickered in the core of his chest. He ignored it, taking to the air and flying down to the street. Within seconds he was at her door, pounding his fist against it.

“Nesta?”

He heard a muffled curse and something clang onto a tile floor.

After a too long silence, he called out, “I know you’re here. I heard you swear.” He was struggling to keep the fear from his voice, trying to force levity into it to hide the shaking.

Cassian continued pounding on the door until he heard the locks begin to turn. His racing heart eased, thanking the mother that he was being let in. He didn’t mean to burst through the entry and when he saw Nesta forced backwards, he lunged to catch her.

But she steadied herself and immediately seemed to catch fire. As she berated him, Cassian glanced down at her arm. The pale skin was marred only by a fading pink arc. Searching her bare skin for signs of other wounds, he realized he’d find none. Her fae nature meant something small like a cut would heal rapidly.

Small, he thought, his insides turning to lead, threatening to pull him through the floor. A small cut. How many others had there been?

His eyes moved slowly to her bathing room, where a nasty looking knife lay on the floor. In a small pool of blood.

It had just happened. Is that why he’d been drawn here?

A small cut. A small pool of blood.

How long before small becomes big?

The thought rang in his ears louder than Nesta’s yelling. His body numb, he barely registered the impact when she shoved him against the door. For a split second, he saw pure terror wash across her face. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared and before he could speak, she’d turned and left him alone. The slam of her bedroom door vibrated through him.

Cassian blinked as if waking from a stupor, the feeling coursing back through every nerve of his body. He thought he might be sick.

That leaden weight within him longed to pull him down and away and ignore it, ignore her, give her space, leave her venomous tongue for some other fool...

Fly home and forget.

She would never ask, never say the word ‘help’.

But the knife, this filthy apartment, the drinking, the males...

It was all part of a scream that they had not heard. Or worse, ignored.

Fly home and forget.

Fly home…

He had to do something. He’d failed her so many times.

With an ache in his heart, he knew if he failed her here and now, it would be the last time. She was destroying herself and was so very close to succeeding.

Cassian strode into the bathing room and grabbed the knife. He made no sound as he left but his mind was roaring. Planning, turning over options, scenarios, phrasing that might compel her.

Unable to bear touching it for long, he threw the knife away as soon as he could, then flew to the River House. He would need Feyre for this, maybe Elain, possibly Amren. It would be difficult, and she’d fight them every step of the way, but he needed to get her out of here. Away from Velaris, away from their judging eyes and the dark vices in which she was trying to drown herself.

The moment Cassian decided to take Nesta with him to Illyria, his siphons had blazed, the lead weight constricting his heart had melted.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door to the study and found Feyre reading.

“I need your help.” His voice gave him away. Hell, his face must have too.

She sat up, eyes wide. “Nesta? What happened?”

“Nothing yet. But…” Cassian paused, thinking for the first time how this plan might seem ridiculous. “I want to get her out of here. Take her to the mountains. I think…” He paused, closing his eyes. “If I can get her away from all this, it might help.”

He didn’t elaborate on what he meant, letting Feyre think whatever she wanted. She was his friend and high lady. He loved her like a sister. But despite the cruel words and disdain Nesta used to build her defenses, they’d all failed her. They’d all left her alone to fester in her grief and misery. He was ashamed to admit it, but it had been easier than trying to wrestle with a hellcat in pain.

“What do you need me to do?” Feyre was standing in front of him, eyes full of worry. But also, trust.

“I need you to kick her out of Velaris.”

*****

Thanks for reading!

My fanfic master list (includes links to ao3)

[rubiesintherough]

amara drabble part 2....  part 1  here     horror tw, death tw

         “ I have made deals with you, yes. “    Words soft, but confident, promising of a power behind the glint in the witch’s eye.  The being let out a laugh at that, throaty, regaining the boldness of before and veering closer until Amara spoke, again,    “ And with others. “   

Crimson glowed bright behind dark gaze, tendrils of red light snaking from pale fingers and slithering toward the being, piercing into its voided flesh with the sound of skin sheared violently apart.  And the thing screamed.       ‘ Y o u --- !   Y o u   c a n n o t --- ‘ 

      “ Did you think I would forget how you swore you would make me suffer?  Do you think me so foolish to have not sought out another being to ensure I kept my power here, within your little prison?  -------- I only had to be sure it was you before I struck. “          The walls shook with every screech the thing gave, waves of blood lapping higher, almost to the necromancer’s waist.  The trapped souls were louder than before, shaking the doors of their drawers, a cacophony of cries.  And Amara’s hand rose toward those nearest.     “ And you have made another mistake. “     The creature, still squirming like a stuck fish, gave one, desperate grab for her arm, its wriggling mass taking the briefest shape of a claw.  But it was too late.   With a jerk of her fingers, the wall shattered inward. Between the dust and falling rock, other figures took slow shape... skeletal, clawing to freedom from their tiny confines with bony hands, mouths agape as though trying to draw a deep breath of air into their empty ribcages.      “ Did you think I would fear the dead and the damned?   I COMMAND them.   ------ And I am not the one who entrapped them here. “     It was with this that all vacant sockets turned toward the being. And then, there came the thunderous rattling of bones jolting forward and swashing into the sea of red, reaching, reaching for the being.   

             “ You will guide me out... or I will help them to rip you apart. “    It was a cold order, punctuated by the retreat of those tendrils from the creature’s abyssal flesh. It was only for an instant for the thing to turn and flee. Amara did not allow it to get far. She sprinted after it, fighting to find her footing in the fluid, the floor beneath the surface slippery. And her hand rose, once again.  With a strangled howl, the being met the wall with a sickening squelch. Once more. Twice more. Between each few feet it managed to flee, it was bashed into stone, mercilessly.    “ You will guide me out! You will return my spirit to my body! “  

A hissed snarl was the only verbal answer Amara received. But, the walls began to crumble, the faint glow of light peering its way in between growing cracks. Illusion breaking, hallway falling away into a sea of sunlight above her, below her, the being shrinking smaller, smaller ahead of her until... 

The first breath was painful.  Like glass in her lungs, it burned, it ached, chest fighting to rise, to fall, to rise again. Veins stung.   Life returning to her prone form, soul forcing its way back into the shell as it healed.  Shaking hands rose slowly, her blinking gaze straining to focus... as the glow faded entirely from fingertips.   

                “  W e l c o m e    b a c k . “    A  deep voice, far deeper than the last had been. The necromancer’s head tilted upwards, finding another being hovering above her, leaning its way over her face with its dark lips pulled back in a sneering grin.    “ I  have   revived   you.   As  per   our   agreement...   fulfil   your   end ,  death   witch.  You   will    not    find    my   deal   so   easily   broken   as   the   last. “    

As the new creature vanished in a plume of dark smoke, Amara’s head dipped back to find the ground.  And a laugh formed in her throat, first, rising up through her mouth with the taste of dirt and decay...    Well, that sounded like quite the challenge to her. 

[elisende]

Songs in the Night (3/?)

Characters: Halsin/OMC, Astarion, Wyll, Gale

Rating: M

Words: 1627

Summary:  Halsin and Langoth fight for their lives--and souls--on the fugue plane while in the Underdark Gale struggles to complete the ritual to bring them back to life.

They had only to persevere long enough for revival. To clasp hands at the precise moment the last words were spoken on the material plane.

But in the shadow of the dragon’s enormous form, blasted by the heat that radiated from its black sides as though from a blazing furnace, that seemed nigh impossible.

“Behind me,” Halsin said to the ranger, grimacing against the dragon’s roar. Instead, Langoth stood beside him, drawing his bow. Although his longsword and dagger had not survived the fatal journey between planes, his ironwood bow was imbued with deep magic and a brother’s love and had traveled with the soul of its owner to this purgatory. Seeing it in his hands gave him heart.

Langoth loosed an arrow at the ancient styx dragon’s neck; it merely plinked off its armored scales.

The dragon seemed to chuckle, exhaling plumes of flame with its laughter. Your spirits will make a meager meal but there is rich entertainment in watching you struggle, at least, said the dragon. It raised one clawed foot, blotting out the grey sky and Halsin dove, a line of white hot fire screaming across the back of his leg where the dragon’s spur caught his flesh. He yelled as its poison sank into muscle--his soul, in fact, for in this plane, body and soul were one.

The pain was vivid. Halsin opened himself to it, allowed it to sharpen his focus and turned back to the dragon. There was no weakness he could perceive, no gap in the undulant ranks of its black scales. But every dragon was tender around the muzzle and this one had foolishly lowered his, the better to watch him suffer. Halsin screamed again for effect, clutching his leg and the dragon sank even lower, its face in striking range. Marshaling all of his strength, Halsin drew the club from his back and threw it like a javelin into the dragon’s nose. It struck true, showering him a waterfall of hot, black blood, like tar.

The creature’s tortured shriek was terrible as it echoed across their minds. Halsin staggered over to Langoth, both his wound and his head on fire.

“When the time comes--whatever else should happen,” Halsin said, “You must take my hand.”

Before Langoth could reply, the dragon was upon them again. It was no longer toying with them: now it was out for blood. Only luck saved Halsin from being cut in two as he dove away--this time the dragon’s claws sliced through empty air.

How much longer? Langoth asked. He wove and tumbled around the dragon’s legs, avoiding its swiping claws with limber grace that might be a dance but for the raging dragon above them.

The monster busy with Langoth, Halsin ignored the throbbing pain in his leg and closed his eyes for a moment to test the link he’d left to the plane where their bodies lay, lifeless.

...was a mad idea, what if they don’t come back at all? Across the planes, Astarion’s voice was watery and hollow, as though he were speaking from the other end of a very long sea cave.

Master Halsin’s nearly past the point of no return, looks like, Wyll said. Hells, what’s that on his leg?

Gale’s voice echoed more forcefully in Halsin’s mind. Less commentary, if you please, this does require a bit of focus, you know--Halsin, is that you? Is it time?

Almost, he thought, Be ready. He felt the wizard’s assent and turned back to the fray. Langoth had sunk an ice arrow into the dragon’s nostril and it was trying to scratch it away, howling from its sting.

Halsin dashed over to the ranger, avoiding the sweep of the dragon’s tail as it staggered and bellowed in blind rage. They would just have to hope the distraction lasted long enough to complete the ritual. Langoth looked shaken but unhurt, his keen eyes watchful. Even as the dragon roared above them, Halsin felt a surge of love, of humility in the face of its enormity: greater than any ancient guardian of the Fugue Plane, greater even than death. “It’s time,” he said. Their hands joined and he reached across the void again, to Gale.

What if it’s too late? Langoth said. He sensed the ranger’s despair.

“Just don’t let go. No matter what happens.”

In answer, Langoth interlaced his fingers and squeezed them tight. The druid shut his eyes and perceived, worlds away, Gale whispering the incantations that would bring their souls back.

Halsin, Langoth’s voice rang in his mind, sharp with fear.

He opened his eyes to see the dragon bearing down on them, its mouth open, throat welling with blue fire.

“Don’t let go,” Halsin said, even as every instinct screamed at him to break away, to dive to safety. Langoth gripped his hand so hard he feared his bones would bruise.

The styx dragon bore down on them, a gout of flame shooting from its maw. Halsin closed his eyes again. The ritual was nearly complete--a few words away, if Gale did not stumble.

I need to tell you something, Langoth said. While there’s time. I--

But before he could finish, darkness took them both.

*

“...breathing, that has to be a good sign, surely?”

Dim, green light danced around him. Langoth moaned and shut his eyes again. Cold, he was so cold. Everything from his waist up was agony: pain that throbbed, ached, stung, burned, and stabbed. From the waist down, all was numb.

“Langoth,” Wyll said. He heard the warlock approach but couldn’t bear to open his eyes again. His voice sounded distant. “Hells, he’s properly torn up. Here, give us that potion.”

A hand cradled his head, tipped it back, and another held a phial of healing potion to his bloodied lips. It slid down his throat and he sighed as it took effect, restoring life to his stiff limbs. A sickening crunch as his spine reknit itself and sensation rushed back to his legs. He shivered. It felt as though he’d never be warm again.

“Halsin,” he said, remembering. The fugue plane, the dragon, the blue flames--he struggled to his hands and knees and collapsed with a groan.

“It’s alright, mate. Halsin is just there, look.” Wyll pointed to the other corner of the courtyard, where the druid was staggering to his feet, shaking his thick mane of hair and rubbing his face. Langoth sank back down in relief. They had made it, somehow.

“I’m fine too,” Astarion said. “If you were wondering. I also nearly died, on your behalf. Again.”

“Thank the gods,” Langoth rasped with a smile. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply--real air, again. Even though it was centuries stale and stank of fungus and dead minotaur, there was no sweeter smell.

“Actually, thank Gale,” the wizard said, approaching with Halsin by his side. “It was a very near thing, indeed. Suppose I owed you for all the times you’ve pulled me back from death’s door.”

The druid leaned over him and took Langoth’s icy hands between his own. “Thank you,” Langoth whispered.

Halsin laid a hand on his chest. “Don’t speak. You need food. Your soul has been too long in Kelemvor’s kingdom and needs to be fully restored.”

“And nothing better for that than a nice warming mug of soup,” Gale said. “I would know. I shall see to it.”

An arm around Halsin’s waist, Langoth limped past the minotaur corpses laid out on blood slick flagstones to sit in the fort’s cozy refectory by the fire that Gale had set roaring with a cantrip.

“Rest here,” Halsin said, helping into a dusty leather chair which was surprisingly comfortable, considering its age. “But don’t sleep yet. Your soul’s connection to your body is still too tenuous.”

“Stay with me?” he asked. Their eyes met and warmth spread through him; heat not just from the roaring fire. Gale busied himself nearby with the cooking, humming tunefully as he banged pots and spoons and asking Astarion if he might use his dagger to mince the garlic.

Halsin eased down beside Langoth on a rickety bench, favoring one leg.

“The dragon?” It still hurt to speak.

Halsin nodded, wincing as he settled onto the bench. “It will mend, in time.”

“Did I hear the word dragon?” Wyll said. “I think that might be next on my list, having taken down a minotaur single handedly.”

Astarion shot him an acid look from across the room.

“Well, almost single handedly. Alright, you lot all helped.”

“Your magnanimity, Wyll, is as ever, inspirational,” Gale said, magicking a stream of hot water into the cookpot.

Langoth laughed, and felt a little warmer still. It was good, he reflected, to be alive. The heady scent of garlic and onions sizzling over the fire reached his nose and his stomach growled.

“Well, our foray into the Underdark is off to a wonderful start,” Astarion said from the shadows. “I just can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings. Perhaps decapitation?” He met Langoth’s eye.

“Stop sulking in the corner, Astarion,” Langoth said. “We survived, didn’t we?”

The vampire spawn scoffed but he approached and even sat on the bench with Halsin. At the opposite end, but it was a start.

“Mad idea, coming down here,” Astarion said, looking moodily into the fire. He turned to Langoth and with unexpected emotion said, “We almost lost you.”

“Well, you didn’t,” Langoth said. “And we will make it to Moonrise Towers.”

He did not fail to observe the expression of foreboding on Halsin’s weathered features. He’d never seen the druid look so tired. Again, he perceived there was something he was holding back, some unspoken burden he carried. Langoth took his hand but he only patted it absently, staring into the dark.