#verse; dawn's last light

[porta-decumana]

The Last Light of Dawn, Chapter 6: We Fall Unto the End - Updated 2/11/23.

Added: 

New Scenes (word count went from 3000 to 6500)!

Slightly edited dialogue for character consistency.

The door opened and the Warrior of Light was saved momentarily.  Her eyes darted to who had entered, spying a Tataru Taru that looked both the same and yet so different.  She was clad in a warm coat, her pale hair falling down past her slim shoulders.  Her eyes looked tired, stretched wide as they stared into Kaida’s.

“Kaida!” yelled Tataru as she raced over, her violet eyes instantly brimming with tears.  Estinien lingered behind, watching the reunion with an amused smile playing about his lips.

They embraced and Kaida, who still felt all of her emotions flitting about faster than she could keep track of them, held her smaller friend for a moment.  Feeling Tataru cry as she pressed her face into the base of the Au Ra’s neck awoke a part of the Raen that realized perhaps it was all right to openly mourn what all they had lost.  Yet even at that realization, her eyes remained dry, as if they could not process that they were even supposed to be crying.

“Thank the Twelve…” Tataru whispered.  “You’re safe…”

“I am sorry I am so late,” Kaida replied in a low tone.

“Don’t say things like that,” Tataru sniffled.  “I am just happy you are here.  With us.”

Where I belong.

“Kaida,” Tataru began, her voice breaking slightly. “T-they’re all gone.  The others…”

The way she sounded when she said it made the Raen’s heart break.

“We will find them,” Kaida whispered back, a promise she was scared she could not keep.

Tataru pulled away from her.  The way she looked at the Raen made her think that there was something she wanted to say.  But Tataru merely shook her head, dissolving into more tears, and wrapped her small arms around Kaida once more.  Hearing the lalafell’s sobs was like a nightmare and all she could do was sit there numbly.  Her failures sank deep into her heart and the Raen’s jaw clenched.

This is my fault.  These tears.  Those deaths.  I failed.  And this happened.

It had all hinged upon that day one year ago and ever since she had failed, everything had spiraled out of control.

[rahorak]

Drawn in by the familiar melody, and even more so the familiar voice, Leona soon found herself backstage. Few people lingered now, since the show had long since ended, but she couldn't have stayed away even if she'd wanted to. The song, barely finished yet, was of her own making ━ raw in its emotion, not ready to be released yet.

As she came to a stop in the doorway, her heart began to beat fast. There was no mistaking it, that was her song, currently sung by the very woman she had written it for. And Diana delivered every line so beautifully, Leona thought, so perfectly.

She had no idea Diana could sing, despite having pitched countless songs to her at this point. She also wasn't sure whether the other had taken notice of her presence, yet.

Should she say something? This was the first time she'd seen Diana in a while here. She didn't want to disturb her, nor did she wish for her to stop singing, but her heart . . . it was beating so fast, she was almost growing light headed.

❝ Diana . . . ? ❞

➤ ㅤ@moonaspect

[sewn-with-lilies-fair]

As a holiday gift, I commissioned Aoife O'Dea to sing Luthien's Lullaby from the Lay of Leithian musical.

There couldn't be a more perfect fit- Aoife, who played Arwen in Watermill Theatre's Lord of the Rings musical last year, and Luthien, Arwen's elven ancestor, using the magic of song to send us off to sleep.

Dreams, on the wings of music hover...

Voice and harp- Aoife O'Dea Original music and lyrics- Skadi English lyrics- @nereb-and-dungalef, @quixoticanarchy, and @sewn-with-lilies-fair

Lyrics under the cut.

Day fades to night, Sunset hides its light ‘til dawn’s unveiling. Stars out of sight Shine over those whose strength is close to failing.

I sing before the lord of darkness, Minstrel in the halls that echo starless. Dreams on the wings of music hover- Sleep, bow your head to peaceful slumber. Sleep…

On gentle wings Mist turns the mountains sapphire as the ocean. Like waves I sing, And from the strands of fate my verse is woven.

Over the night the moon is sailing Onward, to the shores where sleep is waiting. Dreams on the wings of music hover- Wait, bow your head to peaceful slumber. Wait…

Fine threads of rain Upon your window weave a satin curtain. Lay down your pain, And let oblivion relieve your burden.

Hear how the restless wind is sighing- Quiet, for the storm has ceased its crying. Dreams on the wings of music hover- Hush, bow your head to peaceful slumber. Hush…

[sakkiichi]

AUGUST.

Glimpses of the departed month go by as you reminisce by the sea.

ft. Kaedehara Kazuha x gn! reader.

cw/genre: fluff, romance.

I honestly don’t know how to feel about this piece… definitely not my best work, but I wrote it, so I’m posting it. I hope someone still likes it.

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

Blue.

Said alone, the word might have had a tendency for melancholy, cold, turbulence.

However, if anyone were to ask you right now, you’d deny every negative connotation the color might have ever been related to.

Because to you, blue was dusks by the sea; moments right after the last coppery rays had hidden behind the expanse of an ocean you could only wish to unveil all secrets of.

And perhaps, you liked this moment of day because the infinity of blue before you mirrored the feelings in your heart at ease.

Feelings of unbridled affection, boundless love.

For him.

Fair hair falls over his shoulders, like silk weaved out of stars, its tips illusory rose with the fading daylight. His eyes are closed against the marine breeze, flecks of moondust clinging to his lids, casting enchanting shadows over his cheeks. His shirt has been discarded, droplets sliding down his bare torso, as if he had bathed in a pool of starlight. A black leather cord rests against his tempting collarbones, a vibrant scarlet maple leaf charm dangling tantalizingly over his chest.

A dreamy sigh escapes your lips, mingling with the sounds of foamy waves lapping at the white sand.

Kazuha.

He was always nothing short of ethereal, but something about him in the dimming light of a late summer’s nightfall, felt inherently magical.

“I’m going to miss this, Kazuha.” You finally say, resting your chin on your boyfriend’s shoulder.

He gently leaves a kiss to your forehead, his hand finding yours over the towel you’re sitting on. Scars jut like jagged rocks against which waves break, in the same way lightning snuffed out a life dear to him all that time ago.

And yet, the smile on his lips is almost palpable when he says:

“We’ll be able to come back, my dove.” His thumb runs soothing circles over the back of your hand. “Before we realize, summer will greet us again.”

You chuckle. Kazuha had such a poetic way of approaching things; even when the sun went pitch black, he would forever remain a beacon of hope to you.

“I know, I know…” You clarify. “It’s just… I wish I had more free time to spend with you like this during the year…”

As much as autumn brought found memories and your beloved’s birthday, September always had a tendency to leave you yearning for the long days of summer.

Echoes of August replayed behind your eyelids every time you closed them, reminiscent of stolen instances held in the brief minutes in which the sky was dyed in shades of neither day or night.

Those eyes that held the suns of a million dawns focus on you. Starlight from constellations that will sleep soon seem to frame them, those long lashes fluttering in tune with your heart.

“I know, my angel…” Your lover utters, as he delicately tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’d like to stay with you like this, for all eternity…” His stare of gentle embers takes you in.

His muse, his perfect love, his forever.

The samurai’s free hand reaches to cup your cheek, his touch, a dove’s first flight in its tenderness.

Beneath the darkening skies, you were the brightest star. Every lash, every pore and freckle, the everglow that fueled his verses.

“But we’ll always have the weekends,” He reassures, those fingers that penned the most romantic eulogies tracing your jawline, the column of your neck, your exposed collarbones.

Dilated pupils stare at his lips, images of kisses coated in ice cream and cocktails flashing through your dazed mind.

“And every summer after that.” The poet adds, noses mere millimeters away now, separated only by salt air and dying sunlight’s rust.

“Every summer.” You repeat.

Then, the magnetic force of both your desire-ridden lips reigns over, his kiss, an intoxicating collision.

Your hands lock behind Kazuha’s neck, pulling him closer. The droplets of sea water on him feel cool, flecks of stardust tattooing your skin in every place your bodies touch.

The wandering samurai’s lips are an expanding sunrise, and you, the tsunami that desperately reaches for his light-tinted heavens.

One of his hands sets on the soft sand, keeping him upright, while his scarred one tenderly cups your cheek. Your lean against him is soothing, healing, clear August skies, birdsong written in between retreating clouds.

Behind the undulating horizon, gold dyes silver.

Constellations begin to waltz far above, the lovers by the sea, their directing lyrics.

It’s a symphony about a season that will never die, its score inscribed in indelible blue ink in the heat of yours and Kazuha’s fervent kisses.

[solkatt-arts]

We got more from what I'm calling the Intertwine-verse!

Quick facts about this verse of G4(/G5) that is unlike the canon:

- Alicorns cannot be made in this universe, therefore Celestial, Luna, Cadence, Twilight, Flurry and Luster never become full alicorns. However, by being crowned a royal by Sterling and Gold (alicorn's blessing), the pony in question will gain potent magic that amongst other things gives the pony a longer lifespan (up to 300 years extra). The magic is likely to manifest like how Sunny Starscout’s alicorn powers do.

- The lifespans of royals goes back to normal once the magic is taken away between G4 and G5. When the magic returns later on only Sunny gain the alicorn's blessing since she is the one to bring Luster's crystals back together. She is likely to be the last pony to gain the alicorn's blessing for a long time.

—————

Here's some Intertwineverse history

Gold Lily and Sterling were alicorns born long before Equestria’s beginnings. Similar in age but never acquainted in childhood, both were chosen to save the pony tribes from freezing to death.

Gold Lily chosen for her calm empathic and kind nature. She knew the unease of new unknowns, about being forced to face the dread but come out on top. The young alicorn had a way of easing the anxiety of change for others. How to welcome progress in a way that could only compared to the hope of a new dawn.

Sterling chosen for her reassuring but stern nature. She always put emphasis on the inevitability of a setting sun, nothing could ever last forever. That did not mean the past was no longer epochal in how it teaches us our most valuable lessons. Sterling had a way with closure and letting the past go that could only compare to the sun’s last light fading behind the horizon.

The two young alicorn first met only days before their departure to what would later become Equestria. Without yet knowing each other, they both knew their destinies were intertwined. They both felt it the moment their eyes met.

Gold and Sterling earned their god-like powers after restoring balance to the world by defeating Discord with the Elements of Harmony early in Equestria’s history. The god of chaos had made a rift so prominent that the two princesses had to learn how to manually raise the moon and sun. No longer could the day nor night make it through its natural cycle without them moving the celestial bodies.

After about 700 years of royal duties, Gold and Sterling began looking for apprentices. Someponies to take over the hardships of ruling Equestria, all this in hopes that the two of them could focus on finding a way to restore or undo what Discord’s magic had caused. Two young and promising unicorns named Celestia and Luna are chosen to train under the princesses until they are ready to take on the princesses' roles.

The unicorn sisters rule over Equestria for almost 300 years before taking on their own apprentices, Sunset Shimmer and Twilight Sparkle. Sunset Shimmer mysteriously disappears and leaves Twilight to train under Celestial and Luna on her own.

A jealous Opaline Arcana has watched Gold Lily and Sterling be the most powerful beings in Equestria for almost a thousand years. She decides she is more worthy of all that power and goes to take it all for herself. On the day Twilight Sparkle is about to meet her future friends Opaline makes her way to Ponyville where not only Celestia and Luna are, but Gold Lily and Sterling too.

With the help from the Elements of Harmony, Twilight and her friends defeat Opaline and banish her to the sun. Before being blasted away Opaline swears revenge on Twilight and her friends.

Gold Lily and Sterling leaves Equestria to search for the cure to Discord's chaos magic once again, feeling that Equestria will be safe in Twilight and her friends' hooves.

Twilight rules for a little more than 300 years before passing the throne onto Luster Dawn. (Cadence passes the throne onto Flurry Heart)

Gold Lily and Sterling manages to find an ancient draconequus artifact that restores balance to nature to the point that ponies no longer need to change the seasons, weather or day to night. Unfortunately they have to pay their immortality for the artifact. They retire to live out their last days back in their homeland.

When Opaline returns a thousand years after her banishment, she finds out that not only is Twilight long dead, but magic has disappeared too. Luster Dawn had had a moment of weakness not long before passing away in which she feared that once Opaline returns, she’ll have no one to stop her from taking everyone’s magic (and taking over Equestria). So if no one has any magic, there’s none to take. Luster separates the magic into one crystal for each of the three pony tribes. She orders her apprentices (one from each tribe) to hide the crystals away where they won’t be connected nor found.

Generations of misinformation and mistrust later, Sunny Starscout brings magic back together with her friends and Opaline is free to finally collect it. She is later defeated by Sunny and her friends.

[nightsadness]

Can I come with you?

Tags: fem!reader, angst

Pairing: Fyodor Dostoevsky x fem!reader

Warning: The death of a canon character, the reader longs greatly. There may be errors in the text, as I am not a native English speaker, I often had to use the help of a translator

A/n: I was inspired by the song "Ap$ent - Можно я с тобой? (Can I come with you?)" and wrote this headcanon based on the verses of that wonderful song. As I wrote above, I don't speak English, so I used a lot of translators, trying to write normally 😞. Please let me know if it's really bad.

Горят фонари Я бы до зари с тобой мог говорить

The street lights are on

I'd chat you up till dawn

Though you were no match for Dostoevsky in intellect, Fyodor thought you were an smart person with whom he could have a good conversation. In those rare moments when the man gave you time, you could talk for hours, mostly on quiet evenings, against the window, which was not covered by curtains, and thanks to this, the room was illuminated only by the bright light of the moon, giving its own special, peaceful atmosphere.

Но тебе снова пора Как всегда, какие-то дела с утра But it's high time for you to be gone

You've got work to do, as well known

You and Fyodor spent very little time together. You didn't like it, but there was nothing you could do about it. After all, Dostoevsky was obsessed only with his goal, and it was his first priority. You couldn't deny it. And you, no matter what, wanted to be with him and always waited for him.

Longing was your frequent companion when you felt the lack of a man's attention, but you didn't bother him, realizing the importance of his "purpose" realizing how much own plans meant to him. Every day you woke up and went to sleep alone. Though there were exceptions when Fyodor lay down with you, but, as a rule, in the early morning he was no longer in bed. And those moments were so rare that you could count them on your fingers.

Да, тут так себе вайб Ви��имо, пора. Ну что ж, бывай, родны край!

Yes, the vibes here're better be kept at bay

So, my land, bye-bye! Seams, it's time to go away...

That was the day. The day when you saw Fyodor for the last time in your life, but you hoped with all your might that it wasn't true. You couldn't even sleep for a few nights, thinking about him all the time. And you were not comforted by the thought that Fyodor was so damn cunning and clever, and he always had everything under control. Every day was a nightmare for you, because those damned thoughts were tormenting you from the inside.

По кустам ночной тропой Да, план отстой. Nocturnal trail is truly long

Yes, the plan is sucks

You heart sank into my heels, and there was a look of pure shock mixed with sadness on my face. You didn't want to believe that Fyodor was dead. How, HOW the hell could this have happened? Your breathing quickened at the news, and you fell helplessly to your knees, clutching your head with your hands. You'd always known his plan was a really sucks, and you'd even said Fyodor about it. But he didn't care what you thought of his goal.

To get your thoughts together, you decided to go for a walk. It was a blue night and a cool breeze was blowing. That's what you needed..

Всё давно позади Но зато есть вспомнить что и что обсудить

All in the past, the deeds we tried

But there are things to call to mind

It had been about six months, but you still wanted to be with Fyodor, to hold him again, to kiss him, to listen to him. You missed his attention, which he gave you, though rarely, but still gave it to you. Maybe he didn't really love you, and you were just a pawn...or maybe not? But that didn't bother you much. You wanted to be with him and only him. It's hard without him. So hard, such unbelievable pain. Every single day you remembered all the moments with him, that was your only consolation.

Если решишь уйти на покой Вдруг раньше, чем я — постой

If you decide to leave peace

before I do, hold on...

One day you were sitting on the roof of a high-rise building, looking up at the night sky, rubbing the pendant that Dostoevsky had given you. You never took it off, especially since the man was gone from your life. The longing was eating you from the inside out, but you had to be strong! Hah....You couldn't. Or just didn't want to, who knows. Your gaze was downward, the city seemed so small, and people walked around below like ants. Building was too high and you were sitting on the very edge. but it didn't scare you.

— Можно я с тобой?

nightsadness © 2024

[sebstanaddict]

Midnight & The Light

Bucky Barnes!Vampire AU Story

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes is a solitary and powerful vampire detective who works for the London Police to cover up murders done by his fellow vampires. One day he finds his job and himself challenged and tempted by a female detective thrusts as his partner.

Pairings : James Buchanan Barnes x Female!Reader

A/n: this is my very first attempt at writing horror/thriller/mystery genre so please bear with me.

With that said, I'm not really well versed in vampire lore, and the vampires in this story are largely inspired by those in Twilight. So those of you looking for the original type of vampires, unfortunately you won't find it here. But those who enjoy Twilight, might find this enjoyable too.

Oh, this is also set in modern day London where Bucky is British, haha. Although I won't write him differently as I'm not really familiar with the difference between British and American English.

Warning : murder and crime scene depiction

Word count : 4k words

Chapters (1/10) - Might add more

Chapter List >

---

Chapter 1

The narrow alleyway was damp with the remnants of London's ceaseless rain, the stench of rot and grime clinging to the brick walls. In the shadows, a woman lay crumpled on the cold pavement, her throat slashed open. Her skin was pale, almost gray in the flickering streetlight, her eyes staring blankly into the void. She had been a prostitute, someone no one would ask too many questions about, and that's what made her the perfect target.

But the job had been messy. Too messy.

From the shadows, a figure emerged, wiping blood from his lips with a smirk of satisfaction. His fangs glistened briefly as he looked down at his work. It was an indulgence, a feeding that went too far. He had been warned.

Before he could disappear into the night, another figure stepped out from the shadows. Taller, broader, and far more intimidating. James Buchanan Barnes. His icy blue eyes locked onto the vampire before him, and his voice was low, edged with simmering fury.

"Another one, Dorian?" James said, his tone calm but laced with threat.

The younger vampire, Dorian, froze, wiping the last trace of blood from his chin. "She was just a nobody, James," Dorian sneered. "What's the harm? Besides, I needed to feed."

James stepped forward, his hand gripping Dorian's collar in an instant, slamming him against the brick wall. His supernatural strength far surpassed that of the younger vampire, and Dorian winced as the pressure on his throat increased.

"I told you to leave London," James growled. "Last week, you killed someone. I gave you a chance, told you to get out. But instead, you've left me another body to clean up. You think I enjoy this? Cleaning up your mess?"

Dorian's eyes flickered with fear for a moment before his bravado returned. "You've been doing this for centuries, Barnes. What's one more body?"

"One more body brings suspicion," James snapped, releasing his grip slightly. "And suspicion brings hunters. You don't want that, do you?"

Dorian's confidence faltered at the mention of hunters. They both knew that hunters were the only real threat to vampires, and James was right: the more bodies, the higher the risk.

"Leave town," James ordered, his tone cold. "This is your last warning. If I find out you're still here, I won't be as forgiving."

Dorian nodded quickly, his arrogance shrinking in the face of James's authority. Without another word, he disappeared into the night, leaving James alone with the body.

James sighed, crouching down to inspect the woman's wounds. It was a brutal, sloppy kill, one that couldn't be easily explained away. He'd have to make it look like a suicide, another tragic statistic in London's dark underbelly. It wasn't the first time he had done this, and it wouldn't be the last.

As dawn approached, he made sure every detail was in place before vanishing, blending back into the city as if he had never been there at all.

---

The London Police Headquarters  buzzed with the usual activity—phones ringing, detectives grumbling over paperwork, and officers exchanging hurried conversations about the latest case. 

James walked in, his usual indifferent expression hiding the exhaustion that came with centuries of cleaning up after others. He passed through the sea of desks until he reached his own, tucked away in the far corner of the room, away from curious eyes.

He had just settled into his chair when his superior, Captain Harris, approached, file in hand.

"Barnes, another one last night," Harris said gruffly, tossing the file onto James's desk. "Same area. They're saying it looks like a suicide, but something about this doesn't sit right with me."

James glanced at the file, already knowing the details. He had made sure the scene would point to suicide, but Harris was an old detective with sharp instincts. He wouldn't be fooled so easily.

"I'll look into it," James said, keeping his tone neutral.

"Good. And one more thing," Harris added. "You're getting a partner. New transfer."

James's head snapped up. "What?"

"I know, I know," Harris said, waving off James's protest. "You're used to working alone, but the higher-ups want someone paired with you. Someone to keep an extra set of eyes on things. Especially after this recent string of cases. Come on, follow me, I'll introduce you to her."

Her? He thought as he followed Harris. He never had a female partner before. This should be interesting.

The captain stopped at the desk of a young woman who was busy sorting through paperwork.

"Y/n," Harris said, his voice cutting through the din of the station. "This is Detective Barnes, your new partner. James, this is Y/n L/n."

Y/n looked up from her desk and smiled. James was struck by the vivid contrast between her bright smile and the dimly lit office. It was as though a sudden beam of sunlight had pierced the drab, monotonous atmosphere of the headquarters, illuminating everything around her.

"Nice to meet you, Detective Barnes," Y/n said, extending her hand with a warm, welcoming smile.

James took her hand. Despite the gloves he was wearing somehow their connection struck something in him, surprising him. Her smile was like a flash of light breaking through the clouds, and he found himself captivated. For a moment, the surrounding chaos of the office faded, leaving just the warmth of her presence.

"Likewise, Y/n," James managed to reply, though his mind was momentarily lost in the glow she seemed to emit.

The captain's voice continued, but James's attention was almost entirely absorbed by Y/n. Her laughter, light and melodious, cut through the usual tension in the air, making him feel an unfamiliar sense of ease. He noticed how her enthusiasm seemed to radiate a comforting warmth, contrasting sharply with the shadows that had long hung over him.

As they exchanged brief pleasantries, James couldn't help but be drawn to her, feeling an inexplicable pull. The way she carried herself with such genuine kindness and energy was a stark departure from the cold, calculated world he was accustomed to. It was as if she was a beacon of light, effortlessly drawing him in.

When Y/n spoke again, her voice brought James back to the present. "Shall we get started on the case?"

James nodded, his thoughts still swirling with the unexpected effect she had on him. As they began to walk toward their new assignment, he felt a stirring in his chest—a rare and potent attraction that he hadn't experienced in years. Her light seemed to offer a glimpse of something he had long forgotten, and he realized that her presence would be far more impactful than he initially anticipated.

---

James looked ahead at the road before him. He was in his car, heading towards the crime scene, with Y/n sitting next to him. 

The drive was quiet at first, the two detectives sitting in silence as the city blurred by outside the window. But Y/n finally broke the silence, glancing at the file in her lap.

"The victim," she said, her voice cutting through the tension, "it doesn't make sense."

"What do you mean?" James asked, though he already knew where this was going.

"No signs of a struggle, no forced entry, and those wounds—" she shook her head, flipping through the pages of the file. "They're precise. Too precise for a suicide. It's almost like something else killed her. Something not... human."

James's jaw tightened, his mind working fast. He couldn't let her go down that road, couldn't let her get too close to the truth.

"You're overthinking it," James said, his voice calm and measured. "It was a suicide, plain and simple."

But Y/n wasn't buying it. "I don't think it was."

James exhaled, his hand resting on her arm as they stopped at a red light. "Y/n, you're new here. These kinds of cases... they happen. People fall into dark places, and sometimes, they take their own lives. It's tragic, but that's the reality."

As he spoke, he let his hand linger on her arm, his gloved fingers brushing lightly against her skin. He looked into her eyes, willing her to believe him, to let his influence take hold.

But Y/n's expression didn't change. Her eyes remained focused, unwavering. "I still don't think it was a suicide," she said, pulling her arm away gently.

James felt his heart stop for a moment. His power—the mind bending ability he had relied on for centuries—had no effect on her. His mind raced, trying to understand what had just happened.

How could she resist him?

As the car rolled to a stop near the crime scene, James couldn't shake the unsettling realization: his influence didn't work on Y/n. He had expected her mind to bend effortlessly under his touch, as human minds always did. But she remained untouched by it, her skepticism unwavering.

And then there were her eyes. He hadn't noticed them until now—one blue, one light brown, with streaks of dark brown running through them like cracks in ice. They drew him in, magnetic in a way he hadn't experienced in centuries. Something about her was different, and that difference was making him more intrigued.

The fog hung thick over the alley as they stepped out of the car, the sound of police chatter muffled in the night air. Y/n pulled her coat tighter against the cold, her eyes scanning the scene ahead of them.

"I still don't understand," she said, her voice low but resolute. "How could it be a suicide when the evidence points to something else? The precision of those wounds..."

James' jaw tightened as he walked beside her. His mind was still processing her resistance. He had lived for centuries, long enough to perfect the art of manipulation, of influencing thoughts with nothing more than a touch or a glance. But Y/n... she was a puzzle, and he hated puzzles that didn't fall into place.

"It's not that uncommon for suicides to look this way," James replied, trying to sound casual. He could see the victim's body now, still lying where he had left her the previous night, carefully arranged to appear self-inflicted. "People in dark places do irrational things. Sometimes the mind goes to terrifying lengths to end suffering."

Y/n stopped, her eyes narrowing as she looked at him, skeptical. "But that precise? That clean?"

James sighed, knowing he'd have to try again. His eyes met hers, those two-toned irises that seemed to pull him in deeper the longer he stared. He reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. His fingers lingered, the familiar spark of power flowing through him, directing it toward her mind.

"It was a suicide," he said softly, his voice laced with supernatural persuasion. "You're overthinking this. Trust me."

For a second, he expected her expression to soften, for the lines of doubt on her face to smooth away. He expected her to nod, to agree, to let go of her suspicion. But instead, Y/n stared right back at him, unfazed. Her eyes didn't glaze over, her posture didn't relax. If anything, her resistance only deepened.

She took a step back, her eyes locked on his. "Why are you so sure it was a suicide?" she asked, her tone suspicious now, a challenge in her voice.

James blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. He couldn't remember the last time he had been rendered speechless by a human. Hell, he couldn't remember the last time he had felt something other than indifference toward one. But there was something about Y/n that was crawling under his skin in a way he hadn't anticipated. His pulse quickened—something he hadn't experienced in years—and it took everything in him to keep his calm demeanor.

"I've worked these cases for a long time," James finally said, his voice steadier than his thoughts. "I know what I'm looking at. It's just a matter of experience."

Y/n frowned, not buying his answer. "Experience, or deflection?"

His lips quirked in a faint smile. Bold, he thought. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you seem too... invested in making me believe this is just another routine case." She crossed her arms, her gaze unrelenting. "And the more you push, the more I think you're hiding something."

James felt a flicker of frustration rise inside him. He wasn't used to this kind of challenge. Normally, humans were easy—compliant, pliant, eager to believe whatever narrative he spun. But Y/n...she wasn't bending, and worse, she was turning the suspicion back on him.

The crime scene stretched ahead of them, the body still lying where the investigators were waiting to process it. But James's attention was entirely on Y/n now, this enigma standing before him, immune to his powers, with eyes that bore into his soul. Or whatever remained of it after three hundred years.

He stepped closer, his voice lowering as he tried one more time, feeling the pull between them growing stronger, more dangerous. "You're new here, Y/n. You don't know how things work yet. Just trust me on this."

Again, nothing. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't waver. "I trust facts. Evidence. And so far, none of that points to a simple suicide."

James's patience was thinning. He had no choice but to play along for now, to deflect further without making it obvious. But deep down, a gnawing curiosity started to bubble inside him. Why didn't his power work on her? And why was he so drawn to her? His hands itched with the desire to touch her again, to test if it was a fluke, but he stopped himself, knowing it would only make things worse.

The magnetic pull between them was undeniable now. It wasn't just the frustration of a failed influence—it was something more, something darker. Something that made him want to unravel the mystery that was Y/n, to find out why she resisted him and why her presence ignited a long-forgotten sensation inside him.

"Fine," he said, stepping back and conceding for now. "Let's take a closer look at the scene. Maybe you'll find what you're looking for."

But as he walked ahead, leading her toward the body, James couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting. Not just with the case, but between them. His carefully constructed world, one he had spent centuries building, suddenly felt fragile, and Y/n stood at the center of it, holding the pieces he couldn't quite grasp.

The alley was still dark, the smell of death heavy in the air. But for James, there was only one mystery worth solving now—and she was walking right beside him.

He continued to wonder why his powers didn't work on her. And beneath that, the more dangerous thought he couldn't quite dismiss: Did he want them to work on her? Or was he starting to enjoy the fact that they didn't?

As James led Y/n deeper into the alley, the scene came into sharper focus. The victim—a woman in her mid-twenties, blonde, with pale skin that gleamed under the streetlight—lay sprawled on the ground, her body positioned to look like she had simply slumped over after the act. But the wounds told a different story. They were precise, clean, almost surgical. James's eyes flickered over them, knowing exactly who had done this.

"You said the coroner will be here soon?" Y/n asked, kneeling down beside the body. Her voice pulled him back into the present, and he quickly masked his thoughts with the same cool indifference he had used for centuries.

"Yeah, they should be arriving any minute," he replied. He crouched down beside her, his hands brushing the edge of the victim's coat as he pretended to inspect her.

"I can't make sense of these wounds," Y/n muttered, her breath clouding in the cold air. "They're too deliberate for a suicide."

James glanced at her, suppressing the urge to sigh. She wasn't wrong, but she also wasn't supposed to figure that out. He could feel the weight of her gaze on him as he studied the body, aware of how intently she was watching his every move.

"I've seen similar cases," he said, feigning nonchalance. "Sometimes people who are really desperate can do extraordinary things to themselves."

Y/n didn't respond right away, but he could tell by the way she clenched her jaw that she didn't believe him. His eyes flicked back to hers, and once again, he felt that magnetic pull, those mismatched eyes—that seemed to anchor him in place.

She rose to her feet, scanning the surrounding area. "There's no weapon here. How could she have done this to herself without a blade? And if she did, where is it?"

James straightened, his mind racing. He needed to steer this investigation away from where it was going. Y/n was digging too deep, and his own kind would not tolerate a human—no matter how sharp—getting close to the truth.

"The weapon might have been picked up by the others, taken as evidence," he said, looking away. "We can check for that later. Right now, let's wait for the forensics team to do their job."

Y/n gave him a skeptical look but said nothing more as they heard the distant rumble of an approaching van.

---

The morgue was cold and sterile, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. The victim's body lay on a steel table, draped with a white sheet. Forensic examiner Dr. Michael Carter stood over it, his gloved hands hovering as he prepared to begin his analysis. Y/n stood nearby, arms crossed, her eyes flicking between the body and James.

"I'll do a full autopsy," Dr. Carter said, his voice matter-of-fact. "But from what I can tell, these wounds are unusual. Too precise for a suicide, in my professional opinion."

James could feel Y/n's eyes dart toward him, her suspicion mounting. He needed to take control of the situation—now.

"Doctor," James said smoothly, stepping forward. "I appreciate your thoroughness, but I think it's clear what happened here. The victim took her own life. The evidence, while unusual, still supports a suicide."

Dr. Carter looked confused, his brow furrowing as he glanced at the wounds again. "I don't—"

James touched his shoulder lightly, focusing the full weight of his power into the man's mind. His voice softened, persuasive but commanding. "It was a suicide. You'll file your report accordingly."

The effect was instantaneous. Dr. Carter's confused expression smoothed out, his muscles relaxing under James's influence. He nodded slowly, the resistance draining from his face. "Yes...suicide. I'll note that in my report."

Y/n's jaw tightened, her confusion palpable. She watched the exchange, eyes narrowing as if sensing something was off, but she couldn't quite place what.

"That doesn't make sense," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "How could he change his mind so quickly?"

James remained silent, but inwardly, he felt a ripple of relief. One more threat neutralized. Still, he couldn't ignore the fact that Y/n hadn't relented—not completely. His power had no effect on her, but it seemed she was willing to let it go for now, if only because she couldn't understand what was happening.

Dr. Carter finished writing his notes, turning toward Y/n and James. "I'll submit the report by tomorrow morning. Suicide, just as we suspected."

Y/n's eyes flashed with frustration, but she forced a nod. "Thanks, Doctor."

As they walked out of the morgue, James could feel the tension radiating from Y/n. She was still confused, still skeptical, but for now, she wasn't pressing the issue. They walked in silence for a while, the night air crisp as they left the building and stepped into the quiet street.

James glanced at her, his gaze softening despite himself. He couldn't ignore the fact that he was drawn to her in a way he hadn't been to anyone in centuries. Her mind was a mystery, her resistance fascinating. And those eyes—they haunted him, challenging him in ways he hadn't expected.

Finally, he broke the silence. "You look like you could use a break."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback. "A break?"

He shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. Coffee, maybe? There's a place around the corner."

Y/n hesitated, her suspicion lingering. "You think coffee is going to explain why none of this makes sense?"

James chuckled softly, his eyes lingering on hers. "No. But maybe it'll give us a chance to talk, get to know each other. I think we could both use that."

She stared at him for a moment, clearly weighing her options. There was still that spark of suspicion in her eyes, but beneath it, something else—curiosity, maybe. Or perhaps she was starting to feel the same pull he did, the strange connection between them.

After what felt like an eternity, she nodded. "Fine. Coffee."

James felt a strange rush of anticipation. As they began walking toward the coffee shop, he couldn't help but wonder what secrets Y/n held—and what made her so immune to his powers. For centuries, he had controlled everything and everyone around him. But now, with her, he felt like the rules were changing, and he was no longer sure who was pulling the strings.

And the thought excited him in ways he hadn't felt in a very, very long time.

—

The coffee shop was small, dimly lit, with a cozy warmth that contrasted with the biting chill of the London evening. The smell of roasted beans filled the air, and the quiet murmur of conversation blended with the soft clinking of mugs. James and Y/n sat at a corner table, far enough from other patrons to keep their conversation private.

Y/n took a sip of her coffee, her eyes flicking over James as if she were still trying to figure him out. "So, how long have you been with the police?"

James leaned back in his chair, giving her a casual smile. "A while now. I've been... around, you could say."

Y/n smirked. "That's vague."

James chuckled. "It's been years. I've moved around a bit, but I always seem to find myself back in London. I guess the city has its way of drawing me in."

That much was true, though the rest of what he would say would be carefully crafted lies. He wasn't about to reveal his centuries-long existence or the true nature of his work with the police. It wasn't time for that—at least, not yet.

"And what about before that?" Y/n asked, her tone light but probing. "You've got this air about you like you've seen it all before."

James raised an eyebrow, impressed by her observation. He shrugged, keeping his tone nonchalant. "I've done a bit of everything. Some military work, odd jobs here and there. But I always end up back where I started—helping people, trying to solve problems."

Y/n nodded, though her eyes betrayed a hint of skepticism. "Must have seen a lot over the years. That would explain why you didn't seem too rattled by the scene earlier."

James lowered his gaze, feeling a familiar pang of guilt at the lies. He didn't want to mislead her, but the truth wasn't something he could share. Not yet. Not with her. He wasn't even sure why he felt so compelled to protect her from that truth.

"It's part of the job," he replied. "You get used to it."

She studied him for a moment, her mismatched eyes gleaming in the dim light. He found himself momentarily mesmerized by them, as if they were pulling him deeper into her orbit. He hadn't felt anything like this in centuries, and the realization both thrilled and unsettled him.

James forced himself to look away, taking a sip of his coffee, trying to hold back the distaste in his tongue. He could feel the attraction building, something beyond mere curiosity. It was a connection, one he hadn't allowed himself to feel since... her.

His mind drifted back to his past, to a time when he was still human. He remembered her vividly—Eliza. She had been everything to him. His fiancée, the love of his life. Before the darkness took him, before the hunger and immortality. When he became a vampire, he broke their engagement, knowing they could never be together. He'd loved her too much to put her through that life, to risk her safety.

The pain of losing her had shaped the centuries that followed. He had promised himself he wouldn't love again, wouldn't allow anyone to get close enough to hurt him in that way. And for centuries, he kept that vow, burying himself in his work and his duty. But now, sitting across from Y/n, he could feel that resolve weakening.

"So what about you?" James asked, steering the conversation away from himself. "What made you want to become a detective?"

Y/n stirred her coffee absently, thinking for a moment before answering. "I guess I've always wanted to do something meaningful, something that matters. I've seen enough injustice to want to stop it. I thought being a detective would give me that chance."

James nodded, listening closely. He admired her drive, her passion for the work. It mirrored the fire he once had when he first started working for the police, though his reasons had become more complicated over time.

"And have you?" he asked. "Found that meaning you're looking for?"

She shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Some days. But I suppose the job isn't always what you expect. Like today—there are just some things you can't explain."

James tensed slightly at her words, wondering if she was circling back to the murder scene. He could see the gears turning in her mind, still questioning the way things had played out. She was smart—smarter than most—and he couldn't help but admire her persistence. But it also made her dangerous. If she got too close to the truth, there would be no way to protect her from the world she was about to stumble into.

He watched her, feeling that magnetic pull between them grow stronger with each passing second. Y/n was different. She didn't just challenge him; she made him feel alive in a way he hadn't since before he became what he was.

Y/n caught him staring and arched an eyebrow. "You okay?"

James snapped back to the present, his expression softening as he smiled. "Yeah, just thinking."

"About what?"

He hesitated, unsure how to answer. His mind drifted back to Eliza again, to the weight of that promise he had made all those years ago. He had vowed never to love again, never to let anyone in. But as he sat there, across from Y/n, the weight of that promise felt like it was starting to crumble.

"Just... old memories," he said finally, his voice softer than before.

Y/n leaned forward slightly, her curiosity piqued. "Old memories, huh? Anything you want to share?"

James smiled, shaking his head. "Not tonight."

She looked like she wanted to press further, but something in his tone must have convinced her to let it go. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, her mismatched eyes locking onto his again. "You're a mystery, you know that?"

James chuckled, though there was an edge of sadness in his voice. "Maybe. Or maybe I just don't have all the answers."

Y/n didn't break eye contact, and for a moment, the space between them felt charged with something unspoken, something that hummed with tension. James could feel it—the pull, the connection—and he wondered if she felt it too.

He hadn't expected to feel anything like this ever again. Not after Eliza. Not after everything he had lost. But here she was—Y/n, with her sharp mind, her mismatched eyes, her bright smile and the way she seemed to see right through him. And for the first time in centuries, he wasn't sure what would happen next.

"I'll figure you out eventually," Y/n said, her tone half-teasing, half-serious.

James smiled, though inwardly, he was filled with a strange, unsettling excitement. "I look forward to seeing you try."

But as they sat there in the warm glow of the coffee shop, James couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. Y/n was different, and he knew that whatever came next—whatever secrets she uncovered or truths she refused to ignore—she would change his life in ways he hadn't even begun to comprehend.

And for the first time in centuries, that thought didn't terrify him.

It intrigued him.

[sebsxphia]

ptolemaea. | spirit in the basement.

preacher!rhett abbott x reader.

￫ description: all you can feel and see is darkness, but someone else is there with you. you pray for your preacher in these desolate times.

￫ word count: 2K.

￫ c/w: heavy religious themes, preacher!rhett abbott, death, love and cannibalism.

￫ a/n: this is it, the last chapter! i’d highly recommend listening to spirit in the sky by norman greenbaum and strangers by ethel cain when reading! i also want to say to every single one of you who have loved and supported this series, thank you, thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. i’m genuinely so proud of this series and please know, that this is never the end either! my inbox is always open for these two! this is part of ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ my main masterlist can be read here! 💌

| previous chapter |

What was this?

What was this feeling?

Your muscles in your calves tensed first on instinct to familiarize yourself with this feeling. They squeezed against something and you tensed them again, in an attempt to push against this something and feel it out.

Your forearms and biceps together repeated the same action and once again, you felt them squeeze against something.

No matter how hard and tight you flexed, or squeezed your muscles, they would not move against this something.

Something was binding you together and as you moved against this feeling, it felt as though invisible ties of fraying rope were twisting and turning over your body. You could feel them contort over your ribs, and tug at your ankles and wrists. Your limbs were glued tightly shut to your body in a position that you couldn’t even fathom to picture. And you were cold. You were so fucking cold.

Throughout all of your winters back in your home town, you don’t ever think you’d felt a chill this cold. It was prickling at your skin and covering you from head to toe. But, although you felt this piercing cold, your body wasn’t shaking like it would back home. You wondered if you were moving at all.

You thought you felt your eyelids blinking against each other in an attempt to try and see this something, but no matter how hard you blinked, your eyes remained open and there was nothing to be seen. It was just black. A black, deep, dark void that consumed your vision and everything you knew to be true.

And then you heard it.

There was a faint hum of music above your head. It was muffled considerably, but you couldn’t mistake that tune for anything else. Spirit In the Sky by Norman Greenbaum entered your hearing and swarmed your head with its familiar lullaby. It was a familiar favorite with yourself and soon after, with Rhett.

Rhett.

The song was still severely muffled, but further muffled creaks and groans contorted above your head. They paced around in an un-predictable pattern, and slowly they started to grow louder and closer to you. The sound cleared up and you recognized them to now be rhythmic patterns of footsteps. They were descending lower and growing louder, but something else came with it.

The low hum of the tune playing above you was turning into a whistle as something, came closer to you.

This was someone whistling the tune.

“R— Rhett?”

Your voice was broken and it croaked out from your throat.

“Rhett!”

You screamed louder with desperation, but your throat felt coarse and torn up.

As you desperately pleaded for Rhett to find you, over and over, you could feel the flesh on your neck tearing with your muscles. Your vocal cords were severed as you screamed.

You came to the deafening conclusion that he couldn’t hear you, as you heard his low drawl draw closer to you and hum out the words, “Never been a sinner, I never sinned. I got a friend in Jesus…”

His voice was so close to you now and he was practically on top of you. A crack of light dawned to your left and widened quickly. The darkness was now cut open above you and, you thought, you blinked furiously as your eyes adapted to the light. It was a dim and flickering light, yet it felt as though you had seen this darkness for your entire life. Your eyes adjusted and they went wide as you finally saw him.

Rhett had heard your pleading prayer.

He had always spoken to you about how you would find yourself in the Garden of Eden with him, therefore this wasn’t right. This wasn’t God’s plan for you, nor it wasn’t Rhett’s plan for you either. Your Preacher had come to save you from whatever horrid Hell this was. You would be safe in his arms again. He would hold you tightly against you, so tight his flesh would mould to yours and you would be tethered for eternity. You needed him, you craved him.

You made another futile attempt at screaming his name, but they fell on deaf ears. Your words never came. And Rhett simply continued to hum out Spirit In the Sky as he looked down at your neatly tied together body, which was frozen solid in your freezer, at the bottom of your basement.

You saw his hunting knife twirl in his slender fingers. You felt a blunt thud! whacked against your body and you were thrown back into the darkness.

You had no idea how long you’d been surrounded by this pitch-black, aching, darkness. The concept of time had all but disappeared with the light you saw your Preacher with. You thought it funny how the dim lightbulb that flickered above his head, silhouetted him like an Angel.

Concepts and things were starting to merge. You got confused and you felt yourself forgetting what time was all together, what your Daddy looked like, where your home was, how to breathe… But, Rhett was what you thought of most.

As you thought of him you could feel your heartbeat quicken in your throat and trail down to your heart itself. His initials of ‘R.A.’ thrummed on your hip bone with it. When you thought of him in this darkness, your body would vibrate and the blood in your veins would fizz.

He always made you feel as though you were coming alive. Every kiss, touch and bruise from his hand during sex, made your flesh come alive. Your hearts were tethered together, with his arteries suffocating yours.

You missed him.

And then you saw him again.

The darkness around you knocked down like bricks, before coming back together and forming a kitchen, specifically your kitchen, that you lived in together.

You were home and Rhett was with you there.

It was a sickly sweet, warmth inside your kitchen and it was just as you had left it. Left it where exactly, you weren’t sure of, but the heat made it feel as though wind was blowing gently along your arms.

Still, Spirit In the Sky played on the antique radio and you remembered how it would play in Rhett’s truck during blistering hot drives to the West, with the wind blowing through his rolled-down windows and onto your arms. You would mumble the lyrics to the tune with your knee bouncing in time. Soon you began to notice how Rhett would hum the tune with you, quietly making it known to you that he loved the song just as much as you did. His slender fingers would tap against the wheel of his truck, or his truck door as his hand stuck outside.

You suddenly felt his fingers tapping against you and you jolted with a spark. You watched him in the kitchen as he seared something with his hands in a sizzling hot pan. That sickly sweet, warmth was all you could feel as it clung to your flesh and stuck you to this particular place.

The song died out faintly on the radio and it followed with the town's local news.

“The missing persons case that has been wracking and worrying the people of Wyoming is causing another wave of paranoia as it’s suspected links to the missing persons cases that recently happened in the state of Florida. At this point, it is only suspected and local authorities are questioning…”

The monotone voice on the radio wasn’t interesting to you. It was drowned out from your ears as you gazed fondly, with an emptiness still behind your eyes, at Rhett. Your heartbeat picked up its pace and thrummed heavily against your rib cage as you watched him still. He was so handsome as he walked over to you, and then by you, reaching out to the cupboard that held your tableware.

His forearms now had small freckles splattered over his skin. You adored how they came up darker in the hotter weather. The fuzz of his arm hair, trailing up to his calloused fingers, had got lighter in the sunlight and you felt it softly brush against your cheek like he would when he’d lean in to tenderly press his lips to yours.

You’d only ever just wanted to be his. When you would kneel by your bed each night in nothing but your thin cotton nightdress, you’d pray to be his. You would beg him through prayer to tell you that you’re his. With your hands clasped so tightly together that your palms became damp, you’d mumble against your flesh, “Can I be yours? I tried to be good, Preacher Abbott. Am I no good? Can I be yours? I tried—”

When he told you that you were finally his, his forehead was pressed to yours through your screen door at the back of your house. His lips fumbled over the mesh material as he spoke and you laughed with pure, undeniable happiness that you were his. Through the small holes in the screen door, his familiar scent mixed with Marlboro Reds blanketed over you and wrapped you up with comfort. His tiny glass bottle of aftershave would always be splashed on his pulse point, just under his jaw, which was now tensing tightly as he chewed.

You watched as he devoured his smoked meal sat in front of him, and suddenly you felt an overwhelming and all-consuming love. You felt loved and protected by him, and you came to understand, like it was the most simple thing on this bountiful Earth, that this was his plan to keep his little lamb safe with him.

As he swallowed you thickly, you could feel his heart beating rapidly. You thought it funny because you never considered yourself tough before.

You felt whole as his heart was beating and intertwined itself with yours again. You were turning in his stomach and making him feel lovesick off of you and your tender flesh.

Tender pieces were still bleeding red and you thought, that Rhett had never looked so handsome when you were all over his mouth. His dog teeth that bit the meat off of your bones, were stained red. He groaned quietly, as he occasionally let his tongue wrap around his calloused fingertips. Doing so, he would smear your blood across your chin. His face was the portrait of a lover's rage.

This feeling was euphoric, in some strange and delightful way. You could never blame him for loving you the way that he did, because you were happiest here and because he would always be tethered to you. You’d never be without your Preacher again. Never alone, or fearful. He could protect you now from any hurt, or pain. This was meant to be and you would always forgive him, because he would always come back to you.

This sensation crept up your body, and you recognized the feeling of Rhett’s large hands running along your fingertips, down your forearm, and then up your biceps and to your shoulders.

You watched as the kitchen fell around you again like bricks, before building themselves back up and Rhett’s board arms were incasing you against his bare chest. You felt warm again, but it wasn’t the sickly, sweet type of warmth you’d experienced in the kitchen. This was instead the comforting warmth of Rhett’s flesh, pressed and moulded against yours.

The bricks came back together, stacking atop one another to form your bedroom in your home, where you lay together. Your hearts pounded against one another and you could finally feel his breathing. You could feel how his lungs expanded steadily below your own. The steady thrum of his pulse that you could feel under his jawline. As you scratched over it, his stubble pricked at your fingertips.

But you knew this was different.

In his basement, you would grow cold. The memory of you to everyone who knew you would simply be restricted to the Polaroids Rhett had of you. And whilst you were torn apart by the dog teeth of Preacher Abbott, you would still wait for him in your bed, in Death.

You felt safe, loved and protected with Rhett as you turned in his stomach, and you were held in his comforting arms. You just prayed that he knew how much you loved him.

But, it’ll be okay.

You can tell him when he gets here.

to my muse, jenna, thank you.

taglist: @sunblchdfly @beachbabey @tallrock35 @currentlybradshaw @unmistakablyunknown @iloveprettyboysblog @wkndwlff @flames-thebitch @kmc1989 @randomfandomgirl97 @peachystenbrough

tagging those who may be interested: @attapullman @lewmagoo @floydsmuse @auroralightsthesky @rhettabbotts @hangmanapologist @bradshawsbitch @sugarcoated-lame @becks-things @roosterbruiser

[tough-n-dumb]

Fic Meme

13. “Ask me again.”

thank you! this one is show!verse, set while inej leaves with the volkvolny crew (or does she...) listen, this one is indulgent and probably exactly what you think it'll be but i Need to fix how the show left them

13. "Ask me again." (Kanej)

This was it. They would leave for Ketterdam tomorrow morning. He had his money; the Ravkan crown in his pocket; his revenge. He should have been satisfied. He wasn't. Because what was waiting for him back in Ketterdam now? A kingdom, yes, but a crooked one, now forever off-kilter. He would be a king without... without... He would be a king, and what else was there to want?

Kaz stood on the roof, leaning against the fort's parapet, overlooking the vast strip of barren land the Fold once dominated. The setting sun turned the sand a fiery, golden hue; an antithesis of the darkness that had reigned there for so long.

He had been up here for a few hours now, avoiding the jovial, adrenaline-fueled festivities in the halls beneath. He'd initially climbed to the roof to watch the small airship take off, transporting the Volkvolny's ever-growing crew to the main ship. He hadn't been able to, receding to the other side of the high walls at the last minute. Just as in the chapel, he couldn't turn around; he couldn't bear to watch her leave. Even the thought of her caused a prickle on the back of his neck, a shiver wrapping around his aching spine.

"Ask me again, Kaz."

Inej's voice was soft, airy, the syllables of his name turning sweet and lilting. It wasn't possible.

Kaz turned, and there she was. He must have been more sleep-deprived than he thought, the visage of her so startingly solid and real. But the way the sun caught on her hair—braided once more—and the light hitch in her breath when his eyes met hers confirmed that she was here: brightly lit and corporeal. Not some specter of loss like Jordie.

"Inej, what are you doing here?" His voice was hoarse and rougher than usual, even to his own ears.

"Ask me again," she repeated.

"What are you—" he began.

"No," she interrupted, drawing closer, the space between them quickly diminishing. "I'm here because I need you to ask me again."

Realization of what she wanted dawned on him and something turned sour in his stomach.

"Why?" he ground out. "So you can tell me no all over again?"

She only stood there, watching him, picking him apart with her dark eyes. He supposed he had been the one to teach her the patience of a thief, after all.

"You were supposed to leave hours ago," he deflected.

"Yes."

"You didn't."

She smiled, the quirk of her lips small and ambiguous. "It appears that way, doesn't it?"

"Why are you here?"

"I told you."

"I'm not going to ask you to stay, Inej. You already made your answer clear." If she wanted to humiliate him, he wouldn't bend.

"Just try."

She was looking at him with the sort of rawness and expectation she had when praying to her Saints—full of hope and belief in something divine.

Damn his pride; damn it all.

"Inej." He took a step closer to her, then another, until they were merely inches from each other. If he reached out, he might be able to touch her. "Don't leave. Come back to Ketterdam and stay with me. Please."

She was on him before he could finish the word, instead sighing it into her mouth that was now pressed against his. She met it with her own, a whispered, yes that buzzed hot against his lips.

Yes.

The word reverberated around his skull while she kissed him and kissed him. Her hands were balled in his coat, his own gloved ones pressed tightly to the curve of her waist. She was so alive in his arms, her lips so soft and warm, even the harbor waters were kept at bay.

Yes.

Too quickly, she pulled away, and he watched as a heavy breath left her pretty, pinkened mouth. Her eyes flitted all over his face, snatching at his tells. He couldn't imagine what she must have found, but it left her smiling big and bright up at him.

"Ask me again," he parroted, thumb brushing against the flare of her ribs.

"What do you want, Kaz?"

"You."

thank you again and thank you for reading!! does this totally fit and seem feasible to where we left them? probably not. but i will take any and every opportunity to me them kiss

fic prompt meme

[bbiekazu]

OCTOBER BIRDS.

Sometimes, sad memories resurface on the days that are supposed to be the happiest.

ft. Kaedehara Kazuha x gn! reader.

cw/genre: I had imagined this in a modern au… Other than that, angsty fluff and comfort for Kazu.

Something I put together tonight for my beloved Kazuha’s birthday ! It was inspired by a fanart I saw on twitter. It ended up being more angsty than I anticipated… Regardless, I hope you enjoy <3

Reblogs and comments appreciated !

‘Snap’

The sound of a camera shutter pulls you out from your momentary daze.

You turn around, smiling at the author of your unsuspecting picture.

He returns the smile, his features rivaling the gentleness of the sunset before you.

“Kazuha,” You chuckle. “Come join me already! Why so many pictures?” You ask him, with a soft laugh.

He closes his eyes for a moment. an enigmatic smile on those lips that whispered the sweetest verses.

In your silence, the white kitten that was resting on your lover’s shoulder until a moment ago, jumps down, running to rest on your lap.

You pet the little one in between his ears, as the feline purrs happily.

This time, Kazuha doesn’t take a picture.

He finally joins you, sitting beside you in the grass.

“Because you’re stunning, dove.” He replies to your lingering question.

His face nuzzles against the crook of your neck, rosy lips that carried the poetry of the wind and the sea, tenderly brushing your skin.

One of your hands reaches up to comb through his hair, stars threaded in silken moon flowing like waves against a clear sand coast.

“Why, thank you, but, you know, I’m not going anywhere, Kazuha.” A kiss to his temple. “You have me right here.”

He lets out a soft sigh, leaning into your touch.

It’s so peaceful here; just you and him, your kitten pawing his legs and the sounds of the late October birds.

Kazuha wishes he could capture this moment forever, to freeze it in time; a photograph that never succumbs to the inevitable passing of light and time.

“I know, I know…” The poet trails off, for once, seemingly at a loss for words. “It’s just… I don’t want this moment to end.”

You halt your movements.

“Kazuha.” You call his name, to him, to the last rays of sun that are hiding behind the distant horizon. “Look at me.”

Your hands cup his face, thumbs smoothing over his cheeks.

Those gentle autumn eyes draw you in, akin to the fleeting light of a candle on a snowy night. Warm, comforting, beckoning you to put your hands around it as you recall fond memories.

And yet, you can see so much grief and loss in them on instances like this one.

Long lashes flutter closed and open again, a complete constellation, enduring the blaze of a dawning sky.

“Today is your special day, my love.” You tell him, tone gentle. “It’s too beautiful a day to think about sad things, don’t you think?” You offer him a melancholy smile. Your hands find his, fingers slotting between his.

“Maybe…” He trails off. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this just now.” Kazuha lets out with a sigh.

“Don’t worry about it, my dear.” You scoot closer to him, arms wrapping around his form. “You’ll always have me here, I told you.”

For a fleeting moment, both your gazes stare at the approaching nightfall, coppery light fading to transitioning shades of blue flecked in silver.

At the point where they both merge, an intrepid shooting star dares to brave the twilight.

“Make a wish, Kazuha.” You whisper.

Your kitten meows, as if seconding your statement, eliciting a chuckle from the poet.

“Alright, done.” Is his reply, his gaze, that merges with the still orange horizon, focused on you.

Your faces are inches apart; the starry infinity reduced to your mingled breaths; every colliding nebula, silent in comparison to your tangled heartbeats.

You close the distance.

“Happy birthday, my beloved.”

Are your last words, before leaning in.

[blindbatalex]

bruins hrpf recs from the server #4

Happy Sunday :3 Our theme this week was non-hockey aus (loosely defined) - below are the recs the server shared!

between garage bays by pastrnaks_sainz || lindholm/pasta || 74,131 words || reccer's notes: the f1 x bruins crossover i didn’t know i needed

Dark Horse by bookhousegirl || Austin Czarnik/Frank Vatrano || 4,584 words || reccer's notes: Providence mob au, set in the same verse as New Habits, also recc’ed on this list. I’m not sure if this one counts considering neither character (indeed none of the listed characters) plays for the Bruins anymore, but the grimy, seedy, small town sense of desperation and the concrete slice-of-life observations are so wonderfully evoked, you feel Springfield Massachusetts like fungus growing under your fingernails. I recommend listening to “Coattails” by Broods as a soundtrack while reading this.

down by the river by @thebluejayawe || tuukka/pasta || 5,916 words || reccer's notes: How grumpy Tuukka is in this is simply perfect; I also love the snowy wintery vibes and the developing relationship.

from ashes to beginnings by @007waffles007 || marcheron || 24,894 words

I’ll be home for Christmas by pastrnaks_sainz || marcheron || 6,553 words || reccer's notes:  Marcheron WW2 au. This is very much a comfort read for me, the savage hand-to-hand combat and scorching sex notwithstanding. I love the way the letter is quoted in its entirety twice within the space of the story, giving it space to breathe and resonate.

like stars in a perfect night sky by blindbatalex || marcheron || 2,051 words || reccer's notes: All I’m saying is that if _Supernatural_ were about this crimefighting duo I would be so obsessed with the show lol. I almost didn’t rec this bc I’m still mad Alex didn’t write a sequel to it, but leaving us with that beautiful haunting last imagery (that final paragraph!) is a choice I have to begrudgingly respect

New Habits by bookhousegirl || Gregory Campbell/Daniel Paille || 5,927 words || reccer's notes: MOB AU!!!! The throughline of aching to return to Boston guts me, it's the perfect theme to use in an AU because it's such a central part of the 'being traded away from a team that you considered home' experience, so it really carries over perfectly.

Penicillin by Aaron_The_8th_Demon || marcheron || 6,180 words || reccer's notes: Post-apocalyptic marcheron au featuring the Bruins as a group of firefighters trying to survive the plague. (Think of a Fallout 4 mission where you’re running around Boston frantically trying to save your infected colleague from dying before you can tell him you love him.) The climactic resolution is handled so tenderly and naturally, so in-character and with so little fuss, it fills me with utter joy every time.

the secrets we keep by blindbatalex || willypasta || 3,751 words || reccer's notes: I loved exploring the outside perspective on willypasta in this fic, with a healthy side serving of forbidden love and what it means to know or trust somebody, not to mention of course, some delightful h/c.

shake it off (darkest before the dawn) by Anonymous || bruins ensemble || 5,892 words || reccer's notes:  (Bill Haters Stephano voice) This fic has everything, it's got kidnapping, it's got spies, it's got whump, it's got enemy spies, it's got JD, idk what else to say I really liked it. It was one of the first fics I read getting into hrpf and had me like :0

Southern Light by bookhousegirl || marcheron || 8,949 words || reccer's notes: Antarctic research station AU. Marcheron. Gorgeous atmospheric writing that is working within a tight-knight insular situation. The author has a very evocative writing style, and the characterizations are wonderful.

[saphirered]

for the prompts candlelight fluff with helion??

Ask and you shall receive! Tooth rotting fluff. 😘

Unlike the season courts Night, Dawn and Day adhere to the rules of this world. They do not remain a constant. As such the nights grow longer and the days colder. The rays of the sun become rarer and more distant. The radiant heat does little to warm cold bodies and when the light fades, what more is there to illuminate the darkness? Thousands of lanterns light the paths most often traversed. Candles litter the hallways and chandeliers in the homes and palaces casting that warm golden glow. Despite what Prythian might expect, the people of Day welcome the colder days. Where the sun is lacking they bring warmth of their own. Their High Lord is no different. He finds when the cold settles within him, when his glow is less bright, there you are, like the will o’wisps guiding the lost back where they belong. 

Even now, Helion has been hitting the books from dawn to dusk, until the words dance before his eyes and he can see no more the scribbles of ancient texts. The keepers of the palace have begun their journey, replacing the old lanterns and candles, and lighting those still usable. He rubs his eyes, pushes back from the stacks he collected and rises. His back hurts, his neck too and his head rings with a dull pounding. He hears your warning echo through his head. You’d told him to move every once in a while, to get up and put the books aside. Instead of heeding that warning he had binge-read what he could and couldn’t remember when he last got up from that chair since dawn. You’d give him hell for it. Helion missed your company and he supposes even your scorn would be a relief at this point. He’ll bear it. Not that you’ll be mad at him, nor will you remain upset. You’ll be more likely to look at him with a hint of exasperation. Nothing a kiss can’t fix. 

Wandering among the familiar halls is but a haze, his mind has floated off somewhere far beyond and he is but a ghost stuck in the same routine until that familiar door comes within sight. No light bleeds from under the crack. No sound emits from beyond that carved mahogany. It’s just dark, light and lifeless. Still Helion wanders in, the door falling shut behind him. Was he not so familiar with this space the complete darkness might have had him tumble and fall over the furniture but this had become a habit, was it not for his exhaustion or whenever you had yourself occupied with his lips, your fingers in his hair and your legs wrapped around his waist as he held you. He’d become quiet used to navigate the space without the need for sight. This time it was not your glorious being that required him to use that memory. This time Helion finds himself without the energy to make it to the bedroom and instead unceremoniously allows himself to drape over the couch, making himself comfortable among the pillows as much as possible. He lets the darkness carry him off and dreamless sleep enter his soul for some rest at last. 

You were late. You got carried away in some ongoings and plannings for the upcoming months, dealing with correspondence and ambassadors who did not so much adjust to your schedules it seemed but still you handled yourself graciously. You’re tired and glad to finally be on your way home. If anything, you don’t know how he does it. Helion doesn’t know you took on more of the tasks set out for him but you’d seen him struggle between helping his friends and running his court. You might not be as well-versed in the ways of healing or be able to pick the exact book you need off of any shelf within those endless libraries, but you know you can put up with people and so you did, for his sake. He’d been so engulfed in his research he hadn’t even noticed the passage of time, let alone the seemingly endless list of responsibilities suddenly needing less attention. You’re glad for it. 

It is days like these where you follow the lanterns until you enter the palace. The staff and residents have long since lit the candles that line the halls creating the every lasting golden glow you’re used to, now even more prominent in the darkness of night. In a way it reminded you of the muted glow you’d woken up to on many occasions, when that power of Day bled through the restraint its wielder kept. It never failed to bring a smile to your face. You know at times he’d do it on purpose if only to see that very smile and it had simply remained an unspoken truth. 

You approach the doors you’re all too familiar with but do not see that golden glow from within. Instead you see a basket of candles set out at the door, some wicks too. You shake your head to no one in particular as you pick up the basket and are met with darkness. You have the mind to light one of the candlesticks from one of the flames outside, that very source of light being the only one to illuminate your path. You don’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary and thus simply make your way through. Setting the basket on the side table the glow of that singular candle illuminates the fae shape on the couch, the peaceful features and gentle rise and fall of the chest. 

Helion is fast asleep. You kneel down to brush some hair from his face and take the blanket from the back of the couch to gently drape it over him. Quietly you make your way around to the other side of the room and light the candles already set out and replace the burned out ones, collecting the wax remnants in the assigned bowl. Slowly but surely the room is cast in that same golden glow you’re used to. The cold air begins to grow warmer. Every once in a while you’ll cast a glance over your shoulder to still see the High Lord fast asleep. You hum to yourself as you move through the room until your task is complete. 

A gentle melody guides him back to consciousness. No more does he feel that night cold within. Even behind closed eyes Helion notes the light that was not there before. The air feels different, more alive and more welcoming. The smell of melting wax and firewood enters his senses. With a satisfied sigh he opens his eyes. Your steps are featherlight as you illuminate the path you take, candles sparking to life in your wake. When you turn and see him, eyes as golden as the glow around you smile and Helion melts inside. You set the last candles. Alight like a halo behind you, like a truly angelic being you close into him as he rises onto his elbows. You catch onto his slight wince as he rises. 

“What did I tell you about reading for too long like that?” You scorn playfully. 

“I will better heed your warning next time, my love.” He all but grumbles, sleep still heavy on his voice. You chuckle as he sits up fully and you sit next to him letting your fingers lace with his as a mere force of habit. He brings it to his lips and kisses your hand watching the flush spread through your cheeks. Beautiful. 

“Promising words yet no true promise I hear.” You retort. He looks at you through his lashes in a way that admits guilt. “Move over. Turn your back to me.” You order. Helion raises an eyebrow you just roll your eyes. He does as he’s told either way. You have half the mind to mutter ‘good boy’ but keep your comment to yourself lest this turns a certain way before you get to do what you intend to do. 

“While I’d prefer to see your face, I’m curious to see-“ His words are cut off by his own moan when your skilful fingers work the muscles of his back, starting right between his shoulder blades. Damn does it feel good. He can feel the tension release as you go, working down his spine, across his shoulders and up the back go his neck into his hairline where you hit just the right spot that makes him feel lightheaded. 

“Please don’t stop.” Helion breathes when your hands pull away. 

“Not so opposed now, are you?” He can hear the smile and satisfaction in your words. The candles dance in his vision, their warmth and light pulsing with his own and it takes him a second to realise he is glowing too. When he goes to snuff the flame within him you stop him. 

“Opposed to your touch? Never.” He muses with a deep sigh. You keep working, untangling every muscle that burned throughout the day, washing ease and calm over him until his shoulders slump and head hangs lower. Only then do you stop. He makes a sound of disappointment but is quickly sussed when you get up from your spot and push him back among the pillows on the couch. Your hand on his shoulder, he takes your wrist. 

“Now rest a little while longer.” You go to step away but he keeps his hold just light enough to make it noticeable. With a gentle pull, You sit on his lap and feel his fingers dance up and down your spine. You’re not opposed to his advances, in fact you welcome them but you do grumble when you bring your lips to meet his, when his arms wrap around your waist and hold you close until you’re laying on top of him. Even when the kiss ends and he tucks your head beneath his chin, where you can hear the ease of his heartbeat, when you melt into his warmth, he glows like the candles and so do you. 

[thebrickinbrick]

What Is To Be Done In the Abyss if One Does Not Converse? Part 2

About two o’clock in the morning, they reckoned up their strength. There were still thirty-seven of them.

The day began to dawn. The torch, which had been replaced in its cavity in the pavement, had just been extinguished. The interior of the barricade, that species of tiny courtyard appropriated from the street, was bathed in shadows, and resembled, athwart the vague, twilight horror, the deck of a disabled ship. The combatants, as they went and came, moved about there like black forms. Above that terrible nesting-place of gloom the stories of the mute houses were lividly outlined; at the very top, the chimneys stood palely out. The sky was of that charming, undecided hue, which may be white and may be blue. Birds flew about in it with cries of joy. The lofty house which formed the back of the barricade, being turned to the East, had upon its roof a rosy reflection. The morning breeze ruffled the gray hair on the head of the dead man at the third-story window.

“I am delighted that the torch has been extinguished,” said Courfeyrac to Feuilly. “That torch flickering in the wind annoyed me. It had the appearance of being afraid. The light of torches resembles the wisdom of cowards; it gives a bad light because it trembles.”

Dawn awakens minds as it does the birds; all began to talk.

Joly, perceiving a cat prowling on a gutter, extracted philosophy from it.

“What is the cat?” he exclaimed. “It is a corrective. The good God, having made the mouse, said: ‘Hullo! I have committed a blunder.’ And so he made the cat. The cat is the erratum of the mouse. The mouse, plus the cat, is the proof of creation revised and corrected.”

Combeferre, surrounded by students and artisans, was speaking of the dead, of Jean Prouvaire, of Bahorel, of Mabeuf, and even of Cabuc, and of Enjolras’ sad severity. He said:—

“Harmodius and Aristogiton, Brutus, Chereas, Stephanus, Cromwell, Charlotte Corday, Sand, have all had their moment of agony when it was too late. Our hearts quiver so, and human life is such a mystery that, even in the case of a civic murder, even in a murder for liberation, if there be such a thing, the remorse for having struck a man surpasses the joy of having served the human race.”

And, such are the windings of the exchange of speech, that, a moment later, by a transition brought about through Jean Prouvaire’s verses, Combeferre was comparing the translators of the Georgics, Raux with Cournand, Cournand with Delille, pointing out the passages translated by Malfilâtre, particularly the prodigies of Cæsar’s death; and at that word, Cæsar, the conversation reverted to Brutus.

“Cæsar,” said Combeferre, “fell justly. Cicero was severe towards Cæsar, and he was right. That severity is not diatribe. When Zoïlus insults Homer, when Mævius insults Virgil, when Visé insults Molière, when Pope insults Shakspeare, when Frederic insults Voltaire, it is an old law of envy and hatred which is being carried out; genius attracts insult, great men are always more or less barked at. But Zoïlus and Cicero are two different persons. Cicero is an arbiter in thought, just as Brutus is an arbiter by the sword. For my own part, I blame that last justice, the blade; but, antiquity admitted it. Cæsar, the violator of the Rubicon, conferring, as though they came from him, the dignities which emanated from the people, not rising at the entrance of the senate, committed the acts of a king and almost of a tyrant, regia ac pene tyrannica. He was a great man; so much the worse, or so much the better; the lesson is but the more exalted. His twenty-three wounds touch me less than the spitting in the face of Jesus Christ. Cæsar is stabbed by the senators; Christ is cuffed by lackeys. One feels the God through the greater outrage.”

Bossuet, who towered above the interlocutors from the summit of a heap of paving-stones, exclaimed, rifle in hand:—

“Oh Cydathenæum, Oh Myrrhinus, Oh Probalinthus, Oh graces of the Æantides! Oh! Who will grant me to pronounce the verses of Homer like a Greek of Laurium or of Edapteon?”

[hexotoner]

So, I made a short story based in certain song.

I hope you enjoy!

Come Little children...

Each kind of monster has a story to explain their origin, the wise have come to the conclusion that the great colossals brought their creativity to our creation, however, among the true and legends of others there are our own, ignored by others, for us a reality that remains after generations like bedtime stories for our monsterlings; like several stories it has changed, at this point we do not know how the real story was, even so the most popular and accurate version is always told. One thing is certain, in every story, in every legend something never changes, the song which it all began.

Before the great Dawn of fire, when the colossals gave life to a home for all. The celestials, the protectors of these elements, dedicated themselves to guiding and protecting the creations, however, among so much joy one of them made himself heard; The colossals had forgotten his element, they forgot to create life for the shadow and darkness. Even his pleas were not heard because the element was seen as useless and weak, especially in the face of the power of the fire, so powerful and brilliant. The jealousy was expected...

That celestial, immersed in humiliation and rejection, devised a plan

One night, peace reigned among the natural monsters; After a long time of incubation, the hatching season had begun, so many monsterlings had just hatched along with their brothers from years past. A night of calm between parents and children who sleep next to them.

Suddenly, as the moon rose high, Shadowed Glare shone; A sweet and deep voice began to sing along with the music of a piano, a song that we remember to this day:

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Come Little children

I'll Take Thee Away, Into A Land

Of Enchantment

Come Little Children

The Time's Come To Play

Here In My Garden

Of Shadows"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The memories are vague, hypnotized by the sweet sound of his song. Every monsterling, newborn and young, was called to follow that voice across the continent. Each monster of earth, cold, water, plant, air or fire; each little one was called. They were guided to the highest and nearest cliff, where the celestial awaited them.

One by one, under the light of the moon and the control of the shadows, they fell from the cliff. Fear covered some who feared a fatal destiny... Then, the celestial raising his hand called to the fallen, they began to fly. Young monsters as dark as the night opened their wings and took flight towards the moon, the other little ones then realized that under the protection of darkness nothing would happen to them. It continued like this all night.

His sweet song, so hypnotizing and beautiful, came to an end, on the other side of the sky the great and dazzling sun was present, its light woke up the unsuspecting parents giving them the news that their little ones have disappeared. Meanwhile, that celestial, giving his last verse, lowered the immense and elegant moon to its ancestral rest; The few monsterlings that remained were quick to fall and fly towards that beauty and brilliant.

A little tweedle did not want to fly, cursed with the lack of its wing at birth, it approached to the celestial, afraid of falling. When he saw it, he smiled, taking it in his hands and covering its wing. The sun approaches, the parents scream and run guided by the sun toward the dark end of their little ones. That celestial threw the tweedle off the cliff... And it flew, the last monster of the shadows took flight accompanied by the celestial who guided it to the Moon, which has already hidden.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ���⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Come Little Children

The Time's Come To Play

Here In My Garden

Of Shadows"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It was the last thing that was heard in the echo of that cliff

The next day the continent was silent, an entire generation had disappeared into the darkness. For years the monsters refused to sing until the story was forgotten and ignored...

What happened to that celestial? Every day he smiled, looking at those who could not do anything, at the fire celestial that could not illuminate the night and now his people were in despair and silence.

"This is a story that I like to remember, there is nothing physical to prove it, the original grumpyres have perished naturally, their descendants vaguely remember the story. However, I know what I once saw, the memory of what I lived. No matter how much time passes, my wing has never felt better. Still, I miss the purple of my old feathers."

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Reflections are made on Tav and Astarion's intimate night together before entering the Goblin Camp.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapter 7: Beholden

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 3.8k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Blood, Violence, Language, Act 1 Spoilers

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

We must follow nature’s course. Whether it be cruel or kind. We cannot interrupt its plan for the world. Their tadpoles connected them in more ways, than a simple acknowledgement of their shared affliction. But, boundaries are toilsome when broken. And creeping upon their coasts, will cost a sacrifice yet to be demanded.

— Halsin, journal entry 1,200

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

There was a stir of a song being born. One from the buds of untilled soil thought dead. The words to accompany it were being haphazardly forged on parchment, like random notes written on coffee-stained napkins.

Tav hummed and wrote. Wrote and hummed. It was an all-consuming process that transfixed her until it was completed. And her lucky muse? A wreath of ghostly ringlets framing two eyes of garnet that haunted the pounding organ behind her cage of bones.

♫On your chariot of umbra, You rode up from the world below, And with a kiss of starlight you…um??? Youuuuuu….♫

“Hope I’m not pesterin’ you. Saw you over here by your lonesome,” Karlach interrupted as she approached the lounging minstrel with a lopsided smile and a ‘hair of the dog’ pint in her grasp.

“Mornin.’ Only struggling with this verse,” Tav beamed, tucking a wavy piece of hair behind her ear.

“Something’s different about you, eh?” the fiery tiefling observed, taking a sip from her drink.

Tav placed her quill back into its ink pot and straightened out her music sheets while readjusting her position on the tree stump. A cunning prickling of thorns flushed on her cheeks. “I—no. I don’t believe anything has changed about me.”

But, that wasn’t true. Within a man’s arms she came undone, finding empyrean respite. His fingers worked her like a charm spell until she lost herself in the casted shadows of candlelight. Yet, it wasn’t her moans for him in the night nor the donation of her ichor that she gave willingly that surprised her: it was a piece of her trust.

“Perhaps it is because she engaged in quite the exhaustive venture last evening! Blood loss does have quite the effect on people—or so I’m told,” Astarion cut in. “But, me? I feel wonderful!”

And he did look wonderful. His cheeks were less gaunt. The bags under his eyes were a calmer shade of powdery periwinkle. Eyes appeared sharper, a brighter red. Even the sky blue coloring veins in his arms was more prominently saturated.

All his beauty and dangerous splendor were the reasons sonnets are made along the roadways of mud and intoxicating jasmine blooms. There was thousands of intricately weaved words inserted into poems to describe his ilk, like morning mist drops settled upon the threads of arachnids.

Tav cannot contain the lightness she felt when she saw Astarion. Her wings spread out, each feather hiding fragility under their vanes. Will he catch her slim feet as she flies away?

“Hey-o, you dandy! Ready to go gut some gobs today?”

Tav hushed the acrobats in her stomach. “Good dawn to you, ‘Starion.”

“Karlach. Songbird,” he greeted them equally. “You know I wouldn’t miss out on such a gutting show, however, I did come to check on our leader before we head out.”

Before Tav was able to speak, he had already sailed over to her upon muted silver heeled footsteps. She sat up, suddenly aware that he was bent acutely at his waist—enough to reach out to kindly dust her fresh bite marks.

“How badly does it hurt?” his pale head tilted, curls slipping to the side.

The smell of his freshly applied perfumes addled Tav's mind. His eyes, a clever decadence, held the knowledge of her ecstasies that she snuck to him during an impulsive need.

“Sorer than the wrist. Like a dull muscle ache from a cramp,” the bard congenially answered.

“Nothing you cannot surely triumph over. And how about everything else?” he breathed out.

The vampire does not attempt to mask his meaning or shy from the euphoria he exorcized from her body. He was brazen to ask her in front of their acquaintance.

Heavily did she swallow to control the overflow of her marching chest. “Fine. Everything else is fine.”

“Hmm. You know…” Astarion whispered, a low distraction as she watched the tip of his tongue wet his lips. “I can still taste you on my fingers.”

This fancier of the bloodthirsty arts, has two sets of teeth. One with which to feed; the other with which to claim. For this elven bard, a bargain has been made.

Tav wanted to match him in his torturous tease. To pluck out his devil’s tongue and boil it in a spiritual cleanse.

But, there was fine print that sat on the curled edges of the pages from their pasts, smudged with fingerprints and laced with belladonna. Warnings of holes where their hearts lay; labyrinths of frozen gardens that have no end.

Tav had not forgotten the way their rousing decision ended the night prior—with his fingers covered in her fruit and her lips finding purchase upon his alabaster skin. The vague emptiness that enameled over his touch, apparent through the shadows of his eyes. She had left his tent, with her sex loosened and a continual masturbatory bomb of fears that she had crossed a broken boundary of his that he didn’t yet understand.

“Astarion, there’s something I wanted to ask you about last night.” She attempted to mouth in hushed tones.

“Oh my sweet, you’re not getting mawkish on me now, are you? The only serious thing we need to discuss is when you’ll invite me back for another snack,” Astarion winked suggestively.

The bard continued her well-nigh unresponsive discretion of her features, ignoring Karlach’s pacing behind the pale elf. She stood up, a few inches shy of his natural height, placing her hands on her hips. Her quietness showed her sincerity as she stared into his face.

Astarion looked surprised, as if she had just turned an entire ocean to desert. He avoided entertaining her with any further quips or illusions, instead, blinking several times before abruptly summoning his trained foxy slink back to his face.

“Did you hear that? I think it’s our ghastly duty calling upon us to finally help those Silvanus freaks before they start complaining about ‘the leaves of nature being preserved'," he dramatically retorted as he casually checked the cleanliness of his nails. "It may be wise to think of better songs to regale the goblins with then you did that foul ogre—lest we wind up on the skewer. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Astarion gave the women a mannerful bow before he strode away without paying another peek in Tav’s direction.

Tav remained calm as he left, breathing out a long sigh. They needed to prepare for the assault on the goblins. He was a distraction—not necessarily an unwelcome one—but one with knobby roots twisted along the cloister inside his dried innards. If she didn’t get her shit together, a lot of people would die and their blood would be on her hands.

“I’m sorry about the interruption Karlach, he—”

Karlach took a long gulp of her drink, the ale dripping down onto her chin. Her face lit up—almost literally—with an excited smile. Tav knew immediately that the barbarian was far too astute in situations of sexual vices to not read the interaction that just occurred.

“Oh. My. Gods. That’s why you look like you’re glowing today! You and Astarion?! You fucked him, didn’t you?!”

The songstress's vision widened and her face felt like it would burst into flames, much like the tiefling’s engine. “Hells, Kar. Could you keep your voice down? We just—we kissed. A lot. And he obviously bit my neck to feed afterwards.” She pulled down the collar of her doublet to show her the punctures.

A white lie. Tav wasn’t one to share the details of her romanticisms with others. It was a preference to keep the echoes of intimate reflections as special moments: treasures discovered along the shipwrecks of life.

“Hey, I’m not judging! Astarion is gorgeous! Bit of a sassy grouch sometimes, but if I had my chance with him, I would not hesitate to get all over that.” The red woman made thrusting motions with her hips. “That being said, you don’t look entirely happy about it.”

Tav pursed her mouth, staring off to the right side of Karlach as she collected her thoughts. Her throat tightened as she spoke, delicately attempting to avoid providing any details she knew of the spawn’s past. “You mentioned recently that you sensed Astarion has been through a lot of pain, but I’m unsure where that begins and ends for him. And that concerns me. Karlach, I don’t want to potentially hurt him further. I barely know him and it’s… look, I’m telling you this because I think out of everyone, you will understand.”

Karlach crossed her arms, a caring frown accompanied the orangish calm of her irises. “I won’t pry, but Astarion seems to be fixated on his freedom from that fucker Cazador. Can’t blame him. I am too with my own from Zariel. Fangs can be a real piece of work, but even rotten scoundrels need a gentle hand sometimes. Maybe he hasn’t had that in a long time—if ever.”

The bard blew out the air she’d been holding in. “A gentle hand,” she repeated. “You’re right. Thank you for listening. I want what’s best for Astarion—everyone really—but I’m not sure he even knows what that is just yet.”

“I’ve got your back, Tav. Everyone in camp does too. And shit will work out, alright? We’re truly in this together, as sappy as that sounds.” The tiefling knocked back the rest of her drink, a glint of curiosity in her eyes. “Now, can you at least tell me how it was to kiss him? Please let me live vicariously through you.”

A merry laugh passed through Tav. She curled her index finger near her chin in thought. “Okay. Close your eyes and I’ll describe it to you. Imagine lips: plush, supple, but chilled. Not frozen, but a pleasant degree, like sweetened cool milk soothing your warmed lips. As you press them against his, you can feel your heart quicken and slow at the same time. Your breath’s intertwine with warm and cold temperatures that elicit thoughts you’ve never had. And when your lips start to move? It feels like you’ve both committed the crime of lassoing the sun closer to you as you melt into one another.”

Karlach visibly shuddered, opening her eyes to Tav smiling gently at her. “It’s no wonder you’re a bard. I could almost feel that myself! I suppose we’ve wasted enough time talking about boys for the day—should we get things rumblin’?”

Tav politely nodded and turned around to round up her belongings. Rummaging aimlessly through her satchel, her brow furrowed in annoyance.

“Something the matter?” the tiefling questioned.

“Just something odd. I could have sworn I put it in here before I came to write.”

“Maybe I can help find it. What is it that we’re looking for?”

Lost in confusion, Tav held the purse upside down a final time to see if any items stumbled to the ground. “My cuticle oil.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

When he woke from his trance in the early morning hours with dried blood cracking in the corners of his mouth, his vampiric nose involuntarily breathed in an alien scent that had seemed to fill his tent overnight. A pink tongue darted out to clean off his mouth, swallowing the red flakes down.

Astarion’s clothes stunk of Tav’s fragrance—she was ever so fond of—having made homes for itself in the islands of stitches on his sleeves and ruffled v-neck. Bodily fluids, now dried on his ornamental pillows, a sexual honeyed musk. He wrapped his tongue around his finger, still tasting the glacé of her sensual defeat and the sour memory of their night together.

He reached for the rags he had used to wipe off her bloodied essence from her upper body, scrunching them up to place under his nostrils. Cock half-hardening, he inhaled without reserve and groaned at the reminder of the effect drinking from thinking creatures had on his hunger.

Under the light of a candle, its single flame licking wicked pathways to Tav's want, he had concealed his guise of disgust behind her shoulder. All he could remember was the act itself—that it happened. That his fingers entered her and he poetically spoke naughty phrases into her ear to anchor her wetness for him.

Trust. Trust. Trust. She gave it to him with the arch of her back into his chest. Just as he predicted. Just as he planned.

However, virtually all of the details of their intimacy—the night—were lost on him. Her face was another among the blur of thousands he seduced over two centuries. Up petticoats and down breeches he searched bodies to steal their pleasures. His cock only thickening out of trained habit or a rare wishful fancy of ravaging apart a neck from any creature without hisses and tails. It meant nothing to him.

Yet, a singular detail did remain. A place he entered beyond the second circle of hell in lust, a circle where it seemed like his death could be undone. A river of lyrics carrying him along a raft of flower-crowned skulls towards the banks of her merciful arms.

During the twilit minutes before he released her, he made the blunder of examining her eyes before their ravenous kiss. What he had seen was acceptance. And it scared the fuck out of him.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

“I am enjoying our walks together, aren't you Gale?” Astarion teased while they walked through the inner sanctum of the temple overtaken by the goblins.

“Um yes, in silence.” Gale leaned in towards him, whiffing his scent, “By the way, I don’t mean to pry, but did you apply more of your aromatic oils than usual? ”

He searched for a quick remark to hand to the wizard. “Only because I knew I’d be in your presence today.”

Half of the vampire’s morning had been dedicated to scrubbing. Crouched over a bucket of soapy water, Astarion had soaked his clothing and rags, ridding them of scents unknown. Of the lingering remnants of her. His skin raw from how hard he attacked his flesh with suds and woven cloth. The final touch? Excessive dabs of his oils in unusual places to cloy any bits leftover of the bard's odor.

“The Priestess is up ahead; I’ll go speak with her. Wait here for a moment,” Tav’s melodious voice spoke reservedly to them.

No-nonsense. That was a part of her Astarion both equally appreciated and despised. Despite her penchant to offer her generosity to all of Faerûn, she pulled her punches. It was a waste of time to her otherwise and could be messy. Efficiency would deliver the most desired outcomes, but gods, he desperately wanted to create mischief at every turn.

Astarion, be nice. Astarion, we don’t need to lockpick EVERY chest. Astarion, leave that ogre and bugbear having intercourse in the barn to fulfill their needs alone. Astarion, don’t have fun. Astarion, let’s save all these idiots!

”Astarion? Please don’t hurt me." Tav's voice echoed in his head, throwing off his equilibrium.

He shook his thoughts away, reflecting back on their encounter with the dream visitor in the prism as they came upon the entrance of camp a short while ago. It wanted to protect them against The Chosen. The Absolute. All their enemies. To give them power. Yes. Power was the most important ability to hold in all aspects. With power, the possibilities were endless. With power, he would have protection. All it would take, would be to manipulate the pretty songbird into aligning with his goals. And judging by how he already managed to pleasure her so soon after they first met, it would be a piece of cake.

Thrum-dub…thrum-dub…thrum-dub.

Pulses? Astarion felt the constellation of his soul mark beating mildly. Tav’s back faced him, her features obscured. Her body was hunched over minimally at the waist, hand at the side of her temple. His eyes narrowed, jaw taunt. Something happened.

Thrum-dub.Thrum-DUB. THRUM-DUB. THRUM. THRUM. DUB.

Faster now. Harder pounds of a pumping bass through the bandwidth of their marks. She was nervous—frightened. The threshold betwixt them was closing in as an invisible rope pulled him closer.

He flinched. Really, he should stay out of her way; he shouldn’t get involved. It was perhaps wicked to not divulge to her the shared marks they possessed, but it would change everything. His plans would become a brittle cascade of a future he sought. He didn’t want to disrupt the plank he had been trying to balance upon since his unintentional escape from Cazador. But, Astarion was aware that he needed her and she needed him.

Besides, what better way to obtain one’s help to a cause—his cause—than a life owed?

“They’re connected. Quickly, we need to do something! If we start attacking, Tav could be in danger.” Gale stepped forward, sweat trickling down the sides of his face.

Light were Astarion’s steps as he snuck upon Tav and Priestess Gut. The creator of his misery appeared stifled, her mouth partly opened with persistent shallow breaths. The tadpoles of the goblin and elf had connected; Tav was fighting to push it out. A dull whimpering snuck out from her throat as if a deer was jerking around in pain.

Astarion seized her elbow, declining his head to press his lips to the opening of her ear canal, nose softly resting against its shell. He whispered in elvish, a language only the two of them would know, steadying his voice firmly. “She won’t see it. Nothing is going to hurt you. I’m here.”

The hex of the worms severed and she was free! Tav’s body slumped downwards, but faithful hands were catching her, grabbing at her arm to wrap around staunch shoulders—wrapping around the illusionary dripping silverlight he exuded.

“When did you…?” her voice broke up in a hoarse mutterings.

Giving her waist a confident squeeze, he smiled sweetly at her. “Hello beautiful. Think you can stand on your own?”

“Urgh...yes, I think so.”

“Splendid. As much as I detest putting you in that wizard’s care, do me a favor and go to him.”

The bard wobbled as she stood on her own, backing away towards Gale. “What do you plan on doing?”

Astarion removed one of his trusted blades from his back. Bringing it to his mouth, he licked the side of it, much like when he smothered his saliva over bitten wounds. “I plan on slicing open the Priestess’s neck. Now stand back, the smell of blood will be in the air soon.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Filets of goblin meat were a stark contrast against the erected statues of the temple dedicated to Selûne. Her lifeless face watched the companions as they carved through the vile threats. Ripped sashes of ruby life essence unwound in the drafty camp, splashing the group.

A witness Tav played, as she paid honor to Astarion’s image under the sparks of the wagon wheel chandelier inside the chambers of Dror Ragzlin. He stood soaked in ichor, peering off to his side with a final swoosh of his dagger through the atmosphere, flicking off excess blood. The dance macabre had been sated.

Flags of pure white raised, red fangs and swords embroidered in the middle. The belief of their crusade, a righteous seat upon golden scales. Raise thy sword in the name of murder. Let us pray.

All three leaders: Priestess Gut, the drow Minthara, and Dror Ragzlin—deceased.

“As you can see, ceremorphosis has been halted—as a surprise to all of us. I am not one to tempt fate, but if you cannot heal us, then any guided direction towards someone that could offer assistance would be most appreciated,” Gale explained hastily to the arch druid Halsin they released from the goblin prison.

Halsin casted a yellow glow that coated Gale’s entire body, sensing the mechanisms of the mind flayers. “Illithid tadpoles. Oak Father preserve you all. I’ve studied these for a long time now, without much results. It was the reason I came here, to seek out research. I may not be able to heal you, but I can at least tell you where a mass amount of true souls are going to be infected.”

The druid was large, easily towering over Tav. Almost the size of the bear wild shape they had found him in. Scars upon his wise face, a set of misty tea irises surrounded by reddish brown hair that wafted of autumn leaves and sandalwood.

The bard was stunned. “You mean they aren’t all being captured upon a ship and given the worm as we have?”

“I’m afraid not. Moonrise Towers is a stronghold ruled by a man named Kethric Thorm in the Shadowlands. Innocents go in and true souls—infected—come out. The lands are dangerous. Anyone that steps foot there is at risk for turning into demonic shades,” Halsin spoke in caution. “You have two options to enter: through the Mountain Pass or the Underdark. Both come with their own sets of tribulations. The Underdark specifically is home to a Sharran temple.”

Gale faced Tav, speaking in a muffled shallow. “Shadowheart may be quite interested in hearing about that bit of information.”

Focusing on the fine lines of Gale’s crow’s feet lifting upwards, she nodded. Her eyes swooped down to the strange circular marking in the middle of his chest, the way it seemed like tendrils of smoke sneaking up past his clavicle, to the side of his neck. A part of him, he frequently hesitated to speak on. But, being so close to the human man, she wondered what secrets lay under the surface of his skin.

“I know you’re curious about it—the marking, I mean. But, now isn’t the time to explain. Soon, I promise.” Gale gave her a reassuring compress on her shoulder.

Tav, now quietly embarrassed, turned around, finding two familiar crimson eyes following her. Coveting and dark.

Thousands of flowers sprouted behind her as she went to him. With her tears, she would bathe his feet; with her hair, she would dry them. His armor drenched in blood, dripping onto the new growths left behind, urging petals open.

Thankful for his earlier care with the priestess, her inspirited hand graced the tips of Astarion’s fingers with delicate plumy touches as she briskly clenched hers around them before turning to leave the chambers.

“I owe you my life ‘Starion,” Tav whispered, peering away from him.

He deceitfully smiled. ”I’m sure there will come a time when I will need your help in return.”

[simonsquest]

A playlist of tracks inspired by Simon's first siege on Castlevania. :) It's significantly shorter than my last playlist, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Like last time, I highlighted pertinent lyrics under the cut and included a link to each song on YouTube.

Genres: Power metal, symphonic metal, metalcore

Please be advised the lyrics can be quite graphic.

DRACULA X! - MARC HUDSON, JACKY VINCENT, ADRIENNE COWAN (warning: flashing images in the video) Alive under the blackened skies The hunter waits in disguise For the evil one's in sight tonight And the time is right Behind veils of a masquerade Descend brave and nameless heroes We will strike tonight, protect what's right Beneath the cover of moonlight For the sake of mankind, we must lead the blind And vanquish all the demons Across the devil's red sand, through thе archways grand A neverending mazе See the angels of light ever falling Voices on high ever calling "Now is the time to make a stand!" We strike, fighting through hordes of undead Searching the chambers unending For our one desire, the great vampire And banishing his soul with fire See the angels of light ever falling Voices on high ever calling "You will die now and leave this world!" In the castle walls Where the demons crawl We will end this reign of endless night As the palace burns Justice shall return And lift the shadows that once eclipsed the earth Until the day you rise again When the sun shines again over the promised land Forever enshrined upon our hands, the fate of every man See the sunlight fade away, behold the night again and witness The rising dust, call for blood, breaking the minds of men Yet the fear inside falls away tonight For our destiny awaits us As the prophecies spoke through the ages told The sun will shine again Leave behind all of life's fleeting stories Come forth tonight into glory Raise your swords high and storm the gates!

POWER OF WILL - DYNAZTY I'm here to burn down the past I rise to build something to last I shall refuse to ever bend Through the storm that has no end I'm gonna make the wrong be right No matter what I stand before I'll be afraid no more I am here, I'm awake 'Cause this world is mine to take Through the power of will I'll find my still again I will take the pain and let it make me strong 'cause I believe There's a force no pain can kill The power of will I've seen the bridge over all grief It's the power of belief I'm gonna cross it all with ease I'm gonna bend realities I know the way out of the dark I hold the compass in my heart, yes I'll tear down the past, build something to last I'll walk through the towering shadows been cast Through power of will I'll shatter the still Turn every stone till all the lies have been killed I'll bend, never break, I'll earn what I make I'll stand up for what I believe is at stake My will's made of stone, it's infused to the bone It's a fire-lit force with the potency of a cyclone

CALL OF THE WILD (FEAT. HANSI KURSCH) - POWERWOLF When in the night at the altar we're standing Staring at the icon on the wall When we unite for the sermon pretending The holy word by our blood we're defending Wear the crown of thorns to praise the fall Stand up, tonight we raise the call We bring the call of the wild to the sign of the sacristy Rest in the eye of our sanctity Before the dawn we are hallowed and praying Another night, all the sermon obeying Breaking down the altar and the verse Preaching all the night to break the curse

INCENSE & IRON - POWERWOLF Follow the dead in the dark of damnation Pious in head and a demon at heart Sworn to the night, an evangelist nation born Under the sign of the dark Gather the wild from the horde of the brave men Brothers allied, fight the storm of this curse Combat ahead and the night calls for heroes Ready for fire command Revel in red come and wake up to bring no remorse Stand up as force Rise over the dead, bring us ahead, incense and iron Fight all of the night, banners up high to the top of the land Right into the red, all you can get, incense and iron Stand, follow the fight, doing the right as we come to defend

LET’S BURY THE HATCHET… IN YOUR HEAD - ICE NINE KILLS You sold our souls, so burn in Hell You fucking did this to yourself again Now, bow your head You suffocated us for the last time We paid the price for your pathetic vice So now we're taking back what's ours: Our name, our blood, our life, our cause! Oh! So, wake up Here's a mirror so you can see This crooked, spineless, disgusting man That's become your legacy Here and now I'm pulling all my strings I have with God I'm hoping to find a better way I pray the only thing I need is time To rid the world of your lunacy You're as faithful as a false prophet So, here's a prophecy for you: Yeah, you'll remember me (remember me, remember me!) When you're struggling to breathe! Can't you see what a monster you've become? I couldn't watch the world through your eyes Salvation for you's in the hands of God So save your prayers and just beg for life I'm fucking done with you

THE PLOT SICKENS - ICE NINE KILLS We’ll make it out alive Lord hear our prayer across the air Is God’s intent final decent or just a test of our faith? If we have to crawl out, in spite of this hell We’ll find a way out, we’ll find a way out Left behind by God or the devil himself To find a way, find a way, to make it out alive The sight at hand, gruesome and grand, cannot be rectified Searching for signs of life in wreckage we can’t recognize We cry out for those who can’t be saved One foot on sacred ground and one foot in the grave Steady we climb, ready to die To look salvation in the eye If we have to crawl out, in spite of this hell We’ll find a way, find away, to make it out alive

FEED THE FLAME - THAUROROD Fire from the heart Master it while you are Searching for truth Of our lives You are the light Walk through the fire To enter the light Banish the eternal night Stand tall and proud Let your heart feed the flame Things will never again Be the same This much is true Heaven or hell It starts with you Change begins with yourself Reach for the light In our lives Fight the good fight

EAGLEHEART - STRATOVARIUS All through the night he is lying awake Wondering how much more can he take Watching the walls where the shadows dance Drifting away into a trance And his eyes are blazing with fire Dreams burnt to ashes so many times Highest of mountains, still he climbs Ready to fly 'cause he just can't stay Flame burning brighter with every day And his eyes are blazing with fire Longing for the deepest desire Fever is burning in his veins Determined with courage, breaking the chains Back against the wall, under blood red skies Prepared to fight until he dies