#i love you and cannot wait to live the dream alongside you. soon i hope. very soon.

[needcake]

So today is the birthday of one of my favorite persons in this fandom and this life:

✨✨@oumaheroes / @rainbowfruitpastilles✨✨

(lovingly nicknamed Rains by yours truly back when we first starting talking because of eurovision, but who also goes by Ouma, Heroes and Fandom Grandma✨)

And to honor her and her incredible work I wanted to do something a little different this year! I've selected some of my favorite passages from her beautiful beautiful fics and I hope this makes you go insane and absolutely feral the way I know you like it 😌😚

From Earthbound, chapter 4:

Peter dreams that his legs reach down deep into the ocean, right to the sea bottom, and he watches the years pass silently by. Cast in metal and garbed in rust he falls, piece by piece, into an unforgiving sea. He dreams of rain, of smoking guns and angry curses, of abandonment and loneliness as he's left behind. He tosses and turns, unable to get comfortable, as wisps of memory lap gently against his consciousness. He dreams of a gruff voice mumbling soothing words after a nightmare, handmade toys and a warm calloused hand carding through his hair. Hot tea and biscuits in front of a fire. Bedtime stories and scratchy kisses. Of a man who loves him but who just doesn't know how to do it the way Peter needs. He wakes with dried tear tracks on his face and the ghost of a name on the tip of his tongue.

This fic is so incredibly beautiful, every character, every story. It brings you to this new and remade world that is fatally flawed, and as the characters slowly go back to their original Earth, their memories of their past lives and past selves come back like a punch, and the force of it just leaves us gasping. It's so powerful, so beautiful!! I absolutely adore it!!

---

From Lavender's Blue:

New officers are the worst, in Arthur’s personal opinion. They have this hopeful gleam about them that Arthur, world-weary as he is, cannot stand. Butter and milk fed children chasing honour and glory into hell itself, so blinded by it that they cannot see the dangers that litter the ground around them. They’re terribly young: nineteen, twenty, twenty-two. This and this alone causes Arthur to soften enough to answer them and he shakes himself back to the present where he doesn’t want to be, ‘Yes?’ ‘Come and play cards with us. We’ll deal you in.’ One of them breaks the deck expertly, a flick of his wrist and fingers sending the cards from one hand to another. Arthur can’t help but think of Gilbert doing the same thing sprawled across a sofa in Arthur’s parlour merely a few years ago, sleeve damp with rum where he’d spilt it. Too drunk to bloody well hold a glass of Arthur’s finest alcohol but hands always sharp enough for pretty tricks. Eyes clear despite it all, watching Arthur mischievously over Francis draped loose limbed in his lap. ‘No, thank you.’ Arthur straightens up and rolls his shoulders, feeling the knots and tension there under his coat. He’d been sitting too long. He’s due out on patrol soon and he checks his watch to assess the time.

I don't think I've told you enough how much I love this fic, the grittiness of it, the desperation, the idleness. You can almost see the men in the trenches, see the young officers playing cards to pass the time while they wait and Arthur's restlessness and anxiety. Absolutely flawless! ---

From Gold Filigree and Chainmail:

‘I’m not entirely vain.’ ‘We could have been doing many things today but instead we are here, admiring you.’ ‘We are not admiring me,’ France told him, coming up alongside, ‘Just my people and history. Which you can argue is me, but it is not really.’ England gestured at the painting with his head, ‘That’s you.’ The diner in question was in profile but it was easy enough to tell, from those who knew him well, that it was France himself. A habitual way of draping himself on a chair and the same loose, wavy hair as today. Half grin unchanged, a connection through time via the almost direct look at the painter through the fourth wall. He looked so much younger. France smiled fondly, ‘Ah, so it is.’

No one writes such delicious Fruk like you do!! You have such a hand handling these two together, you can take them from having a fight to talking about philosophy and love and it'll always be absolutely delicious and banter-y and iconic, and I'll always want to jump into the page and grab France by the hair and give him a good shake and kick England in the shin for good measure (but also lock them in a closet and throw away the key).

---

From Seen From The Other Side, chapter 1:

Their captain died last year. He died at their feet and now he turns and grins. Sees them staring, sees them know. Watches as they take him in, the horrifying, unholy miracle of it. Strong arms and broad shoulders, sharp white teeth in tanned skin. Blood in his heart and no hole near his neck. Ancient eyes that hold them there.

This entire series just makes me want to go ballistic!! I want to eat a hole in the concrete every time I read it because it's so good!! LOOK AT IT THAT'S SO GOOD!!!!!

---

From It's All About The Delivery, chapter 8:

‘Mr Williams, I did not and you are stepping way outta line here.’ ‘If you just look-‘ ‘No!’ his voice was far too loud- it rang out clear across the marble floors but the PM couldn’t help himself, an uncomfortable churning feeling inside his chest clouding all reason and logic, ‘I will not, Mr Williams. I’m doing so much already; I’m here in a manor in the middle of nowhere with a posh boy Lord who believes he’s the embodiment of dirt and I’m quite willing to go along with that to keep things smooth, but please, for the love of God, stop pushing me.’ ‘I do beg your pardon.’

The embodiment of dirt!!!!!!!! I laugh so hard every time I read that!! This entire fic makes me both want to give Matt little kisses and tuck him in at night and throw my laptop into the sun because Stephen is so STUBBORN (I adore Leigh though, we can keep her). It's the perfect mix of politics, family affairs, work relationships, interpersonal relationships, PMs that are too dumb to be alive, glorious jokes and little genuine heartfelt moments that just make me weep with joy!! Absolutely perfect!!!

---

From Reset, chapter 8:

They fell silent, remaining pressed together tightly until England had stopped shaking. 'I was supposed to have Reset.' He said, voice distant and quiet as if he were speaking more to himself than to anyone in particular.  France was almost about to fall back asleep again, but became alert instantly, 'What?'  'I'm due one, it seems.'  France racked his brain, struggling to try and think of the last time England had had his stint at being human. 1800s? No wait, before that... it couldn't have been anywhere around the 1600s, he'd been too busy starting to pillage and conquer to allow himself to enjoy a mortal existence. Late in the 1700s then, perhaps?  'We're all probably due one,' England continued, 'so much has changed even in the last hundred years that we're all a bit out of touch- Francis' lifespan being one example.'  'How could you tell that you...' France floundered, 'why do you think that?'  France felt England give a small shrug, 'I know it was time; it was very hard to stay, I guess. You're dead but still there, but this time I had to actually think about staying.' He ran out of words, language not really enough to describe what he intrinsically knew. 'I knew it wouldn't be a good idea though, not right now.'  France huffed. 'Well no. I, for one, would have to deal with your government and also reintroducing myself to mine, whilst at the same time being embroiled in a murder inquiry.'  'Don't forget that someone is still trying to kill you.'  'Oh yes, that too. How could I have let that slip my mind.' England chuckled and then coughed, lungs not quite ready.  France helped him sit up a bit higher and rubbed his back, 'This isn't something we need right now. One more hit on you and it'll be even harder to fix this mess if you actually stay dead.' England continued to cough and try to wrangle his breathing back under control, but shook his head.  France tutted in annoyance. 'I doubt that you'll be able to put it off for long, it's not something that you can simply avoid.' He sighed and leant back against the tree. The gap between them had filled very quickly with cold air, and once he stopped struggling to breathe France pulled England back down again and covered them both back up. 'This is going to make things a whole lot more difficult, you know.'  'Dreadfully sorry.' England did not sound in any way sorry. 'Next time I'll just die better, shall I?'  France gave him a smiling kiss to the temple, 'You could always learn to die better, you are never very pretty when you do.'  England elbowed him in the gut and leant hard against him on purpose. 'I cannot wait to not have to see your face again after this.'  France huffed at him. 'You would miss my shining example of poise, culture and beauty before too long.'  'Would not.'  'Oh! Think of how boring your life would be without me to enhance it, for example, consider that nice long holiday we'll go on after all of this blows over. Southern France, by the beach and in the sun...'  'You can sod off, I'm going home.'  'Back to your rainy lump in the sea, of course my dear. I shall not join you.'  'Thank fuck for that.'

DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN WHEN I SAY YOU ARE A MASTERMIND WRITING WITH THEM??? I love to see it!!!! I read this with the biggest grin because every dialogue just jumps out of the page and they are both so alive!!! I absolutely love it!! I love the plot, I love the idea of Reset for them, I love the execution, the humor, the romance, the love!!!! I love it!!!!!!!

--- And to close this humble offering on this very special day, I hope you have the most wonderful day today, my dear, and that we can share many many birthdays and eurovisions and stories together for many many years to come!! I love you and I hope you all the best in this entire world!!! 💖💖💖💖💖💖

[the-mighty-het-speaks]

August 3rd, 1963 // Downey, California, USA

[theredsuzuran]

Hello! Could I request Douma with a s/o who enjoys art? For instance, painting or drawing then placing their artworks around the paradise cult? They could be demon / human but preferably aware about the whole eating cult members thing? Me being me I would be fine knowing that lol. Sorry if this is too specific but thank you in advance!

Thank you so much for this request, I hope its upto your liking and I apologize if I have messed up🥺

Douma x Reader ~

The warm rays of the sun glistened your skin with a golden hue as you stood there on the long wide corridors holding the remaining pieces of arts that you were pasting on the walls of the busy temple, gazing at the distant sky with full concentration succumbing deep into the abyss of its aesthetics. So much so that you failed to notice your fellow cult members reaching out until someone pat your shoulder startling you suddenly.

"Oh" a soft sigh escape from your mouth as you to snapped out of your thoughts, looking directly at them with eyes still dreaming.

"We have been calling you for so long (y/n) san~ aren't you gonna tell your friends about him?"

"Do you think its going to rain anytime soon?"

"Are you even listening to what am saying?"

Averting your gaze from them you lifted your head upward at the direction of the tremendous vast expanse paying no attention to them while drifting away in your own world.

"If it rains will I see that again?" spacing out yet again but this time evoking vivid memories of a man finding your desolated body covered with blood and mud, drenched under the heavy downpour.

"What?" One or them inquired both curious and annoyed at the same time.

"I told you! (y/n) is weird just leave them alone its fruitless to strike any conversation at all, Lord douma probably shows his pity being a man of virtue" one of them whispered so that you don't hear them badmouthing you.

"Right who cares about those stupid paintings" the other giggled at your face then turned away leaving you behind in the now empty hallway.

All of them associate with you because of the favour you get from Douma, the supreme head of the eternal paradise cult. You have merely smiled knowing that they have always belittle your precious artworks crushing your fragile confidence into pieces although let's say you would never encounter them again and that's a different story, still they were unable to break your devotion. Every painting you made were nurtured and cared with great affection as you put your heart and soul into it. Most importantly there was the charming leader himself who encouraged you rather than making fun of it. That's the exact reason why douma was your savior.

Even though you knew the heinous crimes he have committed, the cannibalistic practices that occurs during midnight inside the temple complex, yes it terrifies you but still you cannot find in your heart to hate him, you wish demons could co exist together alongside mortals although it sounds absurd as predators can never befriend their natural prey but you were an artist who saw the world with a different perspective instead of blaming demons you felt sympathy. Since they were humans too once and due to unavoidable circumstances they are now suffering this fate. Making you wonder what was his story?

However you are quite mad lately since It has been days you last saw your beloved cult leader, afterall he has things to do and you seem to grow lonelier each day due to the lack of his presence. The way he caressed your cheeks and smiled ever so lovingly at you made your heart flutter with ecstacy. Art therefore have always been your escape as your days passes drawing sketches of him. You sat on the wooden engawa, with papers and colours scattered all over the floor holding your brush in hopes of completing his perfect image but your mind wandered to the eromous clouds engulfing the sky above. When suddenly you caught glimpse of a familiar sitting right next you.

"I thought I would wait since you were busy admiring the beautiful nature"

"Douma" a sudden rush of emotions came pouring down, the storm seem to have calm down by the heavy rain. However it was hard for poor (y/n) to decide whether to jump with pure happiness or to just sit and cry for leaving them astray.

"There there my little dove, am here" he replied smiling charmingly engulfing you in a tight embrace.

The two sat on top of the wooden floor. Once again letting the silence to develop, this time droplets of water accompanied the tranquil atmosphere with its drizzling sound.

"Are you hanging your paintings on the walls?" Douma asked enthusiastically breaking the previous calm.

"Yes" you replied politely

"good good" reaching his arms to pat you gently, he praised.

"Douma, where have you been?" You questioned Finally letting those words escape from your quivering lips which you were desperately trying to swallow inside this entire time and regretting because you are afraid of what might happen next for asking such an outrageous question ruining the blissful aura.

"Aww did (y/n) miss me?" Douma answered still maintaining his lively composure. Although there was sudden shift in the atmosphere as it grew a bit tense.

"What if I say I did?" You murmured under your breath blushing slightly to which his eyes widened for he have awaited long for something like this to happen.

"I have some orders to fulfill for that man" the douma chuckled slightly as he began speaking again "and probably he did not like it a bit that I failed to accomplish my mission" when you notice one of his beautiful multicolored orb a little swallowen as if someone have pierced his eyeballs out. You were aware of his supernatural existence and strength because he was not some ordinary demon but witnessing such injury made your heart drop.

"Now (y/n)~ show me what you are drawing" his face gleaming with excitement as he clapped his hands.

"It's not yet completed"

"Don't be like that show me" he made a puppy face.

"Noooo" you cried in protest trying your best to restrain him but failed miserably, since he was faster than you and upon seeing the drawing the sheet of paper he stopped responding. Been living for a century having money, status and almost a perfect immortal body, he still felt hollow. People stand in line for hours to worship him in order to achieve their own desires, to gift him valuable fortunes, antiques, exclusive garments and all sorts of expensive merchandise and sometimes in hope of wooing him but never in his life he felt so content by a simple piece of art made with such adoration. Overwhelming a ruthless uppermoon like him with strong emotions.

"I know it's not that good" you bit your lips in embarrassment but you were taken aback when you felt a pair of muscular arms wrapping your waist resting his head on your lean shoulders. Returning his gesture you smiled and closed your eyes running your hands in his platinum blonde hair in an attempt to soothe him.

"Douma do you remember the time we met?" douma hummed in response.

"Its because of you that am still alive and I can't show my gratitude enough, I have sworn to the art I love I will never break my loyalty towards you", douma looked at you this time when you suddenly reached your arms to cup his face amusing a bit in the process.

"Back when I was a child, I saw a beautiful arc covering the blue sky displaying a wide range of bright colours taking my breath away for I was mesmerized, and I hope I could see that again as I was laying down on the ground reminding the jovial moments of life before my demise, admist the rain I saw a shilloute of a man approaching me- that's when I saw that again in your eyes instilling hope within me, its a monochromatic world when you are not around"

That's when he took your hands into his large ones gently, giving the most lovable expression he could ever make, something so genuine for someone like him. He did not know why he was so attracted to a human like you. Moving his fingers on your lips caressing it softly smudging the colour you have applied before as he leaned closer and closer making your eyes shut tight too flustered to even look. Your face heating up on his cold touch, as you felt a his lips pressed softly onto your nose.

Opening your eyes slightly you found him grinning at your beet red face.

"Let's put that painting on my wall then!"

[resonating-kitty]

Dreambur - Pirate AU fic requested by @peppsta

Using the sentence “You’re too distracting with your handsome face and… your… everything!” (Took a bit of creative liberty to make it work)

I am happy with how this turned out. I've been a bit too critical of my writing lately but I generally like this one. Peppsta I hope this fits what you had in mind with the prompt! :)

I hope you all enjoy!

-

Wilbur laughed, joyous, as the wind hit his face. The open sea was such a wonderful place! His love of its wonders and mysteries and melodies was endless. He was a traveling musician, a quite successful one at that. His music was known all across the world and many lords and kings requested his presence to perform at their castles. That’s what he was doing now, headed back to England, summoned by his Majesty’s request to perform at the annual ball.

“Mr. Soot please get down from there!” The Captain’s orders barked hastily at him had him turning with a grin. He was standing up on the bowspirit of the ship and the Captain of the vessel was standing just behind him, hands on his hip and a growing annoyance in his eyes.

Wilbur relented, his boots hitting the bed with a thud as he hopped down to stand beside the Captain. He fixed the older man with an innocent look and a charming smile, “I do apologize Captain. I love the sea so much that I sometimes cannot help myself.”

The Captain regarded him with a knowing look and sighed, “Just please refrain from doing it in the future. It makes the crew nervous. None of us want to report to his Majesty that his requested musician fell overboard.”

“Of course Captain!” Wilbur saluted, mockingly.

The Captain opened his mouth, no doubt to reprimand the action, but was stopped by a frantic call from above.

“Captain! Captain! Skull and crossbones on the horizon!”

The Captain whirled into action, turning full circle to run to the helm. Curious, Wilbur followed closely.

“Pirates?” He asked, excitedly but none around him seemed to share his enthusiasm.

The Captain shot him a sharp look, wordlessly taking the spyglass that was handed to him. He looked through it, curses falling from his lips.

“It’s the bloody Speedrunner!” The Captain announced, turning for the wheel. He started to bark orders. Raise the sails, all hands on deck. “Mr. Soot below deck!” was the Captain’s last order.

Wilbur protested but the Captain cut him off. “Sir, whether you like it or not, you are under my command until you reach shore and you will do as I say and I’m telling you to go below deck.”

Wilbur was escorted below deck, not before he got a peak at the fastly approaching vessel. The light vibrant green sails of the ship stood in stark contrast to the jolly roger waving above them. ‘Tacky’ Wilbur thought as he was ushered below deck.

-

Try as she might, the merchant vessel was no match for the speed of the pirate ship. The Captain gritted his teeth as soon, his crew and his ship was completely taken over by the ragtag group of pirates.

“Dream,” The Captain gritted out with annoyance, heedless of the gun and cutlasses that were pointed at him and his crew. Dream usually never spilt blood during his raids and the Captain had been at sea long enough, had met with the pirate in these exact situations enough times, to know that the show of aggression was all bluff.

The Pirate Captain wasn’t much. He was tall and slim and didn’t even look or dress like a Captain. He wore dirty ragged clothes, a lime green bandana tied around his head to keep his dirty blond hair pulled back. He also wore a mask over the lover portion of his face, hiding all but his emerald green eyes from view. No one had ever seen his face and if they had, rumors had it they never lived to tell about it.

The Captain had no intention of doing that. He just watched the cocky pirate as he sauntered up to him.

“Sparklez!” Dream greeted happily, throwing his hands out, “what a surprise that we ran into each other again while you were transporting goods!”

Captain Sparklez pinched the bridge of his nose, insisting tiredly, “Just get what you came to get and leave”

Dream was grinning under his mask as he laughed, “Glad we have an understanding Captain,” he turned to a couple of his crew, “Alright boys, you heard the Captain, go see what’s below deck for the taking!”

A couple of the crew, a slightly shorter man with dark hair and a white headband tied around his head, a thin man with glasses and wearing a black, red trimmed, cloak, and another pirate that appeared to be in a full reindeer costume, headed below deck.

Captain Sparklez hoped they didn’t discover Wilbur but his hopes were dashed when muffled shouting sounded from below.

“What the hell?” Dream demanded, going to the stairs to call down, “Everything okay!”

“Look what we found!” Came the replying yell moments before the pirates were reappearing and dragging Wilbur with them. “He was trying to hide behind the salmon.”

Wilbur was pushed before the pirate captain. Wilbur looked up with wide eyes. Dark brown met emerald green. Both seem to freeze.

“Got something you wanna tell us Captain Sparklez?” The pirate in the black cloak asked, suspiciously. He glanced at Wilbur then his own Captain, who was still frozen.

“The boy is headed to Britian. He’s but a musician who hired me to ferry him.” Captain Sparklez answered hastily. He also was looking at Wilbur and Dream. “He is an innocent bystander in all of this.”

The pirate opened his mouth, possibly to ask more questions but he was cut off by his Captain.

‘Who are you?” Dream asked Wilbur, his voice soft and held none of the cockiness it had before.

Both crews, pirate and merchant, looked at the two with raised eyebrows and some with shocked expressions.

“Wilbur. Wilbur Soot.” Wilbur answered earnestly and Captain Sparklez facepalmed and muttered, “Boy, don’t engage with the pirate.”

“Why?” Wilbur asked, glancing at Sparklez, “He’s interesting.”

Laughter erupted from Dream. “Yeah Sparklez,” He said, his voice playful and teasing as he looked at the merchant ship’s Captain, “I’m interesting.”

“Please don’t feed his ego.” One of the pirates, a man dressed in light blue with a pair of goggles covering his eyes, warned in exasperation and Dream whirled around to face him.

“Oh shut up George, he can feed my ego as much as he wants to.” Dream demanded though the grin was evident in his voice. George just rolled his eyes at his Captain. Dream turned back, winking at Wilbur, who’s cheeks colored pink.

“So Mr. Soot, you do music?” Dream asked, conversationally as he leant against the mast of the ship.

“Dream, what about the cargo?” The pirate with the white headband asked and Dream waved him off with an order, “Start loading it on the Speedrunner obviously.”

“Dumbass,” the pirate muttered before motioning to a few of the crew and they disappeared below deck.

“I… I uh… yeah.” Wilbur muttered, “I’m actually on my way right now to perform for his Majestic at the castle.”

Dream whistled, impressed, “You’re Mr. Popular then aren’t you?”

Wilbur laughed softly, shaking his head. His brown curls bouncing on top of his head, “Something like that”

“What are some of your songs? Perhaps I’ve heard some of them?” Dream questioned. A crash was heard and his attention snapped to his crew and the box of produce that was now spilling out over the deck, hollering, “Hey be careful with the goods. We need those!”

“Sorry Captain.”

Dream turned back to Wilbur, “Sorry. Go ahead.”

“Let’s see there’s Jubilee Line, Since I Saw Vienna, Soft Boy, Saline Solution, Maybe I was Boring.”

“I’ve heard that one!” Dream exclaimed, eyes shining, “Maybe I was Boring. It was being sung in one of the pirate owned taverns. The guy singing it was trying to pass it off as one of his own but he didn’t look smart enough to come up with something so beautiful.”

“Yes well, as I’m sure you are well aware, there are thieves in every trade I’m afraid,” Wilbur sighed before he seemed to catch the last part of the sentence, “Wait you think my song is beautiful?”

“That’s not the only thing I think is beautiful,” Dream’s voice dropped as he reached up and closed the space between them. They were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Callahan was standing to the side, he looked apologetic.

“I do not mean to alarm anyone and I certainly hate to break up whatever is transpiring between the two of you, Captain but there is a ship on the horizon. Looks like the Navy.”

Wilbur was left at the mast as Dream stepped quickly to the side of the ship and took the spyglass from George. He looked through it, muttering out a curse before barking, “Everyone back to the ship!”

His crew reached instantly.

“What about this ship?” the pirate in the white headband asked almost eagerly as he headed for the ropes that connected the two ships together, “You said we could start sinking them.”

“What?!” Sparklez’s outraged voice rose up as panicked murmurs rose up from the crew. Wilbur’s breath caught in his throat.

“Not this one,” Dream said, his voice steeled with finality. Emerald eyes met dark brown once more, “Today this ship was saved by a distracting handsome face and everything else. So long for now and Mr. Soot? I’m sure you and I will meet again in the future”

Dream gave a little salute before joining his crew and soon the Speedrunner was just a speck in the distance as the Naval ship approached.

Wilbur stood at the bow of the ship, watching as the pirate ship disappeared in the distance. A soft smile on his lips and his whole body was warmed. The pirate captain certainly was charming wasn’t he.

“Charming?” Sparklez repeated with alarm as the Naval ship pulled up alongside them and Wilbur realized that he must’ve uttered the sentence out loud. A hand fell on his shoulder and the Captain leaned down to speak quietly, a warning, “Son let me tell you something, no matter how ‘charming’ he may be, at the end of the day he’s a pirate and you need to stay well away from him. He’s dangerous, not only in general, but also to your career.”

Wilbur tried to heed Captain Sparklez warning but he couldn’t get his mind off the oddly charming pirate. He hoped that Dream was being sincere when he said they would meet each other again because he was looking forward to it.

[shift-shaping]

Solas/Surana Party Banter round whatever

hello. here it is again, but different this time! SIGNIFICANTLY. there's way more and it's a little bit ~angst-y~. anyway, here's the previous version, and here's a preface to this post.

-

In case you aren't aware of what my girl's Whole Deal is, she was in love with Alistair during the Blight and he sacrificed himself, which Sucked Balls for her. She wandered around in the mountains for most of the past ten years, and now she's in the Inquisition because she doesn't know what else to do with her life.

content warnings: brief mention of colorism

Lots of banter under the cut

Solas: Surana. Now that you have joined the Inquisition, what title do you prefer to use?

Surana: What title do you use?

Solas: None. But you have earned many.

Surana: 'Warden,' I guess. I don't really care.

Solas: Not 'Hero of Ferelden?'

Surana: No. Surana is fine.

.

Solas: You dislike your title?

Surana: It is inaccurate. Alistair was the real hero, and he died fighting the archdemon --I only ever did what I had to do.

Solas: Hm.

.

Solas: You do not think yourself a hero?

Eirwen: *sighs* If a man is ordered to save a child from a burning building or else be killed himself, is he really a hero? No, he is not.

Eirwen: Had I not been made a Warden, I would have been killed or made Tranquil. I did not choose to do the right thing. I was forced to.

.

Surana: Why do you keep asking me so many questions, Solas?

Solas: You are an historical anomaly. An elven mage elevated to the status of legendary hero.

(If the Inquisitor is an elf, a mage, or both:

Eirwen: Well apparently it’s not that anomalous.

Solas: Even still.)

Solas: I have seen echoes of your victories in the Fade alongside reflections of your losses. You have overcome a great deal. Do not be so quick to dismiss your own story.

Surana: Your dreams are lying to you. That legacy is not mine to claim.

Solas: I will not try to convince you otherwise, but know this: whatever bitterness you feel towards your legacy, you will gain far more accepting it than you ever would fighting its tide.

Surana: This isn't really about me, is it?

Solas: It never is.

.

[After All New, Faded for Her]

Eirwen: I’m sorry about Wisdom, Solas.

Solas: I appreciate that. Thank you.

Eirwen: It must have had a wealth of knowledge. It is a shame to lose so much for so little.

Solas: There is a difference between wisdom and knowledge.

Eirwen: Right, yes. I remember a joke about that. Would you like to hear it?

Solas: Not particularly.

Eirwen: *clears her throat* Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is knowing it does not belong in a fruit salad.

Solas: ...

Eirwen: Too soon, I suppose. Sorry.

.

Solas: Thank you, Surana.

Eirwen: I told you, Dorian and I aren’t fond of that particular vintage. And we thought you’d appreciate the earthy tones.

Solas: Thank you for that as well, I think, but that is not what I as referring to.

Eirwen: Oh?

Solas: Your joke. You… it was unexpected. But not bad at all.

Eirwen: Oh. Well, that’s about the least dirty joke I know. Want to hear one a drunken dwarf told me in the Deep Roads?

Solas: Another time, perhaps.

Eirwen: Ah, you wouldn’t like it anyway.

.

Solas: Surana. You said before that a man ordered to save a child from a burning building under threat of death would not be a hero.

Solas: I disagree.

Surana: Oh?

Solas: The man threatened with death may not see himself as particularly noble, but the child will always see him as their savior. Regardless of his motivations, he will always be a hero to the child he saved.

Surana: So no matter who or what made him do it, he is still a good person because another thinks him such?

Solas: I did not say that. 'Heroic' and 'good' are not necessarily the same.

.

Surana: So what is your point, then? That I should make people call me 'Hero' at Skyhold?

Solas: My point is that you should not feel guilty if they believe you to be someone you are not. You cannot control them, and attempts to the contrary will only serve to make you miserable.

Surana: Why do you care so much? Why does it matter to you how I feel about being called 'the Hero of Ferelden'?

Solas: It --doesn't. You are right, of course. And I meant no offense.

Surana: That's not-- I'm not offended, I'm curious. I want to know why it matters to you, a random wandering apostate, whether I call myself a hero or a bastard or a drunkard or nothing at all.

Solas: It is as I said: elven mages are rarely given the level of respect and admiration that you are. It is a shame you see no benefit in that.

Surana: Benefit? Like what, seeing my ears cut off in statues? My staff turned into a sword? My skin lightened in paintings and my relationships reduced to spectacle or seduction?

Surana: Maybe I am offended. I would love to be an anonymous apostate. I was, for a while, but I couldn't stop trying to live up to a version of me that doesn't exist, never has, and never will. The real hero is dead, and you have me instead.

Solas: You must let that be enough, Surana.

Surana: It isn't.

.

Surana: Solas, you have dreamt in all sorts of places, right?

Solas: Yes.

Surana: Have you ever --well, did you ever see the Battle of Denerim, in your dreams?

Solas: Not as you would remember it.

Surana: Of course not. But... I mean-- did you--

Solas: It is done, Surana. You cannot linger there.

Surana: How do I do that? How do I stop seeing it?

Solas: You do not. But instead of letting it weigh you down, let that pain be what pushes you forward. Focus on where you must be, and what you must do. You are needed here, now, exactly as you are, not as the person you were in Denerim. Whoever others think you are, you must go forward as who you know you are. If you lose sight of that, you are lost.

.

Surana: Solas, thank you.

Solas: For what?

Surana: You know full well what.

Solas: I try to help, when I can. The pain you carry is... familiar.

Surana: Familiar?

Solas: You feel guilt simply for being alive, as though self-flagellation will make you worthy of existence.

Surana: Self-flagellation? *dryly* You have a way with words, you know.

Solas: *just as dryly* You flatter me.

[If neither Solas nor Surana are romanced]

Surana: You deserve the flattery.

Solas: Is that a compliment, from the Hero of Ferelden herself?

Surana: I take it back. You're an ass and I hate you.

Solas: *chuckles*

.

[After Here Lies the Abyss]

Surana: I didn’t know you disliked the Wardens so much, Solas.

Solas: It was not worth mentioning.

Surana: Not until it became acceptable to criticize us, you mean.

Solas: What have the Wardens actually accomplished in terms of understanding the Blight? Do you honestly feel you understand it any better than you did before you became one?

Surana: Is that a serious question? Do I understand it better after witnessing its ravages than I did when I’d merely read about them in a book?

Solas: What did the Wardens teach you? What did you learn from them, about the Blight?

Surana: More than I will ever tell you.

Solas: *bitterly* Ah. Of course.

.

Surana: You have always been an apostate, have you not?

Solas: By your Chantry’s definition, I suppose.

Surana: My chantry? Am I the Divine now, too? *scoffs* Anyway, you have never spent time in a Circle.

Solas: No.

Surana: Then one thing I will tell you about the Wardens is this: there is no other path to freedom for many mages than to join them. You were not dragged from your home in chains because of what you are. You were not barred from dreaming, nor threatened with Tranquility when you failed to perform a difficult spell.

Solas: You should not have had to make that choice, Surana.

Surana: Yet I did, because it was the only one I had. And the Wardens are all the world has to counter the Blight. You can disagree from your tower in Skyhold or your hut in the woods or whatever, but we are working with what is available to us. Come up with a real solution and I will listen. But I’m uninterested in ignorant complaints from someone who was not there.

.

Surana: It’s not my Chantry.

Solas: Poor wording, on my part.

Surana: I don’t even like the Chantry.

Solas: Abelas. I meant no offense.

Surana: Yes, you did. Or you just don't care.

Solas: What would you have me say, Warden?

Surana: Nothing. Just be quiet.

.

Solas: Where was home to you, Surana? Before the Circle?

Surana: *sighs* An orphanage in Denerim’s alienage.

Solas: Really? Huh. In that case, I would have expected you to sound more like Sera.

(Sera, if present: What? You think all city elves sound the same?

Solas: You are from the same section of the same city. Why would you not have the same accent?)

Surana: I don’t sound like Sera because I was beaten in the Circle until I spoke 'properly.’ No offense to Sera, of course.

(Sera, if present: More reasons to be glad I’m not like you two.)

.

Solas: I am sorry, Surana. Living in the Circle must have been difficult, and I imagine being a Warden during the Blight was no easier.

Surana: *sighs* It’s alright. You couldn’t have known.

Solas: I should have tried. I have done you a disservice, and I hope you can forgive me.

Surana: Maybe. Possibly. Did you bring any of that wine with you?

Solas: Unfortunately not.

Surana: *playfully* Then, no.

Surana: …But please, call me Eirwen.

Solas: Eirwen. Ma nuvenin.

.

[After Surana hears Cole and Solas banter for the first time]

Surana: Oh! I think I got that one, it's --oh, wait. No, that can't be it.

Cole: You were close, though.

Solas: Nearly had it.

.

[If Eirwen is romanced by an elven Inquisitor]

Solas: *playfully* For all your talk of wanting anonymity, Eirwen, you seem incapable of avoiding spectacle.

Surana: Is this about the drunken bear? I already apologized for that.

Solas: No. You and the Inquisitor. Two of the most powerful elves in Thedas, together?

Surana: Jealous?

Solas: Not for the reason you think.

Inquisitor: How could we resist?

Surana: We are both very pretty.

OR

Inquisitor: One day we will be free of all of this. Together.

Solas: For your sakes, I hope you are right.

.

[If Solas is romanced and Eirwen's personal quest is completed]

Solas: You no longer consider yourself a Grey Warden, Eirwen?

Surana: Did the Inquisitor tell you that?

Solas: Yes. You threw your badge into the Abyss.

Surana: Bit dramatic, I suppose. I was having a moment.

Solas: Evidently.

.

Surana: It almost felt traitorous, honestly.

Solas: Why? You were forced to join the Grey Wardens, were you not?

Surana: They still saved my life.

Solas: And condemned you to an early death. They bought you time, nothing more.

Surana: But time is all any of us have, isn't it?

Solas: No. You have a name, and experience, and the influence to pull the strings behind the world.

Surana: Careful. You'll make the Inquisitor jealous.

Solas: I am not attempting to flatter you. I am only telling you what you must already know: that you are more than a Warden, and always have been.

.

Surana: Where will the two of you go, once this is over?

Inquisitor: (Somewhere quiet) A place where we can be left alone.

OR (Somewhere fun) Someplace with good wine.

OR (Home) North. Where my people are.

Solas: An appealing prospect, vhenan.

Inquisitor: What about you, Eirwen?

Surana, based on the Inquisitor's answer to the previous question: (Somewhere quiet) Somewhere without so many damn demons.

OR (Somewhere fun) I was thinking Rivain. I've heard the food is excellent.

OR (Home) The Deep Roads. Where my people are.

.

[If neither Solas nor Eirwen are romanced]

Solas: Have you ever learned any elven, Eirwen?

Surana: Unfortunately not. A few words here and there, a long time ago. It wasn’t exactly taught in the Circle.

Solas: Would you like to?

Surana: I –oh. I hadn’t –um.

Solas: *chuckles* You do not have to learn.

Surana: No! I would love to. From you, I assume?

Solas: I cannot imagine you were going to learn it from Sera.

Sera, if present: I prefer real words, thanks.

.

Solas: What elven words do you recall, from your alienage?

Surana: Ah… okay. Hahren, that’s like… elder, or leader. The tree in the middle was called the vhenadahl. Lethallan is like friend, or ally, or maybe even sister?

Solas: Do you know what vhenadahl means?

Surana: It must be something about a tree.

Solas: And where is it, in the alienage?

Surana: A central place, somewhere everyone could see it.

Solas: And what is another word for the middle of something that lovers might call each other?

Surana: …Heart?

Solas: So what do you think 'vhena’ means, if 'dahl' is tree?

Surana: Uh... heart?

Solas: Yes. But also 'home.' The vhenadahl was both the home of your people, and the heart of the alienage.

Sera, if present: Just call it what it is --a big stupid tree.

.

Surana, in elven: *haltingly, mumbling* [Her early leaf’s a flower… but] –shoot.

Solas, in elven: [But only so…?]

Surana: M- it starts with an ’m’…

Solas: Take your time.

Surana: Meh- malath?

Solas: *laughs*

Surana: Is that wrong? Shit, that must be wrong.

Solas: Not wrong, per say, but perhaps premature.

Surana: What? What did I say?

Solas: Do not concern yourself with it, lethallan.

Surana: …was it dirty?

Solas: No.

Surana: …then what was it?

Solas: Patience, Eirwen.

.

Surana: I found out what ‘ma lath’ means.

Solas: I would expect nothing less from such a gifted student.

Surana: Mhm. It’s –well. I’m glad I said it, but you were right. It was premature.

Solas: I agree. Though...

Surana: Though?

Solas: *chuckles* I think this is neither the time nor place.

Surana: What is, then?

Solas: When I have you alone, Eirwen.

Surana: *laughs awkwardly* Maker's breath...

.

Sera + Surana

(If Solas has begun "teaching Eirwen elven")

Sera: So… you and Droopy ears.

Surana: Why do you call him that?

Sera: Cause he’s all –I don’t know, sad or wha'ever.

Sera: Anyway. Teaching you 'the ways of the elves,’ is he?

Surana: It’s just not a very good nickname, frankly.

Sera: Well I don’t want to know what you call him.

Surana: Certainly not droopy.

Solas, if present: *snorts*

Sera: *laughs* Ew! Keep it to yourselves, then!

.

Solas: Eirwen, I–

Solas: I am sorry we had to cut our lessons short.

Surana: It’s… I understand. We… no, you were right.

Solas: Please, Eirwen.

Surana: Perhaps, in another life, another time, we could have–

Solas: You are a bright light in a dark world. You will always be important to me, for whatever that is worth.

.

Surana: Can I ask you a question, Solas?

Solas: Of course.

Surana: It's not about me, is it?

Solas: I--

Surana: It's about trying to fight the tide.

Solas: Eirwen...

Solas: I am so, so sorry.

Surana: Telanadas, hahren.

Solas: Ma nuvenin, vhenan.

[omgrachwrites]

The Princess and The Duke - Chapter One

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: As the Princess of Spain, you were always supposed to marry King James of England to make an alliance between Spain and England. When he marries a woman at his court for love, you are married off to his best friend, Sirius Black the Duke of Bedford to keep the alliance. However, the court is riddled with secrets and a rebel in the North starts to rise against the Throne. Royal AU.

Warnings: fluff, angst, swearing, Spanish translated by using Google Translate :(

Words: 2395

Disclaimer(s): This gif does not belong to me and I’m so sorry if this Spanish is wrong.

Translation(s): Mantenerte fuerte - stay strong

A/N: Here we are, the first chapter! This is by no means historically accurate hahaha! Can you tell that I miss the Spanish Princess? :( Hope you guys enjoy and please let me know what you think and let me know if you want to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

Chapter One - Oh, What a Circus

It was a beautiful awakening that you had on the day that your life and future changed, when you woke up from your siesta, your chambers were warm and the perfect Spanish sunlight was streaming through your sheer linen curtains. The room was cast in a holy yellow light like God himself was honouring you. You made the most of your siestas now because you had heard that the boring English people did not take them.

Smiling sadly, you plucked a sugared grape from the golden platter and you walked over to your window, relishing in the beauty of the Castile water gardens. You knew that you would never be coming back to this palace of such beauty and splendour again because you were to be the Queen of England. You were to live out the rest of your days in grey old England. It had been a betrothal since birth but you didn’t want it, you never had. Only your parents wanted it.

You felt your eyes fill up with tears – you didn’t want to be the Queen of England – and you prayed to God, telling him so and asking him for a miracle. It seemed like God had heard you and answered your prayer for a few moments later, your father was shouting outside of your rooms, his voice like rumbling thunder.

“How dare he insult us so? Bastardo!”

At the commotion you crept out of your rooms and into the hallway where your mother and father were talking, the hallway was hardly the place to be talking about this, “Madre, Padre,” you called out as you approached them.

Your father’s eyes softened as he looked at you but he still brandished the letter in front of your face, “that son of a whore King James has written to us apologising for he has taken a common woman to wife and made her Queen! We should ally with the French and invade England!”

A soft blossom of hope bloomed in your chest as you realised that you wouldn’t have to marry the King of England. But, you were also incredibly insulted, how dare he refuse you? You, who was the Princess of the Castile, was not to be refused

The Queen tutted as she snatched the letter from your father, “we need to be allied with the English, it’s been 16 years in the making, we cannot throw it all away. King James had been kind enough to propose an alternative match.”

Your father growled, alarming some passing servants, “he offers us the Duke of Bedford, a man who has bastards all over England no doubt. He’s not worthy of our greatest treasure,” your father smiled fondly at you as he cupped your cheek with a large hand and you smiled up at him.

You knew the Duke of Bedford – Sirius Black – by reputation; he held the French lands for the English. He was said to be handsome but had fathered many bastards. Your father was right, he wasn’t good enough for you, “Padre is right Madre. I am a princess and I should be marrying a future King, a Duke is below my station. I won’t marry him!”

Your mother’s eyes flashed with malice as you defied her, she had always hated the fact that you weren’t a boy; she had to pass on her crown to your older sister, “you will Y/N! The Duke of Bedford is the second most powerful man in England; the King heavily relies on his council. You will be a very powerful woman, also no one in Europe will take you now, you’ve been promised to England since birth and now they will get you. We will write of our confirmation and our thanks and you will set sail for England as soon as possible Y/N. the Queen wants to meet you before you go to the Duke’s lands in France,” she looked at you without warmth as she strode down the corridor. She was a ruthless leader but you almost looked up to her.

Your father smiled at you kindly as he kissed your forehead, “Mantenerte fuerte Y/N,” he whispered against your skin.

“Mantenerte fuerte Padre,” you repeated with a smile as you looked into his kindly, weathered face.

The day before you were due to set sail for England you were taking a walk around the Castile water gardens with your lady in waiting, Sofia. You feared that this was the last time you would see the radiant Spanish sunshine and Sofia must have sensed your fear because she took your hand in hers.

“We will see this land again Your Highness, with your children. England is but the next great adventure,” she told you wisely and you smiled at her, squeezing her hand gently as you sat on the stone benches.

“I really hope so Sofia.”

The crossing to England was slow and gentle but the rocking motion of the ship made you rather sick, so sick that you were sure that you would die. Sofia was at your side, sponging your forehead and the back of your neck as you sobbed, you wanted to go home. You missed your parents already. You even missed your mother with her cruel words and scathing retorts, she acted like she was the King herself but she was the strongest woman you knew. You hated leaving your father behind with her.

Finally, after what felt like years at sea, you saw land again and you could have wept with joy, even if it was dreary and dull, it was supposed to be springtime. You disembarked from the ship with shaky legs and you were met by the English army who all bowed low to you, “Your Highness,” they muttered as they sank into the sand. You made the most of the fact that they were using your proper title; you weren’t sure how long that would last.

You chose to ride alongside the army instead of residing in the lavish litter that the English had prepared for you. You wanted to see as much of this new country as you could. The first thing that you noticed about this land was that it was very green and you knew that England must get a lot of rain. That thought did nothing to cheer your dark mood.

Though, you missed Spain terribly, you saw the charm and the beauty of the English countryside and the villages you passed through, you smiled at the peasants as they called your name. You hoped that you would grow to love this new land because you would be coming to live at the English court after your wedding.

The English court – and London - was much more beautiful than you had anticipated even if it was a bit constricting. Nerves swarmed in your stomach as you were admitted into the magnificent Throne Room and you noticed that all the lords and ladies of court were looking at you like you were some sort of strange beast. It was in the Throne Room where you saw the most beautiful and dazzling woman.

Queen Lily had long curling tresses of flaming auburn hair and she had the most beautiful green eyes. You almost admired the King for defying everyone and marrying the woman that he loved. True love was all that you wanted but you were unsure whether you would ever have it, you had been unsure about that fact since you were a little girl. Queen Lily was smiling at you with beauty and kindness in her eyes while the King looked at you warily. He should look at you like that; he should have been ashamed of himself.

You sank into a low curtsey, “your Majesty’s,” you muttered.

“Princess Y/N, thank you so much for coming here and accepting our invitation please arise,” the Queen smiled, she had a melodic voice. You smiled back and stood up straight.

“I apologise for the insult that I must have extended to your family,” King James bowed his head mournfully and you had to admit that he did look very sorry.

You shook your head, if the King started to apologise to his subjects then he would seem weak to those who would want to take his throne, “you’re the King,” you said simply, “I am happy to marry the Duke of Bedford,” you lied.

King James chuckled as he ran a hand through his messy curls, “well, I’m sure that Sirius will be delighted to hear it,” he grinned and the court chuckled obediently.

Queen Lily giggled; it was a musical pretty sound, as she got up from her throne and walked towards you, taking your hand in her warm one as she looked at you with a kind smile. She was as warm as the Spanish sunshine, “I would be delighted if you and your lady would join my household when you return to court.”

For the first time that day you didn’t have to fake the smile, “we would be honoured,” you smiled at Sofia who nodded eagerly. You were touched by her kind words; she smiled and lowered her voice so only you could hear.

“We ladies must stick together; it’s a man’s world after all.”

You smiled as you shook your head, remembering what your mother had told you years ago, “no your Majesty, it’s a woman’s world, men just live in it. I know it’s hard to believe but in time you will see it.”

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

Sirius’ springtime dream had come to a rude and final ending, he had spent his days among such beauty and pleasure that he never wanted to stray from it. No man would. However, duty – and his King – called him and he couldn’t refuse the call. He had to leave behind his life of pleasure for a life at court where friends would stab each other in the back. Sirius was getting married and he didn’t want to dishonour his future bride, even if he would resent her. So he had to say farewell to his mistresses. They were sad to see him go.

Sirius had been best friends with King James since they were boys and James had made him such a powerful man than Sirius was only second to the King. James had been betrothed since birth to Princess Y/N of the Castile. At first Sirius was jealous that James was to wed a Princess but then again, he was going to be the King, it was his birth right. Sirius was surprised when James had come to him about four weeks ago to tell him that he had secretly married Lily Evans, a very minor lady at his court.

James’ marriage meant that the contract with England was void unless there was another match for the Princess. At first Sirius had resisted the match, he fought and raged against the King before he stopped and really thought about it. He had to marry well and he couldn’t do any better than the Princess of the Castile, a young woman who had been promised to the King. Sirius knew that he wasn’t good enough for her but he was used to coming in second, to his younger brother Regulus, and to James.

It was a beautiful day in France the day he was to meet his future bride and hoped with all his heart that it was a good omen. He jumped as the door flew open and James strode in, grinning like a Cheshire cat, “come on Sirius! Y/N is here and she’s as fair as they all say,” James beamed, it seemed like he was really happy for Sirius.

However, that didn’t stop Sirius from grimacing, “then why didn’t you marry her?” Sirius mumbled, combing his fingers through his hair as they walked down the hallway.

James snickered as he slapped Sirius on the back, “because I fell in love,” he said it as if it was the answer to everything, “and I wish you and Y/N the same.”

“Not bloody likely,” Sirius muttered as they descended the stone steps and walked out into the glorious French sunlight.

Butterflies swarmed in Sirius’ stomach as he looked towards Lily and Remus – the Earl of Warwick – who both nodded at him encouragingly. Taking a deep breath, he looked towards his future bride and felt his heart jump up into his throat. Princess Y/N was beautiful; it was like she had just wandered from the pages of a fairy tale. She looked just like the Nymph that was featured in the tapestry that hung in the East Wing. Though, Sirius knew that beauty counted for nought if she had an ugly heart.

Y/N’s pretty eyes looked over the beautiful chateau appreciatively before she gained the courage to look at Sirius. Her eyelashes seemed to flutter of their own accord and her lips opened slightly as a pretty flush grew on her face and neck.

Y/N cleared her throat and curtseyed, her ladies following suit, “My Lord, I am pleased to meet you,” her voice had a wonderful little something to it due to her Spanish accent but it was still as pretty as a song.

Sirius smiled as he approached her and he noticed her eyes roam from his feet, stopping at his lips before looking into his eyes. Her eyes sparkled in the sunshine, like precious jewels. He bowed low to her and took her warm hand in his, pressing a feather light kiss to the top of it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness, you are most beautiful,” he said smoothly and her flush deepened, “in my household you will still be treated as a Princess, even after we are married,” he didn’t want to take that title away from her.

“Thank you, My Lord,” she smiled, looking pleasantly surprised, “your home is beautiful, I think that I will like it here.”

“Would you like for me to show you around?” he asked on a whim as he held out his hand.

She nodded, the sunlight rippling through her soft hair as she did so and she took his hand, allowing him to lead her inside. As soon as they got into the cool chateau Y/N let go of his hand. Sirius bit his lip as he rubbed the back of his neck as he nervously looked over at the beautiful princess, searching for the right words.

“I’m sorry Your Highness, you weren’t supposed to come here to be a Duchess, you were supposed to be Queen.”

Y/N looked at him and smiled wanly, in the depths of her eyes there was almost a look of understanding, “I don’t like being passed around England like a prized cow.”

Sirius nodded as Y/N stopped to marvel at a beautiful tapestry embroidered with a mermaid, “I understand, you won’t get passed around England. I promise.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” she smiled graciously as she bowed her head.

“Sirius, call me Sirius.”

------------------------------------ 

@smiithys​ @elayneblack​ @amelie-black​ @siriuslyjanhvi​ @pregnant-piggy​ @lindatreb​

[thefallenbibliophilequote]

I Wish You Would

Loki x Reader

1989, chapter 7

"He drove past her street each night"

Summary: It's hard to find the one, but even if you do find him it's always going to be a daily struggle to make it work. Can you even make it work after he broke your heart? The answer to that is complicated, but it all started when you found each other again in the Stark Tower- and that's where our story begins.

Word count: 2,896

Warnings: angst, alcohol, poison, only a pinch of fluff. Not in that particular order.

A/N: this one has more Loki than the last. And... I'm sorry. Also, the timeline is important from the last chapter and forward, so keep it in your mind.

A/N2: @chrissquares made me these awesome dividers! And dear @nacho-bucky beta read this for me!

No one is allowed to repost my writing or steal or copy my work! Reblog on tumblr is fine.

Series masterlist

Song on Spotify and YouTube

"We won't be able to control the dwarves for long, we need to calm them down soon or they will attack."

"Your Highness, we need a plan of attack to keep them from breaching through their borders, some shield spell or-" A different councilman piped up.

"No, what we need is to keep peace. We need a negotiator to help maintain order. No more endless war, we can solve it without offence." The Allfather looked at his counsel until his eyes fell on his son who sat quietly throughout the whole meeting. "Loki, I want you to go and calm the situation down, solve it peacefully."

Loki looked up at his father, his stern gaze left no place to argue.

"Yes father." Loki got up after that, getting ready for the long day ahead of him. But before he could go his father's voice stopped him.

"I expect that when you'll be back you will make arrangements to make up with Lady Iyllir for your past behaviour."

"My first priority now is with the negotiation I need to handle." With a thin smile Loki walked away from his father, now with newfound determination to leave Asgard soon.

He stayed there longer than he wanted to. Apparently their species didn't sleep as often as Asgardians do. When he finally got back to the palace, he teleported right into his room and got in bed; he was never more grateful for his powers than now. Through all of his tiredness though, the moment his head hit the pillow you plagued his mind and sleep faded away from him as you pulled him closer into your dangerous clutches.

He felt as if he was the same heartbroken guy he was before everything happened. She took over his dreams after he let her go, and if he was being honest he let her. He'd imagine her next to him, holding his shattered heart together just enough for him to be able to go to sleep, keeping it as close together as she could until the morning came and she was no longer there and the pieces were all scrambled again. He woke up and remembered that you weren't next to him, and no matter how much he'll conjure her up he knew she won't be you. A face identical to yours still doesn't feel like you.

You were so much more than just a figure to him, he could conjure her up and she would be just like you with the same smile and eyes but beyond that she was nothing but empty. She wasn't you because you had a soul that he could feel just by being close to you, and you had emotions behind those brilliant eyes and sincerity behind the smile. You were so much more than a trick of the eye.

He couldn't even touch her.

Last time, after he left you he was ruined, knowing that he had no way to undo what he did- he had no way back, especially after the fall. But now he knew that even if he would go back and knock on your door- you won't let him in. He knew he would only shatter the peace you could have had if he hadn't barged into your life and wrecked you all over again. He was a selfish man but you wouldn't let him in your door again. Loki wasn't dumb by any means, he knew that you meant what you said and he couldn't blame you.

Sleep decided to claim him, but he could only hope you won't be there too haunting his dreams.

"Are you sure this is wise?" Loki voiced out his doubts as you picked your head out of the blanket fort the two of you spent the afternoon making only to shake your head at him.

"Yes, it is like the best thing ever," were mortals so destructive that they enjoyed lacking their needed sleep time? He was certain midgardians needed more sleep than him and it was rather crucial for them. "I cannot believe you've never had a movie marathon!"

"I don't see the point of sitting in front of your screen for many hours without any break, we could just as easily watch one and on another occasion the other. Why the rush to do things we can just do another time?"

"Time is short, and you have to live in the moment. There is nothing wrong with spending just one day as if you're running out of time with someone, actually that is something endearing in a way." He watched as you got lost in thought before your eyes focused on his again and he knew you won't let him deny this. So the god of mischief entered the warm steady fort you created, well it wasn't actually that steady but you didn't need to know the little magic he used on it.

He had to admit that the little nest the two of you built was quite charming, it was odd how such a delicate thing could give one the feeling of safety.

"Come on we are starting the first movie!"

"You still haven't told me, who is this Potter?" he picked up the disc and examined its packaging.

"I love it when you say that with your accent! And he is a wizard!" you giggled at him and put a bowl of popcorn in between the two of you as the movie started playing.

"Are you trying to tell me that this guy is doing magic?" It was preposterous to know that this is how humans perceive magic. He wished he could show you what real magic is like, maybe one day he will.

"I know! it's amazing! I love Sci-fi so much." The movie kept playing on with him making snarky comments at the characters and with you giggling and defending the movie.

The movies went on one after the other and he might have gotten emotional over some scenes, not that he showed it of course.

It was in the fifth movie that he felt a soft weight on his shoulder and when he looked to the side he saw you laying your head on him with your eyes closed. At this point the snacks were pushed aside and you had gotten closer to him and now you fell asleep on him, your bodies touching and he doesn't know why but he held his breath then. You let yourself to be in such a vulnerable state with him, in this makeshift fort, and his body reacted to it more than it should have. With each loud fast beat of his heart realization fell upon him. He didn't know what it was just yet, but he understood it.

It was odd, the feeling he got, he had never been this enchanted with someone before- let alone a human. You seemed to have some sort of effect on him that he couldn't shake off even when you weren't around him. You caused these blooming feelings to erupt inside of him and it was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. And all you did was fall asleep with your head on his shoulder. The god of mischief was falling in love.

•

It was 1am and you might have just stolen Tony's car alongside some expensive bottles he had locked away.

You just had to get out of there, the thoughts got too loud and the dreams got more vivid, so you knew exactly where you needed to go to get your mind straight and maybe drink some wine.

No one knew about the apartment that you kept even after moving into the Tower. The only other person that knew about it was Tony, who bought it and kept it there just for you, clear of annoying neighbours in a silent neighborhood.

Getting into the apartment you shivered at the cold, so you turned on the AC and popped open the first bottle of wine.

So you sat there with the bitter sweet wine scenting the room. So far you had no luck of forgetting the young prince, his taste and smell easily overpowered the alcohol if you focused on them strongly enough.

You almost did.

But with each sip you got sent back into a kaleidoscope of memories. Headlights pass the window pane and sent you aware to a far memory.

"Why are you dressed up like that?" Loki raised an eyebrow at you when he took a sit at the dining room table and you put a drink in front of him. He grew quite fond of midgardian drinks, they were much better than mead. You closed the window and the curtain, the bright light outside was blinding you. It was too early in the morning for that.

"Like what?" you stretched your arms and hem of your night shirt went up a bit and revealed skin that Loki tried not to look at.

"Still in your sleep wear."

"It's morning and I'm not going anywhere." You shrugged him off and sat down in front of him.

"Are you not going to change because I'm here?" he kept his eyes on your face.

"No, I'm comfortable." You shrugged him off again and began to eat your toast. Your answer however lingered in the back of your head.

"Alright," he answered and took a sip. "I'm just saying that it's not fitting for a lady to be dressed like this."

He knew how much you hated being called that. His smirk was hidden by his cup of coffee.

"You son of a bitch… don't call me that."

"Not call you what, my lady?" you pointed your fork at him and he couldn't help but think how adorable you look like this.

"Call me Lady one more time and I'll show you exactly how not lady-like I am."

"Okay, fine!" he watched as you brought your cup to your lips only to realize that you drank all of your tea. "Come on, I'll make you another cup of tea as an apology."

You let him take your empty cup with a satisfied smile. When he was in the kitchen you wandered to the question he asked and the immediate answer that you gave him. It took you a second to get out of your thoughts when you realized something.

"Oh wait Loki you don't know how I make my-" you got up to the kitchen only to open the door right to Loki who just gave you the tea he just made. He moved past you and sat at the table.

You hesitantly took a sip, only to sigh in content- it was perfect.

"You know how I like my tea." It was a statement but you were still fazed by that fact as you sat down. His reply was short.

"Well of course I do."

It was odd how such a simple thing as that could make your heart flutter with a feeling that you haven't felt in a long while but you knew exactly what it was.

•

Three months ago in Asgard.

Asgard looked beautiful in the morning. Loki stood in his room next to his window which overlooked the garden. His mind wasn't in Asgard though, and he had a decision to make, one that was waiting for him the moment he steps out of that door.

He knew that it's been almost a month since he left you and you told him to never come back. He had to find a way to move on even if he couldn't. He'd call it a coincidence if it weren't just unfortunate luck.

He was well aware of his options and the fact that there were none, and while he'd rather perish in his own misery a part of him still knew that he would have to take the other choice.

You'd never take him back, not after what happened when the two of you were well aware that the heartbreak would come, not now that you knew who he is.

Without letting himself think any further Loki went out of his room and descended a floor down until he stood outside of the large doors. He gently knocked on them. Who knew, maybe this will someday give him some twisted peace?

The door opened and there she stood in a flowery gown, Lady Iyllir.

"My lady, I've come here to apologize for my past behaviour. I would very much like it if we could resume the plan for our marriage."

•

You threw one bottle of wine aside, it was 2am but you couldn't even drink, you couldn't do anything. You just wished that he would come back and be here. He could always read your mind even when he assured you that he wasn't actually reading your mind.

"Please Loki, I miss you too much to be mad anymore, just come back."

You knew deep inside you that you'll never be clean of him; you'll never forget him for as long as you'll live. If you could, you'd rush all the way to Asgard for him, throwing away your stupid pride.

Maybe he will knock on the door, maybe he is on his way. You humored yourself but the hope was still there.

Yes you told him to leave but what you really wanted was for him to be there on the other side of the door screaming "I'm in love with you" or maybe he'll wait there in the pouring rain and throw pebbles at your window.

How did the god of lies not see it? Why couldn't he see that when you told him to leave you wanted him to chase after you and fight for you?

"I need you Loki, I do."

Then there was a knock on your door, you were sure you imagined it. But it was real and a smile took over your face when you went towards the door. He heard you.

Everything you needed was right there on the other side of the door, with his face and his beautiful blue eyes, and even with the conversations with the little white lies.

You rushed to open the door after he knocked on it again.

But he didn't have his blue eyes.

"Mike?" you really thought that Loki would show up for you. Your smile fell.

"You seemed off today darling," he walked past you into the living room. "I thought you might want some company."

In your state of disappointment you shook yourself out of it and closed the door. You had a boyfriend, you didn't have Loki. You won't have Loki.

"Oh, thank you. That is very thoughtful of you." He put some bags of food and drinks on the counter and came back to you. He wrapped you up in a hug. He may not be Loki, but you needed a hug right now so you held onto him.

"I know that as an Avenger it must be rough, with the missions and the constant danger," he brought you to sit on the couch with him. "I understand that it could get hard, but I'm proud of you for doing that and I want you to know that I am here for you."

He was saying everything you needed to hear, and so you nodded into his chest. Loki was wild and crazy but here you have a guy who is steady and stable and your heart can't seem to listen to logic.

At least he's here.

"I'll get us something to drink and then we can talk about it if you want, okay?" you nodded at him again as he got up and went to the kitchen.

You straightened your shirt until he got back with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Oh, I already have wine right there-" you looked back at the half bottle that was left and cringed.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll like this one. Plus this one is brand new." He tried to joke but you wished he hadn't seen how much you drank already. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to drink more but you needed it.

You took the glass with the red liquid. Testing it, you shook it in the glass and sent the burning red liquid down your throat. It was pretty good, you had to admit. It had an unusual taste to it that you couldn't quite figure out.

"It's from Europe." He smiled and you smiled back lightly.

You talked to him and didn't really care that you finished your glass of wine soon and he poured you another one.

The alcohol must have started to get to you, you felt a little spacey, the smell of the alcohol made you feel weird.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" he laughed at you a bit and put his glass on the table.

"I asked you if you're okay, do you feel better now?" it was starting to get a bit hot in the room, you forgot to turn off the AC, you looked around for the remote.

"Yeah I'm just- didn't you drink from your wine?" you looked at the full glass on the table. Your head was starting to hurt and you picked up the glass, the weird smell came back to you and the world felt blurry around you.

"No, I'm afraid I am not here to drink."

•

Tags: @ayybtch @buckys-other-punk @chaoticpete @madcrazy50 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @the-departed-potato @rogerrhqpsody @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @percabethismyotp14

[malereader-inserts]

This Side of Paradise

Fandom: Riverdale Pairing: Jughead Jones x Male!Reader Summary: so if you’re lonely, no need to show me, if you’re lonely come be lonely with me. a song you made for jughead. Word Count: 1,549 Warning: Smoking, mentions of weed A/n; inspired by the song this side of paradise by coyote theory

You stare at him inquisitively, you and Jughead are two different people. You were a music kid, very popular in school. You were in the band, and your school is very up the ass with music because there are so many talented kids. Jughead prefers to be alone and you were always in crowds.

Jughead had no bad feelings towards you, you went to the same elementary school, middle school and now high school - objectively you two grew up together alongside with Archie and Betty. He watched you from being his friend to drift away to bigger crowds, boys and girls alike to worship the ground you walk upon. 

You were a popular band in Riverdale, you get a lot of money for gigs and parties. Jughead knows you’re going to a successful music college, you’re going to make it big in the world. Even as a high schooler, your band is getting streams on your platforms, you were already a rising star. Jughead was happy for you, but there are times where he wished there wasn’t a big crowd or a group around you.

He wished it was old times, just you and him. 

That’s when he sees you under the bleachers, skipping out Chemistry. You were reading a book as Jughead smirks to see you. You were popular, but no one ever really knew you other than your band members, those you consider as best friends. 

“It’s been a while, (Y/n).” 

Your attention diverts towards him and give him an easy smile, “Alas, Jughead Jones arrives the scene.”

“You’re dramatic,” Jughead says laughing though, as he sits by you, “Why are you avoiding Chemistry.”

“Could say the same for you,” You replied, shrugging your shoulders, “Chemistry is boring and I had to get away from people, and you?”

“I like skipping class,” Jughead responded., “What are you doing?”

You flip the book to show him the cover, “Just reading, trying to find inspiration for a new song really. Been told we have to make a new single soon, to get the ball rolling for the new album. Nothing significant has happened in my life recently nor the two idiots.”

Jughead nodded, chuckling amusingly at your nicknames for your drummer and bass player. Jughead loves his best friend, but the atmosphere is different with you. You two are chilled that conversation flows smoother than ay interaction Jughead has ever had.

“How’s your dad?” You asked him after an hour into the conversation, a double period almost coming to an end.

Jughead shrugs, “He’s the same... Getting better though.”

“That’s good, heard you join your dad’s gang, but you’re always welcomed in my house whenever.”

Jughead smiles, keeping that thought in his mind. Every now and then, the two of you would meet under the bleachers, Jughead feels at ease and another feeling he couldn’t explain properly, but it was there. There was conversation ranging from his writing to the magnificence of Pop’s diner food. One point you talked about carnivals, and how you would love to go with someone like him.

You two talk about the weird happenings in Riverdale, sometimes his dreams and hopes in the future. He asked you how was songwriting going and you vented how you were stressed to the max that you had to roll a joint to calm yourself.

“Hey, Juggie,” You hummed, smoking the joint before offering him some which he takes - not every day you’re given weed, “Ask me why my heart’s inside my throat?”

“Really?” Jughead giggles, “This is what you’re asking me to do?”

“Aw come on,” You whine, pouting at him, “Ask it!”

“Why is your heart inside your throat?” He asked you, passing the joint back to you.

You take an inhale for a second, letting the smoke exit your mouth, “I’ve never been in love, I’ve been alone. I just feel like I’m living life asleep because I figure love is so strong it would make me feel so weak.”

“Are you lonely?” He asked you, almost in disbelief as you finished the joint, you shrugged your shoulders facing a high Jughead as well as you were.

“Why’s that surprising?”

“You’re always with a crowd, I figured it’s hard to be lonely with so many people surrounding you.”

“I’m alone in a crowded area, Jughead,” You say, “I like being alone, but to be lonely in a crowd, feeling lost? It’s a different vibe, atmosphere. A feeling I hate experiencing.”

“Right, well, I’m lonely most of the time.”

“Oh, I know, Jughead Jones.”

The bell rings signalling class period ended, at least the two of you had lunch next. You stand up, grabbing your bag to your shoulders as you did your old-time handshake with Jughead that you created with him when you were little. Your fingertips gentle caress his fingers, tips barely touching, a slow dance between the ends of the digits. 

Jughead started to notice that you were drifting away, the occasional smile across the room would be given. There was a period of time where you hadn’t met him under the bleachers, he felt offended, angered. So, when you accidentally met him under there as you were making a speedy escape he caught you.

“Want to explain why you’ve been so distant?” 

“Songwriting, I had a spark of an idea.”

“Right,” Jughead says, though you could tell you weren’t off the hook. 

So, you stayed with him as he vented. You listened to him, the occasional encouraging nods and reassuring smiles that you were listening to him. When he got everything off his chest, he smiles at you.

“You’re very passionate,” You concluded as Jughead scoffs.

“Says you, you’ve devoted your life to your band and music.”

You chuckled, nodded that he seems to one-up you, “Alright smart ass,” you rolled your eyes, “Hey, Juggie?”

He looks at you questioningly.

“I’ll be busy in the next few days perfecting the song, but Veronica is holding a gig at her speakeasy were I’ll be performing. You’ll get to hear the new song live.” 

“I’ll be there.”

Jughead stands by his dad in the speakeasy, he listens to his dad drone on about how he always thought you and him had something, but he couldn’t place a finger on it. You’re performing in the background, people engaging and some talking in hush tones. 

“This is our last song,” You introduced, “This is a new song a wrote, it’s called This Side of Paradise. It’s inspired and dedicated to a special someone in my life.”

Everyone looks at you, fiddle with the mic, you’re hair and the plectrum in your hand as you readjust your guitar strap. Jughead watches you curiously, as your eyes flicker from the strings of your guitar to his eyes. Captivating him in a trance.

“This is for you, Jughead.” 

FP pats his son’s shoulder tightly, gripping it hard and shaking him, proud that his son managed to inspire a local band into possible fame. The guitar strings vibrate the melody, Jughead can’t help but look at you as Veronica specially made different colour lights beam around the room but when it hits against you - it just feels different to Jughead.

“Ask me why my heart’s inside my throat,” You sang, Jughead falls a little bit in love as he recalls you asking him to ask that to you, “I’ve never been in love, I’ve been alone.”

Jughead smiles as you catch him smiling, you look down at your chords smiling to yourself.

“Are you lonely?” Your bandmates sing,

“I’ll be the only dream you seek, so if you’re lonely, no need to show me,” You sang, Jughead recalls you telling him that you could tell when he’s lonely, “If you’re lonely come be lonely with me.”

Jughead chuckles to himself, flashbacks of all the antics you and him had during under the bleachers. The conversations that were held there, stupid little enactments of your favourite plays.

“You’re the ground my feet won’t reach, so, if you’re lonely, darling you’re glowing.”

Jughead beams when he sees you brighten you smile as you sing the word darling. He gets a funny feeling when you address him as darling. FP looks at his son, with a knowing smile. His boy is in love, he hadn’t realised it until now. FP’s shoulders relax as he continues to watch the performance happily, throwing side glances at his love-stricken son. 

“Underneath the pale moonlight, dreaming of a circus life, carousels and Ferris heights,” You sang so angelic like, “I’ll be yours if you’ll be mine.”

Jughead stops as he noticed that when you sang that line, you stare directly at him. It’s almost like the crowd of people watch you had disappeared and in the room was just you and him. You’re directly serenading him, nothing else could ruin this moment. 

You continue to sing as Jughead returns to reality, he watches you lovingly, thinking of ways to accept your love. Because, at the moment, Jughead realise what that feeling was that was brewing in him for days, for weeks. 

It was the feeling home.

You’ve opened the door and it feels so safe, Jughead cannot help but melt. 

It’s home, right ahead of him, he can’t wait to settle back into warmth and love.

[wallgirl]

The Little Nereid Part 5

2200 words, part five of a nine part fanfiction (it ain’t over til it’s over, babes)

Poseidon x OC

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.

Categories: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending; no NSFW content

---

Since their conversation that night, Dynamene had been in high spirits. Poseidon seemed so much more tangible, so much closer, now that he had allowed her a glimpse into his mind. She found herself yearning for one more moment with the two of them alone. There was so much more she wanted to know about him. She wanted to hear his thoughts on everything. It was a curiosity stronger than anything else she'd felt.

She spent the following days in a dreamy haze, humming her way through chores and afternoons on the beach with her sisters. It seemed like any moment her thoughts were allowed to wander they travelled back to that night with the black ocean and crystalline sky, and those dark eyes that had held her within for the first time in a thousand years.

"Dynamene," called one of her sisters. Dynamene started from where she had been tracing her fingers absently through the warm sand, lost in her dreamy reverie.

"Yes?" She asked, gathering her wits about her.

"You've been sitting there day-dreaming the whole afternoon," Thoe complained. "I thought you were going to help me wash these shells out. I want to make them into bracelets."

"Oh, right," Dynamene blushed, getting to her feet clumsily. "I'm sorry, I'm coming."

From higher up on the beach, closer to the rocky cliffsides, Ianeira watched her sisters converse. She sighed and shook her head at Dynamene's absent-mindedness. "She's completely out of it."

"Spying, are we?" An unexpected voice came from Ianeira's side. Ianeira smiled wryly as she turned to the speaker

"Bold words coming from you," she quipped at Eione, who had come to lean against the rock next to her. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, to be honest," Eione shook the water from her strawberry locks. "Just looking at the view. Guess the difference is that you seem to have an ulterior motive. What troubles you?"

"Dynamene has been... rather out-of-sorts lately," Ianeira answered, turning her gaze back to the Nereids on the beach. "I'm worried about her."

"She's just being a young girl, isn't she, though?" Eione asked, following Ianeira's gaze to Dynamene. "We all went through that phase. Some worse than others." She gave a nostalgic sigh.

"Yes, and we all cringe at it when we've come out on the other end," Ianeira replied. "But her case is... different, and not for the better. I just don't want Dynamene to fall into any trouble."

Eione stared at her sister for a few moments before grinning. "This involves Lord Poseidon, doesn't it?"

It was Ianeira's turn to stare at her sister. "Did Actaea tell you?"

"Did Actaea what? No, silly. I heard your conversation at breakfast last week." Eione tapped her ears. "You all always underestimate these ears of mine. Nothing escapes my hearing, even when I'm not trying."

Ianeira sighed in frustration and shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "I guess it can't be helped, then. Just don't tell any of the others. I don't want anyone else to worry."

"It's too late for that, sister. Everyone already knows," Eione stated matter-of-factly.

Ianeira froze. "Everyone, you say?"

"Oh, Ianeira, look at her!" Eione cried, sweeping her arm down towards the beach. "She's only been acting this way after her birthday meeting with Poseidon! He gave her that bracelet, and she hardly ever takes it off! She spies on him when she sees him pass in the halls! She smiles at him! Do any else of us smile at him?!"

Ianeira bit her lip. "I know. I just don't know how to discourage it..."

"There's no use in that, dear sister," Eione sighed, resting her chin on her hand. "She's completely fallen for him." She looked down towards the beach with a resigned expression.

Ianeira stared at Dynamene in fear. "I am afraid for her."

"You have very right to be. Poseidon really is a sea serpent in a man's skin. If any of the other Olympians asked for our heads on a platter, he'd say, 'whose, and how soon?'" Eione shook her head. "But we can't rein in Dynamene's feelings anymore than we can stop the sunlight. Her feelings are her own."

"I know," murmured Ianeira. "But I have an idea." She briskly turned away. "Swipe Actaea and bring her up to the palace. We need to talk."

"Aye," Eione sighed, running her hand through her frazzled tresses. "I hope you know what you're doing, Ianeira. Too much meddling will only make things worse." She stared back at their youngest sister, hastily sorting shells with Thoe, completely unaware of her elder siblings' exchange. After all, the heart wants most that which it cannot have.

An hour later, Dynamene was following Thoe through the palace, arms laden with sacks of seashells. "Do you really need this much, Thoe?" She whined, shifting the weight in her arms.

"Of course. I'm going to make two for everyone so there's no complaints. I figure that equals out to about 40 shells per sister. Of course, a few will break in the process, so make that closer to 45. Then, multiplying that by every sister, of which there are 49... oh, I shouldn't forget one for Nerites..."

Dynamene groaned silently as she listened to Thoe ramble on, but then a subtle shift in the air nearby caused her to halt. It was a sensation she'd been in-tuned to ever since that night on the beach; the ever-so faint sound of Poseidon's heartbeat.

She quickly set the sacks down, and Thoe turned to look at her in bewilderment. "What - where are you going?" She cried as Dynamene took off down the hall.

"Just the bathroom, I'll be right back!" Dynamene called, her voice distracted. She hadn't had the chance to talk to him since then; she couldn't let herself miss this opportunity.

He was headed out the main doors to go to the ocean. Dynamene sprinted at first to catch up before skidding to a halt just out of sight. Her heart pounded with indecision. Should she make her presence known? Then again, he must already know that she was close by.

"Dynamene," Poseidon said with his back still turned. She jumped before shyly stepping forward from behind the pillar.

"Lord Poseidon," she said quietly.

"Hadn't we already spoken about spying?" he asked, turning partially to look at her.

"I'm not spying, my lord. Just observing," she replied boldly, twisting her hands.

"Hm." He turned away and continued through the open doors out onto the deck. Dynamene remained where she stood, bashfully looking at her hands.

"Weren't you following me?" He called without breaking his stride. She gave a gasp of happy surprise before taking his cue to resume following him, this time close to his side.

""I haven't seen you since last week," she said quietly. "You must be very busy, per usual."

"Movement of tectonic plates in the western Indian Ocean was causing unwanted activity," he said matter-of-factly. "I decided to check in on it myself, seeing as no one else is qualified to do so."

"Ah, yes," Dynamene bumbled. "Tectonic plates. I forget that they call you the Earth-shaker as well."

Poseidon's gaze flitted to the side for a moment. Was he annoyed, or... amused?

"So you'll be spending more time there for the foreseeable future, I take it?" She asked, clasping her hands behind her back.

"It shouldn't take more than a week. Fixing the problem requires a delicate balance, but nothing I haven't handled many times in the past."

"Mm," Dynamene responded, not sure what to say. It wasn't like she had a deep understanding of his work, but she did know what tectonic plates were, and that their movement was capable of causing disaster. Perhaps it was a bigger deal than he was letting on. "Please don't strain yourself," she whispered. She knew he might take the statement as a slight, but she was earnest in her sentiment.

His eyes shifted to her face. "You concern yourself with my well-being?"

That wasn't the response she'd expected. Her face flushed an even deeper red. "I mean no disrespect, my lord."

"It is not possible for me to strain myself. I am a god. The ocean and its movements are my purpose. Concern yourself no longer." Poseidon's words weren't those of anger, but of fact.

"Of course," she murmured. "I have faith in you and your abilities. You are the god of the seas."

By now they had arrived down to the beach. They had come a good distance from the palace, and Dynamene realized they were headed towards a small cove just a little further off. She wondered what his purpose was in going there.

Once they were in the cove, still and serene aside from the splashing of sapphire waves, Poseidon halted. Dynamene waited as he took in the horizon, seemingly scanning for something.

"Come closer," he said, kneeling at the foot of the waves. She stepped forward and knelt beside him, their arms nearly brushing. He took her hand in his and held it into the cool water. Dynamene stared, trying not to come undone from the unexpected contact.

"Close your eyes," he commanded, and she did. Just like before, a surge of energy flowed from him to her. Her eyes darted underneath her eyelids, searching the imagery that filled her mind. There was a vast darkness - the seafloor, perhaps? - then a glint of something orange. Those must be underwater volcanoes. A sudden loud boom, almost deafening despite the fact that she wasn't really hearing it, sounded, making her body jolt and her eyes fly open.

"Those are the plates shifting," he explained. "That's the sound they make as they run against each other. That sound has been repeating for several days. The sea life around it is getting agitated." His gaze rose back to the horizon. "I must return to the fault soon and break up the edges that are making that hideous noise. Only then will the area return to peace."

Dynamene realized that he was still holding onto her hand, and her heart skipped a beat. This time, his grasp was rather gentle, as if he were afraid she'd break if he used too much strength. She was getting up the courage to squeeze his more tightly when, to her disappointment, he pulled away.

They stood, and Dynamene followed his gaze out to the ocean, fascinated. "It's amazing that you can sense all that," she whispered, eyes wide. "I'm a sea-nymph, but I had no idea... It's incredible."

"It is a sense that can improve through practice. Continue using it and you'll be able to pick up on more." Poseidon began to retrace their steps back to the palace. "I needed to check up on the situation anyways. Things are getting worse; I must return as soon as possible."

Dynamene's face fell at the mention of him leaving once more. "I see." She tagged along behind him at a larger distance this time. "Say..." She swallowed hard. "Could... Could you maybe take me along there someday? The deep-sea vents and the strange fish... It all looked so fascinating."

He paused and turned back to her once more. She stared up at him earnestly, seeing her own reflection in his eyes. His eyes trailed down to her wrist, where the bracelet sat faithfully in its place of honor on her wrist. Dynamene followed his gaze, confused.

"You're wearing the bracelet," he said quietly.

Dynamene blushed. "Of course. It is... beloved to me." Her fingers lingered gently on the glistening beads.

"You weren't wearing this beloved gift when we spoke on the beach," he replied.

Dynamene's skin prickled in embarrassment. I wasn't wearing it because I was upset with you. "I wasn't sure if I should wear something so fine to the water." Why are you bringing this up now? Did me not wearing it bother you?

Poseidon stepped closer to her, and she stopped breathing. She knew he heard her heart racing, but she wasn't ashamed anymore. It wasn't like she could hide it anyways. At least she could hear his now as well, just as steady and rhythmic as before.

"I will give you another," he said, his words rather quiet. "It's dull to wear just one bracelet. A pair is more suitable."

Dynamene's eyes widened. Her thoughts momentarily shut-down in the face of his offer.  "I will gladly wear both," she answered after she'd drawn a breath. "I promise."

"I know," he said simply.

She was unable to hold back a wide smile of joy. The one bracelet for her birthday had been more than enough, and now she was going to receive a second? She knew the gesture was not meaningless... But what, exactly, did it mean?

His expression was less rigid as he took in her smile. Then he continued to walk once more. "I cannot waste any more time. I have an audience to hear before I return to the Indian Ocean."

Dynamene's eyebrows rose. He heard audiences at most thrice a year, so this was unexpected news. "An audience? I hope it's not anything - or anyone - bad."

"No," he responded simply. "The audience is your sisters."

Dynamene halted, her expression filled with shock. An audience with my sisters... about what? I wasn't told anything.

Deeply concerned, she ran to catch up to him.

---

Author’s Notes: This chapter took a little longer once again. Like before, I ended up rewriting part of it, but that’s fine. I once again ended up closer to my vision by doing so. I wanted to have it up last night, but a headache kept me from finishing it.

Dynamene is a bold girl sometimes, isn’t she? But now that she knows Poseidon won’t kill her, she doesn’t have to be afraid anymore. not about dying anyways

Okay, but was he going to kill her in part 4? He was prepared to, depending on what she said. He brought his trident for a reason.

But he could’ve killed her for listening in either way, so why didn’t he?

Because, deep down, he does have a soft spot for the Nereids. They’re ocean spirits, and they’ve made up his court for a thousand years; that’s as close as it gets for him. Killing one Nereid means pissing off the rest of the family, and that’s a hassle to deal with. Also... her feelings for him are interesting to him, and not something he’s dealt with from anyone else before. At least, no one he knows. Perhaps he’s selfish and doesn’t want to lose that.

Maybe there’s more to it, but that’s what he tells himself.

[mischiefapprentice]

Lockdown Relationships

A/N: This short story is my entry for my school's first annual Valentine's Creative Writing contest. It got featured, and I am more than honored to share this one with you all!

March 12, 2020

“Love?” “Yes, darling?” “I can’t travel back to Los Angeles. Lockdown’s to begin on the day of my flight.”

I was supposed to go back to Los Angeles, California on March 13 after two months of my vacation here in Manila. My boyfriend has been constantly calling me, excitement lacing his voice as he waits for me to get home in his arms after two months of being oceans away from each other. He is an actor, and I am his personal assistant up until now. Our relationship may have flakked with his fans, but it didn’t matter to him. All he knew was: he loves me to the moon and back. I’m Reine Gwendolyn Simmons, and you can call me Reine.

As I was saying, I was supposed to be on my flight back to Los Angeles the next day. All my bags were packed, my passport and plane tickets are already secure in my small Louis Vuitton bag, and my heart cannot wait to see my lifeline again. However, hearing the president planning to implement travel bans on the day made my hopes of getting back as soon as I can impossible.

“Can’t it be moved tonight? I’ll ask Matty to arrange a plane ticket for you, or I can ask for my private plane to be sent there to fetch you.” “It can’t be moved; all plane flights for tonight are full.” “Are you really sure?” “Dane, just got straight to the point.”

“Well, I might just have cancelled your flight tomorrow and the plane is on the way to the airport now…”

That’s my boyfriend. He’d always find a way through things, especially if it’s about me. He has done that many times before; he’ll always see to it that I’d be safe and home on time, and most of all, he’d make sure to call me despite the time differences here. Daniel loves me so much that he would give everything just to see that I’m happy. Seeing that there is no way out of this fiasco he did, I decided to go and get on the plane before midnight.

📷

April 2020

I tested positive for COVID-19.

Aside from being my boyfriend’s personal assistant, I also worked as a nurse in one of the quarantine centers in Los Angeles. Daniel and I had a little misunderstanding with this matter, since it means I have to be far from him and he won’t get to see me everyday. He also knows of my respiratory problems, making me vulnerable to the virus too. Luckily, Daniel didn’t get the virus, and he’s safe at home.

“Babe, are you getting any better?” “Little by little, but I need to recover more.” “They could have provided more PPEs for nurses like you, love. Especially you.”

Yes. They don’t have enough Personal Protective Equipment for us. That is also the reason why he wouldn’t want me to go apply as a nurse during this time. My head nurse also warned me about my high risks of getting the virus, but I still said yes. It was a sworn duty that I must complete until I resign or retire. I always put others first before myself, that’s why I became a nurse.

His eyes showed sadness as we talked through FaceTime. He always feared that one day, I’d be gone from him forever. He’d always tell me that it’s fine that I’d be with another guy if we break up, but he’ll never get over my death. It would be the most tragic day for him. Knowing that low chances of survival await me, I’m now reflecting whether to end our relationship of two years or still let him love me until my last breath. I want to spare him of the pains of heartbreak from my death, knowing that my passing will be his end too.

Weeks have passed, and I feel my body slowly deteriorating. It’s as if death’s stark shadow looms over my weakening body as the virus slowly defeats my immunity. I tried to keep up my hopes of surviving this high, knowing that Daniel also keeps his hopes up that I will get through this. Wondering if I told him about me wanting to end our relationship? Yes, I did tell him about it, and he is not really happy with it. Persuading him that I am doing this for him, he never bought it. He insisted that he’d love me until my last day albeit the pains of losing me will swallow him alive.

“Darling, please. I’m not giving up on us just because of this.” He tells me as tears fall on his face. “I want to spare you from the pain when I die, Daniel.” I retort, tears also streaming down as I feel my heart tear into pieces. “I don’t want you staying single because of me. You need to live your life, at least for me.” “I don’t care if I’d suffer heartbreak because you are gone. Just let me love you until your last breath, please.”

📷

November 28, 2020

Having recovered from the virus after 3 months, I was discharged from the hospital I am confined in. July 2020 was the highlight of our relationship; Daniel assured me every single day that he loves me, and he is never giving up on us despite my low chances of surviving this disease. During those three months, he’d always give me a call, despite time differences. He’d be in Seoul, Korea; or in Prague, Czech Republic. He’d also be in Michigan with his family and his Golden Retriever, Marry. There was even a time he tried to visit me before he flew to Korea.

“Oops, remember: two meters away from me, darling.” I reminded him as he was about to hug me. Him being a whiny guy, he’d show me that pout that made me fall for his plans. “I missed hugging you!” He reasons out, his arms crossed on his chest. “Well, I missed those teddy bear hugs of yours, but we have to follow protocols.” I shrug my shoulders.

This very day, I am now finally free from the dangers and tribulations of the quarantine center. My head nurse decided it’s time for me to rest, since it was contractual work for me. I have agreed to work for them from March 2020 up until November 2020. Today is also the day my beloved man was born, and his manager has been planning my return as a surprise. But turns out, I am the one to be surprised.

As soon as I got home from the center and had completed the quarantine on the hotel for nurses like me, Matthew brought me to the golf course park where Daniel and his friend Martin would go to and play golf. Roscoe greeted me with the cutest smile he could muster, leading me to my boyfriend with a quick run. My eyes water up as Daniel looks at me with a smile, waiting for me to come close. Bent down on one knee, he asked me the most crucial question I never thought he’d ask me.

📷

February 15, 2021

Today’s the day. After two months of preparing for the biggest day of our lives, I now change my surname to his. I say we’d marry as soon as the vaccines come, he says we marry on the day after Valentine’s day. Reasoning that vaccines would take long, and he can’t wait that long to marry me, we agreed to marry on this day. Now wearing the white dress that every girl would dream to wear on the day of their wedding, I now patiently wait for the wedding bells to ring, signalling that I enter the church and walk on the aisle that led to the man who never gave up on me. White flowers filling my very own bridal bouquet which shows the purity of my intentions and of my entire being, I am more than ready and happy to open the new chapter of my life alongside him. Tears of happiness stream down on both of our faces as I march alongside my parents to the altar where he waits.

If there is one thing that our love taught and reminded us, it is our patience, trust and determination that led us to this. There might have been points in our life that challenged how strong our love is for each other, we still stepped through those and let the love we have beat everything that comes our way.

[cafeinthemoon]

The Leaves of Her Garden - Chapter XIII

Title: The Leaves of Her Garden

Genre: Fanfiction

Pairing: Madara Uchiha x reader

Rating: Mature

Word count: 2901

Chapter (s): 13/?

Read the previous chapters here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Interlude, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12

Symbols: ⭕ | ➕ | 🖤 | ▶▶

Chapter XIII - Madara and the God of Shinobi

Since you were brought to Madara’s house, you felt like you were under some sort of spell. You’ve been living through the days as if you were inside another person’s dream, following events, hearing conversations and seeing scenarios that could only be experienced through their eyes. Even when you were the center of such events and all eyes were turned to you, you just couldn’t feel them like the real things they were. Being introduced to other members of the clan – elders, women and servants – under your new name only reinforced this impression.

This and the fact that you’ve spent those days without your husband’s company.

The next day after the ceremony came silent in your room. When you opened your eyes and sat on the futon, your first action was to seek for Madara; you did it without even realizing it. He wasn’t there; somehow, the silence of his absence was way different from when he was just quiet, out of your immediate sight. You were left alone and felt a bit anxious for this.

The room had everything you needed to take care of yourself, and this is what you did after leaving the bed. When you were ready, you found a new robe and went to the porch, still tying its straps around your body.

You sat on the wood platform with your feet dangling right above the grass, the warm light of the morning touching your face and everything your sight could reach. Twirling around the place there were rosy petals that just have fallen from the cherry trees, so natural while carried by the breeze that you could think they were living beings; some of them were carried away, and a few ones came to rest upon the grass, close to your feet.

Yes. You have been through so much that you completely forgot that Spring was on its apex. Still, you were glad that you could take some time to appreciate it now. That was the first time you did it the way you should in a long time, without fear, uncertainty or anxiety clouding your thoughts: now you had a family and a house by the side of a man who was able to guide and protect you and two women who acted like true friends, taking care of your needs when you weren’t able to do it for yourself.

After all the things your had to endure, you were finally in peace.

You were thinking of this when you sensed your had company. You glanced at your right and saw him there, standing in the shadow of the closest porch’s columns. He wasn’t using a robe anymore: instead, he had the full traditional clothing of his clan, with its long sleeves and its high collar; however, he was on barefeet. You noticed you were starting to get used to his sudden appearances, even welcoming them.

You stood up from the porch. At first, you thought of greeting him with good morning or something, but you stopped your tongue at the last moment. Somehow you sensed the moment asked for silence.

Madara came and took the place by your side. He held your chin, then approached his lips of your temple and left a kiss there. It was a strange treatment he gave you, that one: you felt it like it was a way to mark you as his property. The gesture didn’t lack gentleness, however: there you had a man who used to take good care of what belonged to him.

He was the first to speak.

- Your look visibly better – and still with his had under your chin, he made you turn from one side to another in order to examine your traits, as a way to confirm what he said – The effects of a good night of sleep cannot be denied when we look at you right now.

When he released you, you felt safe to speak.

- Indeed, I feel better today, Madara – again, you almost said the -sama, but stopped in time – I hope you slept well too.

At first, he smiled at your preoccupation with his well being, but soon that smile fade into a contemplative expression. You didn’t have to wait too long to find out the reason behind it.

- I’ve been waiting for you to wake up, Y/n – he started – It is good to see that you are used to leave the bed in the first hours of the day, even when you do not have to.

- I am actually used to wake up earlier – you replied with modesty.

Your cheeks burned to what he said after that.

- After the last night, I would not blame you for staying in bed for a longer time – he smirked – Anyway, there is a reason for my waiting. I need to inform you about some events you must expect to attend today. The first one is the Todoroki’s farewell by midday, which you naturally will have to watch by my side, so that I will sent the women to prepare you when the time comes.

You nodded, and he offered his arm to you: he intended to take you for a walk in the garden, which you accepted without thinking twice. The morning was too beautiful for you to stand under the porch’s protection for much longer. That time you took the traditional path and reached the garden within minutes. You appreciated the walking: though you wouldn’t complain if Madara took you in his arms and reached the place in seconds, you always enjoyed using your own feet as a normal person, so that you were content to see that he respected this.

In fact, knowing that the Todoroki were going to leave soon brought some relief to your mood: you wouldn’t need to maintain Sachiko’s role for much longer once they’re gone. Only when you had to communicate with other members of the Uchiha, who weren’t aware of the whole story.

What he said next, however, had the opposite effect.

- Now, I am afraid that what I am going to tell you might bring some apprehension to you, and I apologize for that. Y/n, in a few days I am going on a mission with my brother, and I am still not sure of how long I will be away.

Madara was right. Hearing that he was leaving in some days made your heart beat faster with anxiety. Despite not knowing him long enough to say you loved him, you cared for him, as your husband and your protector: you’ve heard about the challenges and dangerous situations in which the shinobi used to be involved during their work.

You tried to contain your preoccupation, but you weren’t sure you succeeded, judging by his reply:

- I know it will not cease the worries you are already feeling, but let me tell you that there is no logical reason for them. Some of our men will be sent to travel alongside the Todoroki, and these ones will only leave in my presence. However, our best shinobi will stay to guard the compound, and some of them will follow me and Izuna in our mission – a smile grew on the corner of his mouth when he noticed you were still worried – As you can easily imagine, I would have to be too reckless, or too stupid, to leave you and the rest of my people unprotected after sealing a treaty with the Todoroki.

You did your best to calm yourself, but you needed to be honest about the situation. You stopped; looking down at his hands and releasing your arm from his, you took them into yours, too small to contain them in their entirety.

- Despite the little time we have spent together, I already trust you and Izuna-sama and the other people. But I cannot help being worried when I hear you say you will be far away, where I cannot reach you. If only there was a way to assure you will be alright… I would not bother you with these silly feelings.

When you said that, you looked into his eyes seeking for another assurance. But the glimmer you saw in them in response made you shiver though the morning was as warm as the Spring would allow it to be.

Madara held your hands in his with the same firmness you sensed when he did it for the first time, in that night you met. Just like that time, you felt fascinated yet overwhelmed by the sensation that he chose this particularly gentle gesture to push his power and unpredictability into you.

His words came only to confirm this impression.

- Maybe my mere words are no longer enough to make you understand it – and with a smile that left a deeper impression than the look in his eyes – I think it is time to show you what the name Madara Uchiha means to the ones who hear it.

With this, the black of his eyes faded, giving space to the reddish pattern of his Mangekyo Sharingan. Was he going to immerse you in another memory? You were still questioning yourself about it when the sight around you changed, and the morning light and the warm weather disappeared.

You saw yourself surrounded by a suffocating, hot atmosphere that seemed to melt at the constant explosions of light and fire you saw and heard around you. It was like being at the edge of a volcano.

When you felt able to look ahead, you spotted high rocks eroding with earthquakes that didn’t last longer than seconds. Upon them, facing each other and separated only by a few meters there were two human forms, dark against the fires.

Two men.

You felt your eyes looking closer at the scene and recognized one of them – Madara. And he was the one who produced all the fire you saw, doing this through his chakra. However, it was the way he was doing it that stunned you: he had his hand close to his mouth with his fingers pointing above in the traditional chakra releasing position used by the shinobi while at combat, and from his lips came out gigantic streams of fire the devoured everything ahead and around. So, that was what your husband was capable of?

You immediately turned to the opposite side, where the other man was standing, to see what remained from him. Because, of course, nothing could survive such attack. It was when you held your breath: the man was alive.

And not only he was alive, but he was also defending himself: with his palms united and clenched against each other, he used his chakra to make colossal branches grow around him. Yes, he was producing pure wood with his power. You soon understood that they were the cause of the earthquakes: the strength with which they opened their way through the hostile ground moved the stones from their place, changing the land’s geography.

It was like the branches surrounded by fire were about to finish the world and leave nothing to tell the story.

You observed that man with more attention and felt like you knew him, but in a peculiar way; it was like you have met him in a dream, or during a moment when you were seeing with someone else’s eyes.

Whether you knew him or not, his presence and appearance impacted you almost as much as Madara’s: his red armor shone at the fire’s light, and around his shoulders’ protectors his long, dark hair floated with the hot winds coming toward him. Just like your husband, that man had a dark toned skin, as if he was touched by the sun the same amount of times as him, only visible through his face and hands; in his traits there was something distinct, softer despite the seriousness of the battle and the fact that he was surrounded by fire, something that made him look even younger than Madara. On that face, however, you saw a courage, a rage that was equal to his.

A sudden change in the atmosphere around you made you shiver. The air became warm, almost as pleasing as before you were dragged to that place, and now you were watching the battle without suffocating with the heat. This change was operated at the same time you felt a pair of known hands held your shoulders from behind. Not wanting to take your eyes off the events before you, you glanced over your left shoulder and whispered:

- Who... is that man? How can he stay alive with everything falling apart around him?

Somehow you sensed when Madara smiled; he seemed content with your surprise and interest. Right after came his reply.

- Look closer. Look at his forehead.

For the first time you noticed that the man was wearing a white protector around his head, covering his forehead. On its front you saw an emblem that answered all your questions as soon as you recognized it: you were a teacher once; you had to spent time surrounded by books and scrolls that told you the history of the land where you lived, and many times your eyes met the symbols of its most prominent clans. That symbol belonged to one of them – the Senju.

So that was…

Madara seemed to read your thoughts even before you verbalized them.

- I think you figured it out by now – you heard him laugh to himself – That man is the head of the Senju clan. His name is Hashirama. You’ve probably heard about him. About the cognomen that was given to him.

Your reply was automatic, as if it wasn’t coming from your mouth.

- The God of Shinobi.

- Yes. It’s good to see that you know part of the story – Madara complimented in a cheerful tone, ignoring what was taking place before you – This sensation you have, that you’ve seen him before, is easy to explain. You’ve seen him in my memories yesterday. Hashirama was the boy you saw at the river with me.

You turned to him to hear more, leaving the battle behind. Its sounds diminished as Madara spoke; what he had to say now was more important than that vision.

- Hashirama and I were friends at some point of our lives. This friendship did not last long, and perhaps it was for the best. Today, we are what you would call rivals. What you just saw is nothing compared to what he is capable of doing. And the same can be said about me, I must point out.

You sensed your eyes widening. What you just saw was enough for you to understand why people called him a god. Madara laughed at your reaction.

- Don’t you see, girl? – his fingers caressed your cheek as he spoke – This is one of the countless memories I have regarding our meetings. In this one in particular, we were not dancing with everything we got. We were just rehearsing.

- Dancing...? – you immediately remembered of your training and felt ridiculous.

- Hashirama is the only person who is able to dance in a way that entertains me. Things use to get a bit tedious when you are surrounded by people who aren’t able to follow your rhythm, so that someone like him is quite necessary. It brings balance to everything.

While those words were said, you felt a slow, subtle change in the environment around you two. The lights and shadows created by the fires and the wood were fading into something constant, calm as a morning sun, and the with it came a breeze that you welcomed with your heart after the intense atmosphere you experienced moments before as it brought delicate rosy petals to fly around you like silent birds.

You look around, at them, and saw that you were back to the garden. The vision was over, and the change in the scenario served as proof. Madara had his arms around you now, and you were grateful for that, for you weren’t sure if your feet wouldn’t fail you after your return to reality. When you raised to eyes to him, his eyes were dark again, and they were turned to you. Only then you felt the impact provoked by what you witnessed.

Just like the Senju warrior, Madara Uchiha carried enough power to transform the maps of the known world inside him. Yet he called the spectacle he just showed you a rehearsal, and your surprise and admiration was a source of diversion to him.

And to think that you were now the wife of such man, destined to sleep by his side for the rest of your life, and that his hands were around you, keeping you close as you trembled before a vision…

You laid your head on his shoulder and he tightened the embrace. You stood there in silence, sensing him breathing in and out; soon your own breath adjusted its rhythm to his. After everything you saw, it was clear that any preoccupation about his integrity was silly, not to say worthless. But you were the one who asked for an assurance, and Madara gave it to you.

You were going to be careful about what you ask from him from now on.

[rosethornewrites]

Fics I read this week

Some of these may have been read earlier than a week ago, but I tried to keep it contained. Not sure I’ll keep this up, but I’ll try.

Finished:

Rated E:

the origin of change, by kissteethstainred, rated E

Lan Xichen said, “Time for regrowth and mourning is, of course, the most important. But there has also been a—frequent—discussion of marriage.” He paused to drink more tea. He almost seemed apologetic when he added, “Your name has been brought up often.”

“For marriage,” Lan Wangji repeated.

Except with Wei Ying in the picture, nothing goes exactly as planned.

Opportunity, by brooklinegirl, rated E

Lan Zhan is jostled slightly and he turns in his seat to see a harried-looking man squeezing in next to him. There isn't an empty seat there, and the bar is quite crowded. "Sorry," the man says, sounding out of breath. "I know I'm all up in your business, I'll move, I promise, I just—" He blows his breath out. "I'm going to lose this seat next to you, that dude over there has been eyeing it, and it's mine as soon as this guy leaves.”

Rated M:

Oxymoron, by feline_somnambulist, rated M

Jiang Yanli was in the kitchen. She hummed softly along to music being played somewhere else in the house, as she shuffled carefully back and forth from the prep table to the giant vat of soup. The house smelled like pork rib and savory broth. As always, she was beautiful in her element, a goddess of her domain despite the limp and the leg brace.

Her phone rang just as Jiang Cheng entered the kitchen. She saw him and smiled as she made her careful way to the phone on the wall-mounted charging station.

Jiang Cheng put the stack of paperwork down on a counter. He got to the phone first, picked it up. It was Lan Wangji’s number. He rejected the call and put the phone in his pocket.

“A-Cheng? Is everything okay?” Jiang Yanli asked, a frown creasing her brow. “Who was that?”

It Ends With the Beginning, by feline_somnambulist, rated M

They fight. They part. Jiang Cheng is hurt. Wei Wuxian comes to help. Wei Wuxian runs. Jiang Cheng is tired of chasing. They fight.

Until The End, by abCEE, rated M

"When I -- when I tied my ribbon around our wrists, I knew what I was doing and I privately honored it." Wei Wuxian's brows continued to meet as he tried to understand where the conversation was going until realization dawned on him. "Wa -- wait! Lan Zhan, is it what I think it is?!!" "It is usually done at the end of a wedding ceremony --" "What-" "But it could have been acknowledged as an engagement." "Lan Zhan!" He cannot believe what he is hearing now. "But my ancestor revealed herself --" "And we bowed… three times. We bowed, Lan Zhan!"

In which wangxian are married since the Cold Pond Cave incident, knows how proper communication works, and had confessed in the middle of the Sunshot Campaign. Things went spiraling up and down from there.

Rated T:

as it should be, by Sienne, rated T

Post-canon Lan Qiren time travels to before the Cloud Recesses lectures. The Cloud Recesses are quiet and peaceful, something his home hasn't been in years. ...In fact, it is too quiet and peaceful.

Judgment Day, by Grace_Logan, rated T

Cornered Wei Wuxian sees only one way out after cluing in on the Jin's plan.

Welcome To Gusu, by perkynurples, rated T

Deep in the lush forests of Gusu hides an aging resort that hosts dozens of children every summer for an unforgettable couple of weeks. It’s where Lan Wangji grew up alongside Wei Wuxian, and when his childhood friend (for the lack of a better term) surprisingly returns years later in the position of Senior Counsellor, seemingly hell bent on causing the same kind of mischief that got him kicked out of Gusu in the first place, but also taller, broader and tanner than ever before, Lan Wangji knows he’s In Trouble. Or, this fic has it all: longing looks over campfires, found family dynamics, ill-timed skinny dipping, teenagers inappropriately shipping their counsellors, camp weddings...

Therapy is a Performative Act, by cinder1013, rated T

“What does your dad think of your comedy?”

“Oh, he hates it, but it pays the bills and I need it to pay for my goddamn fuckin’ therapy.”

Jiang Cheng stumbles into being a stand-up comic and his favorite topic is dear ol’ dad.

sorry, i love you, by moon_thief, rated T

lan wangji was practically seething as he watched it happen. what kind of person could be so careless, unruly, undisciplined-

and then their eyes met.

oh. oh.

Tremble a Prayer, by cqlorphan, rated T

They kiss, and Lan Wangji regulates himself. There are no tears pricking at his eyes. There is no lump in his throat. His hands are undressing Wei Ying, and then Wei Ying’s hands are on his hands.

“What is it?” Wei Ying says, between kisses.

Even with Wei Ying back, Lan Wangji's sadness overwhelms him at times. He tries, and fails, to keep it from him.

The Quiet Work, by ShipsAreLaunching, rated T

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian get a summons for help from a minor clan in Gusu. When they go to investigate they find a horrible truth, and do what they do best.

Rated G:

Ink Stains Not So Ignored, by Preludian_Staves, rated G

Qiren found something that he still couldn't bring himself to ignore about his youngest nephew's husband.

I’d buy a big house where we both could live, by failed2be_chill, rated G

“Ah, so you want to play with the rabbits and enjoy their soft fur and silly little nose twitches while your poor husband toils in the heat of the day with hammer and nail doing exhausting manual labour. I see how it is. It’s a good job I love you, huh?” Wei Wuxian kisses his husband’s soft cheek.

“Mn, very good.”

---

Or, married WangXian embrace the practical and symbolic joys of home ownership. Domestic bliss.

Family, by Speechless_since_1998, rated G

Jiang Cheng blinked as his brother while he played with the baby he was holding.

He hoped he had misunderstood, but he had proof that it was true right in front of him.

So he did the only sensible thing that came to mind, "Wei Ying, what the fuck ?! '

"A-Cheng, language!" Shijie scolded him with a stern look.

"A-Jie, you can't really accept such a thing!"

"Why not? He is so cute!" she said, making funny faces at the child, totally in love with him.

Was it possible that he was the only one with a bit of mental sanity left?

A Lonely Guqin (No More), by Asphodel_Meadow, rated G

Wei Wuxian is the first person who makes Lan Wangji want to have a duet.

piercing, by escapingaugust, rated G (read the tags)

Stolen Midnights, by hinotoriii, rated G

There are nights where sleep eludes Wei Wuxian. Where the demons of his past are too loud in his mind, reminding him of that which he could never forget, second life or not.

Unfinished:

Not Rated:

Disclosed Regrets, by zLanWuxian, Not Rated

The majority of the cultivation world are pulled into a room that suspiciously resembled the burial mounds. (Their golden cores were sealed too. As to why, nobody knew.)

They are invited to watch Wei Wuxian's life.

What will they do when they find out everything they believed was a lie?

(Or: The characters of Mo Dao Zu Shi watch Mo Dao Zu Shi)

Rated E:

Where You Fell, by Sweet_William, rated E

Years ago, Lan Wangji was a Senior in high school, readying himself for graduation and the coming years studying at the Gusu Lan Institute of Music. Everything in his life made sense, from his role in his family, to a future as a classical musician. The only thing that didn’t fit was the sudden epiphanies he had about himself brought on by his bothersome and flirtatious classmate, Wei Wuxian. When the growing attraction and friendship was cut short by the other boy’s disappearance, he mourned what could have been, but ultimately had to move on. What he didn’t know was that fate would bring them back together again one day, or the reality of how far apart two lives can diverge, how some can find peace and prosperity, while others can fall farther than he ever imagined.

A Narrow Bridge, by FrameofMind and Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle), rated E

Once, Lan Wangji made a choice to step aside. Ten years after Wei Ying’s death, he finds a way back to choose again.

Setting fire to our insides, by StarsAlignNomore, rated E

Lan Wangji dies after the thirty-third strike. Lan Xichen does not handle it well.

*fleabag voice* This is a fix it.

Rated M:

Live Again, Love Anew, by kkanime5555, rated M

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian finally speaks up.

“Mn.” Lan Zhan hums to show he’s listening.

“I think we traveled back in time.”

...

“I’ll go, Lan Zhan. I’ll come to Gusu with you.”

-----

Or,

Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are soulmates and, upon Wei Ying's death, they are sent back to when they first met as kids on the streets of Yiling. From there, they both are taken to Gusu, where they are raised together, gradually learning of their shared feelings and finding out the mystery of who sent them back in time and why, all while planning how to save the world, preferably with all their loved ones left alive.

A Torn Red Ribbon, by shiroakuma, rated M

The night before they marched into the Nightless City, Lan Wangji was invited to join Wei Wuxian in his tent.

Unbeknownst to him at that time, it became their last real conversation.

In which, a resounding victory against the QishanWen Sect is won seemingly at the cost of Wei Wuxian's life. Lan Wangji still spends some time being heavily injured. Lan Xichen tries to pick the pieces left behind by the war. The Jiang Sect is renowned thanks to the revered Wei Wuxian and the cultivation world is plagued by unknown forces while Lan Wangji meets with Wei Wuxian in his dreams.

Sacrifices Made with Blood, by NocturnalFriend, rated M

Lan Wangji knew it was too late, there was too much blood on Wei Ying's hands already. Still, if he asked his brother for help, surely. There was a way to rescue the man who held his heart?

Or: Trust is not easily given and all to easily shattered. Lan Wangji learns this in the worst way, when Lan Xichen gives into the demands of the cultivation world. Although nobody could have predicted the whims of fate, giving them another chance at righting things.

What makes you sing?, by Fictio, rated M

Madam Yu was never known for her matchmaking skills but she was known for her inherent meddling. Though it still came as a surprise, when on one fine Saturday afternoon, she called Wei Ying and set him up for a blind date.

There She Rose, by Aiiiru, rated M

Many years had passed yet whispers and gossips about YiLing Matriarch still stayed alive like unruly weeds refusing to die.

"That damn Wei Wuxian must have cursed this year's harvest with 'unkillable' locusts" "But Wei Wuxian had died right?" "Didn't you know that her body wasn't found?" "I heard some cultivators saying that during the chaos, some people saw her leaving in a sword, flying away with someone else." "That must be the demon with whom she signed a contract, a female challenging three thousand or was it five thousand cultivators by herself? Hah!! She definitely has ties with evil creatures and ghosts." "I heard from my cousin in Yunmeng that YiLing Matriarch was born shameless." "Some say she was a male but took female form to seduce the ghosts of burial mounds and gain power by starting demonic cultivation" "Shhh! Don't talk so loudly! My cousin knew a man who loudly gossiped about Yilling Matriarch only to be cursed to death the next day"

Visitations, by Vir_Abelasan, rated M

"Wei Ying-" Lan Zhan says, stutters, "I'm sorry."

And now Wei Wuxian sees it, the red rimming Lan Zhan's eyes, the rumpled edges of his blazer. There is an old, familiar urge for him to reach over, to hold Lan Zhan's hand and smooth his hair, to tell him that everything will be fine.

"We're all a bit sorry about this, I think," he says instead, and finds that he means it. For Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji and everyone else in that Guanyin temple, the pain must be unbearably fresh, like skin just flayed open. But Wei Wuxian's chest had been cracked open a long time ago, his wounds licked and cauterized and sewn shut over five long years - Ever hurting, but a dull, constant ache, "It's really alright, Lan Zhan."

Five years after being accused of corporate espionage and losing everything, the Guanyin Scandal breaks open and Wei Wuxian finds a familiar face at his door.

Kiss My Wounds, Bless My Scars, by Pegunicent, rated M

When he is sixteen, Lan Wangji makes a choice. He becomes Wei Ying's bride.

Rated T:

the one where Jiang Yanli visits (and she's a fucking goddess), by ShippersList, rated T (part 4 of a series)

Wei Wuxian’s sister was a fucking goddess so it was a travesty she wasn’t being fucked like a goddess deserved.

Luo Qingyang decided to do something about it.

(Also, family feels and some plotting but that's beside the point.)

obscured in the shade of the willow, bathed in the light of the moon, by cloud_wanderer, rated T

Wei Wuxian leaves the Burial Mounds for the first time to attend his martial brother's wedding, and everything changes from there. (a.k.a. a universe in which Nie Huaisang schemes to thwart Jin Guangshan's plans and ends up saving Wei Wuxian and the Wens in the process)

Wei Wuxian meets Xiao Xingchen and helps found a sect in Yiling.

Inchoate, by Marinelifeclub, rated T

“Where would you even go once you left? Wait a few more years before leaving." persuaded Jiang Fengmian,

“Will I live to see that long?” Wei Wuxian whispered under his breath.

Jiang Fengmian felt cold at those words. He always thought his children would be the ones to heal the scars left by their mother on Wei Wuxian, but just the concise way he spoke about them, he knows that wasn’t true. Now his best friend’s son sat in front of him, confessing to not thinking he will live to see himself become a man. Cangse and Changze must be furious in their graves as the sweet smiling son they raised endured pain because of a jealous woman and a cowardly man. Sighing, he did the only thing he could to make things right and accepted the boy’s wishes.

At age 14, Wei Wuxian left Lotus Pier and never looked back.

Wei Wuxian leaves Lotus Pier and while things change something’s are just set in fate.

Here We Go Again, by Alliandra, rated T

He looked over to where the swordswoman was still fighting, but her focus seemed entirely locked onto that fight so it was unlikely that she could have had anything to do with the energy drain. He was still wracking his brain for something else to do to assist, so this thing didn’t kill them both, but now he was feeling weak, dizzy and currently not far from helpless.

~~~~~~~~~~

It has been several months since the events at the Guanyin temple and Wei Wuxian is wandering around on his own. After he helps a stranger kill a very dangerous beast he uncovers what seems to be a conspiracy aimed at ending his life. He heads back to Cloud Recesses with his new companion in tow, looking to get Lan Wanji's help in working out what is involved.

Meanwhile, Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling made a surprising discovery under Koi Tower that may well be linked to the threat against Wei Wuxian's life.

Can they all work together to find out what is going on and put a stop to it, before something disastrous occurs?

Nie Huaisang's Ten Steps to Fix The Fucked Up Reality, by cosmic_zephyr (ProudHaikyuuTrash)

1. Find the time travel array in the Nie library 2. Convince (manipulate) Wei Wuxian to use demonic cultivation to activate the array. 3. Transmigrate to the body of your 15-year-old selves with Wei Wuxian and Survive his wrath. 4. Come up with yet another exaggerated, slightly concerning, plan to save Lotus Pier, Dafan Wens and your brother. 5. Use Empathy to make the Wen siblings side with you in the mess that is soon to come. 6. Kill the main Wen family and make Wen Qing the new leader of Qishan Wen so innocent people are not killed. 7. Annoy the hell out of Lanling Jin just for funsies and also a political statement because Jin Guangshan can suck it. 8 Preferably, just for your own sanity, find a way to kill Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao. 9. Work with Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing to solve the sabre problem of the Nie clan. 10. Live a happy life with your brother alive and the cultivation world not being the huge fucked up mess in your own time-line. P.S. Matchmake the pining pile of disaster and gay aka Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji.

Aka canon divergence where Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian (and Lan Wangji) travel back in time and save the cultivation world.

Deal, by Rahar_Moonfire, rated T

Nie Huaisang wants revenge for his brother. He also wants his friend Wei Wuxian back. Lan Wangji left the Cultivation World after Wei Wuxian's death and hasn't been heard from since. It's a good thing Nie Huaisang has spies everywhere. He has everything he needs to put his plan into motion: the notes, the instructions, the "willing body," and the patience to pull it all off.

Now he just needs to be sure Wei Wuxian survives long enough to pick up Nie Huaisang's bread crumbs, solve the puzzle, and shatter the Cultivation World again. The only person suitable for that job is Black Jade of Yiling, the husband of the infamous Yiling Patriarch, Lan Wangji.

Rated G:

Hadn't gone as I planned, by hamlets_ghost, rated G (part of a series)

Lan Xichen leaves the Cloud Recesses with Wei Wuxian and Wangji to meet his mother.

He cannot stay.

[continuation of 'Hold on to your heart']

[contrabandhothead]

hello! i was wondering if I could get a ship please🥺

• my pronouns are she/her

• I’m 6’2”, green eyes, reddish brown hair

•I love drinking coffee/tea in the early mornin’ watching the sun rise

•history and art are my favorite subjects/ but I love talking politics and human rights

•my friends tell me I seem really chill, but once you get to know me I can be very passionate and energetic

•i love listening to music, singing, and playing my guitar, but I’m a little self conscious in front of people

•my dream is living on a little farm/house with property with the love of my life and some animals

i’m so sorry this took me so long, i had a very busy week... i hope you enjoy this! have a fantastic day cutie 💕

- DICK WINTERS -

- [ general ]

no please listen because this makes s o much sense to me i cannot emphasize how much i like this ship 

we all know at this point that Dick is a morning person, so he often takes his morning swim while you sit on the back porch and drink your coffee 

he watches the sunrise and sunset with you constanly, pointing out all the pretty colors 

really enjoys sleepy morning  cuddles, especially when the light is shining through the window and he doesn’t have anything to do that day

buys you random history books as gifts, along with flowers 

can and will model for art because he looks like a fucking piece of art

will debate politics with you for fun (and in a way that won’t end in an argument), but you both agree on human rights 

honestly, you and Dick are the couple that everyone thinks is so relaxed, but in reality does crazy shit together

he adores when you talk about something you’re passionate about, and he often just stares at you with a soft smile as you ramble

Dick constantly brings up things you enjoy for this reason, and you’ll find yourself talking a lot around him because of it

really enjoys the energetic part of you that only he knows incredibly intimately, and he tells you it’s one of the most beautiful parts of your personality

l o v e s how tall you are

it’s relatively easy for him to kiss you, and he doesn’t have to crane his neck up or down

he compliments your eyes a l o t

Dick constantly tells you that his favorite shade of green is your eye color, and that “if i could be surrounded by that shade of green all day, i would”

listens to music with you

he loves to turn on the radio and slow dance with you

there’s always music playing in your little farmhouse, Dick loves the background noise and lets you pick the music

Dick begs you to sing for him, and he understands that you’re shy but.... he just has to hear it

he tells you he’ll even turn around, as long as you sing him a song

tries to get you to teach him how to play guitar

Dick is actually pretty good at singing, and would love to sing duets with you as you play guitar

he encourages you to become more comfortable singing, and tells you that you’re talented

he would love to live on a farm with you

definitely wants some sort of cat or dog, and begs you to let him get one

that animal becomes so attached to him, and they love to curl up next to you in bed

- [ how you two met ]

you were one of Easy Co.’s medics, working closely alongside Doc Roe when it came to doing your job 

you had only seen Dick around every once in a while, mostly just quick glances from Toccoa to Carentan 

to be honest, you had never had a really long conversation with the man at the time

that was, until Carentan 

a sniper shot had gone off, and the richochet hit Winters’s ankle 

Doc was too busy treating the others, and before you even had the chance to catch your breath after patching up the previous paratrooper, you saw Doc’s face appear in your field of vision looking extremely overwhelmed 

“i need you to patch up Lieutenant Winters while i make rounds with the other guys, he’s got a richochet in his ankle” 

you nodded, turning on your heel to go find the familiar tall redhead sitting down, waiting for someone to help him fix his wound 

spotting his vibrant hair across the sea of men, you made a beeline for him 

quickly setting down your supplies, you got to work, gently lifting his foot into your lap to get a better look at his injury 

“..... are you not going to say anything, Doc?”  

you looked up, eyes snapping to meet his gaze

blushing, you shook your head, mumbling “my apologies, i just was so focused on your wound that i didn’t even introduced myself”

Dick chuckled at that

“i already know who you are”

you ignored this, surprised he even knew your name

“you need to stay off this foot Lieutenant Winters, i wouldn’t want to see you back here because of an injury”

“i’ll try my best, but no promises.... hopefully i’ll see you again soon under better circumstances”

Dick didn’t stay off his foot, in fact it only got worse

but on the bright side, at least he got to see you

[pomegranates-and-blood]

þrá (Ivar’s PoV)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

þrá (thra): a throe, pang, longing (Old Norse)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (eventual)

Summary: This goes a little bit into Ivar’s perspective on νοσταλγία, and the chapters are probably gonna be chronological but not consecutive. I don’t really know how to summarize this, help pls

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: The same as for the main story/PoV applies, tho I should add quite a bit of ableism, moreso than usual

A/N: Hi! This is the first chapter in Ivar’s PoV, and it covers the Prologue, somewhat. Something that really interested me about Ivar is the watching/witness aspect of his interactions when it comes to romance. Hence why he brings it up so much in this chapter lol.

Anyways, hope you like this chapter, and I would love to hear back from you! Thank you!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​  @heavenly1927​

He curses his weakness. He curses every day that he was never able to kill the mewling and pathetic boy he once was. The needy boy that could do nothing but watch, watch and wish, watch and think about what life could have been for him if he had been normal. The same boy he still is, much to his chagrin.

Because when night falls, when there’s no more blood to shed, no more battles to fight on, no more voices around him…Ivar feels stupidly, childishly, shamefully alone.

He hasn’t been alone in his whole life. His mother’s sometimes-overbearing presence, Floki’s teachings, Ubbe’s quiet support; people were always there, making sure he wasn’t alone, making sure he didn’t stop and think about what he was missing, about how while others found wives and had children, he tried and failed at fucking a slave that could look at him only in disgust and fear, about how all he could -can- do when it comes to the things normal men do is watch.

But he remembers his father’s words, he remembers his lesson. Ivar is not a normal man, he doesn’t think like other men, he doesn’t fight like other men, he doesn’t lead like other men. But he still does. Fight, lead, conquest, triumph. He still does, and he may not be a normal man, but he still became King, he still gave the Gods and his parent’s memories something to be proud of.

He knows that should be enough.

And yet when they return from a raid, satisfied and battle-worn, he sees every time the absence in the docks, an absence of something that was never there in the first place.

Most of his men run to their wives, their sons and daughters, their families. And he watches them, he always has, all he could do once was watch. And he still does. He watches them embrace their laughing children and ruffle their hair, kiss their loving wives and enjoy their soft touches.

He sees in their eyes as they approach the docks that they are satisfied with the raid and can’t wait to return to their homes; and Ivar…Ivar wants to turn the ships around, go back and raid some more, fight some more, kill some more.

He wants to go back and he doesn’t want to return from there, he wants to stay in the battlefields, stay amongst the dead and the dying, if only so that he can forget he has nothing to return to.

But he grits his teeth and focuses on the bloodshed ahead, the battles promised, the wars to be started. If in the dead of night Freyja hears him ask to know why he was fated to never know what love is, only the Gods know of his weakness, and it shall stay that way.

Fenrir will break free before anyone knows he craves softness, love; so much so he is willing to lick it off a blade’s edge.

There’s not much time to think about it, though, when Dublin itself is threatened by a Saxon army that bears…unique characteristics. Dark-skinned, oddly-clothed warriors of broad swords and strange formations fight alongside them, and in an even bigger number, his brother’s scouts say, a group of foreign settlers and warriors seem to accompany the Christians, with strange customs to follow, strange tongues to speak in, and oddly enough, strange Gods to worship.

He goes to his brother’s aid, and Ivar will admit he is surprised the Saxons and those foreigners stand their ground and fight.

Ivar leads the chariot to Ubbe and Hvitserk’s side, eyeing the Saxon and the foreign leader as they approach, their army at their backs. Soon enough, they sound the horns and the battle starts.

He hears his men call their wives’ names, their daughters’ names, their sons’ names; like they can ward off death by having something to love, something to call their own.

Stupid. Pathetic.

He doesn’t need any names; he doesn’t need any love.

Don’t they know who he is? He is Ivar the Boneless, they can’t kill him.

The Gods willed it so that he lives, they did it long ago and they still do so. He wonders why, has asked why, demanded to know why, many times before.

But it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need no names.

So, in the name of death, he leads the charge.

____

He catches sight, distracted, as the man in the foreign armor stumbles his way through the battlefield, towards the woods.

Ivar wouldn’t have taken him for a coward, and it seems he isn’t fleeing, but rather calling for someone. The man calls what to Ivar sounds like a name, even if their language and accent sounds odd in his ears, and the Viking stops to watch.

He always has, all he could do once was watch. And when it comes to the emotion that echoes in the man’s yells as he stumbles and falls, Ivar deems all he will ever be able to do is watch.

A woman cradles the fallen warrior in her arms, her dress flowing like a mirage of red in all the mist and cold. Ivar watches her murmur words, caress the man’s face with care and grief.

He haters her in that moment. He hates her grace, her weakness, her beauty, her kindness. He hates all of it, because he knows that softness will get her killed.

He watches raptly as one of Ubbe’s men charges towards her while some other of those foreign warriors that are aiding the Saxons take her soldier from her embrace. For a moment Ivar feels a pang of…something, a loss that isn’t quite his to have, because what will he lose when she’s killed by that Viking? Nothing he has ever needed.

But then the woman turns around, a metal shield in her hand and stops the man from attacking her. There’s a ferocity to her, a wildness, as she attacks the fallen Viking that Ivar cannot even be bothered to remind himself she is an enemy.

Her teeth close around weak flesh and soon blood fills her mouth, but it is Ivar the one licking his lips, chasing a taste that is not there. The air us pushed out of his lungs as he watches her lift her arm over her head and strike the Viking with one last arrow.

He watches her kill, a mirage of the red of the blood and her dress, and he has never wanted anything as much as he wants to see those eyes meeting his. He wants to witness the fire behind her eyes, he wants to hear the fury in her voice, he wants to taste the blood on her lips.

And it is as if the Gods have heard him, as if Freyja finally answered, for the woman turns around and meets his eyes across the field. A current goes down Ivar’s body at the feel of her focus being on him, and while a part of him wants her to attack him, wants her to fight him and make him bleed; he only raises his axe towards her, and with a nod, acknowledges her kill.

She is startled, stumbles back, but it seems she is reluctant to take her eyes off his too. Still, before long she turns her back and darts into the woods, and Ivar is left with a hunger like never before.

____

He retires early to his tent, hearing faintly of his brother boasting about how they will crush the Saxons come morning.

He should be there, rejoicing with them in the battle won and those to come, he should be drinking and enjoying the night. But he can’t get that…that woman out of his mind. She was dressed like a noblewoman, like a dream, and yet she was there, in the midst of battle like a chimera adorned with the red of the dress and the blood.

And Ivar keeps replaying in his mind the moments he saw her. When she wept over the fallen warrior, her hands softly tracing over the man’s features. Her fingers pressed to the dying man’s lips, her eyes on his with emotions Ivar would never be at the other end of.

Swirling the horn cup in his hand, he feels his face twitch in anger as he recalls her. He hates her, her pathetic softness that should have had her killed by now, her words that he read on her lips, foreign in more ways than one to him.

And then she shed her softness like a snake its skin, and Ivar can remember with a pit of tension in his chest when he saw her kill. When her small body cowered under that shield, and the slight hesitation before she took an arrow in her hand and drove it through the man’s knee.

He can almost see her again, like an avenging Valkyrie in that red dress, holding herself above that Viking and breaking the bones of his face, hit by hit.

Her lips parting in a furious scream before she got her teeth on the man’s arm. The blood staining her teeth, her lips, dripping down her chin. Her eyes when she lifted her gaze to find his and…

Ivar throws the cup across the room with a growl before he can let his mind slip further.

She…she has done something to him. This isn’t his fault, that damn woman has done something to him.

Ivar has prided himself all his life in not falling for stupid things like lust as Hvitserk does, in stomping on softness instead of craving it like Ubbe. This woman, she…surely is a witch, a…a lie. She has done something to his mind, he is certain.

He has thought about her skin, her hands, her hair, her body; ever since she darted back to the comfort of the woods. And even now, if he closes his eyes, he can still recall the fire in her gaze when she met his own across the battlefield.

He hates her. For her softness. For her fire. For the way she has somehow burrowed herself a place in his mind.

His hand blindly reaches for his crutch, and he is standing up before he can stop and think about this. Curse her and what she is doing to his mind.

“Hvitserk, brother, come here!” He calls out as he leaves the tent behind, stopping his stride so he can let go of his right leg and motion for his brother to get closer. When he does, Ivar allows himself a smile, grasping comfortably at his brother’s shoulder. He will drive her out of his mind, he will prove himself she was either a mirage or a lie. “Send a messenger and tell the Saxon I changed my mind. I agree to the talks.”

“What?”

“Let’s…negotiate,” He states, even if the word feels like defeat, the stupidity of attempts at peace bitter in his tongue. At his brother’s questioning glare, he shrugs one shoulder, “I have someone I want to talk to.”

____

Hi, thank you for reading! So this is my first attempt at writing Ivar’s perspective, and if anyone reads this I ask that you please let me know what you think. I struggle so much with him as a character through the Priestess’ eyes, it’s even harder to get his voice down, so this is my attempt lol. Please let me know what you think, cause I really wanna improve at writing in general and writing Ivar in particular.

Regardless, thank you so much for giving my writing a chance! Love u all! :D

[ladyinabox]

Travelling through time

These past couple of months it feels like I am travelling back and forth through time. I’ve been engaged in a quite of handful Korean Drama and Movie that was set in the past and future. I’m starting to get fond of it. And it is because I am learning a lot from it. The history of the past that shows the struggles and the sufferings of our ancestors and the story of the future that is waiting for us. 

Here are the series and movies that I’ve watch recently:

Chicago Typewriter, 2017 -  Three people living during the Japanese occupation of Korea in the 1930s are reincarnated in present day.

Reply 1988, 2015 -  Follows the lives of 5 families living on the same street in a neighborhood called Ssangmundong in Seoul. A nostalgic look back at the year 1988.

Youth of May, 2021 -  In May 1980, Hui-tae and Myeong-hui fall in love under a whirlpool of chaotic times. Hui-tae and Myeong-hui try to overcome the painful wounds of the past and to start loving each other again.

Tomorrow with You, 2017 -  Real-estate CEO Yoo So-joon uses his ability to travel through time to marry photographer Song Ma-rin in an attempt to change his future.

Tunnel, 2017 -  A detective follows the trail of a serial killer 30 years into the future and teams up with detectives in that time period to find the culprit.

Go Back Couple, 2017 -  A man and a woman who promised to live together forever, start to fight everyday; one day, they get a chance to reset their relationship by going back to the past.

Snowdrop, 2021 -  An enduring love story in 1987 Seoul; Youngro, a female university student, treats the bleeding Suho, a student attending a prestigious university, who one day jumps into a women's university dormitory despite the dangerous situation.

Hello, Me!, 2021 -  An unsuccessful woman thinks she's lost all her spark, until her spunky younger self appears in front of her demanding change.

18 Again, 2020 -  A 37-year-old Dae-young is on the verge of being divorced with Da-jung finds himself inside his 18-year-old body.

Taxi Driver, 2017 -  In 1980, a foreign journalist hires a down-on-his-luck taxi driver to take him to Gwangju, South Korea. They soon arrive to find a city under siege by student protesters and the military.

Twenty-Five Twenty-One, 2022 -  In a time when dreams seem out of reach, a teenage fencer pursues big ambitions and meets a hardworking young man who seeks to rebuild his life.

Grid, 2022 -  In 1997, a mysterious ghost saved humankind and then disappeared. The mysterious ghost appears again 24 years later and helps a serial killer's escape. Kim Sae-Ha, Jung Sae-Byeok and Song Eo-Jin pursue the ghost for different reasons.

Pachinko, 2022 - The hopes and dreams of four generations of a Korean immigrant family, beginning with a story of a forbidden romance that leads to a sweeping saga taking place in Korea, Japan and America.

Swing Kids, 2018 -  The story takes place in Geoje prison camp during the Korean War in 1951. Ro Ki-soo, a rebellious North Korean soldier, falls in love with tap dancing after meeting Jackson, an American officer and former Broadway star who has been tasked with putting together a dance company. Kang Byung-sam auditions for the company in hopes of finding his wife, alongside Xiao Pang, a Chinese soldier and born dancer who cannot dance for more than a minute due to angina, and Yang Pan-rae, who needs money but says there’s no money through dancing.

The Handmaiden, 2016 -  Based on novel “Fingersmith” by Sarah Walters. Set in the 1930’s in South Korea and Japan. Story revolves around 4 people: a noble lady who has inherited a fortune, a swindler count who is after the noble lady’s fortune, a young female pickpocket hired by the swindler count and the noble lady’s uncle who is her guardian.

The Hymn of Death, 2018 -  Kim Woo-Jin is a stage drama writer while Korea is under Japanese occupation. He is already married, but he falls in love with Yun Sim-Deok. Yun Sim-Deok is the first Korean soprano. She records the song “Praise of Death” which becomes the first Korean pop song in 1926. Kim Woo-Jin and Yun Sim-Deok's fate ends tragically.

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 32: The Battle for Mistward

Sorry for the wait! (and sorry that im posting this in the middle of the night - again.) This one was really hard! 

Also - its a monster: over 8,000 words. But I really hope you enjoy! (sorry in advance about the angst! but y’all already know how this goes down, so you really should be prepared).

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Early that morning, Rowan hadn’t been able to get back to sleep.

He’d woken up shaking and sweating, his dreams fading behind his eyelids. This time however, as he held Aelin’s dead body in his arms before the burning mountain cottage, it was Namonora’s words that echoed through him.

You must save her, but not for you.

She is different. She could be something different.

You cannot let that girl die.

Rowan’s silent vow in return still ached in his very bones. Because when he’d agreed, he hadn’t really been promising Namonora. He’d been promising himself – swearing that he wouldn’t let his blood oath be the reason for her death, no matter how it tortured him. No matter how it twitched and writhed in his chest.

It had been an acknowledgement of what he knew he wanted, deep down.

Rowan wanted to be sworn to Aelin, not Maeve. To serve her, and be in her court, and at her side. Always. Rowan wanted to give Aelin the blood-oath. And it wasn’t only because she deserved it, or because she needed him.

It was because he wanted to do something good. Because he wanted to be good.

Rowan hadn’t been good in centuries. He couldn’t have recognized good if it had stared him in the face. But now, with this princess, with this Queen just within his grasp, Rowan found that he wanted to be who she needed. To follow the old ways.

To be good, once more, before he died.

Aelin sighed lightly, and turned over on the bed, her golden hair twisting around her shoulders.

Her scent wafted around him, all-encompassing. Overwhelming. That familiar desire coiled in his gut, the desire to reach out and touch her. To reach out and claim her. To bite her, in that lovely space between her neck and her shoulder, or at the tips of her ears. To bite her all over.

Rowan was sure that he would be able to recognize her scent anywhere. That even in a crowded ballroom, he would be able to find her from scent alone. That he would be able to track her down from thousands of miles away.

But it was more than just scent – in the back his mind, or perhaps somewhere deep in his chest, he could sense her. Could feel her presence. In the weeks they had spent breathing in each other’s scents, they had become bonded. No matter how far away she was, Rowan would be able to feel her there. Feel her close.

Rowan closed his eyes, despair joining the desire smothering his limbs. The world had now shown him just exactly how good life could be, and it was about to take it all away.

And Rowan could see it all, could see every detail of that alternate future. It teased him, a delicious fruit just out of his reach.

In that other world, Rowan would leave Wendlyn with Aelin. He would help her form her court, would stand at her side. If she wanted, he could help her take her revenge, or regain her throne. In that other world, he could claim his lands and title, and he could make his suit with her. He could offer her wealth and men and material, and in that other world, he might be able to profess what he felt for her. And maybe, in that world, he could find out if she returned those feelings.

But that wasn’t the world they lived in.

Rowan breathed deep through the fury that rose up in his chest. But he wasn’t angry at Maeve, or the other blood-sworn, or even the gods – not really. He was angry at himself. At how weak he had been. How shortsighted.

Rowan threw off the blankets and strode over to the window where he immediately shifted and soared out into the blackness.

The winds were cold and dark and unexpectedly silent. Usually, the sky was alive with the sounds of the night-creatures; filled with the hoots of hunting owls, skittering mice, foxes playing in their holes, and bats gliding atop wind-rivers, scooping up bugs or pieces of dropped fruit.

But there was only quiet, and Rowan was uneasy.

He decided to take a sweep of their perimeter, his mind still consumed with thoughts of Aelin. But what he found there sent all those worries right out of his head.

···

Rowan roughly shook Aelin’s shoulder, relieved when her eyes shot right open. “Get your sword and your weapons, and hurry,” he said, already halfway across the room, slinging on a shirt and padded overcoat. He could hear Aelin doing the same, her breaths coming quick and copper tinting her scent.

“I think we’ve been betrayed,” Rowan continued, now sliding daggers into position along his forearms, shoulders, and thighs.

“They’re coming tonight,” Aelin breathed.

When Rowan turned to look at her, her eyes were wide as she stared out their small window at the silent forest and the advancing line of black. A darkness that blotted about the stars, blacker than the night.

Rowan’s teeth gritted together. They had only minutes to wake the fortress and get everyone into position.

“I did a sweep of the perimeter,” he said, stuffing a knife in each boot. “It’s as if someone told them where every trap, every warning bell is located. They’ll be here within the hour.”

“Are the ward-stones still working?” Aelin began braiding her hair, then strapped Goldryn across her back.

“Yes – they’re intact. I raised the alarm, and Malakai and the others are readying our defenses on the walls.” He’d intended to wake the old male before Aelin, but found Malakai already up and sitting at his desk, staring into a small fire, the empty bed neat and untouched.

Now, Rowan could only be grateful that they had left Emrys with the healers, no matter how it pained Malakai to be separated from his mate.

Rowan strapped his own sword across his back, alongside the hatchet and hunting knife. Aelin was now pulling on her boots, and her voice was hard as she asked, “Who would have betrayed us?”

“I don’t know, and when I find them, I’ll splatter them on the walls. But for now, we have bigger problems to worry about.”

Aelin’s eyes twitched back to the open window, where the darkness on the horizon had spread, devouring the stars, the trees, the light. Her voice was tentative as she said, “…what is that?”

Rowan’s mouth tightened, becoming a thin line. “Bigger problems.”

···

Minutes passed in a flurry of activity. Malakai took up his station behind the battlements, where he could control the flow of information and direct their movements through the battle. A few of the younger, less capable sentries were sent deep into the castle, guarding the emergency escape tunnel. A few more stood by the entrance, front lines for when the soldiers broke through the front gates.

However, the vast majority of the demi-Fae stood atop the battlements, clutching bows between white knuckles and shaking fists, readying themselves to launch volleys of arrows and pour vats of pitch and oil. Rowan and Aelin stood at the helm of the paltry force, each carrying bows of their own, and trying their utmost to emanate waves of confidence. It wasn’t working.

The men were scared. Rowan had done his best to shield them from the knowledge of their fate, but he couldn’t hide it all. They knew the numbers. They knew their chances.

The ward-stones were the last line of defense before the fortress itself, and Rowan had no idea how long the magical shield would last under an assault by the dark creatures. It could be minutes, could be seconds.

Either way, Mistward couldn’t outlast them forever. And when the creatures broke through, two hundred soldiers at their heels, the demi-Fae would have to face them head on. They didn’t have enough arrows to guarantee the deaths of even half Adarlan’s forces. No matter what, they would soon be facing hand-to-hand combat against an enemy clad in iron and wyrdmarks.

Once they ran out of arrows, the sentries would leave the battlements, one by one, and enter the courtyard – where they would wait. Wait for the gates to be breached, so they could use the entrance as a bottleneck. Wait for the fighting to commence.

With each breath, the darkness on the horizon drew closer, bringing their doom along with it.

The wind gave Rowan barely a few moment’s warning before dozens of animals began to stream past the walls of the fortress, fleeing the veil of blackness. Claws clicked over stone, wings flapped overhead, fur and feathers and scales blending into a medley of creatures, all led by the Little Folk. And though they were barely more than a gleam of nightseeing eyes at the edges of the flock, Rowan could have sworn that they kept glancing toward the woman at his side. To the princess.

Barely seconds after the last of the Little Folk disappeared into the woods, heading up into the mountains to safety, the veil of darkness touched the circle of stones. It rested against them, a dark cloud hovering in wait.

“As soon as the barrier falls, I want you to put arrows through their eyes,” Rowan said to Aelin, though his eyes were forward, scouring the woods for their arrival. “Don’t give them a chance to enthrall you – or anyone. Leave the soldiers to the others.”

Rowan still couldn’t hear or see anything to indicate the presence of the soldiers, but he remembered the strange effects the darkness had. It could easily shield an army from sight or sound.

Aelin nodded, gripping her bow more tightly. “What about magic?”

“Use it sparingly, but if you think you can destroy them with it, don’t hesitate. And don’t get fancy. Take them down by any means possible.”

As he spoke, a reek began to rise from behind the barrier, the smell of death and dust and carrion. The demi-Fae around them began to shift in their positions, murmuring uncomfortably. Their sense of smell was nowhere near as sensitive as Rowan’s – but still, they could hardly not notice the otherworldly stench seeping from the blackness. A smell straight from the lands of Hellas.

A few straggling animals darted from the tree line, their limbs awkward and disjointed, foam bubbling from the corners of their mouths. Aelin’s voice floated up from beside him, her words hollow and detached. “Rowan – they’re here.”

As if she had conjured them herself, the creatures emerged from the darkness, halting barely five yards from the ward stones. They were dressed in all black, their tunics slightly open to reveal the stone torques choking their necks. Their veins bled black, their talons sharp and polished, their eyes piercing the fortress like dark blades of obsidian. The cloud of fear around them was so intense Rowan could barely taste anything in the air other than copper.

And once they emerged from the darkness, he almost felt as though he could feel them, a harsh pressure against his skin. Like rough cotton, or unpicked wool. Three distinct presences that pushed on his soul.

Rowan started slightly. Three, not two. Three.

Aelin seemed to realize this at the same time he did. “But the skinwalkers – ”

Her voice cut off as that male, that beautiful male from before, smiled. It was a look born of knowledge, and of familiarity. A look directed straight at Aelin.

Rowan felt the energy in his body alchemizing, intensifying. Shifting from raw power into violent intent. He wanted to kill that creature. He would kill him.

A rabbit bolted from the bushes, racing for the path between the ward-stones. But before it could make it, a whip of darkness lashed out and passed over the animal. It appeared to have no more substance than a shadow, or a cloud of smoke, but the rabbit fell mid-leap. Its fur matted before their very eyes, even as its flesh shrunk, drying up over its now-prominent skeleton.

Rowan held in a shudder. Together, the creatures were much more powerful than apart. He and Aelin had barely escaped the clutches of one of them, even with the help of the skinwalkers. Together, the creatures had the power of a lesser god. Together, they would crush them.

Even as this truth seeped into Rowan’s bones, the demi-Fae all around him stirred, some cursing in surprise and horror.

Rowan collected himself. “The barrier cannot be allowed to fall,” he said to Aelin, though he made sure that the surety and confidence in his tone could be heard by all. “That blackness will kill anything it touches.”

Even as he spoke, the darkness stretched its reaching fingers around the ward-stone borders, encasing them completely in a cloud of pure black. The blanket blotted out everything, the stars overhead, the forest around them – even the wind was stilled. The only light in the fortress came from their torches and candles, a paltry hint of orange in a world of pure black.

The barrier began to hum violently, sparking and buzzing, almost in agitation. But it held. However, Rowan couldn’t feel particularly grateful for it. They were now entirely cut off from the outside world.

It was as if they had been transported to hell itself.

Aelin shifted at his side, a spark of gold in the darkness. She winced in pain as her ears sharpened to points and her canines pricked her lips, but her focus remained undiminished.

Then, Narrok stepped lightly out from the edges of the trees.

He was undeniably their leader, honed and scarred and powerfully built. He moved with a lithe power, making his authority obvious and indisputable. Narrok’s gaze passed over the demi-Fae, pausing on Aelin, and coming to rest on Rowan.

For a moment, they looked at each other. Measuring and weighing.

Rowan half-expected the male to make some speech, to parlay and offer them a choice between yielding to the king’s power or death. To break their morale. But then, Narrok drew his iron blade and swung it towards the ward-stone gates, a delighted look on his face. And there was nothing Rowan could do as a whip of darkness snapped out and struck the invisible barrier.

Before they had time to strike again, before Rowan even had time to register the effect this assault had on their only magical line of defense, he was moving back towards the gates, shouting for the archers to ready themselves, for them to use whatever magic they had to shield against the oncoming darkness.

There was another strike, and the barrier rippled, the air shuddering around them as if it were a physical thing – a stone in an earthquake, the inside of a drum. The ward-stones began to whine in protest.

Behind him, the demi-Fae were moving into position, their terror barely smothered beneath their desperate preparation. In front of him, Aelin was the only thing standing between the fortress and the ward-stones. The only one who had not moved.

“Aelin,” Rowan snapped, and she looked over her shoulder at him. “Get inside the gates.”

Her face didn’t change, and her legs didn’t move. Instead, she met his gaze in that way only she could, her eyes filled with fire and fury, and slung her bow across her back. When she raised her hand, it was clothed in a glove of flame.

Rowan felt panic begin to seep into his bones.

Aelin’s words were measured. “In the woods that night, it balked from the flame.”

“To use it, you’ll have to get outside the barrier, or it’ll just rebound against the walls.”

“I know,” she said quietly, and Rowan had to actively stop himself from sprinting towards her and dragging her back behind the gates.

“The last time, you took one look at that thing and fell under its spell.” The darkness lashed once again, and the barrier groaned in response, placing a dark emphasis on his words.

Still, Aelin did not move, and Rowan stepped once towards her, his blood spiked with adrenaline. Copper swirled all around them, but surprisingly, none of it seemed to come from Aelin. Her scent was completely blank. This did not comfort him.

“It won’t be like last time,” she said, her eyes on Narrok and the creatures. “I don’t know what else to do.”

But before he could shout at her, before he could say that she didn’t need to sacrifice herself, that she didn’t need to atone for anything, that they still had time to escape together – before he could admit that he didn’t know what to do either, a cry echoed through the fortress behind him.

A chorus of shouts joined it, yells of pain and surprise. Calls for aid. Cries of Rowan’s name. Then the unmistakable screech of metal on metal, the clash of steel and iron. The sound of battle.

And it was as if he were far away, as if he were submerged in water or deep beneath the surface of the earth, as someone said, “The tunnel! They’ve been let in through the tunnel!” and a hope Rowan didn’t even know he had crashed about his ears.

They had been betrayed. And the betrayer hadn’t just undone the traps and bells, hadn’t just guided the army around their makeshift protection. They had shown them the escape tunnel. And now the armies of Adarlan were crawling up from within, creeping through the underground network of tunnels and right into the belly of the castle. The ward-stones were far too occupied with the threat from above to even notice the one the snuck up from below.

The sounds of death and combat grew ever louder, but Rowan did not move. He couldn’t. Not while Aelin was still set on her path.

“Rowan – ” her words were cut off by the sound of yet another strike against the barrier stones. And another. Flakes of granite began to fall from the pillars, a shower of dust and sparks. The groaning grew in intensity.

The barriers wouldn’t be able to hold up much longer. And Aelin knew it. She began to take a few halting steps towards the stones.

A vicious growl ripped through Rowan’s chest. “Do not take one more step – ”

He moved towards her, but Aelin didn’t halt her advance. Screaming had begun from inside the fortress, and Rowan felt like he was being ripped in two.

He grabbed her elbow, forcing her to look at him. “That was an order.”

Aelin knocked his hand away. “You’re needed inside. Leave the barrier to me.”

“You don’t know if it’ll work – ”

“It will work,” she snarled. “I’m the expendable one, Rowan.”

His words were barely legible through the growling escaping from his chest. “You are heir to the throne of – ”

“Right now, I am a woman who has a power that might save lives. Let me do this. Help the others.”

Aelin’s eyes pleaded with him. And they were the eyes of a Queen, of the Queen that he wanted. His Queen.

And she wanted everything that he did. Wanted to be good – to do something good. After all that had been taken from her, all that had been done to her and denied her, she still wanted to help. Wanted to be worthy of her name.

No matter how it tore at him, how could he deny her that?

Aelin had the best, the only chance against those creatures. Yet the determination in her eyes worried him. It wasn’t a resolve born of a desperate fight for survival. No, her eyes spoke more of sacrifice.

I’m the expendable one, Rowan.

Rowan looked at the ward-stones, at the fortress and the sentries scrambling to help below. Weighing, calculating.

If he forced her to run, he would be taking away everything she wanted to be, everything that she was. He would be betraying her, in the deepest, most essential way. And he just couldn’t do it. Even if it meant that the hopes of thousands died, right here, right now. Because it meant death either way.

So instead of asking her to run with him, instead of begging her to hide behind the wooden gates, he did the harder thing. Made the more difficult choice. The words hurt as they slipped out.

“Do not engage them. You focus on that darkness and keeping it away from the barrier, and that’s it. Hold the line, Aelin.”

Her eyes did not change, and her scent was clean of fear as she nodded and said, “Understood.”

“They will attack you the moment you set foot outside the barrier.” Rowan released her arm, and it felt like a stone removed from a dam. ““Have a shield ready.”

The scent of her magic rose, cloaking her body in flame and smoke. “I know.” Aelin said, and she turned away from the fortress, away from the demi-Fae. Away from him. Turned to face the enemy that would likely kill her.

Rowan could help but linger. Couldn’t help but wait and make sure that she survived those few crucial moments, even while those screams tore at his eardrums.

Aelin walked out over the patch of yellowing grass, drawing her golden sword, the sword of Brannon, in her right hand, while Mala’s flames enveloped her left. As she walked her flames grew even brighter. Slowly, the Heir of Fire passed beneath the stone arches and into the darkness beyond.

Rowan tore his eyes away, even as plumes of flame and blades of darkness began to clash on the other side of the barrier. He tried his best to forget, tried his best only to think of what he had to do now. To think that if he could kill enough soldiers, that if she could hold off the creatures for just long enough, then maybe they could all flee.

Rowan turned and began to run back through the gates and into the interior courtyard, rallying the sentries to his side. They blocked the gates behind them, and he left two guards with orders to alert him or Malakai should the barriers fall, and darkness reach the castle.

The rest ran with him through the stone passageways down deep into the belly of the fortress, where blood streamed on the walls and ran in puddles on the floor. Where the dead were already piling up.

Rowan drew his sword in one hand and his hatchet in the other, and threw himself into the fray.

It was hell, but it was a familiar hell. So Rowan endured.

He took up position at the head of their makeshift phalanx, directly before the mouth of the tunnel, and there he stood as time began to flow like bees and honey – thick and slow and yet also swift and jerky and filled with action.

This was the part of battle that Rowan was used to. The part that he was most comfortable in. He sword hand did not falter as it rent through flesh, felling soldier after soldier as they poured up from the depths of hell.

Still, he couldn’t be everywhere. The tunnel was wide enough that Adarlanian men could slide past the touch of his steel, and reach the demi-Fae behind him. Rowan couldn’t protect them all, no matter how much he may want to.

And so he had to listen as the demi-Fae sentries tired, and began to fall. It only made Rowan fight harder, swing his limbs swifter, but he knew that even he would soon begin to tire. That this steady tide of soldiers wouldn’t falter until far after Mistward had been overcome.

Minutes passed as hours, and after some unknowable stretch of time, Rowan was pulled aside by Luca, of all people.

The boy was breathing heavily, a cut on his temple streaming blood into his eyes, marking his brow with gore. “It was Bas.”

Rowan started, but Luca just took a shuddering breath, his light eyes shadowed with devastation. “It was Bas who betrayed us. He – he wanted power. And…a home. A place. They told him that they could give it to him.”

The pain in the boy’s voice nearly broke Rowan’s heart, but all he could manage was to place a hand on Luca’s shoulder, hopefully communicating his sympathy without words. Then he pushed the boy behind him, forcing him back up the tunnel and into relative safety, and rejoined the battle.

Bas had chafed against the inferior position of the demi-Fae more than most. He’d risen in the ranks at Mistward fairly quickly, earning himself the admiration of many of the younger demi-Fae, and the respect of most of the older. Even Malakai had liked and trusted Bas a great deal. But it’d meant that Bas always wanted more. And Mistward couldn’t give it to him.

Rowan knew from the agony in Luca’s scent that Bas had already met his end. He could only hope that the boy hadn’t been the one to do it. Could only hope that the stains on this child’s soul were not yet so black as to be irreversible.

That they would live to see the light of day, so that the boy would have the chance to heal, and forgive.

So, with each swing of his blades, Rowan hoped.

···

Gavriel’s paws pounded into the earth, his breaths ripping through his lungs in pained, ragged bursts, his limbs heavy. They had run through the day, night, and day again. Had run until they met up with Lorcan and Vaughan, and then had run some more. And they hadn’t stopped once.

It was starting to weigh on him. But now, with the sounds of battle and the feel of that strange darkness all around them, Gavriel knew that it had been worth it. That they had reached the fortress just in time.

Unless, a dark voice whispered in the back of his mind, you’re too late. Unless they’re both already dead.

Rowan and the princess. The two people he had come to help. To save.

Ahead of him, Fenrys and Connall’s wolves sprinted forwards through the trees, down the hidden path they all knew would lead out of the mountains and down into the secluded valley that concealed the fortress. They whipped around each other, the black and white wolves, playful to the end.

Above, Vaughan flew in osprey form, his great wings cutting through the mists overhead. Behind, he could just hear Lorcan pounding through undergrowth, his Fae legs fighting to keep up with the four-legged creatures. Even so, Gavriel, Fenrys, and Connall had only had to adjust their speed very little to accommodate the male – Lorcan’s massive height was enough to nearly make up for the differences in stride.

Though they had been running together through most of the night, they hadn’t said one word to each other. Perhaps it was because there was nothing more to say. They had all decided to come. Had all answered their friend’s desperate call.

It felt strange. Different, to choose to be together. To travel and fight and work together by their own volition, wholly and completely. It spoke of something…new. New and dangerous.

Then they reached the crest of a hill, and the stone castle spread out beneath their feet.

It had been barely a month since Gavriel had last been at Mistward, and yet now, the male barely recognized it. It was shrouded in a cloak of thick darkness, through which he could only barely see the hint of broken stone and yellowed grass. The towering barrier stones looked old and cracked, and the dark magic that encircled the fortress was clothed in sparks of bright, vibrant gold - the only light in the utter blackness.

Four figures stood before the gates, and Gavriel could only assume that the strange darkness came from them. All around them, he smelled copper and death and carrion, a stench so potent and intense he felt his hackles rise despite himself. And though the figures stood on two legs as men, and were clothed in the guise of men, Gavriel knew, deep in his gut, that they were as far from human or Fae as a thinking creature could be. That they were demons.

The creatures did not turn at their approach, but the darkness began to spread towards them regardless – like blood in water. Gavriel felt himself slowing, almost subconsciously. Ahead, Connall and Fenrys stopped in their tracks, avoiding the touch of the dark mist, out of fear or knowledge – Gavriel wasn’t sure.

But before Gavriel could do anything, before he could shift or speak or even growl, a piercing light breached the black. A golden blade of fire that cut through the darkness like a knife in butter. And through the breach, Gavriel could just see the image of a figure wrapped in gold. A woman, whose scent spoke of ash and spice and citrus.

The flames formed a tunnel through the darkness, and then the wolves were running. Sprinting through the black as fast as they dared. Vaughn swooped down to join them, and then Lorcan was passing Gavriel, dark limbs joining fur and feather in the golden flames.

But Gavriel was hesitating.

Not to follow his fellow blood-sworn through the breach, but to leave with them. To enter the fortress, and leave the woman behind.

Fenrys and Connall were already gone, and he could hear their furious growls shaking the foundations of the castle as they joined the battle within. Vaughn was circling the battlements, surveying the perimeter before joining them, and Lorcan was forcing open the wooden gates, making to follow the wolves into the depths of the castle.

None of them had spared the woman a glance. Had not acknowledged her, or thanked her, or thought to make sure she was alright. Perhaps, in another world, Gavriel would have done the same.

But instead, he paused, the golden tunnel disintegrating at his back.

The princess was in pain. Her face was splattered in gore, her sword hanging limply in tired limbs, her eyes clouded with exhaustion. She coughed up blood, and it shone in the grass.

But still, her words were fierce. “He’s inside,” she choked out. “Help him.”

Gavriel didn’t have to know her to know that she was begging. That she was desperate for Rowan to be safe, desperate for him to survive. Gavriel didn’t have to know her to know that she loved him.

“Go,” she wheezed through broken lungs. “Go.”

Still, he hesitated. Could he allow this woman to sacrifice herself? Could he allow her to die here, alone and without help?

The sounds of death echoed from the stone building, and Gavriel took a step towards the castle. And another.

The darkness swirled around them, barely held back by the woman’s shields of flame. And Gavriel knew that there was nothing he could do. If he stayed, he would only be able to die alongside her. His magic was nothing to those creatures. He could be of no help.

But in the fortress, he could ensure that Rowan survived. For this princess, he could make sure that Rowan lived. And he could bear witness, could remember her sacrifice, her bravery, for the remainder of his too-long life. He could do her that honor.

So Gavriel turned away from perhaps the bravest woman he had ever known, and dove through the gates and into the waiting battle below.

···

Rowan was far from exhausted, and yet his thoughts were scattered, his limbs slow and unsure. Most of his attention was far away from this dark and bloody tunnel, up at the stone gates, with the female that was risking everything to keep the fortress from being overrun.

No, Rowan was not exhausted. He had fought for far longer and in worse conditions. But the demi-Fae were. Each of their swings were slower, weaker. It took more effort each time they faced an enemy to fell them, especially as soldiers continued flooding the fortress, an unending stream.

Rowan yanked his sword from the gut of a falling soldier, his dagger already slicing the neck of the next, when a deep growling shook the stones of the fortress.

Relief, deep and profound, threatened to bring Rowan to his knees.  

Many of the demi-Fae around him froze in fear as twin wolves leapt down the staircase, closing their massive jaws around the necks of enemy soldiers. Massive wings flapped, and then white light flashed and a glowering, dark-eyed male was before him, already swinging a sword to decapitate another solder.

Vaughan merely nodded grimly at him before taking position on his left side, never one to waste words. Beyond him, the wolves were nothing short of lethal, not bothering to shift into Fae form as they tore through enemy ranks.

The demi-Fae began to rally once more, taking up arms once again with more vigor than Rowan had yet seen. Now it was the soldiers from Adarlan who looked fearful. Who blanched and stumbled, wide-eyed in the darkness.

That was all Rowan needed to see before he was running, sprinting back up the stairs and dodging the bloodied and worn demi-Fae. Dread clenched its fingers around his quick-beating heart. Darkness had not yet fallen, the stones of the fortress still stood, which meant that she had to still be breathing, that she had to still be holding the line, but –

A mountain cat skidded to halt on the stairwell before him and shifted. Rowan took one look in Gavriel’s tawny eyes before he demanded, “Where is she?”

The male’s eyes tightened, almost imperceptibly, and he held out one arm. As if to stop him. “She’s in bad shape, Rowan. I think – ”

And Rowan was shoving aside his oldest friend, already sprinting up the stairs. Not waiting to hear the end of that sentence. Not waiting to find out what he had allowed to happen to the princess. To his Queen.

Another towering figure appeared on the steps before him – Lorcan.

Even Lorcan had answered his call. Rowan shouldered past him without a second glance – the time for gratitude would come later, and the dark-haired demi-Fae didn’t say anything as Rowan rushed headlong to the battlement gates.

What he saw there nearly drove him to his knees.

The wall of flame was in tatters, but still protecting the barrier. But the three creatures…Aelin was standing in front of them, hunched and panting, sword limp in her hand. They advanced, and a feeble blue flame sprang up before them.

They swiped it away with wave of their hands. Another flame sprang up, and her knees buckled. The shield of flame surged and receded, pulsing like the light around her body.

She was burning out. Why hadn’t she retreated?

Another step closer and the creatures said something that had her raising her head. Rowan knew he could not reach her, didn’t even have the breath to shout a warning as Aelin gazed into the face of the creature before her. And there was absolutely nothing behind her eyes. No fire, no fury. No life.

A wave of emptiness replaced the panic strangling Rowan’s limbs, and it felt as though all of the life vanished from his body. She had lied. She had lied to him. And this realization hurt almost as much as the knowledge that they were about to die.

She had wanted to save other lives, yes. But not her own. She had gone out there with no intention of coming back. Of surviving.

Fury rippled, deep in his gut. He would not, could not, allow it. Even if she had succumbed to her grief, Rowan wouldn’t allow her to just vanish. To let herself be annihilated.

Rowan took in a breath – to roar, to run, to call his power, but then a wall of muscle slammed into him from behind, and tackled him into the grass. And though Rowan shoved and twisted and writhed, he couldn’t do anything against the four centuries of training and feline instinct that had him pinned.

Gavriel knew him, had helped train him, had worked with him for centuries. And Rowan could do nothing to thwart him. Could do nothing about the magical shield Gavriel had raised, nothing about the muscled limbs clenched around his arms and legs.

They both watched as the creature took Aelin’s face in its hands, and her sword thudded to the ground, forgotten.

And Rowan was screaming. Screaming as the creature pulled her into its arms. Screaming as she stopped fighting. As her flames winked out and as the darkness swallowed her whole.

Gavriel held him through it all, keeping him from sprinting through those broken gates and into that blackness that destroyed worlds. The blackness that was well on its way to destroying his.

Rowan was aware of Lorcan lingering behind him, a dark presence at his back. He had no room to wonder why. Why he stayed. Why he watched.

Rowan writhed in Gavriel’s grip, and the barrier fell.

It fell without ceremony, without sound. One second it was there, a dark, crackling energy, and the next it was gone. Had winked out of existence as easily as the sun passes behind a cloud, or a fog fades at break of day.

Rowan hurled his power at the cloud of darkness with all the force he could muster; summoned gales of winds and storms of ice, but nothing could pierce it. The cloak of darkness held, a black shroud that hid his Queen from him. And it did not advance.

Though the barrier had fallen, the creatures did not attack. The darkness did not move. And Rowan thought he knew why.

The creatures and Narrok had captured a prize far greater than the demi-Fae. The joy of feeding on her was something they planned to relish for a long, long while. He had felt their joy as they consumed the female in the caves, had sensed the curling anticipation of the male that had chased them through the woods and into the arms of the skinwalkers.

The creatures fed on pain and suffering, and hers was far greater than any they could’ve possibly imagined.

Minutes passed, and though Rowan did not stop his useless assault on the darkness, time felt stagnant. Nothing changed. The sounds of the battle raging beneath them did not slow, nor did Gavriel’s grip on his shoulders slacken. And Aelin did not succumb.

Rowan wasn’t sure how he knew: he just did. Aelin was still alive. Her heart still beat, and until it stopped, he would fight. With everything he had, he would fight.

Even as he began to hear that soft, warm female voice. Beckoning to him. Calling him to her, begging him to join her. Saying that if only he came, she could live. If only he came, they could be together again, forever. If only he came, she would forgive him for everything, for all of it.

It tore him to shreds. And the minutes ticked by.

“Rowan,” Gavriel murmured, tightening his grip on Rowan’s arm. Rain had begun pouring. “We are needed inside.”

“No,” he snarled. They didn’t understand. It didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered but the girl dying in that dark. Dying alone. Thinking that he had left her to die alone.

“Rowan, the others – ”

“No.”

Lorcan swore over the roar of the torrential rain. “She is dead, you fool, or close enough to it. You can still save other lives.”

They began hauling him to his feet, away from her. “If you don’t let me go, I’ll rip your head from your body,” he snarled at Lorcan, his commander. The male who had taken him in, who had trained him. Who he had traveled with through the long centuries.

But Rowan said it anyways.

Gavriel flicked his eyes to Lorcan in some silent conversation. Rowan tensed, preparing to fling them off. They would knock him unconscious sooner than allow him into that dark, where Lyria’s beckoning had now turned to screaming for mercy.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

But Aelin was real, and was being drained of life with every moment they held him here. All he needed to get them unconscious was for Gavriel to drop his magical shield.

“Let go,” Rowan growled again, preparing to strike.

But then a rumbling shook the earth, and the three of them all froze. Beneath them, some huge power was surging, so massive and primordial it set the ground trembling. So massive that Rowan felt it in his very bones.

They turned toward the darkness. And Rowan could have sworn that a golden light arced through it, then disappeared.

“That’s impossible,” Gavriel breathed. “She burned out.”

Rowan didn’t dare blink. Her burnouts had always been self-imposed, had always been born of that iron cage, the bars that she hadn’t been able to rid herself of. That she had clung to, through all these long weeks.

The creatures fed on despair and pain and terror. But what if Aelin could let go of those fears? What if she walked through them, and learned to embrace them?

As if in answer, flame erupted from the wall of darkness.

The fire unfurled, filling the rainy night, vibrant as a red opal. Lorcan swore, and Gavriel threw up additional shields of his own magic. Rowan didn’t bother. They did not fight him as he shrugged off their grip, surging to his feet.

The flame didn’t singe a hair on his head. It flowed above and past him, glorious and immortal and unbreakable. It embraced him. Welcomed him as a friend.

And there, beyond the stones, standing between two of those creatures, was Aelin, a strange mark glowing on her brow. Her hair flowed around her, shorter now and bright like her fire. And her eyes – though they were red-rimmed, the gold in her eyes was a living flame.

The two creatures lunged for her, the darkness sweeping in around them.

Rowan ran all of one step before she flung out her arms, grabbing the creatures by their flawless faces – her palms over their open mouths as she exhaled sharply.

As if she’d breathed fire into their cores, flames shot out of their eyes, their ears, their fingers. The two creatures didn’t have a chance to scream as she burned them into cinders.

She lowered her arms. Her magic was raging so fiercely that the rain turned to steam before it hit her. A weapon bright from the forging.

He forgot Gavriel and Lorcan as he bolted for her – the gold and red and blue flames utterly hers, this Heir of Fire. Spying him at last, she smiled faintly.

A Queen’s smile. Full of relief and friendship and care and tenderness. It was a smile he wanted to look at for hours. A smile he wanted to see every single day until the day he died.

But there was exhaustion in that smile, and her bright magic flickered. Behind her, Narrok and the remaining creature – the one they had faced in the woods – were spooling the darkness into themselves, as if readying for attack. She turned toward them, swaying slightly, her skin deathly pale. They had fed on her, and she was drained after shredding apart their brethren. A very real, very final burnout was steadily approaching.

The wall of black swelled, one final hammer blow to squash her, but she stood fast, a golden light in the darkness. That was all Rowan needed to see before he knew what he had to do. Wind and ice were of no use here, but there were other ways.

Rowan drew his dagger and sliced his palm open as he sprinted through the gate-stones towards Aelin.

For even if it was all for nothing, even if he couldn’t help her, even if it made no difference at all whatsoever, he would at least be by her side. Neither of them would be alone. They could be together, as the darkness consumed them.

Rowan reached her, panting and bloody, and he held out his hand for her to take.

They were carranam, and he had come for her, just as she would have for him. And Rowan saw in her eyes that this would work. That she believed it too. He didn’t know if his power was strong enough, didn’t know if they would survive.

He didn’t know, but he hoped.

Aelin held his gaze as she grabbed her own dagger and cut open her palm, right over the scars that marked her blood-oath to avenge the death of her friend, her oath to save her nation.

And even though she knew he could read the words right off her face, she still asked him, “To whatever end?”

Rowan just nodded, and she gripped his outstretched hand, joining them. Blood to blood and soul to soul. He wrapped his other arm around her, grasping her tightly and feeling her heartbeat on his skin, the contours of her body against his. He leaned close and whispered softly into her ear, “I claim you, too, Aelin Galathynius.”

The wave of impenetrable black descended, roaring as it made to devour them. But they were together, no longer alone. They had both survived horrific things, had both weathered darknesses much greater than the one they currently faced.

So Rowan was not afraid of that crushing black, not with the Queen in his arms. The woman who had lit up his night. Who made him want to live once more.

Rowan breathed deep, and let the barriers within his mind fall, one by one. And he felt as Aelin’s mind entered his, felt as her fire flickered in his veins, her power new and bright and hot.

She drew his power into her, and it flooded out of him in a great rush, Rowan letting it flow freely between them as their blood dripped down their entwined arms.

Her well of power was near-empty, but its sheer size still astonished him.

It was fathomless, an enormous, hollow expanse. Was as vast as the sun – as the very core of the earth. She was the Heir of Fire, the Heir of Brannon, and she had no equal.

Rowan felt vulnerable in a way he never had before as Aelin sucked his magic from him. Vulnerable, but completely unafraid. To her, who’d had nothing and no one, who had been left completely alone, he gave the one and only thing he could. Himself.

Aelin’s knees began to buckle as the weight of their shared power took its toll, and Rowan held her in place, supporting her body while her mind bore the immense weight of their combined magics.

Then, Aelin struck.

The black wave had not even hallway fallen before Aelin shattered it apart with an arc of golden light, leaving Narrok and the remaining creature gaping.

She didn’t give them a moment to recover. Aelin reached into Rowan, drawing his power into her own body, his ice and wind and lightning becoming fire and light and heat in the alchemy of her blood. And then it exploded out of them in a torrent of golden flame.

Together they burned, surrounded by the force of a thousand stars. Embers crackled in the air all around them, flickers of flame like millions of fireflies. It was like standing on the surface of the sun.

Narrok and the creature were shrieking, and the sounds tore up his eardrums, a blade digging in and twisting. He and Aelin clung to each other as she crammed the light down their throats, burning up their black blood.

There was a sudden silence. And before he was destroyed completely, Narrok looked at Aelin, his eyes piercing her deep. For a moment they stared at each other, seeming to exchange something. A final goodbye.

Rowan clung tight to Aelin, keeping her anchored to him as the light around them intensified, becoming so bright it was actually painful. But Rowan forced his eyes to remain open. Forced himself to watch.

Aelin called the light to her, bending it to her will. And then she forced it into the creatures, pouring all of that beautiful, golden light into every shadowy corner of them.

The ironclad expression on Aelin’s face did not shift as she stared back at Narrok, and burned him to dust and ashes.

The remaining creature only managed to crawl two steps before he succumbed as well, a silent scream frozen on his dark face as he was incinerated.

Slowly, the light and flame receded, and Aelin’s exhausted mind fell away from his own. And all that remained of Narrok and the three creatures were four Wyrdstone collars steaming in the wet grass.  

Their bloody palms fell apart at last, and Rowan felt Aelin’s soul slip out of his grasp. He shivered, suddenly cold.

Rowan looked up for the first time, and found that the darkness was completely gone, utterly eradicated. And though Aelin had burned as hot as a falling star, the trees around them were still green, the mists still chill. Towards the east, Rowan could just see the faint rays of dawn beginning to peek around the mountain peaks. The tips of Mala’s fingers stretching to greet them, washing the last of the darkness aside.

Aelin swayed slightly, utterly spent, and Rowan wrapped his arm around her more tightly, guiding her over the uneven grass and up the blood-spattered steps, towards their rooms. But before they left, Rowan leaned over and scooped up the stone collars, sliding them onto his swordbelt.

Gavriel and Lorcan were already gone, presumably to assist below. The sounds of battle had died down, the clash of metal and shouts of pain dwindling into silence. The fortress halls were quiet and empty as they walked side by side.

The second Aelin’s head hit the pillow, she was dead asleep.

Rowan pulled off her boots, rolling her over in order to pull the blankets out from underneath her. Then he tucked her into bed, carefully arranging the covers over her sleeping form.

But before he left the small stone chamber, his fingers found their way into her golden hair. Rowan smoothed the golden strands back behind her ears, gave her one last, lingering look, and walked out.

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