#your other senses sharpen when one is hindered

[avianreptiles]

I'm thinking about that cunt again

[moutainrusing]

illness

987 words, @wolfstarmicrofic

Poking Sirius’s forehead was his mother’s wand. Running the length of Sirius’s body was his father’s wand. Tradition of the Black heir turning sixteen: make sure he had no disabilities. No setbacks, disadvantages, handicaps.

With stern frowns, they analysed the results. Then, “Get out.” They faced each other in shock, having said that simultaneously. He has both?

“What?” Sirius croaked.

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Orion bellowed.

Walburga shoved Orion, caterwauling, “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU CRETIN!”

“NO SON OF MINE, YOU CRIPPLE!” Orion screamed.

“HE’S NOT MINE, EITHER!” Walburga roared. (Now she was yelling more at Orion than Sirius…?)

His parents’ faces had twisted, fury curling their lips, passion blotching their cheeks red, anxiety shaking their hands, regret furrowing their brows, sadness freezing their voices, sharpening them to ice. They blamed themselves for his disabilities. Their genes, their problem. Upset he turned out this way, riddled with issues. Bitter, because how could life do this to them? If word got out, eyes would turn to them. This is your invalid? Makes sense.

Sirius nodded slowly, eyes prickling. He didn’t want to be disabled. The first thing people saw about him: the fact that he was incapable, helpless, hopeless. They would judge him while pretending they weren’t. There was always stigma around it. He was weak, dumb, weird. “I— I’ll go. But… what’s wrong with me?” He looked at his parents pleadingly. Fix me.

“Mental illness and physical,” Walburga scoffed.

Orion snarled, “Won’t live past thirty, wretch.”

“Unstable in both mind and muscle. They’ll all give up on you, as they should. Immobile, paralysed.” Walburga laughed shrilly, “Get out.”

“While you can still walk,” Orion sneered.

Sirius nodded silently, a sob choked up in his throat. When he shut the door, he heard his parents break. He followed suit, in tears on the street.

- - -

“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT THAT YOU’RE A WEREWOLF, REMUS. I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU!” Sirius took a deep breath. “You,” he jabbed Remus’s chest. “Being. A. Werewolf. Doesn’t. Matter.”

“But it does.” Remus shoved Sirius’s hand away pitifully. “I’ll hinder your life. You can find love with someone worthy, live a beautiful life until you’re grey and old—”

“I’LL NEVER BE GREY AND OLD!” Sirius yelled, not catching the words before they left his mouth. His eyes widened.

“What?” Remus stammered.

Sirius laughed harshly. “I’ll probably die before you. In fact, I’m the one who’ll hinder you.” He bowed dramatically, “I’m sick.” He jabbed his chest, “I can already feel it. Y’know how you call me clumsy?” Sirius smirked depravedly. “Well, that’s my muscles spasming. Ain’t working properly. They’re giving up on me like my parents did. Like you’re doing. And I’m crazy?” Sirius cackled, “That’s my brain. Fucking disabled.”

“Sirius,” Remus whispered.

Sirius pointed frantically, “See?! Already scared of me!”

“No, Sirius,” Remus shook his head softly. “Whatever is going on is not a problem. Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re human.”

“Yeah, right, say that to yourself,” Sirius scoffed.

Remus sighed, “It’s different—”

“Is it though?” Sirius glared. “I’m gonna die early ‘cause of something I can’t control, something people still blame and judge me for. Their discrimination is more pointless than I am.”

“You’re not pointless,” Remus argued.

“And you?” Sirius returned, eyebrow raised.

“I’m not…” Remus winced, finishing pathetically, “Pointless.”

“Ha!” Sirius crowed victoriously. “You don’t believe it! How am I supposed to believe that being disabled isn’t a curse when you act like that?! When everyone acts like that?! You coo and reassure someone else it’s okay, but when it’s you?!”

“I…” Remus was at a loss for words.

Fine. Sirius had way too much for both of them. “Why do you add on to the discrimination already there?”

Remus shook his head helplessly.

Sirius prodded, “Why can’t people let us be? Everyone’s gonna die, so let us be happy. When I first found out, I hated myself. But then I realised that even with disabilities, I am still myself. I’m still brave, smart, whatever. I never stopped. And my parents’ve always been wrong. Of course they were wrong about disabilities, too. I dunno what’s gonna happen to me, but then, does anyone? You could get caught in an accident any day! We could die any day! You’re a werewolf, but you never stopped being Remus. You never stopped being thoughtful, beautiful, lovely, mine. My friend,” Sirius clarified, smiling gently.

Loud again, “But we should be more if we both want that. Let us want! Take all the love you get, because so many people will deny you the best life you deserve. So what if it doesn’t last? If it’s not always happy? Let yourself live.”

Remus was crying. While Sirius could still move his fingers, he brushed the tears away.

- - -

Sirius did make it to thirty. Wheelchair-bound, unable to move a muscle nor talk, brain functioning perfectly, heart beating a love song for Remus.

He could move a few muscles. His thumb: up and down, up and down as he pressed the button of a Muggle invention to form words on this screen.

He could write books on anything, all the knowledge of OWLs and NEWTs and beyond firmly stuck in the crevices of his brain.

Remus pulled a chair up next to him, having also made it to thirty: grey-haired, smiling, walking with a cane, tired, living, bones aching, thinking, dreaming, being.

Scanning over Sirius’s document, Remus’s eyes lit up, and he turned to Sirius with a grin. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

Sirius couldn’t say anything except stare at Remus in awe. But that was okay, because Remus had enough words for both of them.

Remus leaned towards Sirius, giving him enough time to roll away if necessary, before slotting their lips together. “You’re amazing. I love you,” Remus mumbled. Sirius put all his effort, energy, love towards smiling into the kiss. Nothing happened, but he knew Remus could feel it anyway.

[zorosbeau33]

Working~ Sting Eucliffe Headcanon/Drabble

❖ Fairy Tail, Sting x genderless reader

❖ Headcanon, Drabble, Fluff, Romance, established relationship au

❖ No warnings for this one~

❖ wc: 843

❖ @tojiseviltwin @kimnamshiks ❖ Masterlist ❖

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

This ended up nearly becoming a imagine by accident oops? So uh headcanon/drabble. Might do nsfw headcanon if anyone is interested sometime

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Being guildmaster is something he takes great pride in, although he knows he is only so good at it because he has the support of people like Rogue and Minerva

He already finds it very hard to concentrate on paperwork when there are so many cool things out there and his guild is having fun partying or relaxing in their new pool

Which is how he would end up holed up in his office desperately trying to get himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

Digging himself out of all the backed-up paperwork that hadn’t been deemed important enough to be a same day issue.

Funny that those projects and paperwork which wasn’t really needing to be dealt with for another two-three weeks suddenly were all due at once

Rogue had been tasked (by Minerva) with letting the guild members know he was not to be disturbed for anything, even the guild burning down (Rogue could handle that without Sting's help). 

The members were on their best behavior too! Trying so hard not to disturb but to also be helpful, like delivering the finished mail for him, or leaving snacks at the door with a tiny knock. (I think they forget about his sharpened senses because yes Orga he sees and smells you hiding behind that thin ass pillar at the other end of the hall) 

Sting feels even more determined with all of them being so kind and helpful to him, especially you

Your willingness to sit beside him and carefully help sort the paperwork, file it away or arrange it to be sent out in the mail was making this process so much faster. He could tell you had teamed up with Minerva to find out exactly what she as financial and aid needed from him because before she could do it you were already guiding Sting to the next document she needed him to address

Thus after three days with late nights and early mornings the end was nearly in sight

The budget for the festival was making his eyes swim as he tried to allot the right amounts where, and Minerva herself had stepped out to take care of a time sensitive task for him when your “help” suddenly became “hindering”

“I am working babe” He would whine and pout a bit trying to ignore you sitting on his desk and moving in closer to him, a tactic that normally had him jumping into your arms or pulling you into his lap with a laugh

Sting was such a good boyfriend he always put your needs first whenever he could, and that included entertainment or cuddles…yet another reason he may have fallen a bit behind because even after your needs were met he overindulged himself in spoiling you

Your pout and little cooes and pleas for just a few minutes made him whine louder looking distraught

How could you do this to him? Puppy pout when he was trying his best to be good and do everything so he could in fact indulge himself all he wanted in your magnificent presence? 

Did you wear his clothes too knowing how that made him melt even more for you? This had to be a plot, you waited until Minerva and Rogue had stepped away to pull this.

“Please?” He would whimper and beg, eyeing you desperately wanting nothing more than to tackle you for cuddles and a nap, or some kisses “I just have a bit more, I need to…just a bit longer…” 

It was his downfall, the minute his eyes glanced at your lips he knew it was over

Crashing your lips together in an exhausted but needy kiss Sting was quickly falling into your trap

Looping his arms around your waist, hugging you as he leaned up out of his seat to reach your lips for the kisses he’d been longing for. 

Sting's exhaustion would hit him all at once and despite kissing you like a man who would drown without air, his body went slack leaning against you to stay up. Sunken eyes closing as he surrendered to the bliss of your taste

Minerva would be fuming when she came back but right now he just needed to lean into you as you sat on his desk before him and steal as many kisses as he could before falling asleep

Her anger would melt though when she saw only a few small things left, and the soft way you were stroking his hair as he used your lap as a pillow

Maybe a small nap couldn’t hurt, she could also maybe use one

Sure enough, Sting did still finish his paperwork that night

Lastly, he made sure to pay you back for interrupting and distracting him like that too ;)

From that day on Sting however, would request your kisses as a reward and a “rejuvenating spell” whenever he needed to do paperwork

Though skeptical of the method Minerva and Rogue were both relieved that paperwork never truly piled up anymore they guess they could say it’s “working”

[hxney-lemcn]

Should I? — Bryon (AFK Journey) x gn! reader

summery: Bryon saves you after you get into a bit of trouble, and you find yourself unable to hold back your feelings.

tw: none

a/n: this isn't the best but I had to get it out of my system. This is for all my Bryon lovers.

wc: 1.6k

Master List

You watched on in awe as a dark colored falcon swooped down and attacked the enemy in front of you. You knew the forest was getting more dangerous, but you refused to let that hinder your research. At least that’s what you wanted to believe as you had been researching the animals in the dark forest for years, yet you were quickly proven wrong. 

You had tried to walk around the hypo-fiend who had managed to get into the forest, yet it had caught on to your presence quickly and went to attack you, which led to your current situation. Your heart jumped for more than one reason as Bryon stepped up and stood in front of you, sending an array of sharpened leaves towards the enemy. 

He had managed to quickly down the enemy, sustaining some small scratches. Elona flew over to us, landing on his shoulder. It was hard to understand how Bryon felt (that is if he didn’t outright state it), his blindfold blocked the view to his eyes, and his face would tend to remain stoic. That was the only reason you’d ever feel anxious in his presence, as otherwise he was a sense of comfort for you. 

You had met Bryon the first day you arrived in the Dark Forest. You had been incredibly anxious as it was your first big step on your own, thankfully, the wilder’s had been extremely kind. You first met Lyca, debriefing her on your situation and she quickly brought you to Bryon. She explained how as a Windwhisperer, he could help you find the perfect spot for the animals you wanted to observe. At first you were intimidated, he was stoic and looked no-nonsense. Not to mention he was the most beautiful man you had laid eyes on. 

Quickly, you learned that he wasn’t as scary as he looked. Both him, and his falcon, you learned to be called Elona, were quite sweet. When he brought you to a river clearing where all kinds of animals stopped by for a drink, he had offered you an abandoned cottage just a few meters away. You were flabbergasted to say the least, as you hadn’t expected such an offer. You had fumbled, offering money or some form of way to pay for the place, but Bryon had merely shook his head. He simply stated, “No one is currently using it, no reason not to let you stay there for the time being.”

That had been three years ago, and you found yourself running into Bryon more often than not. He had checked in on you after a few weeks of your move, stating that “You are my responsibility.” You weren’t sure what he meant by that, as other lightbearer refugees hadn’t spoken of having wilder companions. Of course the wilder’s would help them if needed, but otherwise the two factions would just let the other be. Of course you weren’t opposed to making friends, but you weren’t sure how to react to such a statement. 

Over time, you realized that Bryon seemed a bit lonely, and you had started to go out of your way to give him things. Whether it would be making a pie or giving him a sketch of an animal you thought he’d like (you only started doing this when he revealed he could actually see things). You both had quickly become friends, as when Bryon had free time, he would join you in your watch party and point out facts of the animals that you might’ve missed. 

You found yourself quickly falling for the reclusive man. You caught yourself thinking things you’d never thought of before, wanting things you hadn’t cared about before. It felt embarrassing, wanting such things with someone who showed no interest. He had been kind to you, he had cared for you, he didn’t judge you, and when prompted, he gave good advice. It felt wrong to care for him in such a way. He was a pillar of perception, someone who would listen to emotions and the facts to make correct judgements. Yet you couldn’t help yourself. The wish to tuck his hair behind his ears, the wish to hold his hand and hold him. It all felt wrong.

So the moment he stepped in to save you, you felt a mix of emotions. He had warned you of the dangers a few days ago, but you had foolishly ignored them. You felt ashamed, embarrassed, but also happy and lovesick. Bryon had gone out of his way to save you, even if you were being dumb. Does that mean he listens for you? Does he check in on you even if he’s not around? You felt yourself swooning at the thought.

“Haven’t I warned you to be careful?” Bryon asked, turning around to face you. Even though he had only lightly scolded you, you felt like you had done the worst possible crime.

“Yes,” You replied, looking down to avoid facing him. Once again you felt intimidated as his lips curved down into a slight frown.

“You could’ve been seriously hurt,” He continued to lightly chastise you. “You’re lucky I was coming to visit you today.”

You pouted, wanting to stand up for yourself slightly, “I thought I could sneak around it.”

“You’re louder than you think,” Bryon muttered.

“It’s not my fault you have such good hearing,” You replied back, crossing your arms. “Besides, I still need to do research, I’m close to a breakthrough!”

“Then I’ll be your guard,” Bryon concluded. “Lead the way.”

It wasn’t fair how easily he managed to fluster you. You weren’t sure if he did it on purpose or if he even realized the effect he had on you, but you hated it. You stumbled forward as his words kept repeating in your head. He’ll be your guard…that felt like such an intimate position. You weren’t a noble, you weren’t someone important, but Bryon had deemed you important enough to protect. Dura above you just wanted to kiss him to get these feelings out. 

“Are you alright?” Bryon asked as you both had walked a little. “Your breathing is rapid.”

How you wished the ground could just swallow you whole. One thing you found out rather quickly is that Bryon caught on to things quickly, but he knew when to back down thankfully.

“I’m fine,” You replied, feeling your face warm. Imagine him finding out your feelings now of all times…

“...” Bryon paused, contemplating his next words carefully. “Do not be afraid to come to me with anything. I’ll be by your side no matter what.”

He just won’t stop. The more honeyed words he spoke, the more you felt yourself wanting to confess. You had kept these feelings to yourself for so long, you were close to bursting. It didn’t help that the way he spoke towards you gave you an inkling of hope that he may reciprocate. You hadn’t ever heard him utter such things to Lyca or Solise. Of course he was friendly with them, but he was a bit more quiet with them.

“I know,” You replied softly, glancing at him as you neared the river bed. Dura, how did he manage to look at you so softly with cloth covering his eyes? You paused as the blue river came into view. The gentle tinkling of water was heard along with the cries of birds. A rabbit froze, before continuing to eat the leafy greens in front of it. A sudden longing filled you. The need to get these stupid feelings off your chest. To free your heart from the cage you entrapped it in. As always, Bryon seemed to read you perfectly, keeping his attention on you as you fully faced him.

“Bryon,” You called out, causing him to tilt his head cutely. “I hold romantic feelings towards you.” Not exactly the most romantic confession, but you didn’t want to say love so soon, as you needed more time to process your feelings. You had managed to catch Bryon off guard, as he wasn’t expecting a confession from you. He knew that people found him attractive, but they always ended up being put off by him somehow. No one really stuck around long enough. Yet you were different, you stuck by his side, you gave him your friendship, and now you were giving him your heart? 

Yes, he found himself liking you more than most. He liked the sound of your laughter (it sounded even better when he was the cause), he liked the warmth of your touch, he liked the smell of the berries you always carried on you. He liked your compassion, he liked your passion, he liked your stubbornness. Most of all, he liked you. Bryon isn’t completely sure when his feelings had shifted from friendly to more, perhaps it had always been more and he was just now realizing, but the fact remained the same. He felt the same way, and he was more than relieved to hear you felt for him in such a way. 

You, on the other hand, had become a nervous wreck the longer the white haired man stayed silent. His face gave away nothing as he faced you, Elona made it all the more intimidating. Perhaps you shouldn’t have said anything. He probably couldn’t even have a relationship due to his role as Windwhisperer. He was probably thinking of a nice way of rejecting yo-

“I feel the same way,” Bryon said softly. Oh what you would give to see the look in his eyes. 

“You know,” You started, shifting back and forth on your feet. “I could use a break from research, maybe we could go on a date instead.” You couldn’t see it, but Bryon felt like he was on fire. He was still wrapping his head around the fact that you liked him, and now you two were going on a date? He wasn’t prepared at all, but he couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste. 

“Okay,” He agreed, a small smile taking over his features. “Lead the way, I’ll be right by your side.”

[of-witches-and-ink]

"Does it ever get any easier?"

Black claws rest next to where her own fingers have lengthened, sharpened. He hovers over her shoulder, but she can't find herself to be afraid anymore. It's not like she can die in this miserable place, not really.

"No. It doesn't."

"Allison looked at me so strangely. She almost seemed like she was trying to decide whether or not to be... To be afraid of me."

"That is the way of things. They hold us accountable for that which we cannot control. In the end, it makes it easier to embrace their truth."

"Even if it isn't the real truth?"

"Even then."

"How do you live like this?"

A hoarse laugh echoes through her skull. There within lies untold suffering.

"I'm not sure I consider this living, child."

"Don't call me that."

"You are my progeny. I believe I have the right."

"Right... I'm sorry..."

"Do not apologize for your own existence, child. It is not your fault you were born, only the fault of those that would hinder and hurt. It is your life, regardless of the circumstances of your birth."

Silence reigns between them for a long moment. Then, Audrey decides to go out on a limb.

"...If I asked you really, really nicely, would you promise not to hurt Allison and Tom?"

Another laugh, this one considerably more amused.

"You are daring to ask me to go against my very nature."

"Well, considering they've done their level best to keep me alive and the handful of times I've been dunked has been at your hands, er, claws? I think a little daring is warranted."

A long silence. The Ink Demon seems to be quietly considering it. Audrey almost accepts that asking him to not kill might be a long shot, when he finally, finally speaks again.

"Very well. You've proven yourself as worthy of these halls, and as they are your allies I will allow them to roam freely. So long as they mind their own, of course."

Audrey's claws scrape against the floor as she spins to face him. Although his expression remains as fixed as always, she can sense his amusement as an almost tangible aura. Something else that's developed recently that she can now attribute to her connection to him- empathically sensing other beings.

"Oh, I can't wait to tell them! They'll be thrilled."

"I'm sure."

His voice there is indulgent, as if he expects another outcome. Reasonable, given how often he's been hurt or betrayed. She'll just have to prove him wrong.

-----

Snippet drabble of an AU in which Audrey is also Bendy's daughter and not just Joey's. There's some touchy background information that's lightly implied but I won't elaborate on that in this snippet.

[dailycharacteroption]

Class Feature Friday: Self-Perfection Discipline (Psychic Discipline)

(art by Vincent Van Leeuwen on Artstation)

 Focus through pain, the use of mind-altering substances, the study of those who came before… every psychic has their own way to delve into the secrets of their mind. Today, we will be looking at one that does not neglect their body while they perfect their mind, and in fact uses the combination of both to achieve focus and catharsis in their power.

While thematically the self-perfection discipline bears many similarities to the enlightenment discipline, self perfection seeks not a greater understanding of themselves and the world around them (No more than any other disciplines), but rather, finds focus on sharpening the mind and honing the body.

Now, while this can indeed draw heavily from ascetism, it need not have the trappings of that lifestyle. A psychic of self-discipline may simply maintain a regimine of exercises both physical and mental, sharpening their thoughts on riddles and games of strategy before focusing on physical exercises that induce their own sort of meditative state.

The result is a psychic with a few monk-like abilities, but otherwise one that proves just as adept with their body as their mind,.

 Befitting a discipline which revolves around physical and mental perfection, the spells granted by this discipline revolve around enhancing the body and mind. From enhancing speed and strength to removing hinderances, enhancing senses, and even giving them a body like iron. The most powerful can even create a record of their mind and body to revert back to should they be at risk of death.

Tapping into the bodily awareness that monks are known for, these psychics are extremely adept at predicting and dodging incoming blows.

With disciplined thought, they can achieve supreme focus or push past their limits when performing physical tasks, making them that much easier. Succeeding even gives a little catharsis which helps recharge their phrenic reserves.

They also gain a reserve of healing energy, which can be spent to heal themselves of bodily injuries, though they can also spend more to recover from debilitating effects, push out poisons or diseases, and so on.

Interested in a psychic that doesn’t neglect the physical side of the character? This archetype might be for you. The Wisdom AC buff is very, very good for a psychic throughout their career, and having decent physical stats does mean you don’t necessarily have to rely on spells for utility actions. That being said, it’s still a full caster class, so I wouldn’t expect to do well going toe- to-toe with foes unless you’re building for that, which may take an archetype and lots more buffing spells. If you don’t go that route, you can use your magic to buff up allies instead.

 With their connection to asceticism, I can imagine that many of these psychics train in similar, or perhaps the very same monasteries as monks, particularly those that offer esoteric training such as where serpent-fire adepts might learn the arts of opening chakras. That being said, how well the monastic students mesh with these mystics may vary by school, teachings, and of course, individuals.

  It may seem strange to think about given their physique, but the trox of Iron Cliffs enjoy a peaceful existence of honing their bodies and minds. Most do so through more traditional monastic traditions, but a rare few have the spark of a psychic, and train to unlock great mental power even more fearsome than their bulk.

 The Monastery of the Open Mind has a strange secret: it was founded by a prana ghost who still roams the grounds! Demonstrating tremendous willpower, sifu Tai Fan forced themselves to remain close to the material plane and train students in their art, and though the school thrives now, they haven’t left yet.

 Not everyone who seeks self-perfection is a monk or seeks formal schooling. Indeed, the baron Tervas Volkuus is a self-taught psychic who sought the same control over his body and mind that he desires in his holding, seeing the power he has gained as validation, making him utterly convinced of his right to rule.

[experiential-reflections]

The Importance of Self-Insight.

What I learned from Carl Rogers. 

There seems to exist a constant battle between the external and the internal. The external being things like family environment, health, intellectual development, economic circumstances, cultural influences, social interactions, educational development and so on. There is no doubt that these experiences shape our personality and our perceptions of the world. The internal is a bit more difficult to explain. It’s the part of you that encompasses self-understanding, self-insight, and defined as an acceptance of self and reality, and a sense of responsibility for the self. Self and tendency toward actualization is monumental in your personal achievements, how you perceive them, and in Self-Actualization overall.

I believe we all have an actualization tendency. This tendency for basic human motivation to actualize, maintain, and enhance self. This process of course involves struggle, pain, and strength. This internal motivation includes physiological and psychological needs but goes further to soothe a person’s self. During the governing process throughout one’s lifespan we evaluate the experiences we encounter and unconsciously or consciously determine that they are positive or negative. This process of judging experiences in terms of hindering or fostering actualization and growth quite frankly changes our reality. Perception of experience influences behavior (which can snowball into self-fulfilling prophecy but I won’t spend too much time on that this post). Our experiential world can challenge us, but these experiences will broaden our world and sharpen who we are. We become a product of not only our nurtured environment but also how we feel and think. “What we think, we become.” “I think, therefore I am.” Of course it’s our reality. An individual’s experience of the world changes their reality. A Reliable Reality depends on one’s perception of experience and of course perceptions can change with time and circumstance. Experiences become the basis for judgments and behaviors- shaping our personality. And as the actualization tendency leads us to grow and develop, naturally our experiential world will broaden. Carl Rogers suggests that higher levels of development sharpen our world and ultimately lead to the total development of the self. 

I want to also acknowledge that unconditional positive regard leads to positive self-regard. And conditional regard can lead to beliefs that center around conditions of worth. Self-worth and self-love might be a complicated relationship for those who didn’t receive unconditional positive regard. Healthy people can perceive themselves, others and events in their world as they are. They are open to new experiences because nothing threatens their self-concept. They have no need to deny or distort their perceptions because they received unconditional positive regard as children and did not have to internalize any conditions of worth. 

A peek into my self-insight: 

Life with mental illness, whether you have awareness of it or not is quite frankly, challenging. Battling with yourself and trying to practice forgiveness and relieve shame is tiring. When I look introspectively I often find a lot of negative feelings. Having Bipolar disorder and being diagnosed in my early 20s has led me to retrospectively think about actions I did, words I said, that I’m now ashamed of. It’s probably the reason why I have been in a depression the past few years and it’s part of the reason why I don’t want to live. If we are talking about self worth I don’t think I have that much, if any at all. I don’t feel that I am deserving of the opportunity of life and I don’t like living a boring life- but I don’t have the perseverance or energy to make a life worth living. Self Actualization has taught me that if certain steps aren’t resolved, it’s harder to move up and reach actualization. I am working on healing parts of me so that maybe I can move up that pyramid. So when I practice self-insight I know that I am doing it wrong. Actively practicing awareness of those negative self thoughts should help reprogram self perception. I wish I had self awareness earlier. I wish I could do self love. Like really do it. I practice sometimes, maybe not enough and even in this post I harp on my self with my words that I choose. I dislike myself so much that when I access my unconscious, I flood the page with negative comments. I need to do better. I want to do better. For the sake of my reality I will find strength. I will continue to heal, to go through my struggle and my pain. I have self worth. I am worthy. I deserve happiness. And though no one might ever read this, if you are... you do too. 

Journal Entry 04/16/2023

[divinatorydoll]

how mercury direct in capricorn will affect us: 📝

mercury, the planet of communication, learning, and skill will soon be stationing direct in the ambitious sign of capricorn !!

until mercury moves into aquarius on february 11th, the collective will be experiencing a meaningful slow down in our everyday lives — in the sense that we'll be taking more time with our schedules, hygienic practices, personal grooming, etc.

since mercury was retrograde in capricorn, many people struggled with obstacles and delays (♑︎) in their daily routines (☿). though mercury is now direct in capricorn, so these delays will be more voluntary rather than being a result of unfortunate circumstance.

mercury will impact you differently based on which house it stations direct in, read more below !!

MERCURY DIRECT IN CAPRICORN THROUGHOUT THE HOUSES:

mercury in the 1H: more ease in self-expression and displaying your personality to others. it's also a good time to communicate your point of view to the people around you, as mercury is direct in the sign of seriousness — your words will be taken with much more weight and importance right now.

mercury in the 2H: an excellent time for organizing your finances and figuring out a more efficient budget. the second house also governs valuables and assets, so it's good to use mercury's influence here to decide which possessions of yours are actually useful and significant — a great transit for correcting excess.

mercury in the 3H: useful for sharpening your skills with driving, communicating, and problem-solving. it's important to be more of service to the elderly people in your community during this transit as well !! whether that's by holding doors open for them, carrying their groceries to their car, helping them up a flight of stairs, etc.

mercury in the 4H: getting weight off of your chest to your immediate family is often very rewarding; family members can help you think through your problems more thoroughly right now (whether they're biological or chosen). wonderful for rearranging your living space and deep cleaning it.

mercury in the 5H: a great time to do journaling about your childhood or read things you wrote as a child. mercury in this house can encourage more thought when it comes to your happiness and hobbies, so make your joy a priority and focus on it !! there's also more of a chance at reigniting old romantic or sexual relationships.

mercury in the 6H: working out managerial issues or problems with coworkers is usually much more effective during this transit. it can also be a helpful time for gaining new information on your skeletal, dental, and postural health, as well as your salt and calcium intake.

mercury in the 7H: fantastic for making progress in contractual or legal matters, especially if those matters involve your spouse, siblings, extended family, or your means of transportation. this transit can also encourage more transparency between loved ones when it comes to discussing mental burdens / hardship.

mercury in the 8H: amazing for deep inner conversation and nurturing insight that comes to you in private. this can be a more socially secluded time, but the people you do bond with during this transit will give you very valuable resources — such as money, information, secrets, property, intimacy, etc.

mercury in the 9H: ironing out the last kinks in a publication or body of work is often a smoother process during this transit, especially if the project relates to politics, faith, spirituality, or your personal beliefs. work on a final draft without being too rigid about the results; inflexibility will hinder your progress right now.

mercury in the 10H: mercury stationing direct in this house can help move your career along and make business transactions much easier. try not to be overzealous with production and focus more on the craftsmanship of what you release to the public — quality over quantity as the saying goes.

mercury in the 11H: setting boundaries within your friendships and other social relationships is particularly important during this transit. try not to let people overwork you or walk all over you, even if you feel obligated to them in some way. also a wonderful time for developing your social media presence !!

mercury in the 12H: perfect for writing down any dreams or visions you have, especially if they are reoccurring — images in your dreams are likely to be more macabre and layered with mercury here. i would also encourage using smaller objects that consist of bone, salts, or obsidian on your altar(s) during this time.

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[azeez-unv]

POWER OF FOCUS தமிழ்

As we stepped into the promising realm of 2024, it's time to reflect on the incredible potential that lies within each one of us. This new year brings with it a fresh canvas—a chance to rewrite our stories, conquer new challenges, and realize our dreams. To navigate the path to success, there is one potent force that can propel us forward like no other: the power of focus. In this article, we will explore the profound impact focus can have on our lives and how we can harness it to unlock our true potential.

DEFINING THE POWER OF FOCUS:

Focus is the unwavering commitment of our attention and energy towards a specific goal or objective. It is the ability to eliminate distractions, concentrate our efforts, and channel our resources into what truly matters. When we embrace focus, we tap into a wellspring of productivity, clarity, and determination that propels us towards our desired outcomes.

THE MULTIFACETED BENEFITS OF FOCUS:

1.Enhanced Productivity: Focus enables us to direct our time and energy towards tasks that truly matter. By eliminating needless distractions and honing our attention, we become more efficient, accomplish more in less time, and experience a greater sense of accomplishment.

2.Clarity and Decision-Making: Focus sharpens our mental clarity, allowing us to discern what is essential and what isn't. It helps us make better decisions by enabling us to analyze situations, weigh alternatives, and choose the most suitable course of action.

3.Overcoming Obstacles: In the face of challenges, focus becomes our guiding light. It empowers us to persist, adapt, and find creative solutions, even when the road ahead seems arduous. With unwavering focus, we can transform obstacles into stepping stones towards success.

4.Mastery and Expertise: Focus is the catalyst for growth and mastery. By dedicating ourselves to a specific skill or domain, we enter a realm of deep learning and understanding. The power of focus allows us to develop expertise and excel beyond our initial abilities.

CULTIVATING FOCUS IN THE DIGITAL AGE:

In today's fast-paced and digitally driven world, cultivating focus can be particularly challenging. However, with conscious effort and discipline, we can overcome these hurdles and unlock our potential:

1.Set Clear Goals: Define your goals with precision and clarity. When we have a clear destination in mind, it becomes easier to focus our efforts and make progress towards our objectives.

2.Prioritize and Eliminate Distractions: Identify the activities and distractions that hinder your focus. Prioritize your tasks, eliminate non-essential commitments, and create a conducive environment that supports concentration.

3.Practice Mindfulness and Meditation: Engage in mindfulness exercises and meditation to strengthen your ability to focus. These practices train your mind to stay present, cultivate awareness, and reduce mental clutter.

4.Break Tasks into Manageable Chunks: Large tasks can be overwhelming and distract us from focusing effectively. Break them down into smaller, manageable steps, and tackle them one at a time. This approach allows for increased focus and a sense of progress along the way.

5.Embrace Deep Work: Allocate specific blocks of time for deep, uninterrupted work. During these periods, disconnect from distractions, silence notifications, and immerse yourself fully in the task at hand.

As we embarked on the journey of 2024, let us remember the immense power of focus. It is the driving force that can bring our dreams to life, transform our lives, and shape a future filled with success and fulfillment. By cultivating focus, we can harness our true potential, overcome obstacles, and leave an indelible mark on the world. Embrace the power of focus, and let 2024 be the year where you unlock the extraordinary within you.

கவன சக்தி

2024 ஆம் ஆண்டின் நம்பிக்கைக்குரிய சாம்ராஜ்யத்தில் நாம் அடியெடுத்து வைக்கும்போது, ​​நம் ஒவ்வொருவருக்குள்ளும் இருக்கும் நம்பமுடியாத திறனைப் பற்றி சிந்திக்க வேண்டிய நேரம் இது. இந்தப் புத்தாண்டு புதிய கேன்வாஸைக் கொண்டு வருகிறது—நமது கதைகளை மீண்டும் எழுதவும், புதிய சவால்களை வெற்றிகொள்ளவும், நம் கனவுகளை நனவாக்கவும் ஒரு வாய்ப்பு. வெற்றிக்கான பாதையில் செல்ல, மற்றவரைப் போல நம்மை முன்னோக்கித் தள்ளக்கூடிய ஒரு சக்திவாய்ந்த சக்தி உள்ளது: கவனம் செலுத்தும் சக்தி. இந்தக் கட்டுரையில், நம் வாழ்வில் ஆழமான தாக்கத்தை ஏற்படுத்தக்கூடிய மற்றும் நமது உண்மையான திறனைத் திறக்க அதை எவ்வாறு பயன்படுத்தலாம் என்பதை ஆராய்வோம்.

கவனம் செலுத்தும் சக்தியை வரையறுத்தல்:

கவனம் என்பது ஒரு குறிப்பிட்ட இலக்கு அல்லது குறிக்கோளை நோக்கி நமது கவனத்தையும் ஆற்றலையும் அசைக்க முடியாத அர்ப்பணிப்பு. இது கவனச்சிதறல்களை அகற்றி, நமது முயற்சிகளை ஒருமுகப்படுத்தி, நமது வளங்களை உண்மையிலேயே முக்கியமானவற்றிற்கு மாற்றும் திறன் ஆகும். நாம் கவனத்தைத் தழுவும்போது, ​​உற்பத்தித்திறன், தெளிவு மற்றும் உறுதிப்பாடு ஆகியவற்றின் ஊற்றுக்கண்ணைத் தட்டுகிறோம், அது நாம் விரும்பிய விளைவுகளை நோக்கி நம்மைத் தூண்டுகிறது.

ஃபோகஸின் பன்முகப் பலன்கள்:

1.மேம்படுத்தப்பட்ட உற்பத்தித்திறன்: கவனம் செலுத்துவது, நமது நேரத்தையும் சக்தியையும் உண்மையிலேயே முக்கியமான பணிகளை நோக்கி செலுத்த உதவுகிறது. தேவையில்லாத கவனச்சிதறல்களை நீக்கி, நம் கவனத்தை செம்மைப்படுத்துவதன் மூலம், நாம் மிகவும் திறமையானவர்களாகவும், குறைந்த நேரத்தில் அதிக சாதனைகளை நிகழ்த்தி, அதிக சாதனை உணர்வை அனுபவிக்கவும் செய்கிறோம்.

2.தெளிவு மற்றும் முடிவெடுத்தல்: கவனம் நமது மனத் தெளிவைக் கூர்மையாக்குகிறது, எது அத்தியாவசியமானது மற்றும் எது இல்லாதது என்பதை அறிய அனுமதிக்கிறது. சூழ்நிலைகளை பகுப்பாய்வு செய்யவும், மாற்றுகளை எடைபோடவும், மிகவும் பொருத்தமான செயலைத் தேர்வு செய்யவும் உதவுவதன் மூலம் சிறந்த முடிவுகளை எடுக்க இது உதவுகிறது.

3.தடைகளை முறியடித்தல்: சவால்களை எதிர்கொள்ளும் போது, ​​கவனம் செலுத்துவது நமக்கு வழிகாட்டும் வெளிச்சமாகிறது. முன்னோக்கிச் செல்லும் பாதை கடினமானதாகத் தோன்றினாலும், தொடர்ந்து நிலைத்திருக்கவும், மாற்றியமைக்கவும், ஆக்கப்பூர்வமான தீர்வுகளைக் கண்டறியவும் இது நமக்கு அதிகாரம் அளிக்கிறது. அசையாத கவனம் இருந்தால், தடைகளை வெற்றிக்கான படிக்கட்டுகளாக மாற்றலாம்.

4.தேர்ச்சி மற்றும் நிபுணத்துவம்: கவனம் என்பது வளர்ச்சி மற்றும் தேர்ச்சிக்கான ஊக்கியாக உள்ளது. ஒரு குறிப்பிட்ட திறன் அல்லது களத்திற்கு நம்மை அர்ப்பணிப்பதன் மூலம், ஆழ்ந்த கற்றல் மற்றும் புரிதலின் மண்டலத்திற்குள் நுழைகிறோம். கவனம் செலுத்தும் சக்தியானது நிபுணத்துவத்தை வளர்த்துக்கொள்ளவும், நமது ஆரம்பத் திறன்களுக்கு அப்பால் சிறந்து விளங்கவும் அனுமதிக்கிறது.

டிஜிட்டல் யுகத்தில் கவனம் செலுத்துதல்:

இன்றைய வேகமான மற்றும் டிஜிட்டல் உந்துதல் உலகில், கவனத்தை வளர்ப்பது குறிப்பாக சவாலானது. இருப்பினும், நனவான முயற்சி மற்றும் ஒழுக்கத்துடன், இந்த தடைகளை நாம் கடந்து நமது திறனைத் திறக்க முடியும்:

1.தெளிவான இலக்குகளை அமைக்கவும்: உங்கள் இலக்குகளை துல்லியமாகவும் தெளிவாகவும் வரையறுக்கவும். நாம் ஒரு தெளிவான இலக்கை மனதில் வைத்திருந்தால், நமது முயற்சிகளை ஒருமுகப்படுத்துவதும், நமது நோக்கங்களை நோக்கி முன்னேறுவதும் எளிதாகிறது.

2.கவனச்சிதறல்களுக்கு முன்னுரிமை அளித்தல் மற்றும் அகற்றுதல்: உங்கள் கவனத்தைத் தடுக்கும் செயல்பாடுகள் மற்றும் கவனச்சிதறல்களைக் கண்டறியவும். உங்கள் பணிகளுக்கு முன்னுரிமை கொடுங்கள், அத்தியாவசியமற்ற கடமைகளை நீக்கி, செறிவை ஆதரிக்கும் சாதகமான சூழலை உருவாக்குங்கள்.

3.மைண்ட்ஃபுல்னஸ் மற்றும் தியானத்தை பயிற்சி செய்யுங்கள்: கவனம் செலுத்தும் திறனை வலுப்படுத்த, நினைவாற்றல் பயிற்சிகள் மற்றும் தியானத்தில் ஈடுபடுங்கள். இந்த நடைமுறைகள் உங்கள் மனதை தற்போது இருக்கவும், விழிப்புணர்வை வளர்க்கவும், மன குழப்பத்தை குறைக்கவும் பயிற்சியளிக்கிறது.

4.பணிகளை நிர்வகிக்கக்கூடிய துகள்களாக உடைக்கவும்: பெரிய பணிகள் அதிகமாக இருக்கும் மற்றும் திறம்பட கவனம் செலுத்துவதில் இருந்து நம்மை திசைதிருப்பலாம். அவற்றைச் சிறிய, நிர்வகிக்கக்கூடிய படிகளாகப் பிரித்து, ஒரு நேரத்தில் அவற்றைச் சமாளிக்கவும். இந்த அணுகுமுறை அதிக கவனம் மற்றும் முன்னேற்ற உணர்வை அனுமதிக்கிறது.

5.ஆழ்ந்த வேலையைத் தழுவுங்கள்: ஆழமான, இடையூறு இல்லாத வேலைக்கு குறிப்பிட்ட நேரத்தை ஒதுக்குங்கள். இந்தக் காலகட்டங்களில், கவனச்சிதறல்களிலிருந்து துண்டிக்கவும், அறிவிப்புகளை அமைதிப்படுத்தவும், மற்றும் கையில் உள்ள பணியில் முழுமையாக மூழ்கவும்.

2024-ன் பயணத்தைத் தொடங்கும்போது, ​​கவனத்தின் மகத்தான சக்தியை நினைவில் கொள்வோம். நமது கனவுகளை உயிர்ப்பிக்கவும், நம் வாழ்க்கையை ���ாற்றவும், வெற்றியும் நிறைவும் நிறைந்த எதிர்காலத்தை வடிவமைக்கும் உந்து சக்தி இது. கவனத்தை வளர்ப்பதன் மூலம், நமது உண்மையான திறனைப் பயன்படுத்தி, தடைகளைத் தாண்டி, உலகில் அழியாத அடையாளத்தை வைக்கலாம். கவனம் செலுத்தும் சக்தியைத் தழுவுங்கள், உங்களுக்குள் இருக்கும் அசாதாரணமானவற்றைத் திறக்கும் ஆண்டாக 2024 இருக்கட்டும்.

[luimagines]

He reacts to seeing you Sick/Wounded Part 2

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 3

Scenario under the cut! Blood ahead so be warned.

Twilight

Twilight looked around the group for what had to be the umpteenth time, searching for you.

You had left awhile ago and had yet to return.

If it was Wild or Hyrule he wouldn’t have put much thought into it. The two of them were notorious for wandering off if something shiny caught their eye and they could be gone for hours.

Not you though.

If anything, you were the one to insist on keeping the group together and to avoid “splitting the party”. as you’d say. You even had a song to go with it, a catchy little tune from your world and he caught himself humming under his breath more than once when he realize someone was gone.

But you were gone long enough now that you even missed a meal.

Twilight started bouncing his knee in anticipation, the worse scenarios coming to mind at what could be happening to you.

“I’m going to find them.” He said, standing up and walking away from the group.

He waits until he’s far enough away to take out the necklace he’s been carrying around since the start of this adventure.

Twilight activates the charm and feels the magic wash over him, his vision and senses sharpening as the worlds color fade and his perspective changes.

There’s always a little discomfort as the beginning of each transformation so he takes a second to compose himself.

Twilight then starts sniffing the air and catches your scent, following where it leads. The path is pretty straight forward and he can almost reconstruct how long it took for you to reach the destination. Twilight travels a little farther than he was expecting, it’s way farther than hearing range, even with his advanced ears.

It’s a little concerning because even if you were to scream for help, there’s no way any of them would have known.

He’s trying to be optimistic. Twilight has seen you fight. He has seen you treat your own wounds. He was personally seen your resourcefulness in tricky situations. There’s little, he thinks, that can actually keep you down.

But then his worst nightmare comes to his nose and he takes off in a sprint. 

It’s blood.

It’s yours.

And there’s a lot of it.

He follows it as far as he can until he hears a pained whimper.

Twilight then follows the sound and comes to a stop, shocked at the sight before him.

You’re sitting up against a tree, the top half of you looks fine if only a little ragged and there’s tear streaks down both your cheeks. Twilight follows the line of your body and sees that there’s no injuries on your arms or torso even if your hands are covered in blood.

But at sight of your leg, he knows what’s happened.

There has to be people nearby, that’s the only explanation.

It’s metal trap with sharp jagged teeth that penetrate the skin and muscle in order to keep the prey from escaping, and they’re incredibly hard to break out of if you don’t have the right equipment. They’re also known for breaking bones if they hit in the right places.

It’s also clamed just above your ankle, blood weeps through still and has travels through the fabric of your pants un to your knee, pronouncing the injury even more.

“Wolfie...” You whimper and try to smile at seeing him. “Yay, you found me. I knew you’d come get me at some point. I tried calling but I think I’m too far away.”

Twilight’s heart bleeds for you and how scared you must have been before he showed up. And he wishes he would have gone looking for you sooner.

You sniffle and whip your face and nose with your sleeve, avoiding the mess on your hands. “I can’t get out. I tried but it’s stuck.” 

Twilight pads closer and sticks his nose by your hands but you pull them back. “I know it looks bad but my hands aren’t hurt...It’s all from my leg. I don’t want to get blood on your pretty fur.”

Twilight doesn’t take time to process the compliment and instead is focused on the choice he has in front of him.

Transform and reveal his secret to you, enabling him to help you here and now or go back and get help, leaving you to the mercy of whatever finds you in your vulnerable state.

It’s a pretty easy choice actually.

Twilight calls off the magic and lets the transformation wash over him. As per usual, the change is disorienting and it’s always hurt more to turn back human than it did to change into a wolf, so he takes a moment to breath before he looks at your ankle.

“Tw-Twilight? You’re Wolfie?” You splutter and try to wrap your head around what you just saw.  “It’s been you this whole time?!”

But he’s ignoring you.

He takes a good look at where the trap is and begins to prod ever so slightly.

“H-HEY!” You cry and try to reach for him. “Don’t! It hurts!”

He doesn’t have the key to unlock it and he doesn’t have the right tools at his disposal to try and pick the lock.

“Twilight please say something.”

“I’m going to get you out. Just hold on a little longer.” He glares at the metal for a moment before placing both his hands around it.

If there’s one thing he’s always been confident in, it’s his strength.

With both hands secured on the device he forces all of his weight to pry it open. He ignores how you continue to make sounds of pain, how his finger tips immediately become moist with your blood and how difficult moving this stupid thing to get you free actually turns out to be. 

After a battle of wills between man and the artificial, it moves and he tilts his hands to keep the momentum going until he’s moved enough of it for you to pull your leg out.

“Go. Get out.” He says with the strain in his voice.

You push away with your hands and your good leg to the best of your ability and slowly (well slower than Twilight would have preferred) to move your leg out of the trap and far enough away where he can simply let it clamp on itself again without fear of losing any fingers or hurting you again.

You gulp and try to move your pant leg to see the damage but it’s clear that doing that hurts you as well.

Twilight it quick to cut off the fabric with his trusted pocket knife and he peels it away.

Bones have definitely been broken.

And there’s certainly a lot of blood to deal with.

He twists the fabric slightly and wraps it above and around your injury to try and stop the flow of blood. Twilight can feel the glare he’s giving to your wound and refuses to look you in face so you can see it.

“Twilight?” You call to him. Your voice is small, weak, tired and afraid.

He can’t leave you to your own thoughts like he wants to so he takes a breath to calm himself and looks at you with as much gentleness and care as he can currently muster.

“You’re going to be just fine, ok?” He says with a small smile. “You’re actually pretty far from the others so it’ll be a bit of a trip but then we’ll get Hyrule to look at you, clean you up... find you some new clothes... You’ll be back to where you were in no time.”

Twilight’s not sure who he’s trying to convinced. It looks deep.

He hopes your foot won’t need to be cut off and that infection hasn’t already set in.

He moves towards you and stops on your good side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. In one swift movement he hooks his other arm under your knees and picks you up bridal style and begin to walk away from the mess.

You sniffle again and wipe your bloodied hands on your shirt. “Thank you Twilight.” You say. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“Well you’re going to have to tell one of us what happened.” He responds. “The other are going to ask what on earth happened to you.”

“I meant about you being Wolfie.” You smile. “I’m fully prepared to explain my stupid decisions.”

The easy way you make that claim nearly makes him skip a step and send you both to the ground but Twilight is quick to readjust himself so that it never happens.

He had actually forgotten about that.

“I’d appreciate that.” He nervously chuckles.

“Don’t worry. I’ll cover you when you’re gone. I was starting to suspect something was related because your stories never matched up but I had no proof and no idea where to start. You’re... really not the best at it.” You say and pat his head. “So you save me, I save you. Sound fair?”

“That works for me.”

Time

Time had let Warrior lead the group because he seemed to be the most familiar with the terrain, even if he claims that this isn’t his Hyrule.

With someone capable taking the point, he hung back and let the other walk before him.

He had noticed that you were... weren’t yourself. Like you were hiding something.

You weren’t really interacting with anyone, and you kept your head down, something he hasn’t really known you to do. On another note, you were actually at the back of the group where he was currently stationed.

You always liked to be in the upper middle, talking and entertaining the younger ones and keeping up the group’s moral.

So the fact that you quiet and trying to go unnoticed, arms crossed and head down, worried him.

“Rupee for your thoughts?” He asked you as you walked.

You glanced up at him but you didn’t meet his eyes.

Something was wrong.

“I’m not really thinking about much of anything.” You admitted and shrugged. “I’m just a bit under the weather. I’ll be fine in a bit.”

“You don’t feel good?” Time frowns and stops the both of you with a hand on your shoulder. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“And slow down literally everyone.” You raise an eyebrow at him and he takes a quick second to catalogue your pink cheeks and red rimmed eyes.

Something is wrong.

“It’s just a headache.” You insist. “We’re already behind by how knows how long and it’ll go away on its own. I appreciate the concern but I don’t want to be a hinderance more than anything think I am.”

“For one thing, no one thinks you’re a hinderance.” Time says, taking off his gauntlet and he presses the back of his hand against your forehead, then your cheeks and the back of your neck. “If any one of those boys has told you that, you tell me and I’ll set them straight.”

He doesn’t miss the way you lean and hum in relief from his touch.

Truthfully, you’re actually burning up more than your skin seems to show and his concern sky rockets beyond the moon and back of this proverbial saying.

“I appreciate the thought but it’s not that important.” You say and he catches the way you frown in displeasure when he pulls away.

“Who told you that?” He asks in lieu of bringing your illness to light.

“No one.”

Time frowns some more and says your name in his stern commander voice that he knows you hate.

“No one.” You insist. “No one here anyway.”

From your previous adventure perhaps? Time puts the information away in the back of his mind and vows to vanquish the thoughts from your head when he can, but your health takes precedence right now.

“I think it’s about time to take a break anyway.” Time puts his gauntlet back on and begins to walk forward, leading you with a hand on the small of your back. “Maybe the Champion would be willing to make something for lunch.”

“Think he can cook something up for my headache?” You sigh and massage your temples in a way that seems reminiscent.

“That and more, if you ask him.” He replies easily and lets out a loud whistle that has become their cue to set up for the midday break.

It takes a while for your duo to make it to the others but at least you weren’t so far gone that no one would have heard Time’s signal.

You instantly take a step down and sit on the ground, cradling your head in a way that looks more like you’re crying than merely resting.

Time feels his heart clench at the sight and makes his way over to Wild. He tells them what he found out and asks if he can make something special for you. Something to keep you going.

Because as much as he wants to, this is not the place to stop for the night and with your pride on the line, he doesn’t want the others to crowd and bring more attention than you’d be comfortable with to your predicament.

“There’s a town about three hours from here.” Warrior’s speaks up, having eavesdropped on the conversation Time was trying to have on the down low. “We can hit it before night fall and let them rest in an actual bed for the night.”

Time nods and agree with the notion.

The others seem to catch on that you’re not feeling well and Time discourages them from getting closer than they should, less they get sick as well.

The break is quiet and uneventful for a change and Time is quick to get the group up and moving again when it’s over, choosing to keep you company on the way to the town and trying to make it as painless and comfortable for you as he can.

A part of him thinks that he should just swallow his pride and yours and carry you to the town as you deteriorate on the walk, but it’s not like you’d let him.

He’d just have to satisfy his concern when he eventually takes watch over your bed side, just to make sure you wake up feeling better.

Wind

Wind was sure that you’re hiding something.

You’ve been shifty eyed and nervous, jittery and uncollected.

So unlike the you that he’s come to know, rely on and appreciate.

It scares him a little, to see you so unlike yourself.

Wind makes a calculated guess on why you’re so weird after walking by your side for most of the journey. 

You’re hurt and trying to not let anyone else know.

He can tell by how you’re trying to curl in yourself and fold over but have to keep righting your position. You’re having to walk with one foot on your toes because if you tried any more normally, you’d be limping. You’re a bit slower than your usual walking pace but you’ve been arcing your stride a little to the side so that it matches in length what you wouldn’t be able to make up for in number of steps.

He’s almost impressed by how well you’ve been hiding it.

But it’s drowned out by the irritation of your stubbornness. You could have just told someone, anyone, and they’d help you in seconds. You wouldn’t have to be in pain or having to stop every other second to hide a wince or a grunt or-

Wind is this close to just stopping everything to scream in your face.

He takes a small glance over to you as you walk, and sighs. He knows you won’t listen to him if he tries to say something. And you’d probably be irritated at him instead for trying to make a fuss about it.

Wind doesn’t know what to do, or how to help you, without being pushed away.

You trip.

Wind is too shocked by the outcome to even try to stop you from falling face first into the ground. 

Ok, not face first. You manage to twist yourself just in time to avoid a face on collision, but you land on your side in the process.

Your bad side.

You yell in pain which alerts the whole group ahead and behind you. But you don’t seem to care about that anymore. You finally give into the urge and curl in on yourself, rolling over so that the ground is against your good side and nothing is irritating whatever hit you’ve been hiding.

Wind has to nearly smack himself out of it before he makes it to your side. He can hear the other catching up, their footsteps thundering mutely on the dirt but he’s more focused on you and where your hand seems to be cradling your side.

He’s quick to peel your hand off and lift your shirt.

You’re too shocked and stunned from the pain to stop him. Enough so that you’re brain doesn’t even register it, so you don’t fight back.

He gasps at the the sight and his stomach turns ever so slightly.

It’s a massive bruise, from up to your ribs that are highlighted in a toxic green, down to your hip and it’s not even black and blue. It’s so bad there’s more red on the surface than purple and it makes it look like you’re covered in blood even if the skin hasn’t been breached.

He knows what caused this. 

Two days ago the group had found themselves in the middle of a fight with not one, but three infected monsters and one of them had a nasty looking club. You were fighting with him and on one of them and had taken a hit directly to your side. It was strong enough that it sent you spinning through the air and right into a tree. He didn’t think much of it since you simply bounced back like nothing happened and proceeded to stab the thing through the skull, but if he tries hard enough, he think you hit the same side on the tree as well.

But you didn’t drink a potion, he doesn’t think he even saw you being healed by Hyrule. Which means that you just had this on you for so long and you just- weren’t going to tell anyone?!

Wind can feel his heart clench in tandem with his first, your shirt nearly ripping since it was trapped in between his fingers. “HYRULE!”

“What happened?” Warrior makes it to his side first and stops mid-step when he catches sight of it. “I’ll... go get the Traveler.”

There’s a few seconds in between before you shake off the pain and rip your clothes out of his grip, forcing yourself to get to your feet again.

Everyone is too shocked by what they’ve seen verses how you’ve acting that they almost let you but Wind has been next to you, watching you, and he still is. He catches that your arms are shaking as you put your weight on it, and when you try and compensate for your bad side, you nearly throw yourself over again from your bad balance.

Wind pushes you back down and keeps his hands on your shoulders so keep you from trying that again.

Hyrule takes his cue and slides on his knees until he reaches your side, his healing spell fluttering around his fingers and into the nasty bruise.

“Guys, I’m fine.”

“Cut the bullcrap.” Wind says, knowing that Twilight and Time are behind him with Sky not too far behind. He hopes they let that one slide at least. “It’s looks like you were stabbed fifty seven times and poisoned to top of it all.”

You look up at him then and sigh, the fight leaving instantaneously. “Whatever.”

“It’s not whatever!” He argues but you cut him off.

“It’s just a bruise. It’ll heal in a few days and nothing is broken. But because it’s you holding me down, I’ll let you heal me.” You try for a half smile but Wind thinks it falls flat. “I’m not even going to try and fight a pirate in my state. Take your victory for now.”

“You didn’t have to let it get so bad.” Hyrule scolds you and you don’t even have the decency of at least looking apologetic.

“It was the fall that really made it hurt.” You clench your jaw when your shirt gets lifted higher for Hyrule to heal the bruise on your ribs. “It was just awkward before that.”

“No it wasn’t” Wind frowns even harder. “You were walking funny. It hurt like hell back there too and for a while as well. Why didn’t you get treatment with the others? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Wind.” You say with as much patience you can muster. Your face begins to relax as the pain fades and the bruise changes to a more normal shade of purple with black spots. “We have no potions left. And Hyrule can only do so much healing in one go.”

“Speaking of...” Legend steps in and yanks Hyrule back by the shoulder, stopping the healing process.

Hyrule takes a minute to reorient himself and he steps away from a minute to catch his breath.

Wind takes another look at your injury and winces. While it looks significantly better than it did seconds prior, it’s not completely healed and would likely have to take more magic to heal on its own. They could just leave it there for the days it’ll take for it to heal naturally but Wind doesn’t like the idea of leaving you hurt for more than necessary.

“How were none of your bones broken?” Twilight asks in a quiet shocked voice.

“Oh no, there were many fractures, believe me.” Hyrule shakes his head. “Mostly minor but it’s crazy how they were able to still be standing, let alone walking. Didn’t any of that hurt?”

Wind takes a sharp breath and has to look away from you. 

You were really good at hiding it then.

He misses the pained look on your face as he turns away and can’t see the hand you reach out to him. “Wind?”

“No.” He gulps and stand up. “This isn’t ok. You can’t do this. Say something next time, or I’ll never speak to you again.”

The second he says it, he feel childish for coming up with that threat in particular and while he wishes that there’ll never be a next time, he knows better.

Occupational hazard and all that jazz.

Your face morphs into one of sadness and you take your hand back. “Ok. Ok. I’ll be better next time.”

He supposes the threat worked after all.

[sunnetrolls]

Hey folium, did it hurt when you started growing plants?

"Okay, okay, fuck, I hear you all. Quiet down and chill out, this'll be long."

"My given name is Zonari Zawrak. I'd say you may have heard of me, but honestly I doubt it, considering it's been quite a while since my name was in the news. But if you do, you'd know that I used to be a quite prestigious Fleet geneticist with my own laboratory and everything. My signature project that I had been working on for decades, if not centuries, was called Project FLORA."

"Unfortunately, though, my progress on the project was halted when I accidentally dropped a specimen and ingested spores from a second generation parasite. Regardless..."

"FLORA aimed to create biologically enhanced super-solders through the usage of a specially crafted botanical symbiote. Essentially, me, but about one and a half times as large and scary-looking and half as intelligent, with a maximum of about three instincts-- hunt, kill, and consume. The ideal specimen would be fully capable of hunting and killing any target assigned to it, no matter the distance, risk, or what have you."

"There are three distinct generations of FLORA symbiotes. The first generation is what infected Radiix. It works spectacularly horribly in terms of the project goals in that it actually hinders the host's aggressive instincts while still putting them through the arduous process of acclimating to the symbiote. The second generation is what I have-- a more perfected specimen, but still flawed. If you couldn't tell, I more or less have my wits about me, but I am unfortunately subject to hunger cravings and other impulses."

"The third generation... Nasty stuff. I assume the lab techs I left behind when I jailbroke Radiix and I from the facility were able to parse through my notes and put on the finishing touches. A third generation floran is a nightmare to have on your tail, as it is essentially indestructible, unstoppable, and once it tastes the thrill of the chase it will not stop until you die."

"As for the nature of the symbiote itself, it is about the size of... Mm, a large backpack in circumference? Approximately. It rests in the host's back area and grows around the spine to give it easy access to the nervous system, where it easily integrates into the body and resists rejection. The first growth stage lasts for about one to three months and is hard to detect at first, but if you hit a host's lower back precisely right in this phase it causes a sharp pain. No other symptoms are observable at this point."

"The second growth phase begins when the symbiote begins to... Branch out, so to speak. It is also incredibly painful, considering that a host is quite literally sprouting plants across its body. The symbiote adapts to the host's surroundings and generates growths accordingly, having spent much time already adjusting to its new environment. Growth occurs in a few different varieties, so each floran has a similar silhouette; three to six large, weight-bearing tendrils from the back, modified limbs to assist in movement, and other accessory growths such as leaves to develop photosynthetic capabilities."

"So yes. It does hurt. Quite a lot, in fact. The symbiote purposefully identifies weak areas in its host and eliminates them in order to develop other areas accordingly. An example would be that I was nearly blind as a bat before I contracted my specimen, so it blinded me and sharpened my other senses instead. At least I developed an odd sort of rudimentary thermal vision, so I'm not entirely blind..."

"Regardless. I hope that answered your questions, but should you have any more, do not hesitate to ask. This project is my pride and joy."

[lordoftermites]

You Never Break ⚜ Part Ⅰ

⊰ ☘ ⊱ Cardan's POV: The Queen of Nothing, from the end of Chapter 13 through Chapter 17. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ A massive, pterodactyl-screeching thank you to my dearest punishment @euridce and the bombastic @figonas for dealing with my bullshit and allowing me to subject them to betaing this (and literally everything else), but especially for being my Hype Train Goblin Queens and not letting me lose to my perfectionism. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ { edit: the wordcount actually turned out to be 3,765 because I added more shit after I copypasta'd here but I literally cannot be arsed to change the graphic lol. }

≼ FIC MASTERLIST HERE≽

Contrary to erstwhile thinking, it is not quite as simple a task to travel at any expeditious speed whilst carrying a half-dead goblin through the biting nighttide—whilst also taking care to keep yourself and aforementioned half-dead goblin undiscovered by those who would very much like to lop your kingly head right off of your kingly shoulders.

And, if all of that is not enough of a juggling act, appending the minor detail that you’ve just taken flight on a steed conjured from the ragwort in your pocket, after leaving your wife below (at her behest and your protest) to fend for herself with naught but a magical cloak and her unspoken, mortal promise to do as you say...

Well. There are reasons you are not lauded for your prowess as a jester, just as your Queen is even less admired for her graces of verity.

Yet, surely by some feat of fortuitous magic, Cardan does manage it; the concealing mists part just enough to allow the flying mount and its travelers to slip through.

Braving a glance over his shoulder, he watches as the fog coils and swirls closed like a protective curtain behind them. It's disorienting—very like taking an overconfident step forward, only to find the ground is not quite as close as you first perceived. Even as one often besotted with wine and other such stupefacients, Cardan does not particularly enjoy that feeling.

Sea fret mingles with the haze of preternatural clouds as they begin a descent. It veils his lips, clings to his wool-spun clothing and weighs down his hair. He shakes the dampened curls from his eyes just as the four isles of Elfhame begin to take shape in the darkness beneath him, and lets out an unsteady breath; he wonders, absently, if he's exhaled at all since leaving Jude on the ground.

He cannot help the inglorious relief that the Roach, in his state, does not hear it.

It’s an odd sensation, to observe your kingdom from such a high vantage point. Perhaps, before now, he disallowed himself to feel the full measure of his obligation; the sobering comprehension that this vastness of soil and sapling and stone, along with all its inhabitants, will thrive, or decay, under his governance. Looking down at the land—his land—brings that realization crashing down upon him with as much force as one of Balekin’s punishments.

Cardan tightens his grip on the animal’s leafy mane against a bout of dizziness, abruptly wishing he had something a bit less insubstantial with which to steady himself.

The Crooked Forest rises to meet them, gnarled limbs twisting upward as if to embrace their sovereign. That seems illusionary, though Cardan does note at once the marked shift in the air; while still cool, no longer does each inhale carry an icy jab to his lungs or bite at the tips of his ears. It envelopes him and his company, gently carrying them above the mossy heads of slumbering root men and women. None of them stir, thankfully, but Cardan isn’t altogether sure his arrival goes unnoticed by them, either.

Welcome home, young King, the wind seems to whisper in his ear. Cardan shivers, and it has nothing to do with the weather.

Alighting just at the edge of the hollow hill, Cardan takes a half-breath to think—and reproaches himself for not doing more of that before they had landed; the Roach’s etiolated complexion, rattling breath, and stiffening limbs are not an entirely promising combination. Then, there is yet the matter of finding Liliver, who might not even be in the palace. And even then, there is the very real likelihood that he is already too late, that the deathsweet’s effects may have already reached its peak.

Cardan has to swallow against the bile creeping up his throat at that unsettling thought.

If only Jude had just come with him. Mistress of strategy and scheming, she would have drawn up a clever plan before they even took flight, as well as a surfeit of contingencies. Moreover, she would know better than he whether or not they held the favor of time; her province of poison is concerningly vast, as she had proven when Cardan himself very nearly shuffled off his immortal coil in dissolution.

Jude had known in an instant, merely by tasting the wraithberry that had stained his lips. How she knew its savour, to say nothing of how she knew it so intimately, Cardan knows not and she has yet to divulge. It is but another closely-clutched secret he must tack onto the growing list of queries for things a man really ought to know about his wife.

In the interim, the High King of Elfhame—and, more regrettably, the Roach—must rely entirely on himself.

Not much of a comfort, that.

Keeping a hand on the Roach to prevent his suffering an unnecessary fall from the horse, Cardan swings himself off of the thing’s back. With care, he lifts the inanimate body of his mentor into his arms. A low, distressed groan comes from the Roach at being jostled—the first sign of cognizance he’s shown since they left Grimsen’s forge. As pained as the sound is, it nonetheless gives Cardan a small hope that perhaps he hasn’t been too late after all.

Its magic spent, the ragwort pony dissolves in a puff of yellow perianths; an indolent breeze scatters some of the remnants across the dark hill, while others continue their aimless drifting to pollinate elsewhere on the isles. Cardan watches a lone petal catch in the wiry hair of the Roach’s brow and without thinking, he brushes it away. He justifies this allowance of rare gentleness with the fact that no one is around to bear witness to it.

As friendship goes, Cardan is all too aware he hasn’t known much in the way of loyalty or for reasons beyond selfish gain. His former companions had desired only what they could glean from him, the immunity his sway as a prince that had granted them the ability to carry out whatever deviant fancy they could dream up. Even Nicasia had had her own contrivances for being his lover, until she had ultimately found more excitement in the stories—and bed—of Locke.

He is not experienced in having a friend simply for the sake of it. In having someone—or a few someones, for that matter—enjoy his wit and cleverness and skills. That enjoy him, Cardan Greenbriar, rather than what advantages the crown atop his head can give.

Perhaps it is dangerous territory for a king to have bonds extending beyond those of mere allies. Perhaps the trust that comes with such friendships is a bit like handing over a blade to your enemy, freshly sharpened, and saying, Here you go, this holds all the ways with which to kill me. I’ll just turn my back.

Even so, when all you have known your entire life is the contempt and malignancy of those who ought to love you, it is not an entirely stunning realization that you would hand over that blade so willingly.

And he had done, in earnest; in his naivety with Nicasia. In his camaraderie with the Court of Shadows. In everything with Jude.

This is doubtless the reason Cardan’s feet begin to move now, carrying him and the Roach in his arms to the palace entrance with some new swell of confidence. Perhaps it is a detriment to believe that these new friends would not be so hastened and flippant as the last to betray him, but he believes it nevertheless. He also knows, albeit by way of unfortunate experience, that when the situation had been reversed, they had not wasted an idle moment in saving him.

So on he goes, through the wall and into the brugh, careful to keep the Roach’s pallid face hidden in the crook of his arm and denying any assistance his guards offer with a firm shake of his head. They move to follow, but halt at once and return to their posts when Cardan waves them off. Of the merits that come with being King, Cardan is especially grateful that denying explanations is one of them.

Even more fortuitously, his journey is not further hindered by any member of the Living Council—who have undoubtedly been tearing at their beards and skirts attempting to locate and descend upon their unruly monarch. Cardan imagines even now they are in the war room or assembled in his chambers, pacing and theorizing and crying out in panic. At the thought of the Minister of Keys pounding his fists on the table and cursing his luck for having such an impudent master to serve, the corner of Cardan’s mouth twitches. If only the wizened Randalin had the sense to make himself more difficult to nettle, perhaps Cardan would try to do so less.

Though the hill is yet alive, with lingering revelers still clutching the edges of twilight and servants clearing the remnants of food and drink, the many tricks of sly-footing he has been taught manages to keep him out of sight from any who might notice; it takes no time at all to slip through the hidden passage, into the wine cellar and emerge on the other side of the new Court of Shadows.

Cardan had hoped to show and consult Jude on the plans for these rooms, including the strategy chamber he had in mind for her—of which he was particularly proud: he had designed it himself—after she pardoned herself and returned to him. That hadn’t gone entirely the way he had imagined, and so they had gone on with the rebuilding without her. Cardan resolves that now, he can simply give her a full tour of them, should she come back posthaste. Should she decide to come back at all.

No, he rebuffs that line of thinking. Jude will return, just as she promised. When she comes home, Cardan will lead her through the rebuilt Court, and she will ooh and ahh and find him so ridiculously clever she’ll be too awed to do anything but kiss him for his prodigiousness.

She will forget she had ever been angry with him—or, at the very least, spare him the full measure of her wrath. She will forgive him for his trickery and assure him again that she had not fed his letters to the fire; she will tell him how desperately she missed him, that the mortal world is awful and terrible and nothing worth going back to. He will kiss her hair and tell her they need never be parted again. They will begin their reign as they should have done the moment their vows were made, and all will be just fine and well and as it should be.

These are all of the things Cardan tells himself as he steps into the main chamber.

He chuckles quietly to the darkness, a sudden incredulity sweeping over him; after all his prior distaste for mortals and those little hopeful deceits they allow, to wish away an awful thing or to make that awful thing seem less terrible, he has caught himself doing just that. He wonders what Jude might say, if he said her mortality was rubbing off on him?

Upon entering the main hall, Cardan is met with a collective gasp—either from the sudden, unannounced arrival of the High King or at the state of the Roach, he doesn’t know, nor does he have time to find out; before he can call for her, Liliver is already there, her dark face paled and taut. She does not seem to even notice Cardan, her frantic, wide-eyed gaze fixed on the Roach.

“What happened to him?” The Bomb demands, seeming to realize Cardan’s presence only as an afterthought, though he does nothing to reprimand her for her tone. The current circumstance, along with the raw fear on the rogue’s face, is enough to cast any necessity for formalities into shadow.

"Darts, poisoned with deathsweet," Cardan tells her, elaborating when Liliver's piercing glare flickers up to meet him. "We... misestimated the cleverness of the traps Grimsen set to protect his forge." The Bomb frowns at that, and Cardan is sure he’ll have much more explaining to do before the night is through and she is fully satisfied, but neither of them need reminding of the more important matter at hand. “Let’s—let’s get him to a bed,” Liliver says. Though her voice wavers, her eyes never leave the disturbingly still body of the Roach as she leads them into a small room carved out from the main one.

She steps aside to allow Cardan to enter and lower the Roach onto the single bed, before seating herself on the edge of it. A bundle of tinctures and salves rest in her lap, from where or how she procured them so quickly, Cardan doesn’t know and isn’t inclined to ask. By the deep-set furrow of her brow and the way she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, she is calculating the situation and he wagers any unnecessary queries might hinder—or annoy—her deliberation. So he simply stands there, silent and helpless, watching her work.

The light emitting from the small orbs hanging above their heads does little to illuminate much of the Roach’s features, but it’s bright enough to view the waxen sheen of his skin, the odd way his limbs lie rigid at his side. He looks as close to death as one could appear, and if not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, one could easily believe he had already gone. Cardan swallows and looks away, as if staring instead at the rough stone floor will quash the disquiet he feels.

If the Roach succumbs to the poison, he knows with whom the fault will lie, and there will be none among them to scorn him as much as he will scorn himself.

As Liliver works, sifting through the assortment of small glass bottles in her lap until she picks one filled with a thick, amber solution, Cardan gives her as much detail of the night's emprises as he can in short order: their attempted (and rather unsuccessful) rescue of Jude, of the Roach’s poisoning; of why they had entered the smith’s forge in the first place.

Upon hearing the truth behind the Ghost’s betrayal, the vial slips from her hand and Cardan barely manages to snatch it from the air before it shatters on the ground. The Bomb’s eyes are wide as saucers as she takes back the bottle, but Cardan thinks he catches the smallest glint of hope in them, despite their current predicament.

“You mean, all this time... he was being commanded? Controlled by Locke and Madoc?”

Cardan nods. “Doubtless by my brother as well, though Jude didn’t say one way or another.”

He wouldn’t have considered it debasing of Dain's character to control someone in such totality. In fact, he has no misgivings at all that there was anything, save perhaps a grubworm, that had been beneath his brother. He shakes his head and shrugs, more to his own thoughts than the Bomb's question. “I’ll let her tell us which it is, when she comes home.”

It is too afflictive to imagine she will not, that he has yet again voraciously lapped up a lie she has fed him. He cannot believe that as he waits, Jude is riding off through the air with her sisters back to the mortal world, laughing as she tells them how effortlessly she has fooled the desperate High King of Faerie.

He will have time enough to wallow in his own selfish, agonized reveries; Cardan wills his attention back to the present, back to the Bomb and the Roach, who appears even less on the fortunate side of time since they arrived.

“Will he…” Live, or die. Both words are there on his tongue, but he cannot bring himself to say either and the question lingers, thick and unfinished in the air between the three of them. Liliver doesn’t seem willing—or able to answer, only giving him a small shake of cloud-white curls as she keeps her back to him.

Watching how carefully she wipes the Roach’s forehead with a damp cloth, hearing the hushed, unintelligible things she tells him, the understanding that Cardan perhaps ought not intrude further becomes all too clear. He has completed his task, what he promised Jude he would do. There is nothing more required of him.

With Liliver’s promise that she will send word of any changes, good or ill, Cardan excuses himself from the Court of Shadows.

Cardan spends the remainder of the day in his chambers attempting sleep, because he has proved himself of little use elsewhere, there is nothing else to do, and because if Jude were here she would tell him a High King needs rest if he is to go delegating and answering petitions and doing whatever else there is that good, proper kings are supposed to do.

However, it is precisely because Jude isn’t here that he cannot rest.

Though he does give it an honest effort. He tries lying on his back, drawing forth tiny white blossoms to count as they bloom above his head, aiming to bore himself into a stupor. He counts and counts and counts. The mingling fragrance of several different flowers permeates the room and penetrates his nose. When he reaches six hundred forty-seven for the third time, he gives that up.

Exasperated, Cardan flops onto his side, stretching an arm across the sheets. He stares at the empty space beside him, where Jude had rested the first night they had spent together—the night he had convinced her that becoming Queen of Elfhame, his wife, was the better choice for both of them.

It had all been true, of course: everything Cardan had said to get her to agree. There had been no deception or scheming in his words; he had desired his freedom, as desperately as Jude craved power, and their union had the ability to grant both in absolution.

The Living Council had become insistent on the idea that their King should take a wife anyway, for their own overboring political reasons, and so Cardan had.

The only addendum to all of this, the only detail that he had surreptitiously kept from both the Council and Jude, was that he wanted to marry her. Not Nicasia, as the Council had wanted, as Cardan had once believed he should and could enjoy. Not the hag Mother Marrow’s daughter, who likely would have found some clever way to cause his demise so that she might live on as the sole ruler of Faerie. None of them would have been well-suited for him, nor he well-suited for them. None of them could give him what he wanted, because what he wanted was Jude.

That is all he wants now—to have her home and here in his bed, to fill the space that has been empty since she left. Since he made her leave.

Cardan pushes himself off the bed in a frustrated huff. Deciding he could do with a little less sober thinking, he calls for wine, and when the servant arrives with a fresh decanter and goblet, he fills it to the brim and drinks it to the dregs. After repeating this process a few more times, Cardan rounds the large desk—his father’s desk, he cannot help to remind himself, no matter how many times he sits at it—to continue the speech he’s been writing. He picks up the slip of paper between two fingers and holds it to the guttering candle flame to examine it. It’s already a rather lengthy speech, admittedly, but more important than any he has articulated yet. It is one explaining to Jude that her exile had not been methodically planned, that he thought she would work it out much more expeditiously. He would further explain he had not accounted for the fact she hadn’t worked it out at all, and that he had come to fully regret his own cleverness midway through his second letter.

Of course, Jude had told him she hadn’t received any of those letters.

He cannot help recalling how she looked at him then, the last time they were here in his rooms: skittish and trembling, desperate as a wild animal backed into a corner.

Hardly a fortnight has passed since Madoc had taken her, believing he had heroically rescued her twin from nigh execution. And yet it feels as distant as any half-remembered dream upon waking, blurred on the details and every attempt to grasp the memory only causes it to slip further away. Like a hand waving smoke.

Except a dream is something usually pleasant; smiling faces, a kiss one might yearn for in the waking world and only receive when they close their eyes. Dreams are things of wonderment. Pretty visions and heart’s desires.

No, it had not been like a dream at all—not the way she had looked at him.

That hatred, burning into him like white-hot iron, the fear she could lie away with words but could not conceal from her face, the venom in her voice when she spoke. It was more terrible than any of Cardan’s nightmares.

Everything you say to me, everything you promise, it’s all a trick. And I, stupid enough to believe you once.

He had wanted to reach out to her, to take her hand and tell her his trick had been only that, a hasty plan to keep her out of Orlagh’s grasp. He had wanted to pull her to him and breathe in the comforting scent of her hair, to feel her warmth against his chest. To beg her forgiveness and will away her anger with a kiss.

Then he had seen the glint of the blade in her hand.

Even after Vivi’s flustered explanation of her sister’s capture, after he and the Roach had set out from the mortal world to find her—even after their brief moment in Madoc’s camp just hours ago, when Jude swore she hadn’t thrown in her lot with her betrayer of a foster-father, Cardan cannot rend from his mind the image of her holding that knife.

He passes the paper through the flame and watches it burn until it is nothing but a stain of black ash on the desk.

Waving away the lingering smoke, he rises and goes to dress for the night ahead, without rest, and knowing that no amount of sleep or drink or honeyed words will erase what he has done—or may yet do.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ okAY so this first bit turned out a lot longer than I'd originally intended (legit this whole thing was supposed to just be a oneshot lmfao) but if you made it this far, I'm very sorry but thanks for taking the time to read. I hope you enjoyed it, and as usual—if you didn't, don't tell me about it.

If you want to be added to my tag list, just yeet a reply to this post and I'll add you.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ @euridce @figonas @jurdanhell

[lordelmelloi2]

Over the years I’ve learned to try very hard to put aside my initial PTSD responses when I see people liking characters that I Don’t Like who I *know* have done horrific things either in legend, or history, or in lore etc... because not every fate fan can know absolutely everything. Even the most obvious villains somehow have people repping them and saying they’re actually good people for this-or-that reason. Fate series has a lot of characters and a lot of them are servants and a lot of those servants are historical figures or figures in legend and mythology that have committed crimes such as sold people as slaves, committed rape, abused their family/friends/partners, brutally murdered innocent people, colonized and commit genocide, and so on and so forth. 

You can’t really expect everybody to know absolutely every single crime someone’s committed, and there are so many servants in fate that are so far distanced from their original counterparts that it’s more accurate to say that you’ve summoned an idealized “image” of them rather than the real one. When I say this I think about characters whose less than savory pasts have basically been annulled such as Nero, Napoleon or Iskandar. They carry aspects of their original historic selves but are not a 1:1 copy of said self. And the in-universe explanation to this is that the Throne of Heroes can summon an image of a person that has been influenced by how they’ve been perceived and talked about, especially in later legends and mythos created around said character. Again, Iskandar is a good example because his existence as Dhul Qarnayn in the Quran is directly referenced in his materials despite him having no Islamic narrative of him and his insistence on using the Hellenic Pantheon when referencing his divinity.  

The same goes for mainstream fate series characters. Kiritsugu is a good example of this. Not everybody reads materials or finds out ages or anything like that, so the other aspects of his character could be ignored or so for any-which reason. But for those who do look in the lore we find out that he groomed Maiya since he rescued her as a young teen, specifically because we find out when he rescued Maiya that she was just a young teen. We find out that in his escapades of doing his “save the majority and kill the minority” bullshit that he has injured or killed innocent people and yet still continued on. It’s still possible to like him as a flawed character without romanticizing the sheer bullshit he does. A lot of fans of his foil, Kirei, are well aware of Kirei’s own history of abusing others intentionally and yet simultaneously consider his rearing as a child soldier that rewired his mental illness to such that he literally only has a reward response to hurting others. Whether you believe Kirei had a basement full of orphans in each canon or not, his treatment of Rin left her emotionally scarred and unable to process her own emotions without fear of backlash or someone taking advantage of her. But despite that, there are also people who believe that Kirei did nothing wrong, and that he was simply doing his best. That’s an important dialectic to understand, yes, but it’s important to note that when your best is hurting others or yourself, it’s really not enough and you have to do better. 

And then there’s Romani’s Law. Romani’s Law came as a response to the out-of-character writing in the Prisma Illya event where Romani Archaman, an otherwise decent person, said some things that were plainly disgusting. This kind of law has been utilized in the treatment of other characters when they were either written by other authors who have less of a grasp of said character or when there were throwaway lines that were disgusting. An out-of-FGO example of this is with Aoko Aozaki’s characterization in joke materials in Tsukihime as a sh*tacon. Anyone who has read what’s there of Mahoutsukai no Yoru can tell you that Aoko is a normal person who isn’t interested in children like that. And yet the authors still insert that joke with her -- why is that? 

The pervasiveness of the otaku industry’s problems with normalizing pedophilia material is apparent. But that’s not what this is overall about -- I would say that many people tend to pick-and-choose which characters they like based off of the overall gist of the character. Regardless of what the character has done, most people tend to ignore the unsavory things and apply a sort of Romani’s Law of pretending to not see it in order to continue. This is fair and valid, but I want to add that it’s not appropriate to do that when others point it out. 

When someone brings up that a character has issues relating to either industry normalization of pedophilia, or perhaps they’ve done things in history/legend/lore that are factually wrong things and repeated that behavior (i.e. no one-off stuff), or their overall characterization has aspects that are considered harmful to others, the best thing to do is to listen to the complaints. Examine why you’ve been able to ignore these traits. Is it an issue with inconsistent lore, inconsistent authors, or something bigger than that? Is the character a truly bad person, or were they written by an author that is using them as a temporary mouthpiece? Was it a one-off statement, or a pattern of behavior they tend to have? Has this information been redacted in later characterizations or writing? 

It is up to you to determine what your next step of action. No one is saying you have to stop liking a character or enjoying their writing, especially if it tackles subjects you do not see normally approached. But you should at the least keep it tucked in the back of your mind that there may be reasons why others dislike this character or have a stress reaction when they engage with the characters content. Understanding others’ concerns in good faith and thinking about it is a good idea and helps sharpen your senses and also helps you understand the author’s intentions and communicated ideas when they write these characters. This trains your brain to be able to better understand text and writing in turn, which can sharpen your own skills in those subjects and heighten your enjoyment of media, too. 

TL;DR -- you can like who you like, but be mindful of others who may have reasons for disliking them, either because it’s in history, legend, mythos, or in other bits of lore not commonly known. Approach others in good faith when they try to discuss this and don’t brush it off just because you like them, because that may hinder your ability to understand the intent behind an author’s writing. 

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 16

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

A WHILE LATER

TEARS OF YMIR

Sigurd trudged through the snow-veiled woods, wishing desperately that he could veer off this path the gods had constructed for him. His mind was trapped in a perpetual state of fear, and the thoughts racing through his head only seemed to grow louder with every step he took.

He could feel it in his heart that Ulfar spoke the truth. There was merit in the accusations he threw against Dag, and Sigurd had even seen the man’s treachery for himself. He made it quite clear that he wasn’t on their side with the way he manipulated the assault at Kjotve’s Fortress, and the prince could no longer ignore the reality that was standing right in front of him.

But even then, Sigurd’s gut twisted at the idea of causing any harm to Dag. His entire childhood was formed of memories between the two of them, and he still saw him as the same little boy he once loved all those years ago.

He remembered the days they’d spend running around in the wilderness, only to end up covered in mud by the time they returned home. He hadn’t forgotten the way Styrbjorn would scold them for their reckless behavior, and how they’d make the exact same mistakes immediately afterwards.

The joy they shared, the sorrows they experienced, the burdens they had to carry -- it all stayed with Sigurd to this very day. He loved Dag like a brother despite the conflicts between them, and the thought of banishing him from Midgard tore a hole inside his chest. 

But he was a leader now. A future king. With Ulfar dead, Sigurd would have to step up and protect the people he left behind. His position as prince would no longer be a mere title, and he would have to do whatever it took to keep his clan safe. 

Even if it meant making a sacrifice as great as this.

“We’re here.” Sigurd said bleakly, stopping in his tracks once the waterfall came into view. He took a deep breath and gazed at the dreary environment, unable to even recognize the nature surrounding him.

This place once served as a sanctuary for the prince. It used to be a safe haven where he could take refuge when the troubles of his world proved to be overwhelming, and he often found a sense of tranquility in its earthly embrace. It always seemed to breathe with the spirit of the gods, and part of Sigurd even believed they walked with him sometimes when he ventured down this path.

Today though, the forest was barren of any life. The tragedies of the war had burrowed themselves into its very marrow, and it almost felt as if it could sense what was about to happen. The air was leaden with a suffocating anchor of dread, and it only seemed to crush Sigurd more and more the further he progressed.

He didn’t want to kill Dag. Every fiber in his being was screaming at him to stop. 

Part of even him was even considering simply exiling the man in order to avoid further bloodshed. Deep down though, he knew that wouldn’t be enough. He knew that Dag would most-likely run back into Kjotve’s arms once he broke free from the judgement of his clan, and cause their people a plethora of problems that they didn’t need.

It seemed like death was the only option here, and Sigurd hated himself for it.

“...Sigurd,” Dag said, approaching the man from behind. “Will you tell me what we’re doing now? Why have you brought us all the way out here? Is this about what happened between me and Ulfar?”

The prince kept his gaze on the view before him, leaving his hand close to his axe. His back was currently turned to the other man, and yet, he felt as if he could detect his every move.

“...Do you remember the day we met, Dag?” Sigurd asked. “All those years ago?”

The warrior noticed how his friend skirted the subject, but said nothing of it for now. “Of course. How could I forget? I was what, ten years old? Maybe younger? I had just given you a black eye during a training spar.”

Sigurd chuckled softly at the precious memory. “Indeed. And if I recall correctly, it wasn’t too long beforehand that I was boasting about how easily I’d be able to fell you. I was the king’s son, after all. Nothing could touch me.” The prince smirked. “...It seems that arrogance was my greatest enemy back then. The day I met you was the day I learned humility. It was the day I gained a brother.”

Dag leaned against a nearby tree, crossing his arms. “And do you still feel that way?”

The other man paused, his voice hardening with a cold edge. “...Yes. But I suspect that the sentiment is no longer mutual.”

Growing restless with anxiety, Sigurd finally decided to put this game to an end and shot an icy glare at his childhood friend, practically boring through his skull. He approached the older man and looked him in the eye, trying to keep his breath as steady as possible.

“...Dag,” he whispered, “you know how I feel about you. We may not share the same blood, but you are my family. No matter how distant we may grow, there will always be a link between us. And I will always see you as my brother. That’s why... I need you to tell me the truth.”

Sigurd took a few steps closer, barely shifting his gaze. “...Are you the traitor?”

Dag scoffed at the question and shook his head, reluctant to give a direct answer. “You can’t be serious. You actually believe in the nonsense Ulfar was spewing?”

“I believe his words held merit,” the prince persisted. “You can call it nonsense if you like, but that doesn’t change the fact that you stand as an accused man.”

The warrior stammered for a moment, taken aback by the preposterous notion. “What are you talking about, Sigurd? You were there! You saw what happened. I defeated Ulfar in honorable combat. I cleared my name. Isn’t that enough?”

“Enough for the Allfather perhaps, but not enough for me. Everything Ulfar said was true. The way you handled the assault nearly got all our people killed, and I know you well enough to know that you’re too smart to make such a grave mistake. You did it intentionally.”

Still, Dag remained in denial. “I don’t believe this. You would trust the word of a paranoid old man over someone you consider to be a brother?”

Sigurd raised his voice slightly, unable to hide his anger anymore. “I trust what I see! And over these past few weeks, I’ve seen you do nothing but traipse through the shadows like a thief in the night, hiding like coward whilst our men died on the battlefield. I saw you return from Kjotve’s Fortress without so much as a scratch on your armor, and I saw the apathy in your eyes when they fell on Thora’s corpse.”

The prince’s expression darkened with ire. “You claim you are innocent, but innocence always speaks for itself. I see no good reason why I should question Ulfar’s accusations, and I doubt you can give me one. So I’ll ask again--” he leaned in, “--are you the traitor?”

Dag rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at the waterfall, furrowing his brow in disbelief. It was evident that he had something to say, but the stone shackles of pride hindered his ability to come clean.

“How do you know Ulfar wasn’t trying to save his own skin by throwing me to the wolves? He was in a much more powerful position than I. He could’ve done anything he liked and gotten away with it!”

“What reason could Ulfar possibly have had to turn against Arngeir? You really think he would’ve been willing to endanger Thora’s life? Or Eivor’s? He saw them as his own children.”

“Who knows? All I’m saying is -- he was awfully quick to pass judgement on me. We had hardly set foot on Bjornheimr’s shores, and he was already prepared for a fight. The way I see it, Ulfar wanted to use me as a scapegoat. He was the jarl’s right-hand man, after all. He knew he could’ve said anything about me without raising suspicion. I mean, just look at how easy it was to fool you.”

Sigurd’s glare only sharpened at that. “You think I’ve been fooled, do you?”

“Am I wrong? I know you held Ulfar in high regard, but typically, the largest shadows are cast by those who stand the tallest. He may have been a good warrior, but that doesn’t mean--”

The prince shook his head in frustration. “--Enough, Dag! Enough with the lies. Enough with the deflection. Just give me a straight answer. I’m done running in circles with you.”

The other man fell silent, completely at a loss for words. “...You still don’t believe me, do you?”

Sigurd lowered his head in sorrow. “...I wish I could, Dag. Trust me. I wish I could. But if I’m going to keep this clan safe, I can’t allow anything to hinder my judgement. Not even when it concerns you.”

Dag let out a sigh and nodded in defeat, staring blankly at the ground. It was clear to him that his arguments were doing nothing in terms of swaying the prince’s mind, and he didn’t know what else he could say to divert the man’s skepticism. 

“...I see.” He murmured, looking back up at Sigurd. His demeanor had completely shifted compared to when they first arrived at the waterfall, and a grim sense of treachery clung onto his shrewd face. “...Very well then, old friend. If that’s how you wish to do things.” 

Dag pushed himself off the tree and straightened his posture, finally deciding to reveal the truth.

“...Indeed, your conviction is rightfully placed, Sigurd. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to keep up this facade, but I see no point in maintaining it any longer.”

The warrior paused for a brief moment, taking a deep breath. 

“I was the one who warned Kjotve.” Dag confessed. “I was the one who assisted him when he ambushed Bjornheimr, and I was the one who told him to flee his fortress before our clans could arrive. I told him of this alliance.”

Sigurd’s heart instantly shattered upon hearing the confession, and his jaw clenched in rage as a spark of betrayal flared inside his chest. He knew his suspicions had to be correct, but even then, nothing could’ve prepared him for the immense disappointment he’d receive from a revelation such as this. 

The prince wandered away from Dag in shock and began pacing along the waterfall’s edge, uncertain of how to respond. 

“...And why exactly... did you do it?” Sigurd questioned, his tone alarmingly quiet. “What led you to commit such... foolish treason?”

“I did it for the good of our clan.” Dag answered monotonously. “I did it to protect us.”

The other man threw a puzzled glance at him, bewildered by his justification.

“To protect us?” Sigurd gestured to the distant village, storming towards the warrior. “Bjornheimr lies in a bed of its own ashes thanks to you! The jarl’s daughter has been murdered, and you have the nerve to act as if this was an act of heroism? I grow tired of your deception, Dag. Just tell me the truth. What is the real reason you did this?”

The traitor’s nose crinkled in envy, and a newfound sense of contempt twisted his expression. He was behaving in a manner that Sigurd had never seen before, and yet, the prince felt as if he had known this side of Dag for his entire life. 

“We don’t need the Bear Clan,” Dag said. “All they’ve done is weaken us. They’ve even weakened you. Especially that boy.”

Sigurd cocked a brow. “Boy? What boy? You mean Eivor?”

“Yes. He’s turned you soft, Sigurd. Everyone can see it. Before we came to this forsaken village, you were a warrior. A leader. A man worthy of holding a crown. You led raids on our enemies, and you crushed anyone who dared threaten our people. You were a king in everything but name. But now? You’ve just become another pawn.”

“What are you talking about, Dag? How have I become a pawn?”

The traitor laughed. “Are you joking? I see the way you look at Eivor. That man has you wrapped around his finger. He’s distracting you from the war, and you’re allowing it to happen.”

The prince’s face was plastered with a look of dread. “You know about me and Eivor...? Who told you?”

Dag waved a dismissive hand. “No one needed to tell me. It’s as clear as day. You may be wed to Randvi, but we all know where your loyalties really lie. You’re only fighting this war for one reason, and that’s so you can take Eivor to bed while the rest of us do the hard work.”

Sigurd’s eyes snapped onto Dag with an iron grip, and his voice dropped to a dangerously low level.

“Watch... your tongue, snake.”

The other man chuckled. “The truth is painful, isn’t it? Nothing stings quite like the bite of a harsh reality you can’t accept. But please, by all means -- continue to ignore it. Ignore it like you ignore everything else, and let your kingdom crumble for your own selfish needs.”

Sigurd brushed off the traitor’s taunts and got straight to the point, eager to put this to rest. “So you’re a puppet for jealousy now? Is that it? You did all this... just because you envied Eivor’s position?”

A scoff escaped Dag’s lips. “Pfft. I want nothing that man has. Like I said before, I did this for the good of our people. Whether or not you choose to see it that way doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. The gods know this too.”

“The gods spit on oath-breakers like you! Odin has no need for men such as yourself in his company, and neither do I.”

“Then deliver your justice, my lord. Strike me down with the judgement that you deemed so righteous you had to hide it away from prying eyes. The people of Bjornheimr may not be able to see you here, but the Allfather does. And he will remember.”

Sigurd turned away from Dag and rested a firm hand on his axe, using every bit of his strength to stifle the tears that threatened to spill. He wanted nothing more than to scream at the gods for putting him in such an impossible situation, and he could already feel himself breaking down from what he was about to do.

But he had to keep his promise. He had to. Although no longer in this realm, Ulfar was depending on him to protect their clans, and Sigurd didn’t have the heart to deny the man his dying wish.

...But he loved Dag. In spite of all of his crimes, the prince still saw the traitor as the same boy he grew up with, and his memories of their time together only seemed to be resurfacing with every second he spent delaying the inevitable.

What was he going to do when the man was dead? Sigurd may have despised Dag for going behind his back, but a piece of his soul remained bound to him nonetheless. There was a link between them that couldn’t be broken, and the prince felt as if he was about to sever one of his own limbs. 

A part of him would undoubtedly go with Dag once the man departed from this realm, and Sigurd couldn’t imagine himself ever getting it back.

He just prayed he would be able to forgive himself someday.

“You... you were my brother, Dag.” Sigurd said, his spirit collapsing with every word. “I loved you. I did. You turned my childhood into something that I’ll always hold dear. I’ll never forget the time we spent together, or the joy I’d feel when you were around. Those memories are something that no one will ever be able to take from me.” He tightened his grip on the axe. “But I can’t let you walk free from this. I can’t let you hurt my clan anymore. I... I have to keep my promise. I’m sorry.”

Yanking the weapon out of its sheathe, the prince lunged at Dag without saying another word and buried the axe in his chest, immediately causing the man to stiffen in his clutch. The two of them toppled over onto the snow after a single strike, and within seconds, the traitor was already gasping for air.

He writhed in Sigurd’s embrace like a worm on a hook and desperately tried to pry the blade away from his heart, but to no avail. The other man simply held him down and forcibly kept the axe in place, pushing it deeper and deeper into his torso as tears began streaming down his cheeks.

Sigurd couldn’t believe what he was doing. As a child, he always pictured himself leading their clan into a glorious victory that would forever grace the lips of bards across the kingdom, and spread into endless sagas for generations to come. He thought his role in the war would be one of grandeur just like in the tales his father often told him, and he believed his path to Valhalla would be laden with silver and gold.

But now that he was actually here... he was finally realizing just how torturous the nature of war really was. He wept at the sight of Dag’s life vanishing from his eyes, and his stomach churned at the feeling of the man’s blood staining his hands.

There was also the fact that the traitor died without an axe in his grip. He left it with Ulfar back in Bjornheimr, and thus, paved the way straight to Hel’s gates. His soul would forever evade the magnificence of the Corpse Hall, and a part of Sigurd crumbled at the thought of never being able to reunite with his friend again.

Dag was gone for good... and it was all his fault.

Letting go of the axe’s hilt, Sigurd allowed himself to relax and climbed off of Dag’s body, taking a seat beside him as a series of breaths fled from his lungs.

...He did it. He actually did it.

The traitor had been removed from their midst, and their clans would be able to proceed without worrying about betrayal. Kjotve would no longer have an ally inside their walls, and Gorm would give them the last step they needed before taking him down at last.

Sigurd supposed he should’ve been relieved now that things were finally in their favor, but all he felt was emptiness. 

His closest friend lay defeated under the blade of his own axe, and his world remained shaken by the multiple losses it had just suffered. He experienced no pleasure in the face of this so-called victory, and the only thing he had left to hope for was the sight of Kjotve’s head.

He just wanted this war to end. He wanted the constant turmoil of these never-ending battles to become a thing of the past, and he wanted to cleanse the seas of the blood that stained their shores. 

Sigurd dreamed of a future where people wouldn’t have to share his clan’s pain, but deep down, he feared it would never become a reality. 

The war had already lasted for a couple decades, after all. He saw no reason why the gods would allow it to end anytime soon.

“Sigurd?” Someone said abruptly, dragging the prince back to his senses.

The man glanced upward from where he sat and gazed in the distance, only to find Eivor watching him from afar. 

“Eivor...?” Sigurd whispered, quickly wiping his face dry. “What... what are you doing here?”

The blonde viking stepped out from the trees and approached his lover, careful not to distress him even further.

“I saw you leave with Dag earlier,” Eivor answered softly, still drained from the shock of Ulfar’s loss. “The two of you were gone for a while, so I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He paused for a second, allowing his eyes to wander towards Dag. “...You really killed him.”

The older man stared helplessly at the sky, peering into the canopy of branches swaying above him.

“...Yes. I did.” He said, his voice trembling slightly. “I had to.”

Sighing morosely, Eivor pushed his way through the mounds of snow and walked over to Sigurd, crouching down in front of him. He comforted the distraught prince by gently caressing his cheek, and flicked away some stray tears with a simple swipe of the thumb. Afterwards, the young man reached over to the axe protruding from Dag’s chest and carefully removed it, wiping it clean before laying it in Sigurd’s lap.

“You did the right thing. I know it wasn’t easy, but our clan will sleep better at night thanks to you.”

Sigurd loosely met Eivor’s gaze, entirely devoid of life. “...I feel like a monster. Dag was... he was my brother. I know everyone else saw him as a traitor, but to me, he was always that little boy I met in Fornburg.” His expression sank with grief. “...That little boy is dead now because of me. I killed him.”

Eivor held the prince’s face in his hands. “No, Sigurd. You didn’t kill that boy. Dag did. A long time ago.”

The redheaded warrior offered nothing but silence in response, causing Eivor to return to his feet.

“Come, my love.” He beckoned, reaching an arm out. “We should return to the village.”

Sigurd remained motionless on the ground, simply looking over at Dag’s body.

“Wait. Could we... bring him back with us? I’m aware of Dag’s crimes, but even then, I’d like to give him a proper burial.”

“Of course,” Eivor assured. “Many in the clan will question his presence at the funeral, but I’ll send someone to retrieve him once we return. Don’t worry. We won’t leave him behind.”

Sigurd propped himself up on one knee and grabbed the other man’s arm, rising from the snow. “Thank you, Eivor.”

The Wolf-Kissed guided his lover away from the waterfall and called for his horse, leading the prince back home.

“Come on.” He whispered lovingly. “Let’s get you out of here.”

[verryberriess]

Reason

Rating: M (for drugs and alcohol)

Synopsis:  Truths are laid bare when alcohol and drugs get into the mix. 

Thanks to bestie @maastrash for edits and being awesome and always encouraging me in life BAHHAHAHA

Cardan churned his head around in a daze. He couldn’t help but lean his head against the table. Sectioned off in the upper level, his booth allowed him an expansive view of the dance floor. 

His cheek laid against the cool surface of the table as he peered downwards to the lower level, observing the mob dancing and mingling while his brain swam in colors. Whether the indistinguishable shapes in his vision were due to the alcohol or the colored lights from the club itself, he wasn’t able to discern the difference between them at the moment. Despite the booming of the bass in the club, he had the drugs to thank for he was in a happy, happy daze. His fae senses only saw and heard a muffled version of the chaos around him.

Except, now he felt a spike in energy. 

Abruptly, he rose from his seat at the booth, hitting his knee against the rim of the table in the process. Smooth.

“Cardan, where are you off to?” Locke asked.

“It is time I join the revel, now that it is at its peak.” Cardan announced groggily. He stumbled his way out of the booth. He could hear Nicassia’s muffled tones of protest behind him, but didn’t care to acknowledge her whimpers. 

He gripped the handrail of the stairs tightly. His fingers squeezed the metal at intervals, trying to make his descent as slowly as he could. Elderberry vodka and mirthroot clouded his senses. The combination was too strong for his fae blood to metabolize quickly enough, but Cardan took in that fact with appreciation. 

He was finally able to make his way down the stairs and was soon joined by two nymphs. The two leaned against his frame and looped themselves around his biceps. He looked down at their faces, scrutinizing their features. One of the nymphs had a too-large nose and overzealous blush; she purred seductively and blinked whimsically at him. The other pushed her breasts up against him, her clawlike limbs grazed him in a playful manner. Cardan didn’t mind their advances, probably due to the fog in his mind that clouded much of his reason, but he wanted to get into the crowd, and “dance the night away” to rid himself of the events of today.

With the two nymphs dangling from his form, he eased them towards the mob. He felt one of the nymphs tug on his arm and with a breath of honey wine, she whispered, “Prince, instead of going into the throng of revelers, shall we escort ourselves into some place… more private?”  

Cardan paid no heed and continued his way through the crowd that parted in tune to his entrance. He allowed himself to sink into the rhythm of the dance floor. He closed his eyes, immersing himself into the music that was still muffled, the colored lights that flashed insistently, and the groove of bodies that rocked to and against him. 

Someone tapped his shoulder. Cardan opened up his eyes to perceive a lit, tightly-rolled joint of mirthroot displayed in between fingers extended out to him. He didn’t care who had offered it to him, but he sensed that his high was coming to an end, so he took the mirthroot and placed it in between his lips and inhaled. He felt it invade his lungs and further clutter his brain in the midst of the effects of the substances he had taken earlier. Exhaling, he instantly felt at ease, letting himself loosen. Cardan placed his arms around the two nymphs and pulled them closer against him, positioning them so he was in between the two of them, ignoring their eager gasps as he placed himself at the rear of one of the nymphs. He rolled his body against the two of them, wanting to feel the friction of their bodies against his.

Cardan opened his eyes slightly, surveying the chaos of bodies and the savage energy of the crowd. While he rocked against the bodies against him, he inspected the individuals surrounding him with the little slip of reason he had left. He caught sight of some individual with auburn hair, styled in a horn updo and curls that cascaded down the back of her form. His eyesight perked up a bit and his mind sharpened. He gave a push to the nymphs around him and met them with a glare to their protest. They immediately scattered.

He pushed further in vexation, dismissing scowls and venomous eyes. He had disturbed their highs and disordered the movement of the dancing, but his mind had sharpened towards only one goal at the moment, so he ignored the disapproval of those around him without much thought. The alcohol and mirthroot in his veins both furthered and hindered his resolve. It furthered him towards the direction of those auburn curls without discretion, but hindered him in which he acted before he could fully gather at what he was exactly doing. 

He finally made it towards her. 

Golden glitter smeared the eyelids and cheekbones of her feminine face. Painted in a dazzling, cherry tint, her lips slightly parted as if breathing in the energy of the crowd. She moved in tune with the music and Cardan, who didn’t care that he stood at the mercy of the rock of the crowd that shoved and bumped him, was finally able to take in her full form. She looked amazing, ethereal almost, despite the lawlessness of the room. Her tiny, skin tight teal blue dress clung to her curvy form; its neckline plunged in a deep V that showed off the cleavage of her breasts. Cardan was in awe. He almost always saw Jude in court dresses that although cinched her waist, flared down the length of her legs so they, unfortunately, couldn’t be seen. The sight before him left him without breath, immobilized him, and heart speeding.

He stumbled towards Jude further. Right now, reason was his foe. He was aware of Jude’s hostility towards him, but courage and stupidity currently fueled him. He now stood before her, and placed his hands upon her exposed shoulders. 

Cardan watched Jude slowly rise from the hypnotic rhythm of the room. She must have taken something as well. He watched as her eyes gradually met his and further examined the blown pupils of her eyes. Cardan, too, was in a drunken stupor, so before he could stop himself, he lamented, “Jude…” 

Cardan watched her, drinking in the sight of her in this way. There was some kind of tension between them that was better left unspoken of. 

They were in the middle of the dance floor, but this time, the surrounding mix of fae and human dared not to get in the prince’s way again, lest they wanted their wings ripped out. Cardan silently thanked his reputation for allowing him to savor this moment. 

Jude unexpectedly met him with a sad attempt of a glare but continued to sway her hips to the beat of the bass, “Cardan, stop staring.” 

To his chagrin, his brain had failed him. His brain had shut off, he could barely form a word, until he spouted indignantly, “Did you think you could escape me? I can spot you from miles away.”

“You have no reason to bother me here. Stop your glowering, your narrowing eyes.” Despite whatever substances were within her system, Cardan was surprised at the proficiency and fight in her speech.

“And if I want to continue to admire the dullness of your being?” He countered.

 Cardan focused further on Jude’s face. He could imagine the amount of concentration that it took for her to focus on him, his own head pounded from its desire to be left to idleness again. 

So he obliged it. He let his body do the talking: surrounded her frame within his and placed his hands around her hips. He let them settle there for a few moments, giving Jude time to pull away or not. Unexpectedly, she had pulled him in further, accepting his gesture. Her hands slid up and down his body, feeling the rich fabric of his blouse, attending to the gemstones that rimmed the lining with little touches. In response, Cardan’s hands grazed down Jude’s figure, rested on the cup of her ass, and squeezed. He grabbed her ass and brought Jude closer to him, angling his body so that he fit against her frame perfectly. Her forehead fell into his chest and her hands were tangled in his hair this time, fiddling with his black strands. 

Cardan felt a modest tug, so he looked downwards towards Jude. He took in her suddenly shy exterior, and was caught off guard when Jude came towards him and united them at their lips. Those cherry soft things that parted when she spoke left a bit of residue of golden gloss that stained his own. He felt a sort of vigor that abolished any sort of influence that was on him. His mind was clear, and now only focused on one thing: the mortal woman in front of him that pulled him out of his drunkenness and foolery. This kiss was like a sort of message, and he loved it so much. Felt addicted to decipher the code behind this unfamiliar language between them. He pressed himself harder against her: his lips against hers, her body against him. Those damned lips parted again and Cardan let himself in. It was another battle between them, fueled by uncovered truths and drugs and alcohol and the scent of sweat and heat that circulated around them.

The two came off of each other, only to catch their breaths. Panting, their hot breaths added to the already warm air. Cardan wasn’t intoxicated anymore. He was far from it. And glad. Glad that he was going to be able to remember this moment in full. While Cardan held Jude at her sides, breathing heavily, she whispered, “Kiss me, kiss me until I am sick of it.” 

Cardan turned Jude around so he faced her back. He ground himself against her, rolling themselves akin to the music. He clasped his hands around her middle. No escape. He bent his head at the crook of her neck and leaned in, starting to kiss along Jude’s jaw and down the length of her neck to the exposed space of her collar bones. They fell into the cadence of the crowd in that moment. Their bodies rolled against each other accordingly. 

Cardan felt Jude reach up towards him, her height angled so that she reached his ear and whispered, “I am so high.” Cardan could hear the smile in her words, the purr of her whisper had sent him into a shiver. 

“What did you take, sweet Jude?” Cardan whispered into her hair.

“Nevermore,” Jude breathed. Nevermore was a white powdery substance that was to be inhaled through the nose, intended for faerie use. For faeries, it was strong. Cardan could not comprehend the extent of Jude’s response to the hard drug, how she was still standing and speaking right now, nor of however she had gotten a hold of it. 

But Cardan felt a little sad, however. Was she standing before him because she was lost in its effects? Would she remember this encounter at the end of tonight, tomorrow? Must he go back and sneer at Jude tomorrow, forgetting this momentous tryst between them? 

Cardan held Jude within his arms. He didn’t care that his court saw him mingling with the human girl he used to taunt, that the crowd had pretended to ignore the spectacle between them only seconds ago. He just wanted to cherish how this feeling felt. How being wanted felt.

“Jude,” Cardan spoke softly.

He felt movement within his arms, as Jude suddenly slackened.

Tag list: @maastrash @b00kworm @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

[worldwidemochiguy]

Tag, You’re It ~ Part I of the Play Date Trilogy

The Play Date Trilogy Masterlist

Warnings: Kidnapping, slight violence, slight gore (it’s barely graphic I’m just tagging to be safe)

Word Count: 1.5K

Masterlist for all of my fics

Requested by @just-another-fangurl21​

‘Tag, you’re it by Melanie M and y! Taehyung or y!Jungkook pleaseeee ❤️❤️❤️’

Thank you for requesting and I’m so sorry I took so long to do it pls forgive me 🥺🥺🥺🥺 

“Fuck.” you muttered, letting the hand holding your now-dead phone fall listlessly, brushing your side. Your boss had somehow, yet again, wrangled you into working much later than you intended. So late that the bus you had planned to take home had come and gone, and you couldn’t even call an uber because your phone had decided to be absolutely useless and run out of charge. Perfect.

You had just started to shiver when you saw the headlights of a car illuminate the road from behind you. For a second, you thought about walking back to the car and asking if they could give you a lift because you were pretty sure the temperature was in the negative numbers and you couldn’t feel your toes anymore. You quickly quashed the thought, You can’t just get in a strangers car, what if they kidnap you? You chided yourself. 

After ten seconds, the car still hadn’t overtaken you and you glanced over your shoulder in curiosity. The car — a black jeep with tinted windows, you registered distantly — was cruising along at a sedate pace. Almost as if it was stalking its prey. With a mounting sense of fear, you cast your eyes around your surroundings, hoping to see a person, or literally anything to give you some sense of security. It was difficult to see in the darkness, the only source of light being the car headlights, ironic given they were the thing you were trying to evade but as far as you could tell, you were completely alone. The only thing accompanying you was the noise of the engine, growling like a wild animal.

Fear quickened your steps into a slight jog. You noticed the car wasn’t speeding up with you and thanked every God you had ever heard of, appreciating the distance that grew between you and the jeep with every passing step. The driver probably realised I was scared and stopped, you mused, What a nice, considerate person. 

Then the car started again. 

It was driving fast, and you exhaled in relief thinking that the car would overtake you. It didn’t. In fact, it reached the exact point where you were and stopped. You carried on walking, faster this time, and watched as you left them behind. Again, they waited until you were fairly ahead of them before they sped up to get to you directly. They were playing with you, like a game of tag, and it was only a matter of time before you heard the words “Tag, you’re it”.

You heard the cars engine rev again, a telltale sign they were about to close the distance between you, and you acted. Launching into a sprint, hindered by your stupid heels that you hadn’t thought to take off, you frantically tried to find somewhere to hide. To the side of the road you saw a parking lot with its barrier down. If the driver wanted to get to you, they would have to get out of the car, meaning they would lose their unfair advantage. You had a chance to escape. The lights shining behind you grew brighter and brighter, and you knew by now the car must be almost on top of you.

You finally reached the barrier and ducked under it, running through the parking lot. Behind you, the driver — a man judging by the voice uttering those low curses — had gotten out of the car. He was chasing you. 

He was chasing you and he wouldn’t stop. 

This harrowing thought caused your focus to slip slightly, just for a second, and you fell. You had maybe twisted your ankle, and it sent shooting pains up your leg as you tried to get up, and failed, and fell back down. You heard a low laugh behind you, and reinvigorated your efforts into crawling away. It was useless, though. He caught you.

Your arm was extended, trying fruitlessly to drag the rest of your body across the unforgiving asphalt and away from the even more unforgiving man, who was approaching you with lazy steps. Without warning, though perhaps you should have anticipated it, he grabbed your hand and pushed you down, flattening your body against the ground. Before the scream building in your throat escaped, he took it right out of your mouth, replacing it with a hand covering both your airways. You tried to struggle, but the black spots in your vision multiplied as your strength deserted you, and you fell limp in his arms, his cruel, triumphant laughter lulling you to sleep.

When you woke up, you almost wanted to go back to sleep. To let a dream whisk you away from the nightmare that had become your reality. It seemed like you were in a basement of some sort, the room empty of any windows to let in natural light, and just generally empty. Of course, you screamed. You screamed until your throat was raw and bleeding, and after that you tugged on your restrained wrists and ankles as hard as you could, the sound of your pained whimpers the only thing in the room. Like you were talking to yourself. 

You couldn’t say how long it was before he came. Light spilled in from the top of the staircase at the leftmost corner of the room and you winced, letting out a small sound of pain as your eyes adjusted to the light after being in complete darkness. The noise would have been louder, but your vocal cords were probably too exhausted after all the screaming. The man, the same one who had driven after you like a cat playing with a mouse, appeared in front of you. You had no choice but to look at him, so you did.

He was handsome, and tall, and muscled, and the look in his eye was the most terrifying thing you had ever seen. On the surface of those wide doe-eyes there was joy, affection, and perhaps even worry over your raw wrists and ankles, but beneath that… nothing. He truly was a psychopath. 

“Oh no, baby, what have you done?” He questioned in a sweet voice, kneeling down to run his fingers over the bloodstained restraints he had tied. You whimpered slightly, and his eyes widened. You could swear he pressed his finger harder for a second before he withdrew, looking at you with a sympathetic expression. 

“I know it’s hard, little one, but don’t pull at your restraints, ok? They’re just there to keep you safe.” You could do nothing but emit a low groan, and he obviously took this as consent to check your other wounds. He cleaned them all — you hadn’t realised he had a first aid kit with him — including a cut on your forehead that you must have sustained when he shoved you to the floor. 

It was like he was two different people. That night, he had been terrifying, hunting you down like a monster. But when he took care of your wounds, he was sweet, and gentle. Talking to you in a hushed voice filled with love.

“I’m Jeongguk. Don’t worry, you don’t have to introduce yourself to me, I already know.” A short giggle. “I can’t believe I’m finally speaking to you like this, I’ve waited for so long, but I’m glad you didn’t make me wait much longer. Thank you for leaving late at night like that so that I could take you home. You’re such a good little girl.” 

Jeongguk never apologised for kidnapping you. When he apologised it was because he hadn’t factored in your shortcomings.

Oh, I shouldn’t have tied these so tight, I should’ve known you would be a silly girl and tug on them too hard. You are too rebellious for your own good, huh baby? You won’t make this mistake again though, right? 

He seemed to take your silence as an agreement, growing more and more excited each time he put words in your mouth and you didn’t spit them out. At the end of your little doctor’s visit, Jeongguk rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, sighing deeply. 

“I love it when I hear you breathing.” He said, exhaling softly just as you inhaled so you shared a breath. Obviously this was his intent as his eyes opened and he surveyed you almost reverentially. 

“You’ll never leave me, right?” You couldn’t speak, so you just gazed at him blankly, head lolling to the side. His expression sharpened, and he reached for your damaged wrist. 

He tightened his hand around the wound, fingers digging into the fresh cuts and getting stained with blood. 

“You’ll never leave me, right?” He repeated, but it wasn’t a question, it was a command. “You love me, and you’ll never leave me, right?”

“No,” you croaked out, your throat on fire. “I’ll never leave you J-Jeongguk.” He tilted his head, waiting. “I love you.” 

At that, his face lit up into a grin exposing bunny-teeth. An innocent face covering a sadistic monster. 

“Thank you so much baby! I promise I’ll never waste the gift of your love. Don’t worry, you won’t have to stay here long. Just until I know for sure I can trust you.” 

You didn’t hear any of his words, too lost in your own thoughts. He had chased you. He had caught you. The refrain repeated over and over in your head like a nursery rhyme — the prelude to this nightmare.

Tag, you’re it.

Tag, tag, you’re it.