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saylessastrology · 1 year ago

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Part Of Fortune - Where You’re The Most Lucky 💰😝🍀

In astrology, the Part of Fortune, also known as the Lot of Fortune, holds great significance. It is a highly sensitive point in the birth chart that reveals the area of life where you can find harmony, success, and abundance. Calculated based on the ascendant, the Sun, and the Moon, the Part of Fortune reflects the essence of your being. When you are aligned with your Part of Fortune, you experience a sense of joy and fulfillment. Consider it your personal pot of gold in the natal chart! ⚜️🔑

The Mystical 12th House: Unveiling the Secrets of the Part of Fortune

The twelfth house in astrology is often associated with mystery and spiritual depths. It represents the subconscious mind, hidden talents, and the unseen forces that shape our lives. When the Part of Fortune resides in the twelfth house, it takes on a special significance. This placement suggests that your path to prosperity and success lies in exploring your inner world and connecting with the spiritual realm. It is through introspection, meditation, and embracing your intuition that you can unlock the treasures of the Part of Fortune in the 12th house.

In this house, the Part of Fortune invites you to dive deep into your subconscious mind and unravel the secrets that lie within. It is a call to explore your dreams, fantasies, and spiritual practices. By delving into the realms of the unknown, you can tap into your hidden potential and unleash your creativity. The Part of Fortune in the twelfth house invites you to trust in the guidance of your intuition and find solace in the mystical dimensions of life.

The 11th House: Fortune and Luck Through Community and Networking

The eleventh house in astrology is associated with friendships, social networks, and group activities. It represents the communities we belong to and the connections we form with others. When the Part of Fortune resides in the eleventh house, it indicates that your luck and good fortune are closely tied to your ability to network, collaborate, and build strong relationships.

Having the Part of Fortune in the eleventh house suggests that your path to success lies in working together with others towards a common goal. It is through the support and encouragement of your friends and social circle that you can achieve prosperity. This placement highlights the importance of community and the power of collective efforts. Embrace opportunities to join forces with like-minded individuals and tap into the collective wisdom and resources available to you.

Activating the Part of Fortune in the 10th House: Success and Recognition in the Public Eye

The tenth house in astrology is associated with career, public image, and professional achievements. It represents our ambitions, aspirations, and the legacy we leave behind. When the Part of Fortune resides in the tenth house, it signifies

that your path to prosperity and success lies in the public sphere. This placement suggests that you have the potential to achieve great things and gain recognition for your work.

To activate the Part of Fortune in the tenth house, it is crucial to align your career path with your true calling and passion. Find a vocation that allows you to express your unique talents and make a meaningful contribution to society. Embrace leadership opportunities and strive for excellence in your chosen field. By establishing a strong professional reputation and gaining the respect of your peers, you can unlock the full potential of the Part of Fortune in the tenth house.

The Expansive 9th House: Discovering Fortune Through Knowledge and Exploration

The ninth house in astrology is associated with higher education, philosophy, spirituality, and travel. It represents our quest for meaning, truth, and personal growth. When the Part of Fortune resides in the ninth house, it suggests that your path to prosperity and success lies in expanding your horizons, both intellectually and spiritually.

Having the Part of Fortune in the ninth house invites you to embark on a journey of self-discovery and exploration. Seek out opportunities to deepen your knowledge, whether through formal education, self-study, or travel. Embrace different cultures, belief systems, and perspectives. By broadening your understanding of the world, you can tap into new opportunities and unlock the abundance that awaits you.

Unlocking the Secrets of the 8th House: Prosperity Through Transformation and Intimacy

The eighth house in astrology is often associated with transformation, shared resources, and deep emotional connections. It represents the realms of intimacy, sexuality, and the mysteries of life and death. When the Part of Fortune resides in the eighth house, it holds profound significance. This placement suggests that your path to prosperity and success lies in embracing transformation and cultivating deep emotional connections with others.

To unlock the secrets of the Part of Fortune in the eighth house, it is essential to release any fears or attachments that hold you back. Embrace the process of transformation and allow yourself to experience deep emotional intimacy. By sharing resources, knowledge, and experiences with others, you can tap into the unlimited abundance that the eighth house represents. Trust in the power of vulnerability and the profound connections that can be forged through trust and authenticity.

Prosperity and Abundance: Exploring the Part of Fortune in the 7th House

The seventh house in astrology is associated with partnerships, marriage, and significant relationships. It represents the qualities we seek in a partner and the dynamics of our one-on-one connections. When the Part of Fortune resides in the seventh house, it suggests that your path to prosperity and success lies in cultivating harmonious and balanced relationships.

Having the Part of Fortune in the seventh house invites you to prioritize your partnerships and collaborations. Seek out mutually beneficial relationships that support your personal growth and professional endeavors. Embrace cooperation, compromise, and open communication. By nurturing healthy and supportive connections, you can tap into the abundance that flows through harmonious relationships.

The Practical 6th House: Fortune Through Service and Well-being

The sixth house in astrology is associated with work, health, and daily routines. It represents our attitude towards service, self-improvement, and the practical aspects of life. When the Part of Fortune resides in the sixth house, it suggests that your path to prosperity and success lies in taking care of your physical well-being and finding fulfillment through service to others.

To activate the Part of Fortune in the sixth house, prioritize your health and well-being. Establish healthy routines and habits that support your physical, mental, and emotional well-being. Find joy in helping others and seek out opportunities to contribute your skills and expertise to make a positive impact. By aligning your daily activities with your values and focusing on self-improvement, you can unlock the abundance that the Part of Fortune in the sixth house offers.

The Part of Fortune: A Treasure Trove in the 5th House

The fifth house in astrology is often associated with creativity, self-expression, and joy. It represents our passions, hobbies, and the pursuit of pleasure. When the Part of Fortune resides in the fifth house, it holds great significance. This placement suggests that your path to prosperity and success lies in embracing your creative talents and finding joy in self-expression.

To tap into the abundance of the Part of Fortune in the fifth house, prioritize activities that bring you joy and allow you to express your unique creativity. Explore your artistic side, engage in hobbies that ignite your passion, and embrace opportunities for self-expression. By following your heart's desires and infusing your life with joy and playfulness, you

can unlock the treasures of the Part of Fortune in the fifth house.

Unleashing Prosperity: The Part of Fortune in the 4th House

The fourth house in astrology is associated with home, family, and our roots. It represents our sense of security, emotional well-being, and the foundation upon which we build our lives. When the Part of Fortune resides in the fourth house, it suggests that your path to prosperity and success lies in creating a nurturing and supportive home environment.

To unleash the prosperity of the Part of Fortune in the fourth house, prioritize your emotional well-being and create a strong foundation for yourself and your loved ones. Cultivate a sense of security and stability in your home life. Embrace your roots and honor your family traditions. By creating a harmonious and nurturing home environment, you can tap into the abundance that the Part of Fortune in the fourth house offers.

The Part of Fortune in the 3rd House: Fortune Through Communication and Learning

The third house in astrology is associated with communication, learning, and the exchange of ideas. It represents our intellectual pursuits, curiosity, and the way we communicate with others. When the Part of Fortune resides in the third house, it suggests that your path to prosperity and success lies in harnessing the power of words and knowledge.

To unlock the treasures of the Part of Fortune in the third house, prioritize communication and learning. Embrace opportunities to expand your knowledge, whether through formal education, reading, or engaging in meaningful conversations. Develop your communication skills and seek out platforms to share your ideas with others. By becoming a master of words and leveraging your intellectual prowess, you can unlock the abundance that the Part of Fortune in the third house offers.

The 2nd House: Unveiling the Wealth of the Part of Fortune

The second house in astrology is often associated with money, possessions, and our values. It represents our relationship with material abundance and the resources we have at our disposal. When the Part of Fortune resides in the second house, it holds great significance. This placement suggests that your path to prosperity and success lies in aligning your values with your financial goals.

To unlock the wealth of the Part of Fortune in the second house, it is crucial to cultivate a healthy relationship with money and possessions. Define your values and prioritize what truly matters to you. Embrace a mindset of abundance and gratitude for the resources you have. By aligning your financial goals with your core values and making conscious choices about how you use your resources, you can tap into the unlimited wealth that the Part of Fortune in the second house offers.

Embracing the Path to Prosperity: The Part of Fortune in the 1st House

The first house in astrology is associated with the self, our identity, and the way we present ourselves to the world. It represents our physical appearance, personal style, and the way we assert ourselves. When the Part of Fortune resides in the first house, it suggests that your path to prosperity and success lies in embracing and expressing your true self.

To embrace the path to prosperity offered by the Part of Fortune in the first house, prioritize self-discovery and self- expression. Embrace your unique qualities and celebrate your individuality. Cultivate self-confidence and assertiveness. By being true to yourself and expressing your authentic self in all areas of life, you can unlock the abundance that the Part of Fortune in the first house offers.

Calculate Your Pot of Fortune: https://cafeastrology.com/partoffortune.html

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the-lonelybarricade · 1 year ago

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We Bleed the Same - An ACOTAR retelling

The forest was a labyrinth of snow and ice... The beginning to a story we know, unfolded a little bit differently.

HO, HO, HOHMYGOD, plot twists upon plot twists! This is dedicated to my @acotargiftexchange giftee turned anon I've been secretly in love with for... years??? For @belabellissima I really hope you enjoy this, and I'm hoping my mastermind plan to seduce you worked now that we've both unveiled our secret identities

Read on AO3

The forest was a labyrinth of snow and ice.

Feyre had been monitoring the parameters of the thicket for the better part of an hour, but with the angle of the sun lowering past the horizon and the gusting wind blowing the tracks of any potential quarry, her vantage point in the crook of a tree branch had turned useless. Not that there was much quarry to begin with. For years, the hunters have been saying that the animals were pulling back, going deeper into the woods than most humans were willing to pursue. Even today, Feyre had ventured further than she usually risked.

She’d woken that morning to the sounds of her sisters’ growling stomachs, and she couldn’t bear meeting the hollow stare in Elain’s once bright eyes to tell her that they would spend another day without eating. Desperation had dragged her closer to the Wall than any human should dare—not just because of the faeries who lurked on the other side of the invisible barrier, but because she was now edging into wolf territory. The town hunters had warned her that they were on the prowl again in numbers. But Feyre reasoned that if the wolves hung near, it surely meant there was nearby prey to keep them fed. Unless wolf prey was the very thing she was becoming, delivering herself at their feet as she eased off the tree and stretched her stiff limbs with a restrained groan.

The icy snow crunched under her fraying boots. What little snowfall had melted already seeped through the worn leather, dampening her thin socks, but like many things, Feyre had long become numb to the cold. She wiped her ungloved fingers over her eyes, brushing away the flakes clinging to her lashes. In the woods, there wasn’t time to be cold or hungry. Even as exhaustion gnawed at her, she shoved it away, focusing on her surroundings, on the task ahead. That was all she could do, all she’d been able to do for years: focus on surviving the week, the day, the hour ahead.

Only a few hours of daylight remained. Given how deep Feyre had ventured, if she didn’t leave soon, she would have to navigate her way home in the dark. And while she might have been foolish enough to stray closer to the Wall, even she understood there was no chance of besting a wolf in the dark. Or, gods-forbid, one of the faeries that lived in the Northern parts of their land.

Whispers were becoming commonplace on market days—tales of strange folk spotted in the area, tall and eerie and deadly. Traveling peddlers had begun sharing accounts of distant border towns, left in splinters and cindered bones. In the eight years Feyre’s family had lived in the village, they’d never witnessed such an attack. But if a faerie did decide to soothe its immortal boredom by playing with one of the townsfolk, it would need to cross through these very woods to fulfill that whim, and Feyre would be the first to cross its path. Even so, she couldn’t go home. Not yet.

After a few minutes of careful searching, Feyre crouched in a cluster of snow-heavy brambles. Through the thorns, she had a half-decent view of a clearing and the small brook flowing through it. A few holes in the ice suggested it was still frequently used. Hopefully, something would come by. Hopefully.

Her family wouldn’t last another week without food. She wore that knowledge in the weight of the quiver looped over her back. Each of the arrows was a reminder that if she failed, if she missed or came home empty-handed, then Nesta or Elain or their injured father might not survive the winter. And she would break the promise she made to her mother all those years ago.

Feyre sighed through her nose and eased into a more comfortable position, calming her breathing as she strained to listen to the forest over the wind. The snow fell and fell, dancing and curling like sparkling spindrifts, the white fresh and clean against the brown and gray of the world. Once, it had been second nature to savor the contrast of new grass against the dark, tilled soil; once, she’d dreamed and breathed and thought in color and light and shape.

Feyre couldn’t remember the last time she’d done it—bothered to notice anything lovely or interesting. Stolen hours in a decrepit barn with Isaac Hale didn’t count; those times were hungry and empty and sometimes cruel, but never lovely. She went into the barn to forget, to lose herself for a few hours in the feeling of another living, breathing being. To remind herself that something existed beyond the perpetual numb.

But it never mattered how long she stayed in that barn. The cold always seeped back, and Feyre was no longer convinced it wasn’t a part of her. How else could she be crouched in the center of the lethal winter and find herself struck by its beauty? The snow fell lazily now, in big, fat clumps that gathered along every nook and bump of the trees. Mesmerizing—the lethal, gentle beauty of the snow. She should hate it, but maybe that would feel too close to hating herself.

The howling wind eased into a soft sigh. Soon, she’d have to return to the muddy, frozen roads of the village, to the cramped heat of the decrepit cottage where her sisters waited for their next meal. Some small, fragmented part of her recoiled at the thought of returning.

Then, a pair of bushes rustled across the clearing.

Drawing her bow was a matter of instinct. Feyre peered through the thorns, and her breath caught. Less than thirty paces away stood a small doe, not yet too scrawny from winter but desperate enough to wrench bark from a tree in the clearing. A deer like that could feed her family for a week or more. Feyre’s mouth watered.

Quiet as the wind hissing through dead leaves, she took aim. The doe continued tearing off strips of bark, chewing slowly, utterly unaware that her death waited yards away.

Feyre was already contemplating how she could dry half the meat, and they could immediately eat the rest—stews, pies … the skin could be sold or perhaps turned into clothing for one of them. Feyre needed new boots, but Elain needed a new cloak, and Nesta was prone to crave anything someone else possessed.

Her fingers trembled. So much food—such salvation. She took a steadying breath, double-checking her aim.

But there was a pair of golden eyes shining from the adjacent brush.

Feyre stilled.

The forest was silent. She hadn’t realized how unsettling the quiet had grown until the wind died, and the snow paused, and even the trees seemed to hold their breath, a riveted audience as the wolf inched closer from the brush.

He was enormous. The village hunters had said as much about the wolves that prowled in the northern territory, had spoken of animals large as ponies with an unrivaled stealth. She’d assumed their stories were embellished. No animal that massive could be so quiet.

Now, she witnessed it stalk forward, unheard, unspotted by the doe. His gaze was set on her, a sentience behind those glowing eyes that caused her mouth to dry. Her lips began shaping a wordless prayer to a nameless god, begging mercy from whatever divine power might be watching this clearing.

The voice that whispered to her was innate. He looked like a wolf, moved like a wolf. Yet she knew no animal of the mortal realm could possess such stillness, such intelligence. But a faerie could. Was it paranoia, her fears becoming unbridled and taking hold? Or was that voice in her mind the work of some primal, long-forgotten instinct remaining from the days when her people were kept as slaves?

Fae, the voice whispered. Not a wolf, a faerie.

She found herself reaching over her shoulder for her heaviest and longest arrow. An arrow carved from mountain ash, armed with an iron head. She’d purchased it from a traveling peddler during a summer when she’d had enough spare copper for extra luxuries. If legend were true, the ash wood could deal a mortal wound to the otherwise invulnerable fae.

The only proof humans had of the ash’s effectiveness was its sheer rarity. The High Fae had supposedly burned all the trees long ago. So few remained, most of them small and sickly and hidden by the nobility within high-walled groves.

For three years, the ash arrow had sat unused in her quiver while Feyre deliberated whether the overpriced wood had been a waste of money. Now she drew it, praying that the rumors were true, that she wasn’t staking her life on fiction.

Faerie or not, there would be no outrunning him. She could let him kill the doe and sneak away while he was distracted, but then she would be returning to her family empty-handed. This was winter, where ruthlessness was all she could afford.

And if it was indeed a faerie’s heart pounding under that fur, then good riddance. Good riddance, after all their kind had done to humans. If she let him live, then she risked him creeping into the village to butcher and maim and torment.

She would be glad to end him.

Yes, that instinctual voice agreed. The fae are dangerous. The fae are merciless. End him now and save your village from slaughter.

A prickling sensation along her back struck Feyre with a new fear—that he wasn’t alone. But she couldn’t hazard a glance over her shoulder to be sure, not without taking her eyes off the wolf. Feyre gripped her bow and drew the string back, training the arrow on his powerful, silver body. She had only one ash arrow, which meant she couldn’t afford to miss.

The wolf sank onto his haunches, preparing to strike. There was no time to second guess. He shot from the brush in a flash of gray and white and black, yellow fangs gleaming as they wrapped around the doe’s neck.

Feyre fired the ash arrow.

She swore the ground shuddered as the arrow found its mark in his side. He barked in pain, releasing the doe as his blood sprayed onto the snow—so ruby bright, not any different than her own. He whirled towards her, those yellow eyes wide, hackles raised. His growl reverberated in the empty pit of her stomach as she surged to her feet, snow crunching beneath her, another arrow drawn.

The wolf merely stared, his maw stained with blood, the ash arrow protruding so vulgarly from his side. The snow began falling again, and he looked at her with the sort of awareness that made her fire a second arrow. Just in case—just in case that intelligence was of the immortal, wicked sort.

He didn’t try to dodge the arrow as it went clean through his wide yellow eye.

Only once he collapsed to the ground, legs twitching, did Feyre notch another arrow and turn towards the thicket at her back. Her eyes anchored on the point of the arrowhead as she swept her aim blindly between the trees for any sign of that looming presence she’d sensed.

There was only slow-drifting snow, skeletal trees, and the soft whine of the dying wolf.

Alone, that residual intuition told her. Safe.

Feyre eased the arrow off the bow before turning to face the carnage. Her hands shook at the sight of the blood gushing from the wounds she’d given him, staining the snow crimson. He pawed at the ground, his breathing already slowing. The snow swirled around them, merciless as the arrow through his eye, almost to the goose fletching. She stared at him until that coat of charcoal and obsidian and ivory ceased rising and falling.

A wolf, she told herself. Only a wolf, despite his size.

Still, she couldn’t shake the creeping sensation of being watched as she crouched beside both animals. If nothing else, it encouraged her to work quickly. She couldn’t carry both animals back to the village—even the doe alone would be a struggle. But it was a shame to leave the wolf. His pelt would fetch decent coin or at least make for a nice cloak to fight off the winter chill.

Though it wasted precious minutes—minutes during which any predator could smell the fresh blood, if there wasn’t already one circling—Feyre skinned him and cleaned her arrow as best she could.

When she was finished, she wrapped the bloody side of the pelt around the doe’s death wound before hoisting the deer across her shoulders. Grunting against the weight, Feyre grasped the legs of the deer and spared a final glance over her shoulder, past the steaming carcass of the wolf to the forest beyond. Wind whistled against the hollow branches, obscuring any sound of nearby creatures.

And though nothing emerged from the trees on the other side of the clearing, she swore something in the vacant space stared back. Curious. Patient.

Feyre swallowed before sparing one last glance at the bloodied snow. Maybe she was unsettled by the gore, by how little remorse she felt for the dead thing. Grief was too heavy to hold with a doe around her shoulders and several miles separating Feyre from her cottage. Maybe she told herself something was watching so it could bear that burden in her place.

And maybe a creature so capable of mourning would be equally capable of forgiveness, so that when Death inevitably arrived on her doorstep—be it days or months or years—maybe the eyes that fell at her back would mourn for her, too.

The trampled snow coating the road into the village was speckled with brown and black mud from passing carts and horses. Elain and Nesta did their best to dodge the particularly disgusting parts as the three of them trekked their way along it.

Feyre was aware that her sisters had only decided to accompany her because she’d be selling the hides today. It was market day, which meant that the meager square in the center of town would be full of whatever vendors had braved the brisk morning. The snow had cleared some in the night, leaving Feyre hopeful that traveling peddlers had gambled the journey. She found they usually offered her a better price than the local merchants.

From a block away, the scent of hot food wafted towards them—spices that tugged on the edge of her memory, beckoning. Elain let out a low moan behind her, and Feyre’s mouth watered. Spices, salts, and sugars were rare commodities for most of the villagers. It had been a long while since Feyre and her sisters had eaten anything besides bread and game meat.

She fought the temptation to stare too long at the food vendors as they strode into the busy market square. Spring was still a long way off, and the forest had been particularly unforgiving this year. They needed to be smart with any excess coin, even if the scent of fresh tarts drifted towards her from the doors of the passing bakery. They were luxuries of a time before.

“I’ll meet you here in an hour,” Feyre said to her sisters, not giving them a chance to respond before she slipped away into the crowd.

Feyre took her time to assess her options. There were her usual buyers: the weathered cobbler and the sharp-eyed clothier who came to the market from a nearby town. She could feel the eyes of the cobbler and clothier on her, sense their feigned disinterest as they took in the satchel she bore.

Fine. She slid her eyes past them dismissively, searching the crowd for unfamiliar faces, someone who might be inclined to buy a wolf hide. Like the tall, raven-haired man sitting on the lip of the broken square fountain, without any cart or stall, but looking like he was holding court nonetheless.

It was hard to place him at first. He was handsome, ungodly so, and smiling to himself like he knew it. She might have pinned him as a lord’s son for the swaggering arrogance that radiated from him, but the clothes were off. He bore well-made leathers and a fur cloak. Not the finery of a lord, but from his full cheeks and glowing skin, he didn’t strike her as someone scraping for his next meal, either. He turned, and the pommel of the sword strapped across his back answered her question. A mercenary.

It wasn’t his sword that stilled her approach, though its silver scabbard was polished with enough care that it reflected light even with the overcast sky. It was his eyes, turning to meet hers. Such an interesting color—not quite blue, but a deeper shade, almost violet, and like his sword they were brighter than seemed possible in the bleak winter. They twinkled with amusement as he beheld her.

Feyre’s mood immediately soured. She didn’t have the patience for condescension today. She might have turned around, but he’d already seen her, and the coin purse strapped to his weapons belt looked heavy enough that she decided to stay. Mercenaries were well-paid in this territory.

“Well met,” he said, nodding his head in a gesture of greeting as equally foreign as the lilt to his voice.

She pegged him as anywhere between twenty-five to thirty years of age. His sensual, swaggering grace spoke of youth. But there was a hardened edge to him, one that said he’d been in this trade long enough to expertly wield the sword at his back, and to adequately punish anyone who made an inconvenience of themselves.

Feyre didn’t want to linger and find herself on the opposite end of that sword, especially before knowing if he was interested in buying from her. She sucked in a breath to offer her pitch and found herself blurting, “Where do you hail from?”

His brows raised. She suppressed an exhale of relief that it was intrigue sparking in his eyes, and not disapproval for wasting his time. “That depends.” Feyre couldn’t draw her attention away from his violet stare, even as it flitted over her shoulder, making a quick assessment of the passing villagers trying their best not to gawk. “Will my answer impact your willingness to do business with me?”

She supposed that meant others in the village had turned him away already. A surprise, given his exceptional beauty, but she supposed that amounted to little in the face of prejudice. Feyre knew well enough that a person’s circumstances didn’t define them, and that the judgment cast by the village was harsh on its best days. With the added rumors of neighboring villages being ransacked, she could imagine the wariness they might pay a stranger with a sword. Even a beautiful one.

“No,” Feyre said. “I’m just curious. I’ve never seen you here before.”

I would have noticed you, she thought.

In part because he was massive, even sitting down. A mark of the trade, she supposed. No one would hire a mercenary who looked like her—gangly from hunger and drowning in her layers. Unlike her withering figure, he was broad and well-muscled. Strong. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt that way.

As he contemplated her response, his gaze snagged on her arm and his smile faltered. “Are you a painter?”

The question caught her so off guard that she bristled, her weight shifting onto her back foot in case she needed to cut and run. The mercenary laughed, softly, and nodded at the fleck of paint on the sleeve of her tunic. Paint that had to have been there from three summers ago, damning evidence that this tunic was old and rarely washed.

She swallowed, apprehensive at his observation. Why it was relevant to someone like him. “I like to paint,” she said, because she wouldn’t go as far to call herself a painter. Her skills were rudimentary, at best. “Does it matter?”

An odd look crossed his face, as though he was retreating to some distant memory. Then he offered another of those arrogant smiles and mimicked, “No, I’m just curious.”

Fair enough. One personal question in exchange for another.

“I hail from Illyria,” he said. At her blank look, he added, “A tribe of people nestled in the steppes of a far-away mountain range.”

On the continent, she filled in. There was nothing like that here, at least not on this side of the Wall. When the land was divided all those centuries ago, the faeries had allocated a slim strip of plains and woodlands to the humans. Anything so majestic as a mountain range was left to the fae above the Wall, but at least these lands were hospitable without magic.

“No wonder the winter doesn’t phase you,” she said, gesturing to his cheeks and nose, which lacked the rosy flush that was surely painted on her own. “This weather must feel mild in comparison.”

“It’s been many years since I’ve returned to the Illyrian Mountains,” he said. He kept his voice light, but Feyre sensed they were treading towards unwelcome territory. “And the conditions in these lands have been harsh, but they may be letting up soon.”

Feyre frowned, glancing toward the sky. “You think so?”

There were at least two months remaining before winter yielded to spring. But perhaps wherever he came from, the weather changed sooner.

When she glanced back at the mercenary, he was staring at her, a smile playing on his full lips. “Things look promising from where I’m sitting.” Was he… flirting with her? Feyre must have spent too long debating it, because the mercenary drew her out of the thought by nodding at her satchel. “What business does a pretty thing like you have with a mercenary like me?”

It was absurd to feel flattered by his words. Feyre couldn’t remember the last time someone had bothered to pay her that sort of compliment. Certainly not Issac, who was inclined not to speak a word during those moments she found herself undressed beneath him. That was perfectly fine with Feyre. She preferred silence over a lie.

She fought to hide her scowl, but from his laugh, she thought it was unsuccessful. Pushing aside her rising ire, she said, “I have a wolf pelt and a doe hide for sale. I thought you might be interested in purchasing them.”

He ran those remarkable eyes down her again. Feyre coaxed herself to remain steady, to lift her chin as he crooned, “Does that make you a huntress or a thief?”

It was difficult to determine which would be more impressive to him. Feyre held his stare as she answered, “I hunted them myself. I swear it.”

He would not understand what it meant to her, that vow. After their world had been cleaved by the fae, humans had deserted their religions and holidays. In Faerie, they relied on magic to bind a person to their word, but they had no such tools here, no Cauldron or Mother or any other deities to swear upon. Here, a person was only as good as their word. To Feyre, and to many of the villagers, a vow was sacred. But if he fashioned her a thief, he may not consider her word as bond.

“A huntress then,” he purred. His attention fixed on her satchel. “Let me see.”

Feyre pulled out the carefully folded hides. “I was only after the doe, to feed my family. But the wolf got to her first. And I made sure I was the one who left the clearing alive.”

The mercenary gave a low whistle as he examined the hides with an expert eye, running his hands over and under. She expected to be met with incredulity, but she marked awe in his voice as he praised, “Impressive kill, little huntress. You must be a good shot.”

“If I weren’t, I’d be dead.”

That truth sobered him. Sobered them both. He assessed her for a long moment, then lifted his gaze over her shoulder, where Nesta and Elain were doing their best to eavesdrop without being spotted.

He pursed his lips. “I’ll take them,” he said, before naming a price that would have sent her staggering if she didn’t keep a tight grip on her composure. He was grossly overpaying.

Feyre leveled her shoulders. “I don’t need your pity.”

“No,” he agreed, eyes darkening. “But you need to stay out of those woods, and I know you won’t keep out of them if your family is starving.” The question must have been plain on her face. He pitched his voice lower. “I think you know that this wasn’t any ordinary wolf. It won’t take long for its kind to come sniffing, and you may end up leading them right to those sisters of yours.”

She refused to glance over her shoulder and offer merit to the fear he was trying to churn in her gut. He wanted her to look at her sisters and see their slight figures, so fragile and defenseless against a creature like the one she’d encountered yesterday morning. Her stomach roiled despite her efforts. “Are you trying to scare me so that I hand the coin right back to hire your protection?”

The mercenary chuckled, but it lacked any warmth. “My services have already been bought by a local lord. I’m just trying to warn you, from one hunter to another. You go back into those woods, and you’ll be courting your death.”

She wasn’t brave enough to ask if he was speaking from experience, if he’d once been hunted by the fae after killing their kin. If she was smart, she’d heed his words and use his coin to get her family on a boat headed south, somewhere far away from the Wall. But would they believe her, would they be willing to go?

“Think on it,” he said, as if she wasn’t already. She held perfectly still as he reached into his heavy cloak to withdraw his coin pouch. She let him count, her mind far away while she plotted their different options of escape, including the scenarios where she had to drag her sisters kicking and screaming from their beds. It was preferable to a vengeful faerie doing the same.

Maybe it was for the better. The land left for the humans in this realm had always been an afterthought, and the governing queens had never paid much attention to this small colony of villages. She’d heard things were better on the continent, the land warmer and more fertile. Elain could garden, and Feyre could learn to make paints from the petals. It was a nice thought, a comfort against the more dangerous one—if she didn’t convince her sisters to leave, a faerie might come seeking revenge for the one she felled.

Feyre’s awareness was jolted back into the cold market square by the press of metal against her palm. She blinked, and violet eyes filled her vision, creased in feint amusement.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

The weight of the coins felt heavy. She knew if she glanced at her sisters, she’d find them drawing closer, sensing the transaction was over. What would he do with her name if she gave it to him? She couldn’t imagine anything good could come of it.

“Tell me yours first,” She countered.

That errant smile grew. And she understood why he had chosen to become a mercenary. Feyre only hunted in the woods out of necessity. If tomorrow she discovered she would never need to raise her bow against another breathing creature, she would feel relieved. But from the way his eyes sparked, fascinated at this new game afoot, she knew that he was the kind of man who hunted for thrill. That this information, basic and inconsequential as it may be to the rest of the world, had become his new quarry.

He raised a hand, offering it into the space between them.

“Rhys,” he said.

Wind played at his raven hair, swiping pieces across his forehead. Feyre stared at his outstretched hand. Broad and flecked with the odd scar, his hands were more elegant than she’d expect of a mercenary. They wouldn’t have looked out of place against the ivory keys of a pianoforte or gripping fine cutlery at a Lord’s dining table. Maybe that was the danger of him—the charming smile and the clever eyes. Perhaps his foes saw a pretty face and underestimated what he could do with that sword. Maybe the poor mercenary was one littered with scars, whereas Rhys walked away from his battles unscathed.

“No family name?” she pressed.

“They’re not needed in my trade.” Rhys leaned forward, flexing his fingers in invitation. “And you, little huntress? What name might I inquire after to ensure you’re still alive in a week’s time?”

Rhys. She had no way of verifying if that was his true name. Maybe he changed it every place he went, never assuming the same identity, never leaving a trail. If a faerie found him one day and demanded to know where that wolf pelt had come from, what would stop Rhys from revealing her name? Especially if it could spare his own life.

He wouldn’t ask if he didn’t think it would be useful to him one day. She wouldn’t delude herself by buying into his purred words and bedroom eyes. Feyre took a step back, steadying herself.

“There’s only one huntress in this village,” she said. “They’ll know who you mean.”

The mercenary lowered his hand, slipping it casually into his pocket. “I told you mine.” Velvet as the melted chocolate being sold by the cup two stalls away, Rhys leaned closer and whispered, “That makes our debt uneven, love. I may seek payment for it one day.”

A shiver crept down her spine, though she couldn’t determine if it was from the threat of the words or the sultry promise in his voice. Feyre curled her hand around the strap of her satchel, fingers tightening over the worn leather like she didn’t trust he wouldn’t try to snatch it from her. “I have to go,” she said, her tongue feeling thick. From the cold, she reasoned.

He waved a hand over her shoulder, smirking at whatever caught his eye. “I wish you luck, then.”

Feyre turned, expecting to find that Nesta finally summoned the courage to yank her away. But the mercenary’s lazy smile wasn’t directed towards Nesta and Elain, ducked conspicuously behind the clothier’s wagon. It was aimed across the square. Where, leaning against a building, arms crossed over his chest, Isaac Hale watched their interaction through raised brows.

More of that wicked amusement spread over Rhys’s face. “Friend of yours?”

Friend was both an understatement and too generous of a word. They’d vaguely known each other since Feyre’s family had moved to the village, and one afternoon they wound up walking down the main road together. Their conversation had been inane and perhaps a bit awkward, but a week later, she’d pulled him into a decrepit barn. He’d been her first and only lover in the two years since.

Their trysts were erratic and haphazard; sometimes they’d meet every night for a week, others they’d go a month without seeing each other. If recollection served, it had been almost six weeks since that last frantic shedding of clothes and shared breaths. He has grown lean since the last time she saw him, his brown hair a bit shaggier.

There was no love between them. There never had been. But the last time she’d seen him, Isaac told her he’d soon be married. A piece of her heart had sunk at the news, and she’d avoided seeing him since. Now, she weighed the apprehension in her chest against the reprieve of company, that bit of selfishness that made their bleak and wretched lives more bearable.

Feyre blew out a breath, watching Issac incline his head in a familiar gesture and amble off down the street—out of town and to the ancient barn, where he would be waiting if she decided to join him.

“Yeah,” Feyre said. “A friend.”

If he believed her answer, he didn’t press. She didn’t imagine her pathetic love life would be of much interest to someone like him. There was no room for wives and children in his lifestyle. Perhaps the occasional love affair, though he likely didn’t stay in the same place for very long. Maybe that was why there was understanding in the way he nodded. Like he, too, needed the occasional warm body to remind himself that there was life outside of the daily horrors.

“Just try to stay out of trouble.” His eyes gleamed in a way that suggested staying out of trouble meant staying far, far away from him.

She didn’t get a chance to respond before a slender hand clamped onto Feyre’s forearm, dragging her away. Elain waited beside the clothier’s wagon, shivering despite her cloak as she watched Nesta pull Feyre away from the mercenary.

“Mercenaries are dangerous,” Nesta hissed, fingers digging into Feyre’s arm. Even Elain’s face had gone pale and tight. “Don’t go near them again.”

“He was fine,” Feyre said, yanking herself free. “Generous, even.”

“They’re brutes, and will take any copper they can get, even if it’s by force.”

The silver coins in her pocket said otherwise. Feyre glanced at Rhys, still sitting on the fountain. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She glanced away, feeling her cheeks warm, knowing she’d made it obvious they were talking about him.

She shoved a hand in her pocket, suddenly desperate to escape this market and those piercing violet eyes. She pushed a twenty-mark copper towards Elain, not bothering to look at either of them as she said, “I’ll see you at home.”

They didn’t protest. Feyre thought it was miraculous how swiftly a mercenary’s business became acceptable if it meant a new pair of boots, but she held back the sharp words on her tongue. Her sisters wandered off, already whispering about what they should buy.

Like an arrow trained at her back, she could feel the mercenary’s gaze tracking her as she wove through the market stalls, not even bothering with subtlety in those rare moments when she gathered the courage to glance over her shoulder. He merely grinned at her, shameless.

She intentionally left down the same street as Isaac, just so Rhys might assume she was on her way to meet the farmboy. And think twice about following her. When she reached the ancient barn, she paused. Isaac would be waiting to undress her on the other side of the splintered and peeling wood. She could already feel the hot breath on her spine, the hay straws biting into her palm, her knees. Maybe it was better to see him in case Rhys didn’t think twice about following her. And maybe because she could feel a pit in her chest yawning open, and she thought Isaac’s strong, work-roughened hands might be able to hold it closed for just a little longer.

Just enough to feel warm again, for an afternoon. Before she returned to the cottage and remembered that she killed a faerie yesterday. And might very well have put a price on her head—on her family’s head—because of it.

He’s married, a small, rational voice reminded her. Maybe it’s time to move on.

Besides, the last thing she wanted was to get him killed.

Feyre walked past the barn. She ought to feel proud of her dignity, but it didn’t soothe the pit in her chest, a tempest of ice and darkness that slowly seeped out with every step along the frozen path back to the cottage. No amount of stuffing her fingers into her armpits could banish the cold. It was here, it was her.

She sighed, watching the breath expel in a cloud of frosty air. There had always been an undercurrent of darkness that drew her and Isaac to each other, but now she wondered if she was too frozen, too hollow, even for him.

And as she walked, she found herself thinking about Rhys, unflinching at the bite of winter. And how, for that short time she’d been drenched in the heat of his gaze, his eyes the first vibrant color she’d seen since winter had overtaken the village, she’d forgotten what it was to be cold.

Hours later, after another dinner of venison, Feyre’s family gathered around the fire for the quiet hour before bed. She watched the flames flicker in the fireplace, absently bathing in the precious heat before she and her sisters would retreat into the bedroom, where they’d huddle together for warmth beneath threadbare blankets.

Nesta and Elain whispered and laughed together about some encounter they’d had with a handsome apprentice in the marketplace. There was the odd lull in laughter, in which Nesta would slide her eyes to Feyre as if daring her to make some comment about Tomas Mandray, a woodcutter’s second son who would allegedly be proposing to her any day now. They’d fought about it the day prior, but it felt like centuries ago.

All evening, she’d been trying to summon the courage to admit to her family where that wolf’s pelt had truly come from. What it had come from. She wasn’t certain how they would react or if they would even take the warning of the mercenary seriously. Father might. He’d once traded one of his wood carvings for the wards etched around their cottage’s threshold, supposedly meant to protect their home against faerie harm. It was one of the few things he’d bothered to do for them. If the fae scared him enough that he’d barter with a charlatan for those useless engravings, maybe the threat would be enough to rattle him into action again.

Except he was dozing in his chair, his cane laid across his gnarled knee. And she suspected she would get nowhere with her sisters without his aid. He had no sway with Nesta, but Elain would listen to him. And wherever Elain went, Nesta would follow.

Tomorrow, then. She would speak privately with her father and worry about convincing her sisters later.

Tomorrow was a nice idea.

But then a roar cleaved through the still night. The cottage door burst into splinters. And her sisters screamed as snow flooded into the room, flurrying around the enormous, growling shape that appeared in the doorway.

#💝 anon it's really you????#THE PLOT TWIST OF THE CENTURY #acotar gift exchange #feysand #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x Feyre #We Bleed the Same

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thebunnednun · 10 months ago

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Shadows of the Blade Dracule Mihawk x Fem!Reader

Reader hasn't been a very good girl, has she?

Part 3: Unveiling Secrets

________________________________________________

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a golden hue over the deck of the Thousand Sunny as it sailed through the endless expanse of the Grand Line. The air was filled with the sound of laughter and camaraderie, the crew of the Straw Hat Pirates going about their daily routines with a sense of purpose and adventure.

Amidst the hustle and bustle, you found yourself lost in thought, leaning against the railing as you gazed out at the vast ocean stretching out before you. The sea was calm, a tranquil oasis amidst the chaos of the world, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to bask in its serenity.

The gentle sway of the sea lulled the Thousand Sunny into a rhythmic dance as it sailed through the Grand Line. On deck, amidst the laughter and chatter of the Straw Hat Pirates, you found yourself lost in thought, your mind drifting back to the enigmatic figure who had become an unexpected confidant - Dracule Mihawk.

But beneath the surface, a storm was brewing - both figuratively and literally.

Mihawk's gaze was sharp and penetrating, his eyes betraying a depth of knowledge and understanding that sent a shiver down your spine. From the time spent together, you knew that he was no ordinary swordsman, that behind his calm exterior lay a wealth of experience and wisdom earned through years of battle and bloodshed.

For he knew something that you did not - you were no ordinary member of the Straw Hat crew. Behind your gentle demeanor lay a past shrouded in darkness, a history of bloodshed and betrayal that had earned you a bounty larger than most could fathom.

And Mihawk had been sent to apprehend you.

But as he observed you, his gaze lingering on your face with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, he couldn't help but feel a sense of doubt gnawing at his conscience. There was something about you, something that spoke to him on a deeper level, that made him question the truth of your past., that beneath the facade of innocence lay a truth waiting to be unveiled.

And so, he bided his time, content to wait until the moment was right to confront you about your past.

Meanwhile, you remained blissfully unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows, your mind occupied with thoughts of the adventures that lay ahead. And as the stars twinkled overhead, casting a soft glow over the deck, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over you, a fleeting moment of tranquility amidst the chaos of the world. The gentle breeze played with your hair, the salty scent of the sea filling your senses as you allowed yourself to be swept away by the beauty of the moment.

But little did you know, the shadows of the past were closing in, and soon, you would be forced to confront the truth that lay hidden within your own heart.

______________________________________________________________

Part 4 is already posted babes.

Make sure to check out the other works and be on the lookout for Mihawk x Maid reader soon. Bye!~ <3<3 :3

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sensualnoiree · 1 year ago

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3rd house notes

communication, art of learning, immediate environment

The 3rd house encapsulates a captivating dance of curiosity, imitation, and connection with the world. Within this seemingly ordinary sphere lies an extraordinary realm of intellectual pursuits, learning, and the intricate art of communication. It's often overlooked, akin to familiar terrain one navigates routinely. Yet, beneath its surface dwells a tapestry of interactions that shape our minds and perspectives.

In astrology, the 3rd house is deemed "cadent," hinting at a departure from initial plans, urging adaptation to external forces. It's a realm where flexibility and versatility reign supreme. Here, every encounter, every experience is a teacher. Above the horizon, the 3rd house unveils new worlds beyond our habitual paths. It expands our consciousness through foreign concepts and deeper meanings. Conversely, below the horizon, its confines seem more mundane, focusing on bodily limits or workplace adaptation.

It represents the intellectual crossroads where our communication styles, interests, and knowledge are molded by a myriad of influences. From siblings and neighbors to peers, colleagues, and mentors, each interaction shapes our perceptions and contributes to our mental landscape.

This house signifies the ongoing journey of keeping our minds alive and vibrant. It's not solely about what we learn but the act of learning itself. It mirrors the ceaseless evolution of our immediate surroundings. Should we lose interest in these everyday transformations, our minds risk stagnation. The 3rd house urges us to embrace the unfamiliar in our daily lives, to relish the thrill of acquiring even the smallest mastery.

Communication tools like phones, writing, and social media find their domain here, reflecting the essence of our thoughts and expressions. It's where we delve into language, exchange thoughts, and foster connections. More than that, it's the space where we absorb knowledge from the world, shaping our understanding and experiences.

Astrologers often pass over the 3rd house, focusing on workshops or skill improvement during planetary transits. Yet, beneath this advice lies a deeper purpose—a call to constantly wonder about the peculiarities in our daily world, to retain the eagerness for new words and experiences, and to relish the ongoing pursuit of knowledge.

At its core, the 3rd house embodies the very essence of learning. It’s a place where we absorb from our environment, where every interaction shapes our intellectual pursuits and forms the bedrock of our communication style. It is the dance floor where curiosity waltzes with imitation, where adaptability is the key, and where the mundane becomes extraordinary through the lens of the mind.

For more info check out my blog in the bio or my insta 🤸🏿‍♀️

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the-goldenbunny-diaries · 1 year ago

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The Woman In The Portrait

⚢ Pairing - Sana x reader

✎ Word Count - 1.4k

☆ Genre - Angst

♡ Description - You stumble upon an abandoned house and find yourself mesmerized with the portrait on the wall (A/N: so much inspiration came from this picture that I had to write something)

*note: italicized text either happens in your head or is a flashback of sorts, bold text is text happening out loud in the present*

★・・・・・・★

In the heart of a sleepy countryside, you stumble upon an old abandoned house, hidden amongst overgrown foliage. The place exudes an air of mystery and intrigue, beckoning you to explore its forgotten halls. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you venture inside, stepping cautiously over creaky floorboards and through dusty corridors.

As you roam the dilapidated rooms, a sense of nostalgia mixed with an eerie sensation settles upon you. Amidst the decay, you discover a faded, ornate frame hanging on the wall. Enclosed within the frame is a portrait of a strikingly beautiful young woman. Her long, dark brown hair cascades like silk down her shoulders, and she wears a resplendent white dress that seems to glow in the dim light. Her captivating eyes hold an enchanting allure that draws your gaze.

"Who could she be? And why is her portrait still here?"

Strangely, the woman in the portrait appears eerily lifelike, as though her eyes follow you around the room. You exchange puzzled glances, wondering who this mesmerizing figure might have been and why her picture adorns the wall of this abandoned place.

"It's as if she's watching me."

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting a haunting twilight glow over the house, you can't resist investigating further. You delve deeper into the house's history, hoping to unravel the enigma surrounding the captivating woman in the portrait.

"I need to know more about this place and its history. There's something about her story that's pulling me in."

Through your research, you discover that the house belonged to a wealthy family from a bygone era. Legend has it that the young woman in the portrait is named Sana. She was said to have vanished mysteriously on the eve of her wedding, and her disappearance remains unsolved.

As you continue your relentless pursuit of the truth behind Sana's mysterious disappearance, the presence of the house becomes increasingly oppressive. The whispers grow louder, and shadows seem to dance in the corners of your vision. Every step feels heavy, as if an unseen force is trying to deter you from unveiling the secrets hidden within these walls.

Determined to unravel the mystery, you seek out the wisdom of the local historian, an elderly man named Park Jinyoung, known for his extensive knowledge of the town's history and legends. His eyes gleam with curiosity as you share your discoveries and the strange encounters with the portrait of Sana.

"Ah, young adventurer, you've stumbled upon a tale that has haunted this town for generations. The story of Sana is as tragic as it is enigmatic. Many have tried to decipher her fate, but the answers have always eluded us." He says.

You look at him with curious eyes. "Do you believe there's any truth to the legend? Could Sana's spirit still be lingering here?"

The older man strokes his white beard thoughtfully, his eyes distant with reminiscence. "There are some who claim to have witnessed strange occurrences, attributing them to Sana's restless spirit. Whether it's merely superstition or something more, I cannot say for certain. But there's no denying the house holds a peculiar energy, as if it yearns to reveal its secrets."

Your perk up a bit after his last few words. "I've seen her portrait. It's as if she's trying to communicate with me, calling for help."

"Ah yes,” He says. “The eyes of the departed can have a way of speaking to the living. They say the past and present sometimes intertwine in mysterious ways, especially in a place burdened by such history."

Feeling a newfound sense of determination, you share your plans to uncover the truth and bring closure to Sana's spirit. "I won't rest until I find out what happened to her and give her the peace she deserves."

The man smiles but shakes his head. "A noble endeavor, my dear. But tread carefully, for some tales are better left undisturbed. The past can be a haunting place, and not all spirits welcome the intrusion of the living."

You nod, understanding the gravity of his advice. As you bid farewell to the wise historian, you carry with you a mix of trepidation and excitement. The weight of the mystery ahead is immense, but you are resolute in your quest for the truth. Armed with the knowledge you've gained and the support of those who believe in your cause, you set out to unravel the enigma surrounding Sana and the abandoned house. Little do you know that this journey will not only change the course of history for the town but also leave an indelible mark on your own soul.

★・・・・・・★

One stormy night, as lightning flashes through the broken windows, you find yourself standing before the haunting portrait of Sana. Her eyes seem to pierce through your very soul, and a chill runs down your spine. With trembling hands, you reach out to touch the portrait, and to your shock, it feels warm to the touch.

"This can't be real. But it is. It's like she's trying to communicate with me."

A shiver courses through your body as you realize that the boundary between the past and the present is blurring. The line that separates reality from the ethereal realm fades away, and Sana's spirit seems to merge with the world around you.

"Help me... find the truth..." Sana whispers to you

"Sana? Can you hear me? I'll do my best to help you, but I need to understand what happened." You yell.

Suddenly, you find yourself transported back in time, standing in a grand hall adorned with flickering candlelight. There, you witness a tragic scene unfolding before your eyes. Sana, in her resplendent white dress, stands frozen in fear as her jealous sister Momo confronts her, her face contorted with rage and envy. "You think you're so special, don't you? Well, you won't ruin my life with your beauty and charm!"

In a moment of sheer desperation, Momo’s anger escalates, and she raises her hand to strike Sana. The echo of the slap resounds through the hall, and you watch in horror as Sana stumbles backward, her head hitting the edge of a table.

"This can't be happening! I can't just stand by and watch." You say as you try to run toward Sana’s unmoving body. However, the world around you fades into darkness, and you feel an overwhelming sense of sorrow and injustice.

When you come to your senses, you find yourself back in the present, the storm still raging outside. The portrait of Sana now exudes a melancholic aura, and her eyes seem to be filled with unspoken pain. You realize that Sana's spirit is trapped within the confines of the house, unable to move on until her story is fully unraveled. With a heavy heart, you resolve to bring closure to Sana's tormented soul. Through your relentless efforts, you discover the truth about her tragic fate and confront her jealous sister’s descendants. As you reveal the long-concealed secrets, a profound sadness fills the air.

As you stand before the portrait of Sana once again, her once melancholic eyes now shimmer with gratitude. The atmosphere around you seems to shift, a soft glow enveloping her ethereal form. At that moment, the boundary between the past and present blurs once more, and Sana's spirit emerges from the painting, stepping out into the world before you.

Sana's voice, soft and resonant, fills the air as she speaks: "Thank you, kind soul, for releasing me from the shackles of time. Your unwavering dedication and compassion have brought solace to my restless spirit."

You're overcome with awe and humility, hardly able to find the words to respond. “Sana, it was an honor to help you find peace. You deserve to rest and be remembered for who you truly are."

Sana smiles, her face now a reflection of serenity and tranquility. "Though my journey here was fraught with sorrow, I am grateful for the light you've brought into this darkness. Remember, life is but a fleeting moment, and the echoes of our actions can resonate for eternity."

As her figure begins to fade, you reach out instinctively, trying to hold on to the moment.

You: "Goodbye, Sana. May your spirit find the happiness and serenity it deserves."

With a gentle touch, Sana's essence slowly dissipates back into the portrait. The soft glow recedes, and the atmosphere returns to normal. But the weight on your heart has lifted, replaced by a profound sense of fulfillment.

#kpopidol #kpop imagines #kpop gg #kpop #twice sana #sana x reader #minatozaki sana #sana #twice #twice x reader #twice angst #twice fluff #angst #kpop angst #kpop fluff

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d2sejanus--plinth · 10 months ago

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the last time i saw you, you were going to say something... and then you stopped. (this could fit in where you feel is best!)

“The last time I saw you, you were going to say something.. and then you stopped.”

Coriolanus’ gaze was searching, and inquisitive, and for a moment Sejanus panicked. Last time, he let himself go weak, he let himself entertain stupid scenarios that would never come to fruition, that would never, ever happen because Coriolanus wasn’t like that, he wasn’t like him, he didn’t want to hear of any of his escape plans. Here, in Twelve, he could see Coriolanus not as constrained by what kept him so tightly wound in the Capitol, he could see him let loose just a bit more, and more and more of the actual person that he was unveiled itself. He didn’t know how to feel about it, at the beginning. He had almost worshiped Coriolanus, and he was still doing it, even with every new facet he was getting privy to, even with knowing that what Coriolanus really, really wanted was not to help these people, but just do his job well and hopefully get out of here and back to the Capitol as fast as possible. He could understand it, in some way, that he wanted to be back to something familiar. But in other ways, this knowledge felt like a thorn in his side.

They were lying close to the lake, it was getting a bit late and they should return soon, really, Sejanus could mention that and leave him wondering again, but he didn’t think it would work. The sun was dipping below the horizon, and the sky was more pink than anything; it was beautiful.

“Did I?” he started off with a question, still trying to gather his thoughts. I’m going to leave, he thought, sorrowfully, happily, and I will probably never see you again. That one was a punch to the gut. Despite everything, aside from his mother, Coriolanus was the presence most constant in his life, in his thoughts. There were others, here, especially, he’d managed to get close to a few, but no one occupied quite as much space into his very being as Coriolanus did. Woven into the fabric of his soul. That was a bit of a comfort. He didn’t think he would ever forget about him. He wished he could take a keepsake, something other than that picture of the two of them in his box. He found an interesting rock on the soil, and played with it between his fingers.

“I don’t remember. I don’t think it was anything important,” he evaded, tossing a weak smile Coriolanus’ way. He knew that Coriolanus wouldn’t let it go so easily, he was suspicious, he was nosy, he’d proved as much. He knew that Coriolanus had been watching him. How curious, when it was he that used to watch him, back to the Academy. He wished he could tell him, he wished he could tell him badly. There was still a flicker of hope that he might react differently than he had assumed in his head, but it wasn’t very encouraging. He tossed the rock onto the ground again, and tugged at Coriolanus’ dog tag sitting on his chest, playful, nonchalant, appearing nonchalant, anyway. He wished he could take it with him, that dog tag. He looked at Coriolanus — he looked good with the buzzcut, though he missed the curls, too, and his eyes were darker, a bit intimidating, still that beautiful blue.

“I was thinking.. what if I left?” his voice shook a little, “I can’t do this anymore.”

#rimeoverreason #<we keep secrets>

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tawakkull · 2 months ago

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SPIRITUALITY IN ISLAM: PART 34: SPIRITUALITY IN ISLAM: YAQIN (CERTAINTY)

Yaqin (certainty) means having no doubt about the truth of a matter and arriving at accurate, doubtfree knowledge through exact verification. Used also to mean verification, seeking certainty, examining, and exerting strenuous effort to arrive at certainty, certainty is a spiritual station that a traveler on the path has reached and experienced. It is obtained only by those who have an innate capability to progress and develop inwardly. This term is not used for God’s Knowledge, which is infinite and therefore neither increases nor decreases. God does not have a Name by which he is known as “One having certainty or giving certainty.” In addition, certainty is a degree reached through study and verification of something previously doubted. The Divine Being neither doubts nor needs verification.

According to truth-seeking scholars, yaqin means certainty or conviction of the truth expressed in the essentials of faith, including primarily one’s doubt-free belief in God’s Existence and Unity. It is also defined as reaching that conviction through observing or experiencing the originals or truths of those essentials in which regular people believe, and discerning or penetrating the realms beyond this material one.

Certainty may also be regarded as a point, final in one respect and initial in another, reached by using all sources of knowledge and ways of observation and discernment. A traveler who has reached this point frequently sails for what is eternal, realizing ascension in his or her heart and reaching the horizon of: His sight swerved not, nor did it go wrong (53:17). He or she travels amidst Divine manifestations in the material and immaterial realms, and is favored with a tongue to speak, eyes to see, and ears to hear (the truths contained in) the Supreme Sign. That is, repeated observation and study of the book of the universe, of the things and events contained in it, allows the traveler to eternity to perceive the meanings of the inimitable seals on things and events special to God.

By repeatedly observing and reflecting on the scenes presented for study in the outer world as well as in his or her inner world, truths beyond the visible realm are unveiled to the traveler. Also, by living in the brilliant, mysterious climate of Divine Revelation, namely the Qur'an and the Sunna, one feels the manifestation of the Hidden Treasure in his or her heart. The believer becomes aware of and experiences the tokens and signs issuing from the prism of his or her conscience, which reflects the rays of Divine gifts coming from the outer world, his or her inner world, and the Divine Revelation, and sends them to his or her senses and faculties. Certainty, in this meaning and degree, is a gift with which God favors those near to Him.

Even in its least degree, certainty is so strong that it fills the heart with light, removes the mist of doubt from the mind, and causes breezes of joy, satisfaction, and exhilaration to blow in one’s inner world. As pointed out by Dhu al-Nun al-Misri, certainty causes the heart to overflow with the desire to reach eternity. This engenders the desire to live an austere life, for asceticism allows one to think and speak with wisdom. One who takes the wing of asceticism and flies to the realm of wisdom never forgets what the end will be, always thinks of the afterlife, and always feels God’s company, even when with other people.

In the early steps of certainty, the veil between the material and immaterial sides of existence begins to be removed and, a few steps further, the traveler discerns the realm beyond this material world. With his or her heart filled with Divine manifestations, which result in the attainment of peace and satisfaction, the believer is freed absolutely from all doubt about the truths of faith. Like ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib, may God be pleased with him, some who have attained this degree of certainty have declared: Even if the veil between the seen and the Unseen were to lift, my certainty would not increase. A few steps further on is the station where one journeys in the pure realm of Divine gifts, of which eyes have never seen, ears have never heard, or minds have never conceived.

To gain certainty, an initiate beginning the journey must try to do what is necessary to reach it. However, one can only reach this station when God bestows it as a blessing and gift. Without acquiring due knowledge of God, one cannot reach certainty. Knowledge of God is acquired through a correct view of and perspective on things and events; the ability to think in a correct and balanced manner; purity of intention; study of the signs of God’s Existence and Unity; and reflection on His acts and the manifestations of His Names and Attributes. Knowledge of God is a light illuminating the initiate’s inner and outer worlds, a light shining from all corners of existence. Under the rays of this light, the initiate sees everything as it really is and, being freed from the confines of multiplicity (of things and events), discerns Divine Unity and is enraptured with indescribable spiritual pleasure.

Although an initiate may feel uneasy during the early steps of the way to certainty, he or she will be lost in inconceivable pleasure and peace at the end of it. Those who cannot distinguish between what is felt in the beginning and what is experienced at the end wrongly conclude that certainty is risky; however, those who constantly feel God’s company and the resulting spiritual delight enjoy peace and security from all spiritual trouble and possible deviation. Uneasiness and trouble are felt only in the beginning. As for certainty being risky, all stations confront the traveler with some degree of risk. The Prophet, upon him be peace and blessings, declared: Even I would not be able to be saved (from Hellfire or God’s punishment through my own actions), if God did not embrace me in His mercy. As for being secure from trouble and deviation and gaining peace, these are fresh fruits that God causes certainty to yield.

As referred to in some verses of the Qur'an, Sufis classify certainty in the three categories:

- Certainty coming from knowledge: Having a strong, firm belief in or conviction of all the essentials of faith, primarily God’s Existence and Unity, acquired through correct observation and study of the relevant signs and evidence.

- Certainty coming from direct observation or seeing: Having an indescribable degree of certainty and knowledge of God acquired through unveiling and observing the immaterial truths invisible to ordinary believers and on which the essentials of belief are based.

- Certainty coming from direct experience: Being favored with God’s constant company, without any veils and in a way that only the one receiving this favor can perceive. Some have interpreted it as self-annihilation in God and gaining subsistence by Him.

These three degrees of certainty can be summed up in the following example: A person’s knowledge of death (before he or she dies) that is acquired by observing or studying the body in a biological context can be an example of certainty coming from knowledge. Witnessing some metaphysical phenomena, such as seeing the angel who has come to remove one’s soul and catching glimpses of the intermediate world of the grave, may be regarded as a kind of certainty coming from direct observation. The certainty gained by actually experiencing death is a certainty coming from direct experience.

Certainty about abstract truths, such as the nature of God’s Names and Attributes coming from direct observation, for example, pertains to one’s personal experience. It is therefore beyond my ability to explain.

#allah #god #islam #muslim #quran #revert #convert #convert islam #revert islam #revert help #revert help team #help #islam help #converthelp #how to convert to islam #convert to islam #welcome to islam

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spacetimewithstuartgary · 3 months ago

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A magnetic halo in the Milky Way: New discoveries about galactic outflows

A new study led by the National Institute for Astrophysics (INAF), and with contributions from Radboud University's Marijke Haverkorn, has unveiled significant insights into the Milky Way: a magnetized galactic halo.

This discovery challenges previous models of our galaxy's structure and evolution. Researchers have identified several magnetized structures extending far above and below the galactic plane (reaching heights of more than 16,000 light-years or 150 quadrillion kilometers), revealing one of the origins of the so-called eROSITA Bubbles, which are large-scale powered by intense outflows of gas and energy that are also being generated by the explosive death of stars in supernovae.

Remarkably, these bubbles—observed by the eROSITA satellite (an X-ray telescope on board the Russian-German space mission Spectr-Roentgen-Gamma SRG)—stretch across the sky from horizon to horizon, providing the first detailed measurements of the Milky Way's magnetic halo. These results were published today (Sept. 23) in Nature Astronomy.

The study discloses that the magnetic fields within these bubbles are highly organized, forming thin filamentary structures. These filaments stretch up to around 150 times the full moon's diameter, showing their immense scale. The filaments are related to the hot winds with a temperature of 3.5 million Kelvin, ejected from the galactic Disk and powered by star-forming regions.

He-Shou Zhang, the first author of the article and a researcher at INAF, highlights that "our results find that intense star formation at the end of the galactic bar contributes significantly to these expansive, multiphase outflows."

He adds, "This work provides the first detailed measurements of the magnetic fields in the Milky Way's X-ray emitting halo and uncovers new connections between star-forming activities and galactic outflows. Our findings show that the magnetic ridges we observed are not just coincidental structures but are closely related to the star-forming regions in our galaxy."

Galactic bar

The research team used a comprehensive multi-wavelength survey, covering frequencies from radio to gamma-rays, to analyze these structures. This detailed approach allowed them to confirm the extended nature of these magnetic features and their association with galactic feedback processes. Notably, the study represents the first observational evidence linking the Milky Way's star-forming ring at the end of the galactic bar with the formation of large-scale galactic outflows.

"This study marks a significant step forward in our understanding of the Milky Way," Gabriele Ponti from INAF says. "It is well established that a small fraction of 'active' galaxies can launch outflows, powered by accretion onto supermassive black holes or starbursts events, which profoundly impact their host galaxy.

"It is believed that such outflows are fundamental ingredients to regulate the growth of galaxies and the black holes at their centers. What is fascinating to me here is that we see that the Milky Way, a quiescent galaxy like many others, can also eject powerful outflows and, in particular, that the star-forming ring at the end of the galactic bar contributes significantly to the galactic outflow.

"Maybe the Milky Way reveals a phenomenon common in Milky Way-like galaxies, therefore helping us shed light on these objects' growth.

This work was possible using more than 10 different all-sky surveys, covering frequencies from radio waves to gamma rays. He-Shou Zhang concludes, "Our work is a timely result. It is the first comprehensive multi-wavelength study for the eROSITA Bubbles since their discovery in 2020.

"The study opens up new frontiers in our understanding of the galactic halo and will help our knowledge of the Milky Way's complex and impetuous star-forming ecosystem."

IMAGE: Energy sources of the Galactic outflows. Credit: Nature Astronomy (2024). DOI: 10.1038/s41550-024-02362-0

#science #space #astronomy #physics #news #astrophysics

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cluelessteam · 1 year ago

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Eternal Harmony: {~Whispers of the Future~}

Summary: Y/N's ordinary life takes a supernatural twist when they encounter the mysterious Cullen family in Forks. Immersed in a world of eternal love and trials, Y/N becomes a vital part of the Cullens' immortal story. Guided by Alice's visions and Jasper's wisdom, they face cosmic threats and navigate the complexities of supernatural existence. The story unfolds through eclipses of emotions and trials, culminating in a dawn where enduring bonds and love echo through the ages—a forever-bound journey in the supernatural realm.

Characters: The Cullen family

Pairing: Jasper x Reader x Alice

Warnings: No Warnings

Word Count: 522

Chapter 3 --- Chapter 4

The meadow, bathed in the soft glow of the waning sunlight, felt like a sanctuary frozen in time. The rustling leaves overhead created a gentle symphony, and the distant murmur of the hidden stream added a soothing undertone to the atmosphere. As the Cullen family gathered, the air buzzed with an anticipation that transcended the boundaries of mortal understanding.

Alice, with her radiant smile, gestured towards Y/N. "Let me share some glimpses of the future with you." Her eyes unfocused for a moment, and the air seemed to shimmer with unseen visions. "I see moments, threads of destiny woven into the tapestry of time," she mused, her words carrying an ethereal quality.

Images flashed before Y/N's eyes—scenes of shared laughter, moments of profound connection, and challenges yet to unfold. It was as if the very fabric of destiny unfolded before them, revealing a path intricately intertwined with the fates of the Cullen family.

Edward, his golden eyes reflecting the wisdom of centuries, leaned in. "Alice's visions guide us, warn us. They are the whispers of the future."

Jasper, attuned to the emotions in the air, added, "We navigate the complexities of immortality with the knowledge that Alice provides. It's both a gift and a responsibility."

Y/N, caught between the allure of the supernatural and the weight of newfound knowledge, couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. "What do these visions reveal about me?" they inquired, their gaze shifting between the members of the Cullen family.

Alice's eyes met Y/N's with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the veil of reality. "Your presence is a catalyst for change, a divergence in the timeline that brings both challenge and growth. Embrace the uncertainty, for it is the very essence of our existence."

The meadow fell into a contemplative silence, each member of the Cullen family lost in their thoughts. The whispers of the future lingered in the air, leaving an indelible mark on the unfolding narrative.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the meadow, Carlisle, the patriarch, spoke with a measured tone. "Y/N, you're now a part of a family that spans generations. Our lives are intertwined in ways that go beyond the ordinary bonds of kinship. Embrace the journey, for it is both unique and eternal."

Esme, with a gentle smile, added, "You've entered a world where love knows no bounds. Each member of this family contributes to the melody that defines our existence."

The Cullens, standing in a tableau against the fading light, seemed to embody the duality of their existence—immortal beings navigating the intricacies of life, love, and destiny.

As the meadow embraced the tranquil stillness of the night, Y/N couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude. The whispers of the future had unveiled a path shrouded in mystery, and with each passing moment, the threads of their destiny wove tighter, creating a tapestry that spanned both time and eternity. Little did Y/N know that the choices made in the coming days would echo through the ages, shaping the very fabric of their immortal existence.

#Twilight #Edward Cullen #Alice Cullen #Emmet Cullen #Bella Cullen #Rosalie Hale #Jasper Hale #Carlisle Cullen #Esme Cullen #Fanfic #jasper x reader #alice x reader #Jasper x Alice #jasper x reader x alice

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satoshi-mochida · 7 months ago

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Roguelike action game AVA and the Half-World announced for PC

From Gematsu

French developer Bread Panda has announced AVA and the Half-World, a roguelike action game coming to PC via Steam. A release date was not announced.

Here is an overview of the game, via its Steam page:

About

Face a horizon of forgotten myths, sunken relics, and mysterious creatures! Fly, shoot and explore your way up the Sidereal Riptide, a dark expanse of water and the cradle of infinite drifting islands. Born in the heart of the Sidereal Riptide, AVA is destined to vanish with the rest of the world. Face the wind and sail onward, anchor down on any land you find, shoot down the creatures that arise and collect artifacts and knowledge to trace your path up to the end of the world. With each expedition, the path becomes clearer, the Riptide evolves and harbors new uncharted islands. An adventure that blends ultra satisfying 2D shooter, rewarding exploration and the thrill of roguelite endless possibilities.

Key Features

Sail Onward – As the world shatters and drifts, no one knows what lurks in the Riptide. Explore its many ways to find answers and unveil its mysteries further with each attempt. Inspired by roguelites and adventure games, each expedition is unique and comes with its lot of surprising events!

Discover Breathtaking Islands – Blast through stunning environments, each hand-made to be filled with spectacular events, challenging encounters and a dash of randomness. Take in the atmosphere of every island in the Riptide, brought to life with hand-drawn visuals and composed in a unique way to bring depth to every frame.

Take Aim of Your Fate – AVA is a nimble fighter who can fly and handle a multitude of weapons with their own behaviors. Defy gravity through intense encounters, run, fly and take aim to take down waves of enemies.

Face the Odds – Collect artifacts along the way and choose which to keep and which to return to the Riptide. Gather weapons, relics, and catalysts to forge your own fighting style. Measure up against dozens of ruthless bosses, chart your discoveries, and reach the end of the world.

Watch the announcement trailer below. View the first screenshots at the gallery.

Announce Trailer

youtube

#AVA and the Half-World #Bread Panda #roguelike #action game #Gematsu #Youtube

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eduardo-irl-tehe · 1 year ago

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I got Chatgpt to make a story for Markuardo

In a cozy corner of a vibrant city, nestled between towering bookshelves and colorful canvases, lived Eduardo, a passionate artist whose studio was his sanctuary. Eduardo was known for his mesmerizing paintings that danced with hues and emotions, captivating anyone who laid eyes on them.

One rainy afternoon, Eduardo stumbled upon an old, dusty bookstore tucked away in an alley. There, among the pages and shelves, he met Mark, a devoted bookworm whose curiosity matched Eduardo's artistic spirit. Their worlds collided as Mark enthusiastically shared his favorite books, while Eduardo unveiled the stories hidden within his paintings.

Their connection was instant, a meeting of hearts and minds that transcended the pages of books and the strokes of a brush. Mark found himself enchanted by Eduardo's art, while Eduardo admired Mark's voracious appetite for knowledge.

As their bond deepened, they created a world where imagination and intellect intertwined. Eduardo's studio became a haven where Mark found inspiration in the colors that adorned the walls. In turn, Mark introduced Eduardo to literary wonders, expanding his artistic horizons.

Their love flourished, and one sunny afternoon, they decided to expand their little family. They adopted a playful pup from a local shelter, naming him Doguardo—a tribute to their union and their shared journey.

Together, they embarked on adventures, exploring the city's hidden gems, reading stories under the shade of ancient trees, and painting vivid memories on the canvas of their lives. Doguardo, with his nubbed wagging tail and boundless energy, became the heart of their home, a constant reminder of their love and commitment to each other.

As they painted their dreams onto the canvas of their shared life, Eduardo and Mark realized that their greatest masterpiece was the love they nurtured—a beautiful blend of colors, words, and the unwavering loyalty of Doguardo. Their story was a testament to the transformative power of love, art, and the joy found in simple moments shared with those who fill our lives with boundless happiness.

#eddsworld #eddsworld mark #mark eddsworld #eduardo eddsworld #eddsworld eduardo #ew eduardo #ew mark #markuardo #mark x eduardo #Eduardo x Mark

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vaultscavver · 1 year ago

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wasteland, baby!

falloutober days four and five: DADDY-O & THIS THING CALLED DEFEAT ( 3.8k / eventual sole x hancock x maccready )

a/n: i'm so so late but i'm catching up! here's a well due day four, with an included day five :) this chapter is dialogue-heavy but i tried to smoothen the pace a bit just to make it easier to read, but there still might be a few mispellings and weird spacings because i was rushing to post. enjoy! xx, scavver

synopsis — a few weeks into traveling together, nora discovers that this arrangement means more than just caps to her new bodyguard-turned-friend and doesn't quite know what to make of his unveiled story.

─ ─── ──── ─── ♠ ─── ──── ─── ─

"More caps, huh, hotshot?"

MacCready rolled his eyes at her over the corpse he was looting. "Is there a reason you're bringing this up again?"

Huffing a laugh, Nora didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. She just rocked her head back, resting it against the metal beam behind her, looking out at the view of the wasteland. Miles and miles of dead grass and dry trees, lit with the dim orange glow of the wasteland's sunset sky, the sun so large and bright against the horizon that it washed the world in a warm glow that shone through the heavy clouds and the layer of fog that sat upon the world like a blanket.

Atop Mass Pike Interchange, the overpass crumbling around them, they could even see the distant lights of Diamond City, the ballpark so alit that it looked like boasting. They had more electricity than they knew what to do with, and yet the majority of what was left of Boston was left starving and freezing as winter rolled in.

Around Nora and MacCready, the corpses of a dozen Gunners were sprawled around the overpass, still-warm blood pooling out onto what used to be a busy bridge.

"I thought it would be a harder fight." Nora admitted, adjusting her gasmask. "Especially with that robot."

"The assaultron? Yeah, it was probably the most dangerous thing here." MacCready stood and dusted off his beige duster, counting the bottlecaps as he dropped them into his old military backpack.

"Winlock and Barnes, though… they couldn't kill a squirrel with a rocket launcher."

Nora snorted as Mac fell next to her, the two of them perched on a broken slab of concrete. They'd been travelling together for weeks, and she'd more than paid off his two-hundred cap fee, but he was still scrounging for every cap they could get their hands on.

And Kellogg was still out there.

The thought was a constant weight on Nora's mind; she'd found him easily enough, with the help of Valentine and the inside knowledge from Hancock, who seemed to know everything about everyone in the Commonwealth. They'd tracked him down to an old military bunker, but they had been unable to win the fight against his army of synths. Evacuating the building was one of the hardest pills for Nora to swallow. Admitting that she wasn't capable of finding and saving her son was too much to bear, so much that she couldn't even face Valentine or Hancock again.

They'd understood when she told them to go back to their homes, but they hadn't wanted her to travel alone, so they had instructed her to track down RJ MacCready, a relatively loyal hired gun, which seemed to be rare in the Commonwealth. Hancock himself had said that Mac had good aim, a good heart, and wouldn't choose a higher bidder over Nora… probably. So long as she told him about her son.

Apparently, he had a soft spot for kids that ran deeper than his greed.

"Impressed yet?" The merc in question knocked his shoulder against hers, pulling her out of her worrying. MacCready always seemed to know when Nora was overthinking. "I told you I was a damn good shot."

Nora rested her weight against him, head lulling back against his shoulder, her tired eyes drifting closed. She'd learned early on that he was just as touch starved as she was, and as their friendship grew, she found it easier and easier to be comfortable leaned or pressed against him, knowing that if he had a problem with it, he would always tell her. "I dunno. Haven't really noticed."

"Oh, come on! You've got to know talent when you see it!"

"Mhm. Guess so."

"There it is. Wasn't too hard to admit, was it?"

Laughing, Nora picked herself up and turned towards him, his crooked smile a familiar sight through the circles of her mask.

"Actually, I am impressed."

His smile faltered. He turned to his gangly fingers, suddenly flustered, and started fiddling with a cap, voice weak. "Yeah. I thought you might be. I'm… I'm completely self-taught, you know. Picked up a sniper rifle when I was ten and never looked back. Always thought it was smarter to hit my targets long-range. I mean, why take chances, right? Besides, I had to come up with every trick in the book to survive the Capital Wasteland."

Sensing his mood shift, Nora matched his posture, her elbows on her knees as she leaned forward, head ducked close to his. She tried to joke around again, to take them back to the lightheartedness they had before. "I'm sure your parents were thrilled with that hobby."

"Never knew my parents."

"…Oh."

"I was born in the wastes. It…" He turned to her, searching her mask for an expression he'd never see. "It wasn't so bad. I wasn't alone. I grew up in an underground place called Little Lamplight with a bunch of other kids. Left there when I was around sixteen. We had a policy… no adults. When you were sixteen, you packed up and left. It sounds crazy, but having adults around was something those kids couldn't trust."

Nora's heart constricted in her chest, squeezing with worry for tiny children with weapons, forced to survive and live in a big, scary apocalypse. "How could kids survive without help?"

"Everyone pulled their own weight, just like any colony. We had jobs and we watched each other's backs. Can you believe I was actually their mayor for a while? Me?" He scoffed out a laugh, a nostalgic smile pulling at his mouth. "Sounds crazy, I know. But everything is. Nothing makes sense anymore. We just… roll with the punches. Always have, always will."

"Pretty brave, a bunch of kids living alone like that."

"I dunno." MacCready squinted into the distance, the sunset lighting his sea storm eyes into melted honey, casting a warm glow over him. When he spoke again, his voice was rough, like he had to force the words out. "I think we were just lucky."

Silent, Nora stayed as still as possible. She often felt like her and MacCready understood each other on a level that shouldn't have been possible. He was a hired gun from some underground club, and she was a pre-war lawyer thrust out of time on a manhunt for her son's kidnapper. But there were too many layers to both of them, too many similarities next to wide, abstract differences.

Clearing his throat, MacCready looked down, tugging his hat lower, casting a long shadow over his face. "Anyway, when I hit sixteen I ended up wandering the capital for a while, taking odd jobs here and there. But things were pretty hot with the Brotherhood of Steel running the show, so I hitched a ride with a caravan and made my way north until I ended up here and heard the Gunners needed some sharpshooters. Biggest mistake of my life. They were animals, killing anything that got in their way. I… Well, I went with it for a while because the caps were good, but, I dunno, I guess it all started to catch up with me. So I quit. Which… pretty much brings us to now. And that's… my whole life in a nutshell, I guess."

Not knowing what to say, Nora looped her arm around his, intertwining their fingers. It wasn't a foreign movement; she often held his hand, especially when she got too freaked out around ferals, or when she couldn't sleep and needed reassurance that she wasn't alone.

He turned their hands, running his thumb across her pale knuckles, red and raw even from the gloves she'd been wearing, now strewn on the rubble-covered ground in front of her, covered in the blood of a dead Gunner. After a long moment, he turned back to her mask, his voice quiet. "I don't… I haven't been able to rely on anyone since I was a kid. Everyone has either ripped me off or tried to plant a knife in my back. But you…"

"Me?" Her voice was too-quiet, rough as the word choked out.

"You're different. We see eye-to-eye on almost everything." A slow smile grew on his lips, the light returning to his eyes. "I have a funny feeling you actually care about what happens to me."

"Don't get cocky, 'Cread." She smiled too, even though he couldn't see it. "But... even though you're an ass, the road can be a lonely place. I'm glad to have met someone to share it with. Being alone scares the shit out of me."

"I know." He squeezed her hand, "I'm beginning to realize how much I missed having someone around that I can depend on. I… I couldn't have done this without you."

They both turned to look at the carnage before them. Nora rested her head back on MacCready's shoulder. "Do you think they'll retaliate?"

"No. There's nothing to worry about. For the Gunners, it's always about the bottom line. They just lost an entire waystation and that's costing them big. Besides, they have no way of knowing I was involved. Everyone who knew my name is dead."

They both went quiet again.

Nora couldn't articulate just how much his word struck her like a stake to the heart, ripping her apart from the inside out. Everyone who knew my name is dead. Did her son ever know her name? Was he even alive, out there in the wastes?

"Anyway," MacCready said quickly, pulling his hand from hers. "I owe you a favor. You're the one who hired me, but I dragged you all the way out here."

"You don't have to. It's okay."

"Nah, I don't like these things hanging over my head. Tell you what, I'm giving you back the caps you promised me in Goodneighbor." He dug around in his pack while Nora sat, speechless. Pulling out an old lunchbox that rattled as he sat it on her lap. "I'll still stick with you, but now we're even."

Shaking her head, she pushed the box back to his hands, "You don't— you don't owe me anything—"

"I'd like to keep everything nice and even."

Forcibly putting the box back into his military bag, Nora just kept shaking her head. "You don't owe me anything. How about you just buy me a drink, Hotshot? It's not like I was about to let you have all this fun alone anyway."

He laughed, giving in and letting her situate the caps back into his bag. "Glad you enjoyed yourself. Lead on, Boss."

~~~

MacCready always knew where to get the best drinks. It was probably Nora's favorite thing about traveling with him.

The Dugout Inn, a little bar and hotel in Diamond City, was run by the Bobrov Brothers, Vadim and Yefim. Vadim, who ran the bar, snuck MacCready two bottles of his specially distilled "Bobrov's Best", which was the strongest moonshine Nora had ever tasted.

The building was in the city's southern dugout, a single-floor structure with a lobby bar and several rooms. A wanted was posted on the wall by the entrance corridor leading to the lobby, where Vadim's bar was located, it up with a single lightbulb. To the left was another hallway leading to the bedrooms that Yefim ran, and to the left was a small area with closely packed tables and a loud radio playing some sad repeats of old songs. A few city residents loitered, drinking and talking softly, each looking exhausted and scared to make too much noise.

Beyond the tables, farther to the right, was the illuminated kitchen where fluorescent lighting pooled out, reflecting off the cracked tile flooring and catching on every metallic surface in the lobby. But, tucked away in a dark corner was a faded corduroy sofa, the faded brown and red fibers patched and stitched up in multiple places. It was away from everything else but not isolated, just a private little couch where two friends could share moonshine and softly spoken words.

"Swindled your way into another one?" Nora asked with a quiet laugh as MacCready came stumbling back over to that brown and red couch where they had been loitering for the past hour.

His shins bumped into the coffee table, and he cursed reflexively and nearly dropped the two blue bottles he held. Shushing himself, he fell onto the musty sofa next to Nora, nearly sitting on top of her, sending them both into another fit of giggles.

Watching MacCready struggle to uncap his third bottle of Bobrov's Best, Nora fought back more laughter.

She had removed her coat and gloves, leaving her in just her mask and blue jumpsuit, her Pip-Boy heavy on her left wrist, the green glow dimmed in the low light. She'd been drinking through an oddly bent metal straw just so that she could keep her gasmask on, but the straw just made the unholy flavor of Bobrov's Best somehow worse, the moonshine burning down her throat and settling uneasily in her stomach.

"Freakin' finally." MacCready grumbled as he finally got the cap off, taking a heavy gulp as Nora was sent into another fit of giggles.

"Cursing doesn't offend me, yanno." She teased, rolling the lukewarm glass bottle between her bare hands.

MacCready's smile fell, eyes becoming distant as his entire being seemed to darken, to sober up in seconds. "Didn't think it did."

"Hm… then you ought to let it go once in a while. It's good for the soul."

He snorted, half-turning to her and searching the lenses of her mask. He slung his legs over her knees, leaning against the sofa's back with a false look of comfort. "Believe me, I know."

Nora tried not to get too jittery at the heaviness of his legs over hers. "Then why…?"

"I figured you'd ask sooner or later." With a huff, MacCready leaned back and ran a hand through his hair, knocking his hat askew. The two bullets tucked into the rim gleamed in the dim light. "I… It's not about you, I just…"

He fell silent, hand covering his eyes as he mulled over his words. Slowly, he straightened on the couch, pulling his leg from hers and putting distance between them. One of his hands formed a fist and rested against his collarbone. Like the alcohol had risen from his stomach and was filling his chest, drowning his heart. Like he couldn't fake the comfort anymore. Like he was too drunk to pretend that he wasn't in pain.

Nora didn't press for answers. She took a glance around, taking in the peeling paint on the walls and the few patrons that lounged around, each looking more miserable than the last. The radio was buzzing lightly, filling the room with the sound of a young man sounding way too awkward for his occupation as a radio host.

"It's about a promise I made." MacCready finally managed to say, lifting his moonshine to his lips again. "When I left the Capital Wasteland, I didn't just leave Little Lamplight behind… I left my family. My actual family. A wife, a son. Duncan's the one I made the promise to. I told him I'd clean up my act and be a better person." Laughing hollowly at himself, MacCready heavily sat the bottle down on the coffee table in front of them. "I guess that sounds pretty stupid coming from a guy who shoots for a living."

A cold feeling rose through Nora, the hairs on her arms standing up. Bile overtook the flavor of moonshine in her throat. The blue bottle felt too heavy in her hands, and as she set it on the table next to MacCready's, her hands shook.

He had a family. A family waiting for him at home while he spent weeks at Nora's side, helping her hunt down her own son while abandoning his own. He had a wife, but he'd slept next to Nora for weeks, sometimes so close that they'd wake up curled around each other — and she didn't know much about apocalyptic society and their rules, but Nora was pretty sure that they had crossed more than a few lines in their weeks together.

His son… holy shit, he'd left his kid behind. Nora was tearing apart the entire fucking world looking for her son, but MacCready had just left his own. Was it for greed? For the caps? Did the Gunners really pay that well?

The irony pulled a startling laugh from Nora's chest, the moonshine making her unable to bite it down.

MacCready tensed, just as drunk as she was but handling it easier. "You think this is funny?"

"Yeah, I do." Nora's modulated voice was deeper through her mask, and as she laughed through her icy rage, she sounded utterly mechanical. "You left your kid at the capital, hundreds of miles away? You just left him?"

"I didn't have much of a choice!" MacCready threw his hands up as he spoke, face flooding red. "Duncan is sick! I don't know what's wrong with him, nobody does!"

"So your solution was just to run away? To leave?" Nora's voice was rising, and her entire posture stiff and tense, a million uncertainties running through her. She thought she knew MacCready. She thought she had a solid grip on his character — but now her memories of Nate were clouding her judgement; every anger she'd held onto regarding her dead husband leaving her alone with a newborn was resurfacing. How dare he leave her? How dare MacCready leave his own family? What if MacCready died out here, like Nate had died? What if MacCready's family never got to see him again, just like how Nora had never seen Nate again?

MacCready's hat was off. He ran both hands through his hair in a lame attempt of self-soothing.

Nora fought to keep her voice down, body heat rising as she drowned in too many emotions to handle, especially after two bottles of specially distilled moonshine. Her voice was a gravelly whisper when she finally managed to speak, "You left your family behind to come fuck around with raiders in Boston?"

A sudden sob tore out of MacCready.

Nora froze, her anger freezing with her.

Wiping at his eyes in frustration, MacCready was trembling. She'd never seen him cry before.

Yell, yes, and get annoyed and frustrated with her at what felt like every turn and every mistake until they both got more comfortable around each other. He'd once gone a whole two days without saying a single word to her. He'd once threatened to leave her in a hoard of ferals because she'd dropped her gun. He'd been cruel, frustrating, rude, greedy, and as they warmed up to each other in the last few weeks, he'd shown her a softer side, a funnier side, a happier side of himself that he kept hidden under layers of green turtlenecks and sniper rifles. But she'd never seen him cry.

His voice was uneven when he finally managed to speak. "I don't… I don't know how much longer he has. Every doctor I've talked to has been useless. Nobody's even heard of his disease, I've… I've done everything I can think of, hired a hundred doctors that ask for too many fuckin' caps just to tell me that they don't know how to help. And Duncan… One day he's playing out in the fields behind our farm, and the next he took a fever and this blue rash showed up all over his body. Last I saw, he was too weak to walk. I couldn't ask him to come with me. I wouldn't dare travel with him and risk worsening whatever the hell's going on."

"I…" Chest aching, Nora tried to piece together what he was telling her, quickly realizing that her perception and understanding didn't matter. He was hurting, his son was hurting, possibly even dying. Nora's judgement meant nothing compared to those stakes. She might not ever find her own son, but if she could help MacCready save Duncan… "I'm so sorry, 'Cready. What can we do?"

He looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes, his baby blues so wide and hopeful that it chiseled at some icy part of the iceberg in Nora's chest. "You're serious?"

"Yes. Whatever you need, I'm there."

"I need someone like you." He blurted, still drunk as he clumsily grabbed her hands and squeezed with both of his. "You've already done so much for me, I… I feel horrible asking for more, but if you're willing to risk it, I'd be… I'd be really grateful."

Maybe she'd never get her baby back. But MacCready could get his. All of their abstract similarities started making sense, like a puzzle piece coming together. "How risky?"

"It's no walk in the park," He breathed, "If it was easy, I would've done it already."

"Count me in, partner."

He grinned, wide and slow, turning to his military bag and pulling out a bundle of papers. "A few months before we met, I bumped into a guy called Sinclair who claimed his buddy caught some kind of disease. I thought he was wasting my time until he said his partner broke out into blue boils. They dug up information about a cure at a place called Med-Tek Research. They even managed to grab the building's lockdown security codes, but Sinclair's buddy died before they were able to break into the facility. I mean, there's no way that's a coincidence, right? Med-Tek has to be the place!"

"I hope so." Nora squeezed his wrist as he gave her a pile of papers held together with a rubber band. "If there's a cure, we'll find it." His shoulders relaxed, and he rushed to wipe at his eyes again. Nora pretended she didn't see him cry. "Thanks, partner. For Duncan's sake, I hope so too."

Knowing how it felt to abandon her hunt for Kellogg after being attacked by a swarm of synths, Nora bit the inside of her cheek, hoping that MacCready never has to feel like that. "Just… Let's not get our hopes up too much, okay? This could be a dead end."

"I've been disappointed so many times in the past, nothing gets my hopes up anymore." He retrieved his bottle and took a long drink. "What you're doing, Noor… No one's ever cared that much for me in years. At least, not without expecting something in return."

What about your wife? Nora wanted to ask, but kept her mouth shut.

"Even if it takes the rest of my life, I'll repay this debt to you. I swear it."

Not looking at him, Nora unbound the papers and glanced through them at the clumsy handwriting she knew to be MacCready's, at all the notes he'd taken on Med-Tek and of Duncan's illness, of any hint of a cure and of the letters Sinclair wrote to him.

Some of the pages were scrawled with what looked like crayon drawings done by a child, of a tall man in green next to a small boy in yellow.

And, again, Nora squeezed MacCready's wrist, saying the same words she felt like she'd be saying for years to come. "You don't owe me anything, MacCready."

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