#also we were fighting for our lives to not fall in that mud

[claudeleine]

went thru a cornmaze in the rain last night with one friend while the rest of our group did the haunted one. but we had the scarier experience bc there was a fawking child scurrying around in the god damn mud ahead of us like something out of a horror movie 😭

[etheries1015]

We all always do General Lilia with Human Reader but NEVER

General Lilia and Fae Reader

What you gon do? Spit out another angst right in my face? Come fight me coward

My first thought to this was to raise an eyebrow and inquire: "How could that possibly be angsty? Fae Lilia falling in love with Fae reader, they could live their lives out the way they want, and have ample time to bask in one another company! Doesn't this sound like the perfect win-win scenario?"

But then it hit me like a truck.

General Lilia X Fae! Reader - The fae with a dream

General warnings: Gender-neutral reader, angst w/ no comfort. Not proofread. slightly rushed ending..? let me know if you have suggestions and I can update and edit accordingly.

TW: Morbid descriptions of Death, emetophobia. Please make me aware if I missed anything and I shall update this section.

General Lilia was used to seeing death all around him. Humans and fae alike fallen into the fire of war losing their lives for...what? Power over one another? A battle of whose race is superior? Seemingly meaningless in the end, for why should the fae fight to prove their worth to live equally in a world where humans simply feared their magic and mystery? That's what made Fae beautiful, after all. And if the humans could just come to understand that their magic isn't all that heinous, perhaps they could find peace with their existence.

That was what you had said, at least.

"All this fighting is just so...pointless," You sighed to the general in your shared camp, "If all they fear is our magic, don't you think we should have some sort of civil conversation to-"

"(y/n)." Lilia sternly said, a scowl on his lips telling you all you really need to know with his displeasure of the topic, "Humans will never understand us. They fear us, and that's all the reason they need to kill our people. Do not try and speak words of peace when they obviously have no interest in hearing us out." You bit your lip to hold back the words of disagreement, something so like you. Always a peace maker, not wanting confrontation, especially not with him.

But he also knew better than anyone just how reckless you can get to obtain that peace, every day that passes by he wishes you spoke to him first before jumping into the noble idea that ultimately took your life.

He noticed the way you fought became sloppy, he could tell you were holding back your magical abilities in some sick and twisted mercy for the humans. He admired how strongly you dreamed of a world where the two races could live in peace, but he was disappointed in how naive and stupid you were to hold back during a battle for your life and the lives of your comrades. The general made certain to make you aware your actions had consequences, breaking your heart in the process.

The long-haired male looked down at you in distaste, blood red eyes squinting in authority and lips tilted in a disgusted frown as he grabbed you by the back of your hair and roughly pushed you into the tent. You let out a feeble cry mix of shock and pain, tears pouring down your mud-stained cheeks as the rough force of his push left you plummeting to the ground.

"Your actions as of late have been incredibly foolish and put the entire army at risk, (y/n)," He growled, "What were you thinking? Sneaking off with a human?! Do not think I have not noticed this past month what you have been up to," His voice raised in fury, a low growl the back of his throat, "Why can't you understand that they don't-"

"They do care!" You cried out, "Lilia, please! T-they just need-"

"They need to back down from the war and stop slaughtering our people. If they cannot do that, then I need you to fight by my side, as my subordinate. Do not forget who your leader is here. I am your general, and you abide by my orders. If you continue to deliberately go against what we stand for, I have no choice but to remove you from this battle and banish you to scullery work. Humans do not care about peace, they do not want peace, and they have no intention of doing so. What in your right mind makes you think you could change that outcome? You are nothing but an easy target for them to potentially squeeze information out of. Nothing less, nothing more. Do you understand?"

Lilias heart broke at the sight of you remaining on the ground, slowly sitting up and nodding with the light in your eyes fading. He felt a knife twist in the pit of his stomach and thought back to a conversation he had with Baul the previous night.

"You give (y/n) far too much leeway! I'm sure you've noticed, but the past month they have been participating in sneaking away to talk to some...humans.

"I'm aware, Baul. I've been following them and listening in on their conversations from afar." Lilia grunted, prodding away at the fire. His companion scoffed at this revelation, raising angry eyebrows and pointing an accusing finger towards the General.

"You were aware of this?! Why have you not stopped it sooner? Are you agreeing with their silly fantasy of changing the hearts of humans and making peace with those...things?" His voice raised in agitation. Lilia avoided his gaze, for he knew Baul had a point.

"I understand your concerns, however, They truly have the intention of changing their hearts, and if anyone could, I want to believe in (y/n). They are very persuasive, and perhaps this war..."

"Will never end until the humans surrender. Lilia, You are allowing your feelings for (y/n) to severely cloud your judgment! We both know that stupid fae is too trusting for their own good. This could compromise our position, and I don't trust them to keep their mouth shut."

"I have it handled-"

"Do you?" Baul interrupted, standing up, "Because it seems to me you are failing your duty as the general of the fae army right now. Failing our queen, failing Meleanor. Have you forgotten which side you are on? How many of our people died by their hands? And you wish to believe a singular fae with silly dreams could possibly persuade them to put this war to an end?" Lilia kept his mouth shut, staring at the fire before him, hunched over as his partner walked past him.

"The general I follow does not show mercy for humans, nor allows his heart to be swayed by such drivel. I sincerely hope you take care of this issue before I handle it myself."

Lilia had told himself it was better this way, to straighten you out with harsh words in hopes to dissuade you from becoming overzealous and taking advantage of his obvious favoritism towards you. He had to draw a line; you were an important part of his army and to him. He couldn't risk losing you, someone who has stayed by his side from day one.

Sighing with frustration for himself and the situation, Lilia walked up to your silently crying figure and bent down, pressing his forehead against yours attempting to pull your gaze towards his own.

"I can't lose you," He whispered, eyes peering into yours wide with concern, "Please, please understand where I am coming from. You are the only family I know. Think of Levan, and Meleanor. Think of the Valley. Think of our home, our people, and...our future together," His voice trembled slightly, coming out almost in a begging tone. You bit your lip and swallowed a sob, taking a shaky breath in and reaching your hands up to cup his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," you whispered back, a moment of silence reigning.

He knew something was wrong the second you said that. You apologized, not as if you were guilty for your actions, but as if you were saying...goodbye. He could feel it deeply in the pit of his stomach that if he let go in this moment, if he allowed you to leave, he would never see you again. in a final desperate attempt he breathed in sharply before in a boost of confidence roughly pressing his lips against your own, ignoring the yelp of surprise escaping your mouth. You soon found yourself kissing him back with equal force, the sob that you held back coming to the surface as you cried into the kiss and salty tears pouring down your eyes and mixing with the passion. Lilia pulled away and pressed his forehead against yours once more, interlocking his fingers with yours. You continued to cry.

"We're going to make it out of this war together, right?" His voice cracked, "We-we're...we're going to live the rest of our lives together and happy in the valley with Levan and Meleanor, and we're going to meet Malleus together, right?" When you didn't reply and simply dug your head into the crook of his shoulder, the general held you tightly with his rough embrace and simply allowed silence to overcome. There wasn't anything left to say.

It was inevitable for him to let you go and return to his duties. He was general, after all, which meant plenty of meetings and strategy planning had to be done, as well as updates to the queen. You had said your goodbyes, stars had completely painted the sky and the sun fully set to rest. While returning to the camp, Lilia had a strong uneasy feeling as the events that transpired prior to his departure left his heart in a state of unrest and beating frantically, as if trying to tell the General something.

That unsettling feeling was confirmed when you were nowhere to be found, and you hadn't been seen for the past few hours when he had left. Angered at the lack of information and of the unknown variables, Lilia barked orders for everyone to disperse and try and find where you might have wandered off to. Many disagreed with this; stating that fae wandering off was not uncommon, that you were able to protect yourself, that perhaps in the morning they would search. Baul, in respect of Lilia, had been the only one to agree although reluctantly to involve himself in the search of where you had gone.

Light touched the forest before you were found.

dead.

I could go into gruesome detail, but I shall spare the details. All you need to understand is how it stood; a truly disgusting and unruly sight. The way you were placed was almost as if they were being taunted, and mocked. You were almost used as a morbid warning from the humans, it was a disgusting and disrespectful way to die. Baul and Lilia stared in absolute horror at your lifeless body, jaw ajar and heart racing faster than it ever had before. He thought about how mere hours ago his lips were upon yours, you were safe in his tight grasp, nodding in understanding as he listed off the ways in which you would live your long life together, making it past this horrible war.

Even the General could not hold back the urge to vomit, doubling over in pain and anguish as his throat burned and eyes blurry with tears. Baul had to look away, tears pricking the side of his eyes and biting his bottom lip to prevent himself from sharing the same fate Lilia had. You were gone, and there was nothing else to do but scream.

The second to worst part of this was returning to the camp, without you following him as you normally would. The generals eyes were truly dark and empty this time, heading directly to his tent. The same tent he had chastised you in, hoping to avoid this exact situation. He kept repeating in his head the ways in which the two of you would have lived together. He was supposed to propose to you after the war ended, he was supposed to build a home for the two of you to share your lives together, you were supposed to stay by his side and experience new places together, you were supposed to die together. There was nothing to explain just how badly his heart yearned for you in the many years you had known each other, the way you accepted him while most fae turned him away, you were a part of his circle of most trusted people in his life. And now you were gone, and he could not stop seeing flashes of your smiling face soon replaced with your lifeless display. A truly revolting truth of war, a war he was determined to end.

He then noticed on his bed, a letter. With shaking hands and blurry vision, Lilia weakly picked up the paper with penmanship clear as day to be identified as yours, and read it carefully.

Lilia Vanrouge,

I presume if you are reading this letter at this time, it means I failed to return from my mission. I'm sorry. I understand this is the part where you tell me "I told you so" and chastise me for being naive, and maybe so. Nonetheless, I have to do this. I plan on meeting with knight of dawn, the human I spoke to said he would be able to get me an audience and plead our case.

"that fucking idiot..." Lilia muttered, tears dripping onto the letter.

I know you are probably thinking to yourself; "that stupid idiot." And I suppose you wouldn't be wrong, even I know the high possibility of not returning. But I like to believe the good in humans, and believe that their fear could be placed at ease if we simply...talked. I understand not everything can be solved that way, but how are we to know the outcome if we do not try? You have your way of fighting, and I have mine. With my words. I love you, Lilia Vanrouge. I truly do. I wish we could spend the rest of our lives together, but I cannot see that happening if this war does not resolve with a peaceful ending. I implore you to find love in your heart for all- and love others the way you loved me. Give them your blessing, for I know you have a lot of good in your heart and room for growth. As the years pass, remember my sacrifice was for the pursuit of peace for our people, and you continue on that mindset. I believe in you and trust in you, Lilia, you will go on to do amazing things.

your love,

(y/n).

You soon became the foundation of what he believed in and continued to live on doing. After the war had ended, losing his dearest friends and beloved, Lilia stood strong in his resolve to make your sacrifice worth something. From hatching Malleus, to even becoming a father and giving the blessing to a baby human. Something you would have surely smiled at him for. With every milestone you were there with him; guiding him, parenting with him, and placing those very values you trusted into everything he had done. He had come far and liked to believe it was your words that strongly influenced him. You were right, your choice of fighting was with your words rather than your magical abilities, and it worked wonders.

Thus, there he was... Lilia Vanrouge, vice housewarden to Diasomnia of Night Raven College, watching as his three underlings sat at a table in the cafeteria enjoying a meal with a mix of races. He felt a surge of proudness and pride fill his heart with sentimental joy, sitting in the shadows re-reading that same hundred of years old note from someone he cared for deeply.

I believe in you and trust in you, Lilia.

A voice interrupted his thoughts, the short-haired fae folding the letter and tucking it safely back inside his pocket. A familiar figure walked towards him with excitement and a comforting twinkle in their eyes.

"Lilia~!" The curious human called out, The red eyed fae smiling in return and flashing a toothy grin.

"Ah, why if it isn't our precious prefect from Ramshackle. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He chuckled, floating upside down.

"I'm doing this project-" You said, holding up a notebook, "And I have to interview a few students about who impacts their lives the most. Can I interview you?" Lilia raised an eyebrow and floated down to meet your gaze, a gentle smile planted on his lips.

You were always a curious soul to him, and in many ways, he found solace in the way you spoke so cheerfully and hopefully that he had almost deluded himself into believing perhaps the fae he had once known had come back as the thing they held credence in the most; a human. That you had come back to give him a second chance to have confidence in you, come back to see what the world has accomplished in your absence, to give him peace of mind that the world has truly progressed and you were there to witness it flourish. Perhaps it was the shared name or the same sparkling eyes, but he couldn't help but have a soft spot for this human who had come into his life.

"I'd be delighted to assist you! Now, where to begin...? Ah! I know,"

"There once was a fae with a heart as noble and pure as gold, with a beautiful dream for peace across all nations..."

[snowywolf1005]

KOBY X PIRATE READER

EPISODE: 1114

You and koby are surrounded by pirates. You got shot on your arm. "This is... too many... plus, this shackle... isn't there any way to survive?" Koby thought.

"This is it, (Y/N)! Hand over koby!"

"I'll be taking that bounty!"

"Fire!"

They're about to shoot you. koby, grab your waist and pull you up to get away from the bullet, but no. The pirates shoot you up high, but all of a sudden, the bullet turns to flowers.

"What the fuck?!" You said, the pirates were so shock, "what? What? What? It's beautiful! Wait, no! What the hell is this?!" They shout. "Why did a flower come out of the muzzle?!"

It is revealed that Hibari used one of Vegapunk's inventions, Flower Bullets, to transform the bounty hunters' gunpowder into flowers. "(Y/N)! Koby!" You and koby turn around to see.

"Get over here! Wait, no! I didn't. I didn't mean anything weird!" Said Hibari, "Hibari! Right at time! You did that?!" You said, asking about the flower.

"That's right! I shot flower bullets, the flowers that bloom out of gunpowder! The enemies can't use their weapons! Get away quickly while you can!" She said.

On the rooftop, Prince picks up the call from tashigi, "Prince! Any progress?" Tashigi called. "Yeah, our task has just been completed. (Y/N) has koby safely, too!" He says.

"My mud puppets are not so easy to take down. I'll keep them busy fighting out there. The pirates can't get anywhere near the open area."

"What are these bastard?!" One of pirate shots, "and... they can't escape from there, either!" Said Prince. "H-hey... Has this open area always been shaped like this?"

The pirates watch the building move on their own, realizing they're trapped. All because kujaku, devil fruit power. "See, you can do it if you try. Now, whenever you're ready!" She said.

"I was able to contact Prince! It's all ready! Vice admiral grap!" Said tashigi, grap smile. "Come to the dead center!" Prince shouts, "everyone, hang onto something!" Said Helmeppo.

"Charge!" Grap said, he launches his ship into the air with his fist, then rides the ship onto the island. "C'mon! Hurry up!" Said Hibari, koby was about to climb the ladder but stopped.

"(Y/N), they're come to rescue me, didn't they?" He ask, you're so confused, "yes, of course! They did! Didn't I tell you?!" You shout. "Ah! Sorry!" He says, and koby was about to cry.

"Okay! Let's get out of here!" He said, then koby turned around to see the group of pirates seem terrified. "Look up!" They shout, koby look up and was wide eye.

You smile, "took these bastard long enough." Of grap ship flying. "What?!" Koby shout, so as the pirate.

"A naval ship is flying up there!"

"Why?! How's that possible?!"

"Who's on it?!"

"Isn't it... falling towards us?"

"R-run!" They scream, "wait! Koby!" You said chasing Koby as he ran to the ship. "No way! I thought he retired!" Grap laugh.

"Koby! I'm here to save you!" He said the pirates try to run, but they couldn't. The building blocks all open areas. "Hey, you damn pirates!" Grap yelled.

"He's coming! Run!" Grap, jump on the air, making a fist, and he laughs. "Vice admiral grap... why?! I'm not worthy enough to save..." said koby, that makes you pissed.

"You fools! Who do you think you have kidnapped?!" Garp shout, his fist glows brightly, making everyone scared for their lives. "Koby is the future of the navy! And... he's also my beloved pupi!" He said, making Koby almost cry.

"Galaxy... impact!" Grap, make a big explosion, making the building break. The pirates fly up in the air, and you grab koby tight as you two fly up high.

You landed safety. "Geez... does he ever know he'll get us killed?!" You said he almost killed you two. Grap landed safety with his ship.

"If we don't run, it'll crash into us!" You and koby were shocked to see, "Why did he come to beehive?!" Said koby. Prince uses his devil fruit power to catch grap ship, "cumulo-glorpus!" The mud catches the ship. Pirates were all passed out.

"He destroyed the town with a single blow..." said koby, "he still does that crazy stuff." said Hibari. "No wonder he just like luffy," you said, "damn grap! He's insane!"

"I'll make that geezer pay!"

"Don't move, you pirates!" Said Helmeppo, with the group of navy aimed their gun. "Just obey us! Resistance will result in further damage! Put your weapons down!" He shouted.

"I'm not satisfied... I'm off my game." Said garp, "screw you! What's that I-could-do-better attitude after causing this much destruction?!"

"We can't take any more damage!"

"Vice admiral garp!" Garp, turn to see you, koby, and Hibari running. "Oh, koby! (Y/N), thank you for saving koby!" He said, "well it no biggie. We did go to trouble!" You said, smiling.

Then Helmeppo see koby, "koby, that fool... I'm so relieved! He didn't get killed! Thank you, (Y/N)!" Helmeppo cried. "Koby-kun, I'm glad that you're okay. Goowork, everyone. " Said tashigi.

"Geez... he overlooked it. Garp is a bad boy!" Said kujaku, "garp-san said koby's the future of the navy. It's unforgivable! I'll drag him down!" Said Prince.

"You've got to do those things in secret. You spoiled brat! So cute. Koby is so lucky to have a sexy woman." Said kujaku, "hey! Koby!" Koby, look at the ship to see the navy soldiers yelling his name.

"Everyone!" He said, then he saw tashigi and Helmeppo, who was crying. "Koby-kun! Come on! Let's go home!" She said, "Helmeppo-san! Tashigi-san! Even those who are not SWORD members.."

"Everyone likes you, koby!" Said Hibari, then garp noticed koby Chain on his leg. "Why are you carrying that, koby? Looks like it's hard to run with it." He said.

"Vice admiral garp! We can't get the shackle removed... and we didn't know what to do! Please... do... some... thin'..." Hibari was frozen in ice. You were shocked to see, and you know who it is.

"Hibari!"

"Hibari-san!" You catch Hibari with your shadows abilities, even though you badly wounded. Everyone was surprised. Garp, look at kuzan with a glare.

"You fools... what do you think you have done?" He said, "kuzan." Said garp. "Kuzan-san! What are you doing?! Thaw out Hibari-san!" Koby shout.

"He's aokiji!"

"Captain kuzan!" The pirates cheered, "Kuzan-san! I'm begging you!" Koby beg, "it no use." Said grap. "Don't get me into trouble, koby. I can't have you running off... while Teach is away." Said kuzan.

After losing a duel against Sakazuki for the position of Marine Fleet Admiral, Kuzan resigned from the Marines as he was unwilling to serve under him. Shortly after resigning, he encountered Blackbeard Pirates on an island in the New World and battled them, ultimately encasing many of them in ice.

When Blackbeard appeared with his captains, he immediately recognized and confronted Kuzan.

[marshmellowrio]

Flight of the Night | Chapter 4

A/N: A bigger one, this scene goes on forever, ughh. This hasn't been proofread, like every other chapter I have posted (oops?).

Word count: 3.5K

I watch as Feyre addresses Azriel, “How did you meet?” Azriel turns to look at Cassian, I follow his gaze. Cassian is a way better storyteller than Azriel, that’s fact.

“We all hated each other at first.” A grin ghosts over his lips as he starts, his eyes flickering between the four of us, Illyrians. “We are bastards, you know. Az and I. The Illyrians… We love our people, and our traditions, but they dwell in clans and camps deep in the mountains of the North, and do not like outsiders. Especially High Fae who try to tell them what to do. But they’re just as obsessed with lineage, and have their own princes and lords among them.” He holds my gaze before continuing, pointing a thumb in Azriel’s direction. “Az, was the bastard of one of the local lords. And if you think the bastard son of a lord is hated, then you can’t imagine how hated the bastard is of a war-camp laundress and a warrior she couldn’t or wouldn’t remember.” I see the casual shrug of his shoulders for what it is, a way to dampen the vicious, ancient anger raging through his veins at the thought of his mother. “Az’s father sent him to our camp for training once he and his charming wife realized he was a shadowsinger.”

“Like the daemati,” Rhys says to Feyre, “shadowsingers are rare—coveted by courts and territories across the world for their stealth and predisposition to hear and feel things other can’t.”

Something I have been wary of for centuries. Being secretive around Azriel was a feat not easily accomplished.

Cassian continues, “The camp lord practically shit himself with excitement the day Az was dumped in our camp. But me… once my mother weaned me and I was able to walk, they flew me to a distant camp, and chucked me into the mud to see if I would live or die.”

“They would have been smarter throwing you off a cliff,” Mor snorts.

“Oh, definitely,” Cassian says, his grin sharpening. “Especially because when I was old and strong enough to go back to the camp I’d been born in, I learned those pricks worked my mother until she died.”

A silence falls, simmering anger hanging like a cloud in the air.

“The Illyrians,” Rhys cuts in smoothly, “are unparalleled warriors, and are rich with stories and traditions. But they are also brutal and backward, particularly in regard to how they treat their females.”

Azriel’s vacant eyes lock on mine, my face schooled in a stone-cold expression.

“They’re barbarians,” Amren says and neither of the males object.

I keep silent as Mor nods. “They cripple their females so they can keep them for breeding more flawless warriors.”

Rhys cringes. “My mother was low-born, and worked as a seamstress in one of their many mountain war-camps. When females come of age in the camps—when they have their first bleeding—their wings are… clipped. Just a small incision in the right place, left to improperly heal, can cripple you forever.” I tell myself to keep breathing, keeping the memories at bay and listen to the story. A story I’ve heard countless times, but never becomes easier. “And my mother—she was gentle and wild and loved to fly. So she did everything in her power to keep herself from maturing. She starved herself, gathered illegal herbs—anything to halt the natural course of her body. She turned eighteen and hadn’t yet bled, to the mortification of her parents. But her bleeding finally arrived and all it took was for her to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, before a male scented it on her and told the camp’s lord. She tried to flee—took right to the skies. But she was young, and the warriors were faster, and they dragged her back. They were about to tie her to the posts in the center of camp when my father winnowed in for a meeting with the camp’s lord about readying for the War. He saw my mother trashing and fighting like a wildcat, and… The mating bond between them clicked into place. One look at her, and he knew what she was. He misted the guards holding her.”

“Misted?” Confusion laces her voice. As Cassian chuckles sharply.

Rhys floats a lemon wedge into the air and flicks his finger, turning it into citrus-scented mist. I lean forward to catch the look on Feyre’s face, she takes misting entire beings better than I did the first time. She hasn’t seen him do it yet, but the insinuation of it, was enough to make me still when I realised the extent of Rhys’s powers.

“Through the blood-rain,” Rhys goes on, “my mother looked at him. And the bond fell into place for her. My father took her back to the Night Court that evening and made her his bride. She loved her people, and missed them, but never forgot what they had tried to do to her—what they did to the females among them. She tried for decades to get my father to ban it, but the War was coming, and he wouldn’t risk isolating the Illyrians when he needed them to lead his armies. And to die for him.”

“A real prize, your father,” Mor grumbles. I cast my head down, he never did me wrong. But his methods could be…harsh.

“At least he liked you,” Rhys counters. “my father and mother, despite being mates, were wrong for each other.” I grimace, I sometimes wonder how often a mating bond is set between two beings while they’re not right for each other. “My father was cold and calculating, and could be vicious, as he had been trained to be since birth. My mother was soft and fiery and beloved by everyone she met. She hated him after a time—but never stopped being grateful that he had saved her wings, that he allowed her to fly whenever and wherever she wished. And when I was born, and could summon the Illyrian wings as I pleased… She wanted me to know her people’s culture.”

“She wanted to keep you out of your father’s claws,” Mor says, swirling her wine. Azriel finally looks away from me and I let loose a breath, his memories finally clearing. I have no doubt I was involved in that memory from the way he had stared for the past few minutes.

“That, too,” Rhys adds drily. “When I turned eight, my mother brought me to one of the Illyrian war-camps. To be trained, as all Illyrian males were trained. And like all Illyrian mothers, she shoved me toward the sparring ring on the first day, and walked away without looking back.”

“She abandoned you?” I understand Feyre’s deduction but it still has me narrowing my eyes.

“No—never,” Rhys says, with as much ferocity as I felt for his mother’s memory. “She was staying at the camp as well. But it is considered an embarrassment for a mother to coddle her son when he goes to train.”

Cassian laughs, catching the look on Feyre’s face. “Backward, like he said.”

“I was scared out of my mind,” Rhys admits. “I’d been learning to wield my powers, but Illyrian magic was a mere fraction of it. And it’s rare amongst them—usually possessed only by the most powerful, pure-bred warriors.” His eyes flit to me and I give him a lopsided grin. “I tried to use a Siphon during those years. And shattered about a dozen before I realized it wasn’t compatible—the stones couldn’t hold it. My power flows and is honed in other ways.”

“So difficult, being such a powerful High Lord,” Mor teases.

Rhys rolls his eyes. “The camp-lord banned me from using my magic for all our sakes. But I had no idea how to fight when I set foot into that training ring that day. The other boys in my age group knew it, too. Especially one in particular, who took a look at me, and beat me into a bloody mess.”

“You were so clean,” Cassian says, shaking his head. “The pretty half-breed son of the High Lord—how fancy you were in your new training clothes.” I snort, I can totally imagine young Cassian thinking like that.

“Cassian,” Azriel’s dark voice cuts in, “resorted to getting new clothes over the years by challenging other boys to fights, with the prize being the clothes off their backs.” The flatness in his voice revealed how much he cared for the Illyrian ways.

Cassian chuckles, he had a completely different experience, just as horrifying, but different. “I’d beaten every other boy in our age group twice over already, but then Rhys arrived, in his clean clothes, and he smelled… different. Like a true opponent. So I attacked. We both got three lashings apiece for the fight.”

From my side of the table, I see Feyre flinch.

“They do worse, girl,” Amren cuts in, “in those camps. Three lashings is practically an encouragement to fight again. When they do something truly bad, bones are broken. Repeatedly. Over weeks.”

“Your mother willingly sent you into that?” Feyre asks with a soft voice. She has a lot to learn about Illyrians and their customs, I think to myself.

“My mother didn’t want me to rely on my power,” Rhys says. “She knew from the moment she conceived me that I’d be hunted my entire life. Where one strength failed, she wanted others to save me. My education was another weapon—which was why she went with me; to tutor me after lessons were done for the day. And when she took me home that first night to our new house at the edge of the camp, she made me read by the window. It was there that I saw Cassian trudging through the mud—toward the few ramshackle tents outside of the camp. I asked her where he was going, and she told me that bastards are given nothing: they find their own shelter, own food. If they survive and get picked to be in a war-band, they’ll be bottom-ranking forever, but receive their own tents and supplies. But until then, he’d stay in the cold.”

“Those mountains,” Azriel adds, his hard gaze locking on mine again, “offer some of the harshest conditions you can imagine.” I know he still feels guilty about what happened to me, but I only duck my head not being able to bear his loaded gaze.

“After my lessons,” Rhys ignores the exchanged looks, “my mother cleaned my lashings, and as she did, I realized for the first time what it was to be warm, and safe, and cared for. And it didn’t sit well.”

“Apparently not,” Cassian takes over. “Because in the dead of night, that little prick woke me up in my piss-poor tent and told me to keep my mouth shut and come with him. And maybe the cold made me stupid, but I did. His mother was livid. But I’ll never forget the look on her beautiful face when she saw me and said, ‘There is a bathtub with hot running water. Get in it or you can go back into the cold.’ Being a smart lad, I obeyed. When I got out, she had clean nightclothes and ordered me into bed.” She had done some good for all of us. “I’d spent my life sleeping on the ground—and when I balked, she said she understood because she had felt the same once, and that it would feel as if I was being swallowed up, but the bed was mine for as long as I wanted it.”

“And you were friends after that?”

“No—Cauldron no,” Rhys says. “We hated each other, and only behaved because if one of us got into trouble or provoked the other, then neither of us ate that night. My mother started tutoring Cassian, but it wasn’t until Azriel arrived a year later that we decided to be allies.”

Cassian’s grin stretches as he reaches around Amren to clap Azriel on his shoulder. A sigh falls from the shadowsinger’s lips and I smile fondly at the two of them. “A new bastard in the camp—and an untrained shadowsinger to boot. Not to mention he couldn’t even fly thanks to—”

I clear my throat interrupting him as Mor lazily cuts in, “Stay on track, Cassian.” He looks at the both of us, the apologize clear in his eyes, but he shrugged feigning indifference to Feyre. Mor kept her eyes on Cass as I shifted mine to Azriel, noting the tense shoulders and faraway look in his eyes.

“Rhys and I made his life a living hell, shadowsinger or no. But Rhys’s mother had known Az’s mother, and took him in. As we grew older, and the other males around us did, too, we realized everyone else hated us enough that we had better odds of survival sticking together.” Cassian finishes their story and I turn to Feyre.

“Do you have any gifts? Like—them?” She jerks her chin to Azriel and Rhys.

“A volatile temper doesn’t count,” Mor says and I grin at her, sometimes I wonder if we spent too much time together. Or if it’s Cassian that’s so predictable.

“No. I don’t—not beyond a heaping pile of the killing power. Bastard-born nobody, through and through.” I lean forward at the same time as Rhys, but Cassian continues, “Even so, the other males knew that we were different. And not because we were two bastards and a half-breed. We were stronger, faster—like the Cauldron knew we’d been set apart and wanted us to find each other. Rhys’s mother saw it, too. Especially as we reached the age of maturity, and all we wanted to do was fuck and fight.” I roll my eyes at that.

“Males are horrible creatures, aren’t they?” Amren says.

“Repulsive,” Mor clicks her tongue and I laugh softly.

Cassian only shrugs. “Rhys’s power grew every day—and everyone, even the camp-lords, knew he could mist everyone if he felt like it. And the two of us… we weren’t far behind.” He taps his Siphon with a finger. “A bastard Illyrian had never received one of these. Ever. For Az and me to both be appointed them, albeit begrudgingly, had every warrior in every camp across those mountains sizing us up. Only pure-blood pricks get Siphons—born and bred for the killing power. It still keeps them up at night, puzzling over where the hell we got it from.”

I feel Feyre’s eyes slide to me, probably remembering I am pure-blooded Illyrian. Cassian notes her gazing as well and confirms her suspicions. “ This fucking priss of a lady, as Rhys said, is the only pure-blooded Illyrian out of the four of us.”

“Shouldn’t you let her tell her own story?” I raise an eyebrow at Azriel’s low voice intercepting.

“If you are wondering,” I turn to Feyre properly. “I am not one of those, born and bred for that killing power.”

“You were bred for it.” Cassian intercepts, pointing out the fault in my statement.

I hum lowly, “While that may be true, sadly, for my parents anyway, I was born female. Not the son they wanted. My father is a camp-lord,” I see Feyre mentally note the present tense. “Although I was bred to kill, he wouldn’t allow me to train. He’s very traditional in that sense.”

Feyre’s gaze moves to my wings, trying to see if I bear any clipping marks, not that she’d know what to look for. Her scrutiny makes me tuck them tighter against me, straining the muscles as usual. “I haven’t been clipped.” Her gaze snaps up again to meet mine, my face void of emotion. ‘Rhys’s mother helped me in that matter, got me the illegal herbs she used herself when she was younger, stalling my cylcle. She helped me, along with these three, get away when my first bleeding came.”

“You got away.” It’s not a question. I frown, it doesn’t feel like that.

Cassian says, “Oh, she got away, alright.” Amren shoves his broad shoulder and I’m thankful for her respect for me.

“Something like that.” I respond to Feyre. Rhys and Azriel flinch in unison, I might’ve never actually talked about it, but they know.

Feyre furrows her brows, not able to hide her curiosity as to what went down all those years ago.

I don’t answer her questioning gaze, opting to stare at Rhys instead, I do not want to get into that with her on her first day with us. No matter how open Cassian is with her.

Azriel breaks the silence, taking over another part of the story. “Over a decade later, the War came. And Rhys’s father visited our camp to see how his son had fared after twenty years.”

“My father,” Rhys says, swirling his wine, “saw that his son had not only started to rival him for power, but had allied himself with perhaps the two deadliest Illyrians in history. He got it into his head that if we were given a legion in the War, we might very well turn it against him when we returned.”

Cassian snickers. “So the prick separated us. He gave Rhys command of a legion of Illyrians who hated him for being a half-breed, and threw me into a different legion to be a common foot soldier, even when my power outranked any of the war-leaders. Az, he kept for himself as his personal shadowsinger—mostly for spying and his dirty work. Turns out he already had Lyss in his tight quarters so she didn’t pose a threat to him. We only saw each other on battlefields for the seven years the War raged. They’d send around casualty lists among the Illyrians, and I read each one, wondering if I’d see their names on it. But then Rhys was captured—”

“That is a story for another time,” Rhys says sharply, making me lift my brows. We all had our boundaries in sharing past memories. Cass might be the most open one but that doesn’t mean he’ll tell her everything, there are some things even he wouldn’t tell her upon first meeting. “Once I became High Lord, I appointed these five to my Inner Circle, and told the rest of my father’s old court that if they had a problem with my friends, they could leave. They all did. Turns out, having a half-breed High Lord was made worse by his appointment of three females and two Illyrian bastards.”

“What—what happened to them , then?”

Rhys shrugs. “The nobility of the Night Court fall into three categories: those who hated me enough that when Amarantha took over, they joined her court and later found themselves dead; those who hated me enough to try to overthrow me and faced the consequences; and those who hated me, but not enough to be stupid and have since tolerated a half-breed’s rule, especially when it so rarely interferes with their miserable lives.”

“Are they—are they the ones who live beneath the mountain?” Feyre asks.

“In the Hewn City, yes. I gave it to them, for not being fools. They’re happy to stay there, rarely leaving, ruling themselves and being as wicked as they please, for all eternity.”

“The Court of Nightmares,” Mor says as all are faces grow tight, thinking about that horrid place.

“Ans what is this court?” Feyre gestures to all of us, and the darkness clears.

It was Cassian, who answers with bright eyes, “The Court of Dreams.”

Feyre contemplates for a moment. “And you?” She says, and I know it’s directed to us females.

Amren merely says, “Rhys offered to make me his Second. No one had ever asked me before, so I said yes, to see what it might be like. I found I enjoyed it.” Always a person of little words.

Mor leans back in her seat and I focus on her. “I was a dreamer born into the Court of Nightmares,” Mor says, twisting a curl around a finger. “So I got out.” I almost scoff at the simplicity of that statement. Her escape from the Hewn City was as simple as mine from the Illyrian camp.

I take a breath, “My father was camp-lord when those three were in the camp. Cassian was a nuisance, he followed me around everywhere to annoy my father. Even as a five-year-old he knew how to get on someone’s nerves.”

Cassian’s grin only reveals truth as he takes over. “And when Rhys and Az came to the camp, they joined in.” I purse my lips at his statement. “But she had fire, handed our asses to us, multiple times. Her father might’ve not let her train, that didn’t mean she didn’t find a way to do so anyway. Slowly, the annoyance turned into acceptance that we weren’t going to leave her alone as long as it meant pissing off her father.”

“He still seethes whenever we join her in the camp.” Rhys adds.

I smirk, “He still seethes because I outrank him now.” I hold Feyre’s gaze and see she knows there’s more to the story than what we’re telling, so I give her another crumble. “I am Cassian’s Second, Colonel of the Illyrian armies.”

A/N: Let me know what you thought! Maybe any theories on how this story is going to progress? Obviously this is a romance fanfic (I'm sorry if you didn't realise that already), but I wanted to give my character some depth and not just have her exist because of her love interest. Do keep in mind this is a slow-slow-burn. It will be some time before we will be happy go lucky, not to say that there won't be any tension. Because there will be, a lot of it. If you want to be added to the taglist, please leave a comment saying so!

Taglist: @inloveallthetime @mybestfriendmademe

[warsamongthestars]

My absolute canon (headcanon for others), about the fates of the Bad Batch post TCWshow, would be exactly as TCWshow intended--they fall under the chip, and go from the super-special-awesome-squad to "uh oh you fucked up now" bad guy agent team.

And no, there is no happy ending here.

One the best, most heartfelt things that just, utterly crushed me for months, was the concept of the chip, the long term effects and the absolute utter tragedy.

The tragedy that these men, these soldiers, who knew nothing but war and military, who were given the promise through the Jedi's treatment of them that they could grow and live once it was all over...

... only to be snatched away, near permanently, into the darkness and to never been the same again. Even if to wake from the Nightmare, would only result in worse state from actions performed.

And many, if not all, would never wake again.

That's a beautiful tragedy, a beautifully written tragedy, a build up of years to solidify a single moment (Order 66). Its part of what kept me with Clone Troopers, part of how there's the "need to save them" in imagination.

We can make a happy ending in our minds, but the story NEEDED the Utterly Crushing Tragedy. The idea that "No, until the Emperor is Dead, there will be no Happy Endings".

Hope strikes with the return of the Jedi and no more, no less.

( Hope is not a dove delivered, its a soldier that picks its self up from the mud and marches again in the no man's land. Its the thing that find beauty in the starlight reflection of muddy waters, admist the death and destruction of an ended battle )

[ You can guess that I've read Tolkien ]

Clone Troopers are meant to be, by TCWshow weaving, the Biggest Tragedy of Star Wars. To be cursed as manufactured men when they were alive, and to be cursed as the Jedi killers after the war ends, utterly bound by the purpose they were created for unwilling.

( They're also the biggest symbols of Hope. )

( Leia was the first one in the whole of Star Wars to ever mention the Clone Wars, to make it an element as part of the world-build and to pull Obi-Wan Kenobi back into the fight. All the way back in the first, the beginning. Where do you think she would've learned what Hope was, when faced in impossible circumstance? )

( Her dress was as a white as a Shiny's shell, and she painted it in camouflage for battles won. )

[ She did say her father fought in the Clone Wars, together with then General Kenobi... Why imagine a Jedi father, when there were thousands of Clone Troopers? ]

To add my personal twist, Clone Force 99 would've become Vader's personal special forces. After all, he had the 501st and the 212th, why not 99?

Vader's 99 would've been clever enough to even kill wayward Inquisitors. ( Of course, something would've had to happen before the Deathstar Plans were caught, or there wouldn't have been an original trilogy--but that's a story to be created another time. )

I would've loved it.

The idea that these once good if flawed men, playful and goofy brothers, outcasts one and all--now monsters, unrecognizable even with their unique faces? And the only help that could be given, is impossible to give as you're trying to survive them now?

The only option in war to take the enemy out.

Now that's a painful story to live and breath for.

[darkandstormydolls]

Decided to try sharing one of my story excerpts!

This is from my Undercity story. It’s from Ashling’s POV after he’s had a long week and explores a bit of his complicated and unusual relationship with religion (which is one of my favorite parts of his character)

Without further ado:

I recognized, somewhere in the back of my mind, that lying on my clean sheets in dirty and mud-splattered clothing was something that my future self would resent me for, but after days of fighting, running from people, trying to squish myself into too-small hiding places, and falling off of roofs, everything hurt too badly for me to care overmuch about the inconsequential opinions of my future self.

I’m not much of a religious person, but I was praying. Eyes closed, lying in bed, counting off on my fingers the way my mother had taught me when I was little and she didn’t trust me with her prayer beads. She wasn’t Undercity-born, but she’d taken to their saints quickly enough. Most people ask saints to pray for them to have another voice in God's ears. In the Undercity, we do it because there’s no way God will listen to our prayers otherwise. He doesn’t care about people like us.

They say desperate people find faith, which I’d say is fair. I only seem to come back to God and saints in my worst moments. The moments when it helps to think that there’s someone out there who actually cares about me for more than what I’m worth as a tool of the trade. The times when I need to lean on the only tie I have left to my mother.

Our saints, the crooked saints, all have ties to the Undercity, but some run darker and deeper than others. I start with the one’s I’m expected to pray to; Saint Aino, patron saint of spies, Saint Alora, patron of the city itself, Saint Mora, patron of liars, Saint Tameni, patron of revenge. Thinking of Arin, I say a quick set of prayers to Saint Maran, who, along with executioners, jailers, bounty hunters, suicides, and judges, is the patron saint of murderers, and Saint Endar, patron of traitors and turncoats.

Then I switched to the other saints, the ones Phantom would tell me I didn’t need anymore. Saint Solen, patron of orphans. Saint Mika, patron of the children of the Undercity, the ones who, through no fault of their own, just so happened to have the misfortune to be born here. I’ve long ago lost my right to ask Saint Alessen, patron of children and innocent victims, for help, but I still pray to her for the sake of every other child in this viper’s nest that calls itself a city, in the slim hope that they wouldn’t end up like me, Arin, or any of the other children that this place has foraged into cruel, heartless monsters or killed far too early. I pray to Saint Tanor, patron of the abused and manipulated, and, to cover all my bases, Saint Ono, who, along with his much better known patronage of weavers, is the patron saint of illegitimate or rejected children. I suppose it says something about the Undercity that we have so many crooked saints for such things, and well-known ones as well, but even the more religious of us would probably have to think to tell you the patron saint of love.

Well, there are many. For most people, Saint Maila and Saint Aster, well-known twin patron saints of young love and marriage, respectively. But in the Undercity, it’s Saint Lia, who jumped into the Emori river after her lover was killed by the Lord of Spies because she couldn’t bear to live without him.

Considering I was the heir to the current Lord of Spies, I doubted I would find much favor with her.

I did have things to do. Rather important things. I needed to finish putting all of the things that I’d learned into writing. Check in with the other people who’d been waiting for my report. Take an assessment of how injured I was and if actual medical attention was required. Changing into clean clothes and washing the mud out of my hair would also have been a good idea, or even taking the things that were poking me in the side out of my pockets before lying down again. But those things all required getting up and moving, I was tired, and worn out, and in pain, and I had a feeling that as soon as Phantom returned, I would be a lot more of either some or all of those, depending on the mood she was in. And so I stayed in bed, eyes closed, taking refuge in my crooked saints for as long as I could.

[aftaabmagazine]

They buried Qahar Asi with his poems

They buried Asi with his poems

By Rahmatullah Begana 

Translated from the Farsi by Farhad Azad 

Kabul's weather offered a mild respite on a somber autumn day, the city holding an unusual calm. No fighting erupted, and not a single rocket pierced the sky, a stark contrast to the usual barrage. It was September 28, 1994.

People tentatively emerged from their homes, children resuming their playful pursuits. We longed for a break, a departure from the usual war-ridden bedlam. The people huddled in their corners. As the sun dipped low, Qahar Asi approached us.

Due to the intense conflict in Kabul's Microrayon sectors, Asi, freshly returning from Iran, had left his home and now lived with his in-laws in Karte Parwan. We also lived in Karte Parwan. On September 28, Asi appeared on our doorstep, inviting us for a stroll.

We invited Asi inside, but he declined. With some reluctance, my brother Azizullah Ima and I finally ventured out with Asi.

The people of Kabul had quarantined themselves due to the rocket strikes and fighting. Aside from a few desperate souls, no one dared venture beyond their doorways.

Asi's insistence on an outing filled me with dread. Intuition warned of impending unease that day, yet I remained blind to the unfolding events. Asi led us away. Before long, he began reciting poetic verses from his earlier days.

We immersed ourselves in the warmth of prose and poetry alongside Qahar Asi. He recited his verses, each carrying a wealth of tales and portrayals. It was as if he sensed that these were the concluding hours of his life, eager to share his newly composed verses with his audience and friends.

Asi turned the pages where he had penned his poems, his enthusiasm radiating as he retrieved one poem after another from his shirt pocket, reading them gracefully and eloquently.

"Kabul, O Kabul,

the gushing blood from your throat,

how does the earth hold it without pain?

Who will lift your shredded coffin towards the sun?"

Asi carefreely recited his verses as the distant echoes of rockets reached our ears. For the first time, genuine fear gripped me. Though we had grown accustomed to the explosions, the rockets seemed to be heading straight for us.

We walked a considerable distance, returning from the Bagh Bala area as the explosions grew louder. Undeterred by the danger, Asi continued to recite in his woeful yet magnetic voice.

"These words aren't for the harsh autumn wind

these words aren't for the boulders

these words aren't for the eroded, lofty slopes.

the mountain has its sorrow,

the river has its sorrow,

the grove has its sorrow,

sorrows that destroy them"

Asi continued his passionate storytelling, and the explosions were ongoing. I suggested we veer from the main road close to the Kart-e Parwan intersection, away from danger, towards the narrow lanes nestled against the high hill.

In those days, the narrow lanes were lined with single-story mud homes, and only a few people moved about.

Kabul's ongoing war had ravaged the electricity and water systems. We had access to running water one day out of the week and electricity on just a handful of days.

Our journey continued alongside Asi's recitations. At a communal fountain, men gathered water, kids played marbles in the middle of the alleyway, and some children sought refuge, playing with dolls by the wall.

Asi recited verses with fervor. Due to my worry, I couldn't fully comprehend my friend's words. My brother and I trailed by his side.

The autumn wind carried Asi's voice, rising and falling with his recitation. I was nearing our home and eager to arrive quickly, yet time stood still. Our legs felt heavy, defying our attempts to move faster.

Seconds stretched, heavy with danger, as time ticked towards a catastrophic event. Three friends walked unknowingly towards it.

Yet we pressed on, but time remained stagnant. And then, from behind, the calamity that followed trapped us in the alleyway, forever altering our lives. No longer were we whole individuals. We were labeled the wounded and martyred.

Everything fused, and Asi fell silent. We, along with the little boys and girls of the alley, crashed to the ground, enveloped in dust and blood. Asi's recitation seemed to mingle with the cries of the wounded children as their voices choked the alley.

After a few seconds, as the dust and debris rose from the ground, I realized the absolute silence that had settled over Asi and Ima. Only my voice remained—a voice of sorrow, pain, separation, lament, despair, and hopelessness.

I couldn't understand what had happened, what catastrophe had befallen us, why we lay on the ground, covered in dust and blood. I was utterly bewildered and stunned!

The situation in this alley stood deeply sorrowful and heartbreaking. Yet, no one realized that a talented poet of verses had fallen, covered with soot and blood.

Liberty itself had fallen, lifeless and without support. No one reached out to help, for it no longer needed a hand. The dead and wounded littered the alleyway, and Asi— the voice of unwavering freedom— had also been silenced, deprived of life. Young men from the alley rushed to help, taking us to the hospital. The relatives cried and wailed loudly.

Asi and Ima lay still beside the blue-tinted gutter— people supposed they were martyrs. I begged the young men to help my brothers! They explained another vehicle would transport them and urged me to hurry due to my severe bleeding. Ima and Asi rested a short distance from me, motionless and silent.

The young men in the alley lifted me and took me to Abu Zaid, the nearest and the only private clinic in Kabul, in the Kart-e-Parwan neighborhood. When Ima and Asi arrived at the general hospital, the clinic staff mistook them for dead and placed them in the morgue.

I was in better condition than they were. A large piece of debris had struck my right leg, breaking the shin bone. A doctor at the clinic wrapped my leg with a bandage to slow the bleeding.

He said, "We can't do anything more here. You must transfer yourself to a government hospital."

The sky darkened, yet the sound of piercing rockets continued. An ambulance transported me to the government hospital. Memories of my mother's illness and death filled me in this familiar hospital, where I first saw Ahmad Zahir, the famous singer—days of hoping for my mother's recovery had been spent in its rooms and corridors.

But this time, a different tragedy had brought me here. Even as my condition remained poor as I entered the large hall and corridor, countless stretchers overflowed, leaving no standing room and crowding the space with the wounded and dead.

The young doctor looked familiar. He addressed the people who had brought me, "There is no space for beds here. Take your patient to the Wazir Akbar Khan hospital."

I recognized him and asked, "Are Asi and my brother among the wounded?"

He recognized me, too, and gently removed the white cover from my brother's bare body. "Don't worry, he is receiving treatment now," he reassured me.

Seeing my brother's face, I relaxed momentarily but remained deeply worried. My eyes searched for Asi. Once again, I joined the wounded on an ambulance ride to the Wazir Akbar Khan hospital.

On the way, a girl with eyes closed died silently as other children moaned in pain. One of these teenagers repeated: "O God, what sin have we committed that we are torn into pieces like this?"

The streets were empty. We quickly reached the hospital. As they removed me from the vehicle and placed me on a stretcher, many worries filled my mind. What had happened? Would Asi and Ima receive treatment?

The pain in my leg intensified. They carefully lifted my broken leg with both hands and took me to the hospital's surgical operations department. At 9:00 pm, I entered the operating room without my family present or a blood supply.

Before I passed out, a doctor who was busy operating on a patient asked his colleague, "What was the news at 8 o'clock?"

The second doctor replied, "Is there anything else in this country besides stories of pain and sorrow? Did you hear that the young poet—I'm talking about Qahar Asi— was martyred in today's rocket attack!"

"With God, we belong, and to him, we shall return," I thought to myself. Hearing this news, despair and hopelessness washed over me so vigorously that I could only remain silent and suppress my grief.

Asi's stories, laughter, passion, vitality, life, and poetry flashed through my mind. I said goodbye to everyone in my imagination. I didn't think I could survive this struggle alongside him. Seconds later, I passed out.

After the surgery, which took about two hours, according to Dr. Mozef, I struggled to regain consciousness due to extreme anemia. Death lingered close by. I felt as though I was hanging upside down from my feet.

My fight between life and death raged for more than seven hours. Finally, my condition began to improve slightly. I opened my eyes in the morning to a dark room with only the faintest dawn light filtering through the curtains. I couldn't remember anything.

Confused, I tried to understand why I was in this situation to no avail. I felt no pain, only the effects of severe anemia and the intense side effects of anesthesia, which slurred my words.

I felt people hovering over me, but my eyes wouldn't focus properly. I couldn't understand where I was! The silence puzzled me. Then, I recognized the dimmed hospital lights and the faint glow from outside.

I surveyed my surroundings; everything seemed strange, black and white. Seeing the IV stand confirmed my location. But none of my companions from the ambulance or the neighborhood kids, Ima and Asi, shared this space. 

I remained in the hospital for days. Once I recovered somewhat, I went to visit Asi's mother. Upon my arrival, her distress intensified. She is a wise and kind woman who sees me as a reminder of her lost child, her young son who died too soon – a reminder of her son's untimely passing and the enduring pain she bears. Even though 26 years have passed since Asi's martyrdom, she still mourns and weeps as she did in the early days of Asi's death.

Asi's mother lost her composure at seeing me and began to cry. Everyone relived the great sorrow of the poet's death for a few moments.

I said, "Mother, I wish I had died instead of Asi."

She replied, "My child, you are the reminder of my son, and I sense Asi in you. May God grant you longevity and virtue."

I asked, "What happened to the poems from the day of Asi's incident?"

Mubin, Asi's brother, who was sitting with his mother, answered, "We buried Asi with his clothes and poems."

May the memory of my dear and beloved friend and companion, Abdul Qahar Asi, be cherished!

- - - 

On September 26, 2020, the digest "8 AM" published Rahmatullah Begana's lamentable words, marking 26 years since Qahar Asi's voice fell silent. Begana's memory paints a dour portrait of Kabul in the autumn of 1994, a city choked by smoke and despair, where the relentless rhythm of rockets tore through the fragile silence. It was amidst this symphony of destruction that lives shattered, and so too, a poet's pen.

Begana's words weave an intimate tapestry of his friend and poet, Qahar Asi. He paints Asi's final moments with heartbreaking clarity, showing how even as the world crumbled around him, Asi clung to the lifeline of his poetry, his lyrics a defiant chorus against the descending darkness.

Though Asi was cruelly taken, his legacy blazes a defiant trail against oblivion. His poems are not merely words but searing echoes of a people's wounds, dreams, and resilience—beacons that will continue to light the path for generations to come.

—Farhad Azad 

April 13, 2024

[ankhisms]

ok heres my ep 47 and 48 live reaction thoughts

ep 47

the meteor landed in 1999 i wouldve been one year old...

still dont really understand if the worms are life forms from a different planet brought over on the meteor or if they come from some kind of source of life that was on the meteor and upon crashing on earth they came into being. i doubt were going to get an answer but also im just putting too much scientific thought into one of the most ridiculous random bullshit happens [affectionately] kamen rider shows

the opening of this episode is interesting because were getting flashbacks of very early kabuto and its interesting for me to see the aspects of the early show which i really liked, the kind of horror elements of the show that i feel like kind of tapered off towards the middle of the show and now i wonder if were reintroducing that kind of existential dread as we finish the show. the last episode certainly had that kind of horror of existing at all

well now everyone just has worm detection necklaces i guess idk how they made that happen but okay

not gorou chan is so mad about the idea of zect disbanding which is typical business guy behavior like the threat is gone and we are no longer needed? no i want more power

KAGEYAMA STEALING SEVERAL OF THE NECKLACES HELP

lets make the hiyori chef debut menu waaaaaa

i knew it was tendou attacking the truck of the necklaces because he doesnt want hiyori to be killed. cries

misaki is like dude. you cant ask kagami to kill his boyfriend. we already did this at the start of the show

now what the fuck is not gorou chan doing with tendou two. why did he stroke his hair like that like. ummmm

RENGE HAS BEEN SHOT I REPEAT RENGE HAS BEEN SHOT

ep 48

augh the wife finding out her husband is a worm with their baby in her arms and the husband being killed was really sad like god. made me think about how many other incidents like that happened yknow

hiyori and jyuka cooking in the kitchen together..  sisters... crying

ok renge is alive thank fucking god and tendou brought her food in the hospital.. i guess he hadnt meant for her to get hurt then thanks tendou

is kageyama fucking dying good lord. NOPE OK HES A WORM. ALRIGHT. SURE. HE WAS A WORM THIS WHOLE TIME I GUESS

oh i KNEW not gorou chan was gonna try some shit. talk about a hostile business take over

shoutout to tendou for saving tendou two that entire reveal about tendou twos backstory was so fucking horrifying like yknow what i think the guy is allowed to be a bit blood thirsty and batshit after all that. what the fuck truly

their plan is to fucking. make everyone into worms i guess. what in the god damn

hasnt tendou two suffered enough do they have to throw him around like a rag doll leave him aloneeeee

well tendou is unkillable this is a known fact so im sure kagami didnt actually kill him. but kagami THINKS that he killed him. and boy you can tell thats already weighing on him immediately. AND THEN RIGHT AFTER HE FINDS OUT ABOUT HIS DAD. DOUBLE WHAMMY

the way kagami says i killed him and the way his dad quietly reacts when kagami says kabuto is our enemy like oh kagami things are so fucked

the hoppers are going thru it my god OH HEY WHAT THE FUCK. THATS SO SAD WHAT THE FUCK

humanitys future is in your hands kagami. no pressure

tendou fighting against the entire world as long as it means his sisters can live vs kagamis dad saying im okay with dying but you have to live

oh tendou in the rubble parallel is good

whats better than this. falling in the mud puddle with your dad running away from the law

[mysticstarlightduck]

Hey there ask lover! Gimme 😘 for the duos ask game!

Thank you for the ask, @trancetales!

Ask Game Here

Gonna go with the same characters I used to answer this ask (of the same ask game) for continuity reasons and because today I'm being a bit of a lazy girl lmao.

(The characters are Arzhel & Elodie from The Forgotten Ones, Kane & Renn from Song of Thorns, and Jack & Deimos from Supernova Initiative)

Rules: Answer the Asks as two of your OCs talking about one another, giving their opinions about each other - those don't have to be accurate but rather should be a reflection of what one character thinks of the other.

😘- Are they your type?

THE FORGOTTEN ONES

Arzhel - "Hm. A couple months ago the answer to that question would have been a resounding no. When we first met, I found Elodie overly optimistic, annoyingly nosy, and just simply abrasive with the amount of talkative energy she seemed to have at all times, even at times where all I wanted was a bit of silence. But now... those same qualities are precisely the same reason why I think I'm falling in love with her. She's wonderfully positive, able to find the good in almost any situation no matter how bleak things seem. While I still find her endless questions a bit much, she is perceptive and always notices when someone is hiding something, a trait that has saved our lives more than once now. She always has something to say and I have grown fond of her rambles throughout our travels, it's become something comforting, familiar. Honestly, I'm just as surprised as you are, I think."

Elodie - "Yes, in an unexpected way. There was something about him that just felt different, like something clicked at the moment when we met. Somehow, I immediately knew he was an incredibly kind person, even though when we first met he was a bit of a grumpy douche who always expected the worst in people and thought everyone was out to get him. And despite that, he was always a perfect gentleman, polite and respectful, if a bit waspish and defensive at times. Given the hell he has gone through, I'm surprised he has remained such a kind person. Now, we have grown to trust one another, as best friends - and I hope that one day, we'll be as partners. If you know what I mean!"

SONG OF THORNS

Kane - "Renn?! My type?! Are you kidding me? No, no, no. Thank you very much. Not that I have anything against him but, mainly our personalities are far too different and our beliefs too contrasting - when we first met we could barely remain civil, almost every simple discussion ended with us at each other's throats. I'm surprised we were even able to become friends! And regardless, he's not really my type. I'm not really into rebellious and brooding vampiric ex-lordlings with a thirst for justice, and even if I were, the guy is in a committed relationship with one of my best friends, and I would never dare ruin their bond. Quite honestly, I never really had a serious romantic relationship before. I've dated guys and girls and was pretty popular before my name was dragged through the mud, but I haven't really had the time to figure out what it is I want in a long-term relationship. Maybe it's time I think a bit more about that."

Renn - "Absolutely not! Before he was exiled, the guy represented everything I hated the most - a paragon of 'human valor' against the 'wretched Vampyric beasts', a man who fights for King and glory. As a half-vampyr, he was nothing more than an enemy to me. And now, after he was exiled and changed a lot - both in matters of personality but also in moral growth - were able to be friends. But nothing more than that. And I'm committed to someone, my darling Roselyn, whom I love very much. I would never betray her trust, ever. So, in short, no, he is not my type, but I'm happily dating someone else who is my type."

SUPERNOVA INITIATIVE

Deimos - "Uhhh.... No. That question makes me feel weird on so many levels, haha. Me and Jack grew up together, ever since we were just kids looking for trouble on a faraway moon. We were family, the only family each other ever had - before... well, everything happened and everything I've done. It was just him, me, and Cass against the world - an inseparable trio of dumb kids who didn't know any better and dreamed of escaping to somewhere far away from the dust and grime of our homeworld. We did everything together for years. Even when we made our makeshift crew of 'space pirates', it started with the three of us. Then I had to go and screw it all up, but that's a story for another time. Point is: Jack is like a brother to me, and it's uncomfortable for me to even consider him as 'my type' for... obvious reasons. I wouldn't be able to date someone I consider my sibling, even if there is literally no blood relation between us. The thought is still hella weird. So. Nope."

Jack - "(Nervous chuckling) Oh, hell no. First of all, same answer as his was: we grew up together and even though we drifted apart - read: became polar opposites and even rivals - as grownups there's still that 'he's my brother' energy between us, even if our bond isn't the same as it was. Just the concept already feels wrong to even think about. He may have left our crew and changed a whole lot, but that's still the same guy whom I knew as a kid and who used to play video games with me until we both fell asleep or who helped me take care of Cassie whenever she got sick. So. He was - is - my adoptive sibling and all that. And now that's out of the way, there's an unrelated, second point... I've never dated anyone before, so even if I tried to come up with an answer I wouldn't even know what 'my type' is. I want to find someone who loves me romantically, but I don't feel sexual attraction in the way most people seem to feel, which makes dating around a bit trickier than it already is. So, still haven't found what my type is BUT I know for sure that type will never be Deimos."

[bonaesperanza]

All of this.

And also, Succession for me is one of the rare shows where the psychological and sociological messaging intertwine and inform each other seamlessly.

People often act like it's either a show fundamentally about the evils of capitalism and the complex characterizations are there to add flavour (no they're not, if that were the case the writers wouldn't put that much effort into the trauma parts and y ou'd get something like Glass Onion or Don't Look Up), or a show about abuse and trauma that just happens to be set in the context of the 0,1% to make it more exciting.

I think it's a show about how societal systems breed trauma and vice-versa, because the capitalism as it's portrayed in the show has the same logic and mechanisms as an abusive family. Logan is successful BECAUSE he's a bastard, and he became a bastard so he could become successful in a ruthless world where everything is a "fight for a knife in the mud". And he raised his children to be bastards as well, and he did it by applying the ruthless hypercompetitive hyperpunitive capitalist logic to their upbringing, leaving them as the perfect embodiment of everything we criticize in modern society, from the myopia of privilege, to the internalization of toxic zero-sum narratives, to the commodification of relationships, to people playing to "win" and not to provide or find any kind of purpose in what they're doing.

Whenever anyone tries to apply any other kind of strategy, their environment ruthlessly yanks them back down and punishes them for it, so it's all kind of self-propagating: they're all desperate to escape but they're all also pulling each other back in like crabs in a barrel. At its core it's a tragedy of the commons/prison dilemma kind of narrative, and this is how capitalism functions: people trying for kinder practices are eviscerated by the likes of Jeff Bezos because it's the system that's broken. I rarely see works of art that portray this phenomenon with such perfect precision.

And it's successful precisely BECAUSE it makes you empathize with the characters, to the point that you feel it on a visceral level when they're humiliated or "lose" something they want. You need to become intimate with them to realize that, just like with most of us, their identities are built entirely on the social norms of their environment. Even though to us their problems seem ridiculous, they are filtering the world through their own broken lived experience and for them "losing" feels as visceral and annihilating as it does to anyone else, despite them realistically still being better off that 99% of people. That's kind of how human beings function: we're hypersensitive to loss, and humiliation, and others antagonizing us, and it's difficult to see the wider picture under those circumstances because your lizard brain is constantly working overtime. And again, this is what capitalism does: by pitting us against each other, by making everything a competition, by creating artificial scarcity, by teaching us to base our identities on being "winners", it keeps us in a constant state of fight-or-flight and unable to focus on wider issues or other people or anything that doesn't personally concern us. And creating a kind of narrative where you can't help but empathize with the characters and cheer for them and hope that something good will happen to them to offset their existential emptiness gets YOUR lizard brain going so you can see how easy it is to fall into this kind of mindset.

And this entire system creates insecure, unstable bastards who then see everything through this kind of mercenary lens and have a hard time connecting to their fellow humans. And then go on to be shitty spouses, parents, siblings. Because that's who you need to become to thrive in this kind of system. The system rewards it. Circle closed.

And it has to be about rich yet broken people because it needs to show you that it's the system that's the problem, it eats its young even at the top of the pyramid. You can't change it simply by putting "better people" at the top of the broken pyramid of pain, the pyramid of pain makes EVERYONE selfish and broken.

“the ruling class is never touched by the grief and pain and suffering of the working classes they rule over”  IS the point of succession. ‘it’s not saying anything new’ is a silly and vague and kind of baffling criticism -- not even getting into ‘is art supposed to say anything new?’ i’d counter that succession shows us the above thesis in new, creative ways that are meant to make one deeply uncomfortable. you are meant to hate and sympathize with the roys. the show pivots on the axis of their humanity, wretched as it is. hurt people hurt people (multibillion dollar bass boosted edition). it’s all very basic at it’s core. and like. art is meant to be experienced and an experience doesn’t have to be comforting. and even then the show does a great job of never letting you forget about all the working class people needed to make the roy’s lives as gilded as they are through visual storytelling – if they never get close to the roys or are able to fuck them over in some pivotal good guys are able to meaningfully impact the ruling class moment, well. that’s the point. succession is an illustrative narrative, really, not a transformative one 

[aminiatureworld]

An Unexpected Rival

Characters: Childe, Scaramouche, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 3,556

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: When thinking about fighting for the affections of someone, one normally imagines great declarations of love and promises of loyalty. But sometimes that’s not it. Sometimes it’s simply living with a being that hates you more than anything.

In which the reader’s pet hates their s/o

Author’s Note: I did give the pets names because I felt I couldn’t really refer to them as “your pet” the whole time. I also am not a pet owner. Still I hope you enjoy! 

Going to try non bullet pointed for a bit. We’ll see how it goes!

Childe

Honestly you didn’t know what to do.

Here you were, standing in the middle of the living room of your apartment, trying desperately not to laugh at the sight of your dog sitting directly on the chest of your much beleaguered partner.

You hadn’t really considered the consequences of introducing Childe to Lacey. I mean, how badly could the interactions be between the man you were convinced was your soulmate and the nicest golden retriever that had ever existed? If there was going to be issues you’d reasoned it would be on Childe’s side. So when your partner lit up at the mention of your fluffy child, you’d assumed all would be well.

Evidently that was not the case. You knew that Lacey could be clingy on occasion, but she’d really been making an effort these past few weeks. Knocking your partner out of the way when you two walked through the door together, refusing to stop walking when you two met up at a park or on the street, refusing to answer to Childe’s attempts at affection. It was almost impressive, the lengths Lacey was willing to go to establish her position as Number One Childe Hater – especially impressive considered the well-attested competition, including but not limited to a Fatui Harbinger.

Now you sprung into action as best you could, bottling up the giggles that threatened to erupt at any moment.

“Childe!” You exclaimed, walking closer. Lacey still refused to stand up, but her tail thumped excitedly against the floor, and she let out a short whine of appreciation. Unfazed by this cry for praise you sighed. “Lacey! Get up! Honestly, you’re not being a very good testament to your intelligence right now.”

Nudging her slightly you sighed with relief as the golden retriever sprang up, attacking your hands and face with kisses as you dragged Childe up to a sitting position. Childe at least seemed unfazed by the sudden attack, letting out a mere “oof”, and smiling a slightly embarrassed smile.

“I’m really sorry about this Childe.” You said, hands still batting away Lacey’s frantic activity as she attempted to get you to focus on her.

“It’s alright. Just, wow she’s a heavier girl than I expected.”

“Hopefully no squished organs?”

“Archons no! It’ll take more than this girl to fell me, don’t you worry.” Childe attempted to give Lacey a pet, but the dog that had just before been laying all over him now scampered out of the way, instead pawing at your back.

“Lacey! Stop being so rude! Urgh, and here I was hoping that you two would be somewhat settled before I went on my trip.”

You sighed, letting your head drop into the palms of your hand, not wanting to think about what might happen during the week and a half that Childe would be required to take care of Lacey. Would she even let him in the apartment to feed her? What about walks and the like? Were you going to come home to all our warfare? Childe seemed to understand your quickly dropping mood, placing a hand on your shoulder and rubbing small circles with his thumb, even as Lacey whined and began pawing at his arm.

“I promise it’ll be alright my dear. We’ll manage while you’re gone and who knows? Maybe by the time you get back we’ll be thick as thieves, and then you’ll be the one getting sat on.”

“Who knows.” You let out a burst of laughter. But even as you two shared this moment of levity your mind continued to spin its threads, dreading the days to come and what you’d be presented with the day you got back.

 “Alright, what’re we going to do.”

Childe stood in the foyer, hands on his hip, irritation in his heart. Lacey seemed to be mimicking the gesture, chest puffed out proudly as she stared the Harbinger down. They must’ve been standing like that for at least ten minutes, Childe thought to himself, ten minutes of staring and nothing yet done. It was beginning to grate on him, and were it not for the fact that you’d have to pay for damages, he was quite tempted to vault over the nearby furniture, if only so he could get to the kitchen and have this miserable showdown be over.

He didn’t dislike Lacey, no Childe didn’t think he could truly dislike any dog if he tried. He used to dream of owning a wolf pup, of flopping around in the snow with his companion, running as fast as he could and still being chased down with a crash, before being bombarded by affectionate pawing and kisses. These memories seemed quite silly when faced with the reality of caring for a dog however, and now he wanted only to bang his head against the wall, and maybe pass out from the exertion.

“I get that you love your owner.” He spoke again, how long had he been talking to this dog? “But I don’t think this is the way to win their heart.”

Lacey said nothing, simply narrowing her eyes and letting out a slightly hiss. Still Childe continued on.

“And like it or not you are going to have to eat eventually. So I suggest if you’re going to misbehave, that you should at least do it on a day when I’m not your primary caretaker.”

When there was still no movement from Lacey Childe sighed. That evening when he returned to his own apartment it was with the unfortunate knowledge that golden retriever bites hurt a lot more than he’d expected them too.

 It was storming, and the city of Liyue had transformed from a glistening city to one of mud and rusted iron. Childe swore under his breath as he pulled his coat closer around him, desperately trying to keep as dry as possible. Who knew if he’d be able to make it to your bedroom and grab one of his spare shirts with Lacey acting like he was a burglar instead of well known acquaintance? The song and dance between the two of them was grating. Feeding your golden retriever being nearly impossible, not to mention the times when Childe half dragged Lacey through the most half assed of walks. Really how could such a gentle spirit turn so stubborn so quickly? Childe didn’t know, all he knew was that the sooner you came home the sooner he could stop worry about being nipped at the heels.

The sight that met Childe at the entrance to your apartment was jarring. Instead of the usual irritated dog Childe was met with utter silence, and a stillness that betrayed the fact that not only was Lacey not in the hall, but she was also avoiding the kitchen and the living room.

“Lacey?” Childe called out, getting no answer but the whipping of wind and the rumble of thunder. “I swear if you managed to run off – Lacey!”

Going further down the hall Childe finally heard the sound of muffled whimpering. Walking into your bedroom he spied Lacey under the bed, eyes filled not with disdain, but with anxiety.

“Lacey, why in Teyvat are you here?”

There was no reply, until suddenly another clap of thunder shook the walls. Lacey let out a yelp and crawled under the bed a little more, flattening her head against the floor, although there was not much room left in that department. Childe stared at this for a second letting the pieces fall into place. He just couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe that this was the same Lacey who so fearlessly guarded the apartment against his entrance every day.

This slight smugness was extinguished rather quickly though, instead replaced with a sense of pity, and the need to make this poor girl feel the least bit better.

“Hey, hey it’ll be alright.” Childe spoke softly. For a moment he left the room, but quickly he returned, towels and blankets in hand, praying that you wouldn’t mind that he messed up your closet a little bit.

“Let’s make a fort, shall we?”

Not waiting for any sort of acknowledgment Childe began to pile up the covers on your bed, making sure to lay down towels in case you were worried of shedding. At first Lacey did nothing much than scooch out enough to watch him, but within the next flash of lightning she was up and moving, diving under the makeshift fort and clambering around Childe, as if trying to find out if she could burrow through the Harbinger.

“I know, I know, it’s pretty scary out there, huh?” Childe ruffled Lacey’s head slightly. “But you’ll see, it’ll pass soon enough. And then we can go back to fighting, alright.”

Lacey let out a whine, but nevertheless began to settle down, lying down and once more resting her head on her paws.

“There’s a good girl.” Childe smiled softly. “You aren’t that bad you know. At least you aren’t that bad when you’re not trying to bite my leg off.”

Your surprise at the improvement in Childe-Lacey relations was somewhat immense when you returned. Though Childe refused to say what had managed to form such a bond between your disgruntled pet and him, only that he hoped you didn’t mind dog hair on your bed. Lacey, for her part, no longer tried to sit on your partner.

Even if she still pushed him out of the way when you came home.

 Scaramouche

Scaramouche could deal with a lot of things. He could deal with the fact that your parrot wouldn’t let the man within three feet of the parrot’s cage without attempting to bite his hands off. He could deal with the obnoxiously loud clicking whenever he got too close to you, and he could deal with fact that your parrot was fond of yelling random phrases at him in the most aggressive tone Scaramouche had ever heard. Scaramouche could deal with all of that. What he couldn’t deal with is what your parrot insisted on calling him, no matter how much time was spent saying: “Scaramouche. I am Scaramouche!”

“Electro boy? Really?”

“I’m sorry Scara,” you let out a giggle, “I didn’t know what your name was when I first saw you.”

Oh Scaramouche was sure of that, but did that really mean that Oliver had to call him solely by that title? It didn’t help that you must’ve referred to Scaramouche an awful lot as “Electro Boy” for it to be the name that stuck in Oliver’s mind. And regardless of how many times you used the title, it was one thing for you to use the nickname. It was quite another thing for Oliver to, since, unlike in your case, Oliver’s use of “Electro Boy” could be nothing but derogatory.

Scaramouche had long given up in wooing the errant parrot over. If they were to be mortal enemies, so be it. He’d dealt with that before.

“Oh Scaramouche, you must be joking!” You’d exclaimed when he’d revealed this train of thought, cupping his face in your hand and pressing affectionate kisses to his face. He’d let you do so, let you imagine that one day there might be a reconciliation. But in his heart he knew. Unless Oliver learned to stop with the name calling, Scaramouche would never forgive him for the insult.

“I wish you would write.” You whispered.

Pain skirted through Scaramouche’s face, but still he refused the promise that you needed. You knew that Scaramouche would never be able to have a normal relationship with you, that these trips were necessary, were a part of him that you’d never be able to wrench away. Still, the least he could do was promise to write. Without his writings, well how could you even be sure he was alive?

“I’m sorry.” Scaramouche whispered. Leaning in so your foreheads were touching he let out a sigh, warming your lips with his breath. “I cannot promise I will write. I wouldn’t like to break a promise to you.”

“I know.” You whispered back, shaking your head as much as you could. “Still, I’d almost rather a broken promise.”

“You wouldn’t. I know it would drive you mad.”

“Perhaps, but better than nothing?”

You two stood there, basking in silence. A familiar cry broke the reverie.

“Electro Boy! Electro Boy!” A series of clicks accompanied the sudden shriek. There was no better way to break the spell. Almost immediately Scaramouche pulled away. Walking towards the door he paused, turning around one more time.

“I’ll miss you.”

Those words washed over you, their owner having been carried away with the wind.

 Scaramouche hurried up the steps, anticipation keep his pace quick and his thoughts a jumble of fragments. The long mission he’d been sent on was finally over, and now he could think not of noisy soldiers, nor of the people who continually disappointed him, but of you. He couldn’t wait, every step on the staircase felt like an obstacle, something he must triumph against to reach you. Finally arriving at your door he barely paused, stepping this way and that as he opened the door before striding into the hallway as fast as he could.

“I’m home.” He called into the afternoon light. Almost immediately two things happened. One was that you leapt off your position on the couch, practically barreling yourself into his arms. The second was that Oliver began to screech, hopping from one foot to the other in an indecipherable dance.

“Scara, you’re home!” You cried, exclamation by the way you buried your face into his shoulder.

“Scara! Scara! Scaramouche!” Oliver echoed. The words made Scaramouche freeze up, taken aback as he was by their usage.

“What was that Oliver?” He called out, not altogether sure if the parrot would even reply to him. Scaramouche had really only referred to Oliver by name the first time he met him. After that you had to settle with “the bird” or “the noisemaker”. This time, however Scaramouche couldn’t help but use it. This was, after all, a matter of great importance.

“Scaramouche, Scaramouche, who’s a pretty bird?” Oliver tittered irreverently.

His tone was still somewhat sharp, Scaramouche never heard Oliver snap at you the way he did him, but nevertheless the words had struck a chord. Finding himself at a loss for words Scaramouche stared at you, trying to figure out what was going on.

“That’s probably my fault,” you laughed hesitantly, “I guess I was talking about you more than I thought. It’s only that, well I missed you an awful lot. And Oliver is my confidante, he always has been. So I guess I’ve just been talking a lot to him about you. I’ve really missed you…”

Scaramouche felt his heart soften. Leaning over he pressed a kiss to your forehead, much to the indignation of Oliver, who twittered away as normal. Still, it was better than it had been before. And, if Scaramouche could admit it to himself, he didn’t mind the idea of you pouring out to Oliver how much you missed him. It made him feel important, feel whole. And if your rude bird had helped at all, then Scaramouche could find it in him to respect Oliver, though only a little.

“I’m glad you thought of me.” He whispered to you. “And I’m glad you still had a confidante to talk to.”

And if the result was a parrot who no longer called him “Electro Boy”, then all the better.

 Xiao

Honestly Xiao couldn’t really see the appeal of pets. Something that was only cemented when he met your cat.

“And this is Honey.” You’d said softly, picking up the orange feline and cradling her in your arms. The cat made no sounds, instead it stared straight at Xiao, eyes narrow, gaze untrusting. Xiao was equally out of depths in this matter. What was he supposed to do? Pet it, presumably. Reaching out with hesitant fingers Xiao almost immediately pulled away, dodging an onslaught of clawing.

Ever since then there seemed to have been an odd hierarchy established, at least in Honey’s mind. She never let Xiao sit next to you, oh no, that would’ve been too generous. Instead Honey squeezed into the space between you two, no matter how small and wow was it small sometimes, meowing angrily as Xiao passed his arm over her head to hold your hand. Sometimes she’d try the tactic of walking all over you, lying on your lap, wrapping herself around your shoulders, and all the time glaring at Xiao as if he’d brought some sort of catastrophe on her for daring to try and get close to you.

“Your cat hates me.”

“She does not!” You exclaimed. “Honey doesn’t hate anyone! She just needs to get used to you.”

“She hates me. She thinks I’m beneath her.”

Xiao glared up at Honey, who was looming over the conversation via the bookshelf in your bedroom. Honey’s eyes narrowed and for a moment Xiao felt as if he’d somehow spilled the cat’s secrets. It wasn’t his fault that he knew what she was thinking. After all, hadn’t Xiao been like that for a time? An ornery soul who found most interactions beneath him? Who knew he’d be on the receiving end of that relationship someday. He certainly didn’t appreciate it now.

“You just need to get used to one another.” You continued to assure Xiao. “Honey’s a little bit possessive. It’s nothing personal. She’ll get over it.”

Well it’d been four weeks since that conversation and unfortunately Honey showed exactly zero signs of “getting over it”. Though perhaps she wasn’t clawing at him anymore, maybe because you’d actually scolded her for it, the gaze never left her eyes. The fact that she meowed loudly whenever Xiao made more contact than hand holding also didn’t help her case.

 Xiao sighed, staring at the sky as the sun began its descent beyond the peaks of Liyue. A cluster of trees ringed the back part of your house – trees apparently planted by your grandparents – and Xiao enjoyed perching in them to watch the sunset.

“At least here the cat will leave me alone.” He muttered.

It’d been a tiring day. Honey had been in a particularly bad mood – probably the result of Xiao staying the night – and the atmosphere in the house had become somehow so tense that Xiao figured taking a hike wouldn’t be a bad idea. Even if he found the whole exercise a bit demeaning.

“I’m losing to a cat.” Xiao called flatly out into the air. There was no reply of course, but he didn’t mind that. Imagine what his fellow adepti would think of him now, flailing around, trying to win the affections of a furball whose favorite pastime was being as irritating as possible.

Now Xiao heard a familiar yowl. Glancing down he spied Honey, hair standing on end, gripping a branch as if her life belonged to it. An old conversation rose to the front of his mind. Something about cats being able to go up trees very easily, but not so much down. What an idiotic creature, he thought to himself.

Still it’d be ill form to leave the poor idiot clutching onto the branch, so fighting his smugness as beset he could Xiao leaned over and attempted to wrench the cat from the branches. Honey let out a series of shrieks, claws digging into the bark, but eventually she relinquished and Xiao pulled her up onto his lap. Almost immediately she began pawing at his chest, meowing her indignancy.

“I know.” Xiao glared at the cat. “But they wouldn’t be very happy if you got stuck.”

As if to reply Honey narrowed her eyes, turning around to look at the skyline, rather than acknowledge the adeptus she was now laying on. Xiao hummed in response.

“You know things would be easier if you weren’t so aggressive.”

A meow in response.

“I don’t understand you. I don’t understand why you’re so territorial.”

Another meow.

“I suppose I’m like that. I also want them to myself. Things would be easier without you clawing at me. But they love you, and that’s what matters. I don’t know why but they do.”

Silence, perhaps Honey was insulted by the way Xiao spoke.

“I can’t say I’ll love you. But I’ll try to like you. As long as you try to like me.”

Silence again, but this time Xiao took it as an assent. Letting out a sigh he turned back towards the horizon, gaze drifting towards the peaks that Honey too was watching with interest. The night was alive with the soft chirps of insects, and a faint breeze ruffled Xiao hair, dancing through Honey’s fur. Xiao let out a sigh and, nemesis on his stomach, allowed himself a little rest.

You stared at the mismatched pair, a smile playing on your lips. How funny they looked, curled up together. Like two cats, one a panther, the other a tabby. And yet somehow the tabby was running the shots.

They look so peaceful, you mused to yourself, who knows what they might be like in the morning.

At the very least, you’d be sure to enquire about the nature of your partner’s conversation with your cat, something which had seemed very important to him.

[awkwardspontaneity]

Until The Battle Is Won

BOTW Link x GN!Sheikah!Reader

Final part of Memories of You!

Previous

AN: Hey everyone!! This is the final chapter of this story. I wanna thank everyone for sticking around with my lousy update schedule ':). Anyways, I've loved writing this story and I'm kind of sad to see it end but also I love this ending so much- even though it hurts. So grab some water, maybe a snack, some tissues, and strap in. This is long and pretty sad.

TW: gore, reader death, descriptive injuries

Summary:  The final battle is here. Hyrule is in ruins as Ganon tears through every defense they had and now, the final champions must protect their Princess in the race to deliver them to their destinies.

It was dark.

Link was running through the forest, another hand in his as Y/n led the way. Their white hair was a beacon amongst the trees as he surged to keep up with their gazelle-like pace. He was focused on keeping up with the Sheikah warrior when he felt the hand slip from his. Link skidded to a stop, shouting for Y/n over the pouring rain. He knelt in front of Zelda, watching as she dug her fists into the mud beneath her. “How did it come to this? The Divine Beasts. The Guardians. They’ve all turned against us. It was... Calamity Ganon.”

Y/n had made their way back to the pair, carefully falling to their knees beside Link. He felt their hand curl around his, sensing the turmoil in him. It was all falling apart around them. They had worked so hard, faced so many trials, and made so many friends. And it was all for nothing. The fight was stacked against them, so much so that even Link was feeling the knot in his chest. They all felt helpless.

“Mipha, Urbosa, Revali, and Daruk…trapped inside those things...” the princess let out a heart-wrenching sob. “It’s all my fault!”

As Zelda cried into her hands, Y/n reached out to pull them back down, carefully pulling away the strands curled into her fists. When watery green eyes met red, the young Sheikah gave a pained smile. They linked hands with the princess and the knight, giving them both a firm squeeze. “I know it feels like we’ve already lost, like everything we’ve done has been for nothing. But we can’t think like that. We have the power of the master sword and the sealing light of the Goddess. As long as we hold our heads high and give this fight everything we have, Hyrule will survive this.”

“But I can’t use the sealing power!” Zelda pulled her hands away, fisting them in her dress to stop the shaking. Maybe if she weren’t such a failure, Hyrule wouldn’t be in danger. Her friends wouldn’t have to give their lives to face that monster. Why couldn't she do this one thing right! “I’ve tried everything and still I keep failing. Because of me they’ll die fighting the very beasts they were meant to pilot!”

“None of us can save them!” Y/n was looking down at the ground and, even through the rain, they could feel the tears sliding down their cheeks. “We can’t go back from where we are. We don’t have the time or the ability to save them from those beasts. So we must move forward. If we give up now… everything we went through…everything they are going through... it will be for nothing. And Hyrule will fall.”

Zelda surged forward, collapsing in her friend's arms. She clung to both as a sob tore from her throat. None of them could be strong. Not strong enough. Pressing his hand against Zelda’s back, Link reached out and placed a hand on Y/n’s arm. His voice was gruff, the stress and pain of what they were about to do- what they had already done, was too much for any person to bear. “All that we can do is keep fighting for their sake. We have to keep moving or we lose. We can win. We have to.”

He met Y/n’s eyes and they gave him a soft smile. They pressed their hand against his back and the princesses shoulder drawing both pairs of eyes to them. “No matter what happens, our friends will be by our side. Their wills become ours. And when you face down Ganon, you won’t be doing it alone. You’ll have the love and support of all your friends. All of Hyrule. So save your tears until the battle is won.”

Zelda sniffled, bringing a hand up to wipe at her cheek- not that it did much help with how muddy they had gotten from being on the ground. She wanted so badly to give into the crushing weight of everything that had happened. Just this morning she had held hope within her as she climbed mount Lanayru and now… she had lost everyone she loved. Her kingdom had fallen along with her father. All she had left sat here before her. Gazing at her with matching weight on their shoulders. They too felt the chains of destiny closing in around them. But they stood tall. These two bore the weight of the world without complaint and now, they placed their belief in her. The failure of a princess would not fail again. She refused to fail her friends. “Then we have no choice. We have to fight for them… and for each other.”

Y/n smiled at the princess, carefully pulling the trio together so their heads touched. “When this is over we can do as many crazy experiments as you want.”

Laughter bubbled up amongst the trio, smiles breaking through the tough exteriors they had adopted the closer Calamity had gotten. Each of them had suffered at the hands of destiny, and now they would face what could be their final battle.

Y/n choked back a sob as they thought of the sacrifices that had brought them to this point. The sacrifices they would need to make to save Hyrule. All they wanted was for their friends to be able to look over their homes with smiles. For the weights to finally be lifted from their shoulders and allow them to live their lives without the looming threats of their destinies. They knew the knight and the princess could never go forward after all that had happened since Calamity broke through but, if there was something they could do to protect those they had left, Y/n would do whatever it took.

Link watched his friends with a tightness in his chest. They were ready to face Calamity Ganon. He would protect them in the final battle and, when the time came, they would finally be free of the weight of Hyrule. He stood up, reaching a hand to the princess to pull her to her feet. Y/n placed their hand on his cheek, wiping with their thumb as he watched them. They gave a smile and he knew. They had confidence in him. He never viewed himself as a hero, no matter how many times his partner had called him one. But when Y/n looked at him it was like that pressure lifted. Like he really could defeat Ganon. And he would. No matter how long the fight lasted. To finally be able to spend his days doing what he wanted with the person he loved. To be free.

The trio took off again, heading towards the castle. Y/n stuck close this time so they could discuss battle plans with Link. They knew the most Guardians were in the fields near the castle so they would need to find a way past them. They couldn’t release the Guardians from the corruption so they would have to destroy them if they were spotted. The question was if they could destroy that many.

Y/n was starting to wish they had Robbie's anti-Guardian weaponry, even if they weren’t perfected.

------

The answer was no. They could not defeat the Guardians.

They had barely made it halfway through the fields before they were spotted. Once one Guardian had seen them, the rest followed. They were surrounded in seconds and, no matter how many Link and Y/n took down, it seemed like 5 more took their places. They were more than outnumbered. They were losing hope fast.

Y/n shot three bomb arrows into Guardians eyes, barely dodging blasts from two others. As the Guardians collapsed to the ground more followed. Mechanical limbs crushing their brethren to the ground with a deadly screech. They only cared to destroy the champions that stood below them. And it was starting to feel like they would.

Another blast echoed in Y/n’s ears and they felt the burn of the laser against their cheek. Too close! They knocked an arrow when the screech of metal sounded behind them. They barely managed to roll out of the way of a destroyed Guardian collapsing to the ground where they stood. They barely came up from the ground when they were knocked back down again.

“AHHH!”

Y/n could barely hear their scream over the shrieks of metal and the ringing in their ears. Flames crackled around them but the heat was nothing compared to the agony in their shoulder. They had been hit. Their skin still burned like thousands of needles pricking their way across their chest. They could feel nothing and everything at once. Like every nerve in their body was exposed and on fire. They couldn't focus, flames and metal blurring into one. It was over, wasn't it?

“-n… Y/n… Y/N!” Y/n felt the arms around them, a sob tearing through their throat as a hand brushed against the wound. Red eyes finally focused in on teary green orbs. It was only when their vision blurred did they realize tears were falling. The princess was crying too, shouting over the noise as the young Sheikah lay limp in her arms. Her hands slipped on the blood surrounding their shoulder and Y/n shot up with a silent gasp of agony.

“Y/N! You’re okay!”

Y/n stared at the princess in front of them. “Where’s Link?”

Zelda pointed to the center of the battle where the champion fought. Y/n shot to their feet, ignoring the pain that tore through them. They drew back their bowstring. “Whistle so he comes this way princess.”

She whistled as loud as she could and Link spun to the duo. His eyes widened as an arrow streaked past him and he took off. The champion slid behind the pile of fallen Guardians as the bomb arrow exploded. Dust and flames shot into the air creating a cloud over the battlefield.

Y/n ducked under the fallen Guardian with the others, heavy breaths escaping them all. It was only a moment. A single breath of time to plan their next move.

Link was the first to move, lunging forward to inspect his partner. He had seen them fall. Seen the princess holding them in her arms. And he had thought that was it. But here Y/n sat. Injured, but alive. And that was what mattered. That they were alive. He brushed hair away from their face with a shaky smile- honestly more of a grimace. He couldn’t find the words to explain his relief. How much he needed them and that he was happy they were okay, so he stuck with simple. “I love you.”

Y/n smiled back. They always knew what he meant, like they could read every thought in his head. They had felt it too. That moment of fear that they would never see each other again. But they were still here, giving him that goofy grin he loved so much. Despite their pain, Y/n was a rock- solid and unmovable. And they gave him hope. Y/n could smile at him and he could fight until his last breath. “I love you too.”

They sat in each other's arms, taking in the moment they had together. What could be their last moment with each other. Because Y/n had a plan.

“You have to go ahead without me.”

Y/n watched their friend’s faces morph to shock, then anger. Y/n knew they would fight the idea, but they had no choice. Even as their friends protested the idea, the Sheikah held up a hand. “If you and Zelda are to make it to the castle you need a clear path.”

“You can’t take on the Guardians alone!”

“It’s the only choice.”

“You said we fight together.” Y/n met Link’s eyes and they almost broke at the agony in them. They had never seen so much painted across his visage, the boy keeping a stoic face for the sake of his role. But here they were. There weren't enough words to describe the pain they both felt, physically and mentally. They were fighting on the losing side, and now they could lose each other? It was hard to see a point in the fight with so little left.

“Leaving you is my last choice… but I need you- both of you- to survive.”

“And what about you!?”

“I’M NOT THE CHOSEN ONE!” Y/n finally allowed the tears to fall. They didn’t matter. What mattered was guiding the chosen pair to Ganon. As long as Link and Zelda survived, they had completed their duty. Their life never mattered. It didn’t hold the same weight. Choking back their sobbing, Y/n tried to smile. They had their happy moments. Made friends. Fell in love. And now they had to fulfill their destiny. No matter how much it hurt. “Right now our destinies have to part ways… and I don’t know how long we’ll be apart. So I need you to keep fighting, even when I’m not beside you. Because together I know you can beat Ganon.”

“We shouldn’t have to leave you.” Tears were swimming in his cerulean eyes. The only thing that kept Link from crying was the promise he made. He wouldn’t cry until the battle was over. “I can’t lose you. You are my life… and I can’t live without you.”

“You can.” Y/n reached out, caressing his face in their hands. “You will… because I love you. I love you in this life, and the next, and every one that follows. I will stand by you until there isn’t a reason to fight and even then, I’ll stay with you. I. Love. You.”

Link surged forwards, pressing his lips against theirs. It was desperate. He needed to convey everything he felt in the few moments left. That they would stand together no matter what time they were in. They could be ripped apart or thrown through time, or even lose all their memories and they would still share this bond. As long as destiny brought them together, they would connect like perfect halves. They completed each other.

Link was the first to pull away, hands running through Y/n’s hair and over their face. It was like he was trying to memorize every detail about them. Like if he focused he could commit Y/n to memory. He needed to be able to find them again, even if it was only within his own thoughts.

“You need to go.” Y/n broke the trance, whispering the words neither of them wanted to hear.

They had to part ways.

Link pressed a final kiss to Y/n’s forehead before he stood up. Zelda lunged forward to hug the Sheikah, sobs escaping her. She squeezed so tightly Y/n had to bite their tongue to keep the whimper at bay as pain shot through their injuries. They would bare the pain for this moment with their friend. Pulling Zelda close to their form, Y/n whispered encouragement and thanks for their time together.

When Zelda pulled away, she wiped her tears before giving a grin. She may not hold the same belief in herself that the others did, but she would do what she could. She would hold onto the strength of her friends and use it as her weapon. Everyone had protected her for a reason. She would show them it was not in vain.

With their final goodbyes Link and Zelda took off, weaving through the corpses of Guardians. Y/n waited until they had reached the open fields before stepping out from their hiding spot and whistling. Mechanics whirred to life around them as Guardians rose to defense. Y/n drew back their arrows, white hot pain flaring as their shoulder stretched. This would be their final stand. They would give it their all, here and now, so their friends could go on.

The next few moments were a blur of exploding arrows, machines being crushed, and the blasts of lasers. Y/n couldn't keep track of how many times they had pulled back the string of their bow, loosing arrow after arrow in order to keep the masses of mechanical beasts focused on their being. They reached for their quiver once more, red eyes focused on the glowing eyes of the Guardians targeting them, only to come up empty. There were no arrows left.

There was no more hiding. All the Sheikah had left were the dual blades strapped to their side and the hope their speed would be fast enough to survive.

Y/n pulled out their blades, taking off towards the closest Guardian. They jumped up the front, thrusting their blade into its eye before flipping onto the next. The process of picking off Guardians continued as the Champion flipped and twisted their way through the masses of mechanical monsters.

Flipping off the top of a Guardian, the Sheikah noticed Guardians getting away from them. They had noticed the others! Y/n ran towards where their friends were and, in their panic, missed the giant arm heading their way.

CRUNCH

With a strangled cry, the Sheikah champion hit the ground. They tried to stand, curling in on themselves as they hit the ground again with a sob. There were too many. Y/n was exhausted. Everything hurt. So. Much.

Letting out a cough, Y/n felt a warm liquid trickle down their face. They could hear the Guardian closing in on them. The rest seemed to have lost interest when the champion fell, allowing this one to make sure it was for the last time. Propping themselves up, Y/n could see the red target on their chest. Mustering all the strength left in their body, they launched their sword at the Guardian. It struck the eye and, twitching in its failure, the beast fell. Unfortunately, this drew the rest of the Guardians back to the young Sheikah on the ground. Y/n fell back to the ground.

Thump.

Guardians picked their way over mounds of mechanical parts.

Thump.

Y/n closed their eyes.

Thump.

At least it didn’t hurt anymore.

BOOM!

Golden light erupted across the fields of Hyrule, extinguishing the flames and sucking the light from the Guardians deadly eyes.

It was warm.

Y/n smiled. Zelda had done it. She wasn’t a failure. She had unlocked her sealing powers and finally, Ganon would know defeat once more.

Y/n watched the clouds clear from the sky, stars beginning to light up the night. They supposed Ganon had pulled back from the golden aura. Maybe one day they could lay under the stars with Link. Swallowing the metallic taste of their blood the fallen warrior reached a hand up. They basked in the light of the stars twinkling above. It was like they were waving the champion up to their sides. As Y/n’s light faded, the stars grew brighter, blurring together into one light.

And with a soft breath, the Sheikah Champion allowed themselves to rest at last.

------

100 years later Link stood there watching over the fields of Hyrule. Calamity Ganon had finally been defeated. Zelda was safe as was Hyrule. The duo had made their way down from the wreckage of the castle, ready to begin their new adventure. They were free of their destiny, but the memories would follow with them forever. The Hylian Champion felt a tug and he spun back to face the castle. There above floated the spirits of his fellow Champions. Finally free from the corruption of Ganon and his malice beasts. But what stole the breath from his lungs was the spirit of the one he loved- Y/n- floating there with a grin on their face. Noticing him watching, they sent him a goofy wave, knocking their spectral arm against Revali. Link let out a snort. They never changed. Their lights began to dim as the Champions began to walk away leaving him to watch their final goodbyes. He smiled softly as he saw Y/n mouth ‘I love you’, a hand pressing against their heart, something he was quick to respond to. With one last wave, the Sheikah Champion faded away. And as Link watched the spirits of his friends- his love- fade into light, he let a tear fall quickly followed by more.

The battle was won.

[manndo]

in autumn light [pero tovar x f!reader]

gif credit

pairing[s]: pero tovar x f!reader

warning[s]: hints of sexual situations/sexual acts, fluff, domesticity, breast feeding, talks of pregnancy/being pregnant, pero being a menace and a tease, mention of fighting, mention of possible death

word count: 3.0k

prompt[s]: came from this prompt list — the first day of november which is ‘crisp air’

summary: you and pero always seem to find each other in autumn. 

author’s notes: once again, a prompt got away with me. this should have been a drabble, but here we have a 3,000 word fic featuring our favorite grumpy mercenary 🥰 this is my first time writing for pero, and he will definitely be added to the collection of characters to write. he is a favorite of mine and i thoroughly enjoyed writing for him. i hope you all enjoy this sweet little fic. as always, any and all mistakes are my own. comments, reblogs and likes are much appreciated! ❤️

You remembered it was morning when he happened upon your land for the first time.

The air was crisp, the sun having finally tiptoed over the horizon, slowly melting the frost from the blades of grass. The leaves were steadily falling from the trees around you, brushing against your skirts as you walked toward the chicken coop. Your hens had been fickle since the weather turned colder, laying less and less eggs each day. You had just made it to their coop when you’d heard the steady beat of hooves coming toward you.

At first, you thought nothing of the noise. You lived on the outskirts, most villagers and people coming through town passed by your home. However, as you were searching your coop for eggs (and coming up empty handed, mumbling curses each time you did), you heard the hooves come to a stop. Not trail off. No, a full stop. That made your ears perk up, and your head come out from your chicken coop. And come face to face with broad, shaggy man dressed in heavy chainmail, sword at his hip, covered in dirt and grim, with a violent scar across his eye.

“I heard you were in need of some help for the winter,” he said in lieu of greeting, his voice low, gruff.

You raised your brow. “From whom?”

He placed one hand on his hip, the other on the hilt of his sword.. “The innkeeper.”

Ah. Frederick — the man was an old family friend and knew you were alone here, your father having just passed not three months ago, leaving you to tend to your meager family farm by yourself for the winter. But to send this man — a stranger who looked like he had spent more time on a battlefield than a farm? You had to wonder what Frederick was thinking. But, Frederick was a good man, a smart man. He had seen many things in his life, known many different people. Was there something to this stranger he had seen while serving him a hot meal and a pint?

You looked over the man once more, from the top of his scraggly dark locks to the tips of his mud trodden boots. You had caught the raised eyebrow as you did, the hint of a smirk through the scowl (which, you learned after a while, wasn’t actually permanent, though you did like to tease him that it was), but said nothing as you took him in. “I’ll pay a few coin a week for your services.” You could already see the scowl begin to deepen. “In addition, I will provide you lodging and food,” you finished, giving him the terms for your agreement. You wiped you hand on your skirts and held it out to him, a smile on your lips. “Do we have an agreement, mister?” You let the word trail off, leaving him to fill in the rest.

He looked to your outstretched hand, eyed it with those hard, decadent eyes for a moment, then two, before raising them back to meet yours. The scowl still there, but it was softer, not as deep. Perhaps, almost a smile. His large, callused hand encased yours, tight but not harsh. “Tovar. Pero Tovar.”

He had stayed with you that autumn, helped prepare your farm and the animals for the winter to come. You had paid him per your arrangement — a few coin a week, lodging and food. He also made extra coin by helping Frederick with odd jobs at the inn between his work at the farm. Pero, as it turned out, was quite gifted not only with the sword, but with an ax, and other tools, too. 

He awoke early, and worked late into the night. Pero was mostly quiet, but when you could weasel a conversation out of him (that was more than grunts of agreement or disagreement), it was pleasant. He was cunning, smart, surprisingly funny and witty. You even enjoyed bickering with him about things, such as matters regarding the farm, or you going into town without his companionship (as if you hadn’t been doing that since your father had fallen ill). 

You enjoyed having someone around, again. No, you enjoyed having Pero around. Him. And, by the end of the first month, you found yourself in love with him. Thankfully, it turned out, the feelings were mutual, spilled one night by a roaring fire, culminating in a passionate kiss.

But then, spring came and Pero had to take his leave. Something about a promise to an old friend, one he couldn’t break. So, with nothing more than a vow to return and one final, desperate kiss, Pero and his trusty steed were gone. Down the road they had come.

That was eighteen months ago. And now, on an autumn day like the one you had met him, he was back. Standing at your front door. Even after almost two years, he still looked the same. Perhaps a little older, a little harder around the edges, but still him, still the man you remembered.

“Pero,” you breathed out, feeling the telltale sign of tears prickling at the back of your eyes.

He gave you a wiry grin. “I promised I’d return to you, mi amor,” he murmured, taking a step forward (almost a stumble, really), just as a small, short cry of a babe filled the air. You could see it caught Pero off guard, had him stopping in his tracks, muscles pulling taunt. His eyes hardened, and you catch the flash of pain in those dark eyes.

“Pero—”

Pero took a step back, grass crunching under the weight of his boots. You reached out, hand brushing against the grim and dust coated chainmail.

“She’s yours.” His eyes widened, but Pero did not move. Your hand flattened against his chest, over where his heart would be, and you imagined it was beating rapidly under the armor. “I found out a little over a month after you had left.” Your eyes flickered from your hand up to meet his, and you smiled softly. “She has your eyes.” You paused. “Not to mention your scowl when she does not get her way.” Pero let out a laugh at that — a soft one, but a laugh nonetheless and you watched as his body began to relax, felt it under your palm. He stepped back to you, closer once more as your daughter let out another cry. “And, she is a hungry little thing. Also like her papa,” you mumbled, chuckling softly as you patted his chest.

He huffed a little in annoyance as you turned away, leaving the door open for him to follow behind you. “She’s a growing baby. She needs her fill, princess,” Pero grumbled, but the tone was playful, lighthearted as you heard his heavy foot falls behind you, eyes rolling fondly at the pet name. You were far from a princess, here in your little farm house, but it did not stop Pero from calling you one because, as he had told you once, tangled together in the sheets in the wee hours of the morning, you were his princess. 

You smiled, heading toward Pero’s old room — which had turned to the spare two months into his stay and now was your daughter’s room — as you heard the door lock. “She most certainly is a growing one,” you said, entering the room to find your daughter wide awake, her chocolate eyes wide and glassy as she looks toward you. Her little arms reached out for you from her crib as another cry slipped passed her wet lips. “Aren’t you, Celestina?” You hummed, reaching out and scooping her up into your arms. She let out a soft whimper as you began to rock her gently, turning on your heel, coming face to face with Pero once more.

Pero’s eyes were locked on to the little girl in your arms, and you could see the amazement those decedent eyes held as they took her in. Took in each little inch of her small body. And you could also see the adoration, the love they held. Pero had not seen her for a minute and he was already wrapped around her finger, you knew. “I told you she has your eyes,” you mumbled, taking a step closer to him. “And she is looking more and more like you every day, my beloved.”

Pero shook his head. “No, no,” he mumbled, looking up from Celestina to you, reaching out his hand and pressing it to your cheek. Immediately, you leaned into hand, eyes falling closed as your body all but reveled in his touch. One you had been missing for so long. “She looks like you,” he whispered, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “She looks like an angel.”

Your eyes fluttered open to find Pero’s lips a hairs breadth from your own, and you ached for them, ached to have them pressed against yours again, but the moment was broken by your little girl’s cry. You chuckled softly and Pero let out a half huff, half chuckle as he pulled back, hand falling from your cheek. Your body instantly missed his touch, his warmth and you had to stop the sigh of disappointment that threatened to escape your lips. You looked down at your daughter, who was looking up at the both of you, her hands curled into tight little fists. Her mouth was open and waiting.

“Alright, alright, little one,” you cooed softly, shifting her in your arms, moving to hold her in one arm. “I’ll feed you. And while I do that, papa can go and get cleaned up.” You lowered the top half of your dress, exposing your breast to her hungry and eager mouth. She latched on, and  right away began to suckle. You smiled, a satisfied hum escaping your lips before looking back at Pero, whose eyes were focused on your daughter as she ate. There was a softness filling the lines on his face as he watched. 

This time, it was you who reached out, your free hand cupping his cheek, fingers running over the bottom of his scar. His eyes flickered up to you, his hand coming up to cover your own. “Go on. Get yourself cleaned up and then you can hold your daughter.” You glanced back down at your daughter, still happily suckling away at your breast. “She missed her papa.” You looked back up to Pero. “We both did.”

You barely blinked and Pero’s lips were on yours, careful of your daughter between you two. It was your first shared kiss in eighteen months, and it felt like no time had passed while simultaneously feeling the every day, every hour, every minute, of those eighteen months had passed. Pero’s lips were chapped, dry from his travels, and the kiss was nothing like you had expected your first kiss after so long to be. You had expected a deep, passionate, desperate and lustful kiss. But this? This was soft and chaste, sweet and — hesitant? It was as if Pero was worried you might not forgive him for leaving you all those months ago. That, even now, with his daughter in your arms, you still might tell him to turn around and go, to leave the both of you. That you both were better off without him. And that would just not do.

You pressed your lips a little harder against his, dug your fingers a little harder in to his cheek, all gesturing to a resounding no. Not now, not ever. Neither you, nor your daughter, were letting Pero go. He had come back to you, just like he had promised. Yes, perhaps he had come back a bit worse for wear. Perhaps with a higher body count under his belt. And, perhaps with a few more skeletons in his closet. But, he had come back and he was still your daughter’s father. And he was still the man you loved. You felt a subtle shift in Pero, felt the hand over yours tighten, and you knew he had heard you.

A moment later Pero pulled back, a small smile pulling at his lips. You smiled back, tongue running over your bottom lip, chasing his lingering taste. “Now, go,” you said, hand slipping from his cheek and moving to press gently at his chest. “Your clothes are in the closet. The tub and buckets are still in the same place. If you need help with your hair and beard, I’ll help after she’s fed and settled.” You give Pero a gentle smile. “Now, let your daughter eat in peace, you old brute,” you teased, giving him a gentle push toward the doorway.

Pero let out a grunt, but there was a smile pulling at his lips. “Old brute, eh?” he gripped as he backed out of the doorway, his hands already working at removing his armor. “I’ll show you who is an old brute later tonight, mi amor,” he said, a wicked grin pulling at his lips, the promise sending a shiver down your spine and right between your legs.

Pero did make good on his promise later that night, and into the early hours of the morning.

And, it was on another crisp autumn morning — though this one a little closer to winter, the frost holding to the grass a little longer — that Pero took your hands in his and in the town’s church, and under the eyes of the pastor, Frederick and your daughter, became your husband and you his wife. Where he vowed to love, honor and cherish you until death do you part and you the same. The two of you were barely announced as husband and wife before Pero’s lips were on yours, eagerly, gingerly entwining your soul to his (though if anyone were to ask, you’d both say your souls were already entwined the moment you had met).

“You’re stuck with me forever now, princess,” Pero said, chuckling softly as you exited the church, Celestina now back in your arms. 

You rolled your eyes at him. “Such a tragic fate,” you mumbled as the crisp, cool air whipped against your cheeks, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You pulled your daughter closer, and wrapped the blanket you had draped over her shoulders to protect her from such winds tighter around her frame, over her chubby cheeks. You bid Fredrick a farewell before turning back to Pero. “What ever are we to do, little one? You, your little brother or sister, and I stuck—”

“Mi amor—”

“With this old brute till—”

Pero’s hand wrapped around your wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze and your eyes turned their focus from Celestina’s face towards his. There was a tiny, barely there smile on your lips and an innocent look in your eyes. “Are you—” His eyes flickered down to your stomach, half hidden by your daughter’s growing form, then back to you.

The small smile was now a large grin, unable to stop yourself. You nodded your head. “You really aren’t such an old brute after all,” you teased and Pero all but smirked, but you could see the happiness filling those decadent eyes, could see it in the crinkles that were forming at the corners of them. “Quite the stallion, in truth,” you added with a chuckle and Pero laughed, a hearty one, and wrapped an arm around you, careful of Celestina in your arms and pulled you close to him, your side pressing against his chest. Celestina let out a small giggle at the sudden movement, her head turning to look up at her papa with her chocolate eyes wide and bright, happiness shining in them. Pero pressed a kiss to your lips before he kissed into the dark curls on top of her head.

(“More and more like you, Pero. Honest to God, it is as if I did not give birth to her. At least she has my nose.” 

“Your nose? What is wrong with my nose? I didn’t hear you complaining about it last night when it was pressed against your—” 

“Pero Tovar, hold that wicked tongue of yours, your daughter is awake!”

“Wicked tongue, you say?” 

“Tovar, I swear you will be sleeping with the pigs tonight if you keep this up!”)

“I always thought I would die on the battlefield,” Pero admitted quietly, and you felt your heart clench in your chest at his words. They hurt more than the wind that had whipped against your bare cheeks moments ago. “But then, I stumbled upon you. Beautiful, stubborn, strong, intelligent you. And, I never wanted nothing more than to stay.” Pero took your free hand in his, tangling your fingers with his. He squeezed your hand tightly. “That day I left you, mi amor, was the hardest thing I ever had to do. But, coming back to you — coming back to our daughter. I knew I would lay down my sword right then and there to spend the rest of my days by your side.” Pero pressed his forehead against your temple. “You have given me everything I never dreamed I would have. I will love our family — I will love you until my dying breath,” he said, his words almost taken away on the wind as it whirled once more around the three of you, brushing dead leaves against your skirts and his boots. But you heard them, soft, but undeniably true and they made your heart both race and constrict within your chest at once.

You swallowed the lump of emotions that had formed in your throat, and blinked back the tears that prickled at the back of your eyes. You squeezed his hand back, tight and solid. Grounding. Reassuring. “And as will I. I will love you, Pero Tovar, until my final breath. Until the moment I am taken from this earth, and even then, I will continue to love you. Until we meet again, on the other side.” You gently knocked your head against his temple, letting out a small, slightly wet chuckle. “You are stuck with me forever,” you repeated his earlier words back to him.

Pero pulled back, his dark, beautiful eyes meeting yours, a smile pulling at his lips. “A fate I gladly accept.”​

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E123 (Feb. 2, 2021)

After last week’s thoroughly relaxing and brief episode, tonight’s guests are Sam Riegel and Liam O’Brien!

Brian, to Sam: “You look like Tim Curry moved to Nantucket to become a sommelier.”

How did Caleb and Veth approach the ally-ship with the Tombtakers? Sam: “I mean, we got some information, and I think we got a little closer to Lucien and knowing whether he has any of Mollymauk inside of him, which is I think the most important knowledge that we’re seeking right now. Is there someone to be saved inside there? We got glimpses, and we got a little hint that Mollymauk is maybe still in there? Maybe? And we got a little more insight into their plans, so that was useful.” Liam: “We know why we were having that fucking dream.” Sam: “But other than that, it was just a road trip with assholes.” Liam: “All our plans have been ripped in a new direction, and it’s just been improvisation.” Sam notes that it feels like we’re always about to rip into Caleb’s backstory, but haven’t yet followed that thread all the way through. Liam: “It’s partially frustrating, to be sure, but also I like the idea that-- his whole shit has been selfish, it’s been dealing with the trauma that he’s been through and not the greater world, and that’s been shifting somewhat.”

Does Caleb think the book was worth it, and is he still interested in reading more? Sam: “How do you ask Caleb not to read a book?” Liam: “Caleb has spent enough time with the Nein to know you shouldn’t put a hand on a hot stove. After what happened with the book, he knows it’s a terrible idea. But maybe. But it’s a really bad idea. But reserve judgment, but it’s a really terrible idea. I think that Caleb is very aware that mages and people like him very easily fall prey to their curiosity and it can lead to bad places. But there is still that amount of scientific endeavor where you think there is value in knowing and learning, and maybe we can ride that line. He was True Neutral at the start of the campaign, and maybe he’s Chaotic Good now, but part of him is hubris, even if it’s a little bit, still.”

What about Otis has drawn Veth’s focus? Sam: “I mean, he’s a little shit. She was curious about Otis because he’s a small like she is, and in talking to him, he seemed to be real creepy, but he was just creepy and distant and didn’t value his past or family or anything like that. She sees someone who’s like her, but so not like her, and maybe that scares her a little bit more.”

How does Caleb feel about Beau being on this ride with him? Liam: “The dream is another example of how Caleb had very narrow vision of the things he wanted to do. It used to seem so massive to him, but now... To have Beauregard involved feels right. If anyone in the group is going to stop him from grabbing something he shouldn’t, it is probably Beauregard. She’ll punch him in the fucking face to stop him, which I think he needs, to a certain extent. They’re two different kinds of nerds, and I kind of like that, that this group of nine philosophers, they’ve reached out and somehow grabbed the two nerds in the party.”

How do Caleb and Veth see the Somnovum? Sam: “I mean, they seem real bad. Anything that’s a quorum of powerful entities heading towards your planet to unleash an energy of any kind, typically bad? I assume they’re bad, or at least the Tombtakers wish them to do ill.” Liam: “I think they want the kind of peace that comes from snapping your fingers and turning people to dust. Caleb sees them as a cautionary tale; they’re the worst-case scenario for arcane inquisitiveness.” He sees Allura Vysoren as the antidote to that.

Why the staunch refusal to use Halfling Luck? Sam: “I don’t like Luck! I just don’t like Luck. I think it’s cheap, I think it’s a cheat, I think it’s stupid. It just feels like a do-over.” Liam: “I am your antithesis! If I ever voice a halfling, I am going to hammer that feature!” Sam: “What I love about D&D is that you don’t know what’s going to happen. If you roll bad, okay, that’s it. If you roll well, it makes the success more enjoyable to know that it’s a pure success and don’t one where you’re like well actually... it’s so stupid. If someone was about to die, I would probably use the fuckin’ Luck feature. Well. It depends who. If it was Travis, yeah, no, he’s fucked, sorry.”

Liam drops that he’s picked Sam’s character class and race again for a hypothetical campaign three. Sam: “It’s not what I was thinking for future characters, but I’m excited to explore.”

Cosplay of the Week: an amazing Mollymauk by KatofValkyrie!

What was it like to bring the Tombtakers into the tower? Liam: “It is complicated, because he does not like him. Lucien’s just a fucking dick. But Caleb also knows that Molly’s in there somewhere. That tower’s only for the M9, and Lucien’s not in the M9. Their situation with these people is shitty, it’s terrible. Caleb doesn’t feel like they have the upper hand. He doesn’t like that they’re even going on this journey per se, because life is bigger than his bullshit. He feels like they’ve been losing over and over again, so it was a gamble to try to get on equal footing.

What spurred Veth into making sure she and Yasha have some one-on-one time? Sam: “Yasha hasn’t been getting a lot of moments to shine. Now that she’s back, I just got the impression that Yasha feels out of place sometimes, or timid, or unsure of herself. When Veth was Nott, Nott certainly had her share of those moments. I think she sees a kindred spirit and wants to make sure that she’s been giving all the opportunity she can to flourish and thrive. Dani, you’re just laughing at my mustache, aren’t you?” Dani: “Yes, that’s the only thing I’m laughing at through this whole bullshit.” Sam denies all knowledge of trolling, but eventually admits, on the topic of Yasha and Beau getting together: “They’ve made me wait this long... I’m going to make them wait a little bit longer!”

What was it like to show his friends the upper floors? Liam: “I kinda expected somebody to sneak up there before that. That being part of the tower is not even a conscious choice of his, it just is. The reason Caduceus has creeped Caleb out for a long time is because he talks about how-- Caduceus is a really kind person and wants Caleb to let go of the past. And in a really simplistic way, turn that frown upside-down. And that’s just not who Caleb is, and it’s not who everybody is. There is something to be said for trying to stay open and positivity, but thinking you can shut out the past, especially a traumatic one, is just not true. When things happen to us, we carry them. But to candy-coat it and say, ah, I’m free, or everything is good, or I’ve turned the corner... life is way messier than that. It’s not flipping a switch, it’s not bad-to-good, it is such a work in progress. Even when you make strides and start to get to a better place, you can backslide a lot. So the tower is who he is, and the tower is 7/9ths love for his friends, and 1/9th hope, but there’s still a percentage of him that carries everything from the past, and knows that he should, and knows that he should not go back to where he was. And the way to do that is not to say everything is rainbows, but to remember it. The tower is just like an extension of who he is. He’s never going to forget the past, and he’s never going to be like, I’m good, or I’ve turned a corner. He should remember the past, and he should do better, always.”

Does Veth still believe it’s possible to get Molly back? Sam: “Well, she was a person trapped in another body for many years, so has some experience there, and definitely believes that the spirit and soul of Molly is in there and just needs to be unlocked somehow.”

Fan Art of the Week: an amazing group shot by HarpySN!

How are Caleb and Veth dealing with their guilt and fear about being in the middle of this? Sam: “It definitely was a deep conversation that might have repercussions going forward. The problem with all of what we’re doing now is that we don’t have time to deal with our petty problems anymore. It’s all high tension all the time!” Liam: “It’s true; they’re not in control of their situation at all anymore.” Sam: “It’s good to have these check-ins, but it’s not like we can do anything about them. We’re reactive right now.” Liam: “He’s not happy with where they are, but they wouldn’t even be this far if the goblin hadn’t pulled him out of the mud. So part of it is, you saved me from where I was and got me on my feet again, and now it’s disconcerting to see it all just get knocked sideways by something he never could’ve predicted. I think Caleb felt nostalgic for when things were simpler, in a way, for them, when we’re both troubled drifters.”

What was it like to see Gelidon’s return? Liam: “I am the least superstitious person at the table. Ashley’s dice suck.” Sam: “It was fun fighting a dragon!” Liam: “Two massive battles in one episode, neither of which came away with a victory. I guess surviving is a victory.” Sam: “I’d forgotten about the dragon, honestly.” Liam: “I loved it. I was so upset at the idea that we were going to stealth and not get into it.”Sam: “Mercer doesn’t keep a live dragon around and not do something with it. That dragon’s coming back.”

How do Caleb and Veth feel about going to see Essek? Sam: “He can be very helpful, I believe, but as Sam Riegel, a player of D&D, I’m super suspicious. What the fuck is Essek doing up there, so close, now? I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. And I can throw him pretty far because he floats.” Liam: “I 100% agree with you. I do not understand what Essek could bring to what we are going through. I know the audience loves him, I love him too. He’s a really cool character. But he’s fucking toxic. He out of curiosity caused a war between two nations. And Caleb has been changed for the good by the M9 from months of travel with them. Essek has had none of that. Caleb has changed for the good, but not because of people like Essek. Essek is where Caleb came from. We kept the lid on the pot during the whole treaty at sea and it almost all went fucking sideways, and only because we pressed him into a corner. I hope that guy finds some sort of balance and peace for himself, but I do not see how his input here would be helpful. There’s other heavy hitters that I would try to pull in.”

Liam notes that the Cloven Crystal is in the Bag of Holding. Sam: “Do I have Fluffernutter, or is Fluffernutter gone?” Liam: “Nope. 300 pounds of fireworks? Gone. A dead mage, a threshold crest, and fireworks.” Dani: “Your basic essentials.”

[vrishchikawrites]

Reverse transmigration wangxian where LWJ who cultivates to immortality found an old summoning array where mxy fails to summon wwx but the whole thing with JGY still got revealed. LWJ in his grief summons WWX in our modern world, and the rest is up to you :) Maybe get WWX some therapy and loving family and how different modern days people are

This one is a bit angsty and has vague descriptions of sex. Modern AU.

“The Tragedy of Wei Wuxian - The Man Behind the Legend”

Lan Wangji caresses the title of the book with a thumb, eyes tracing a name he has always held close to heart but hasn’t heard for a long time.

“We all know of Wei Ying, courtesy Wuxian as Yiling Laozu. He’s one of the first to cultivate successfully with ‘resentful’ energy. His theories and papers helped us develop a greater understanding of yin energy, Qi deviation, and resentful spirits. He was a visionary, a man ahead of his time, someone who thought outside the box and looked for solutions instead of sticking to the norm. He’s also the first known person to donate his Golden Core.”

Wangji looks away for a moment, remembering Wen Ning’s snarling face and Jiang Wanyin’s rage, denial, and guilt.

“But we don’t talk about what brought that great visionary down. Society, as it did with many great thinkers, turned against him. In his youth, Wei Wuxian was one of the most accomplished cultivators of his generation. No one knows exactly what happened for him to develop the so-called ‘Ghostly Path’. His loss of the Golden Core may have been a factor, but the actual circumstances are shrouded in mystery.

What follows after the War of the Five Great Clans, known as the Sunshot Campaign, is nothing short of a tragedy. Wei Wuxian saw injustice happening and decided to fight against it. Society tore him up for it. At that time, all actions against him were justified and considered righteous. Those actions don’t stand up to scrutiny under the modern lens. Like all great and radical thinkers, Wei Wuxian ideals made him the enemy and that led to this tragic death, along with the murder of innocent war prisoners he sought to protect. There are unconfirmed reports of there being a child among the Wens.”

Wangji’s eyes flicker over to a picture frame sitting on his desk, an image of Sizhui and Jingyi smiling up at him through the glossy image. They’re well, he knows. Last he heard from them, they were in South Korea and having a great time.

Sizhui must not know of this book or he would’ve called immediately, always so concerned about his a’die.

“It was later revealed that hunger for power and political maneuvering led to his death. When we study the historical records, it is obvious that the man was pushed into the corner and was forced to retaliate. Unfortunately, no one cared about his fate-”

“I did,” Wangji whispered to himself, thinking back on silver eyes in an indistinct face. He loved - still loves Wei Ying - but the physical aspects of him have long since faded from his memory. He sometimes remembers Wei Ying’s laugh. Sometimes, he dreams of his smile. He doesn’t recall what Wei Ying sounded like, only remembering his tone when he said ‘Lan Zhan.’

And yet, Lan Wangji hasn’t forgotten love.

He reads the book in silence, going through all 375 pages of it without pausing to eat or sleep. It tells the story of Wei Ying in stark, blunt terms. There are a few facts missing or erroneous. He wasn’t the adopted child of the Jiangs. There was certainly no unrequited love between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli.

There’s very little mention of him. According to this book, Lan Wangji is a mere footnote in Wei Wuxian’s life; a childhood acquaintance, a disapproving comrade, and later a man who unraveled the truth because he pursued justice.

“He was just 23 years old when he died,” Wangji lingers over that statement, “23-year-olds are barely adults. They hold the promise of a bright future. They have so much potential inside of them. At 23, some people graduate from college, some take up their first serious job. At 23, young people fall in love and maybe form a life-long bond. Wei Wuxian became a key player in a big conflict at 17, he donated his core at 17. At 17, we still have children in high school. Our seventeen-year-olds aren’t even allowed to drink or drive. Our seventeen-year-olds are still protected and sheltered by their parents.

That is perhaps the biggest tragedy of Wei Wuxian’s life. He was only allowed to live a carefree life for seven years, from the day he was taken off the streets to the day the YunmengJiang Sect was attacked. After that and until his death, his life was marked by war, strife, betrayal, and persecution.

A visionary, a hero, a brilliant mind, dead by what most would consider suicide.” Wangji’s breath hitches and he takes a moment to collect himself, the sentence ringing in his head.

“He deserved better.”

---

He deserved better, Wangji thinks as he walks sedately towards his library.

There had been a glimmer of hope, all those years ago when Mo Xuanyu attempted to resurrect Wei Ying, but when he failed to do so, Wangji felt something shatter in him.

Whatever Wei Ying had done had completely destroyed his soul. His precious, noble soul. One that was formed for justice and kindness.

He deserved better.

He knows what he must do.

---

An immortal’s Golden Core has immeasurable power. It is the result of several hundred years of Cultivation and diligence. Wangji is more powerful than most, having survived through war, strife, grief, and loss.

An immortal’s Golden Core can also be an ingredient.

‘Draw the talismans shown below in the blood of your heart. Pin them in eight directions, north, northwest, west, southwest, south, southeast, east, and northeast. Sit in the exact center of this circle and sacrifice half of your cultivation to the being you wish to summon.’’

Wangji’s heart and hands are steady as he draws the talismans from blood drawn directly from the artery. He pins them in all eight directions and sits down in the middle, his hands moving elegantly to summon his Qi. He breathes in and breathes out, sinking into meditation with habitual ease.

It will work.

It has to.

The room floods with Resentful Energy.

---

He deserves better.

Wangji feels torn apart in ways he has never experienced before. The ritual summoning carves something out of his chest and drags it away. His mouth floods with blood and his body weakens alarmingly.

But it doesn’t matter.

Wei Ying.

---

Wei Ying is more beautiful than Wangji remembers. He is bloodsoaked, covered in cuts and bruises, saturated with Resentful Energy, but he’s alive.

And he’s beautiful.

Wangji stumbles to his feet, shakily walking into the bathroom to fetch some warm water. He walks back, his arms feeling the weight of the bucket like they have never carried such weight before. With every step that he takes towards Wei Ying, his heartbeat spikes up a little. He doesn’t know if he chose the right time. He doesn’t know if Wei Ying’s spirit had shattered before his death and dying had just been the aftermath.

Maybe Wei Ying’s body is here and not his soul.

Wangji cannot bear thinking about it.

With weak, shaking hands and the taste of blood lingering in his mouth, he slowly reaches forward. Layer by layer, he removes Wei Ying’s clothes, his fingertips tingling because his beloved’s body is warm.

He deserves better.

With aching tenderness, he wipes Wei Ying clean, removes all blood, grime, and mud from his body.

Wei Ying doesn’t stir.

---

There’s a gentle touch against his cheek. It is strange enough to wake him up because few people dare touch Lan Wangji. Slender fingers tap once, twice, almost playfully and Wangji knows who it is even before he opens his eyes.

Like a sun emerging from the horizon, Wei Ying appears before him, his smile bright and questioning.

“Wei Ying,” He breathes and Wei Ying nods, eyes a sparkling silver. There is so much beauty in that face that he can’t help but reach forward. Ignoring Wei Ying’s surprise, he cups his face and leans forward pressing his forehead against his beloved’s.

Wei Ying is still for a long moment, but he moves eventually, setting hands on Wangji’s shoulder. He doesn’t push him away, just huffing in soft amusement.

“Wei Ying,” He whispers, closing his stinging eyes, “Forgive Wangji for his selfishness.” He says, “I summoned you.” I summoned you without asking, knowing you wouldn’t desire it.

Wei Ying huffs again and that’s when it strikes him.

He pulls back and looks at his beloved in concern, scanning his eyes, face, neck, and chest quickly, his heart racing.

Why wasn’t Wei Ying speaking?

---

“You’re right in suspecting that his spirit sustained some sort of injury even before he was… killed.” Lan Jingyi says softly, pulling away from the sleeping Wei Ying, “There’s nothing physically wrong with him, Hanguang-jun, please don’t worry! His spirit just needs a little bit of time to recover.”

Wangji nods gratefully as he watches Sizhui lean over Wei Ying, his expression full of wonder and desperate happiness. As Sizhui’s cultivation grew, he started remembering more things from his childhood. They have never spoken on the matter of Wei Ying, but Wangji knows his son remembers more than he did when he was a child.

“Now, please let me check you.”

He levels a sharp look at the younger man but Lan Jingyi is no longer the adoring and naive student Wangji taught all those years ago. He’s a strong, accomplished cultivator and an avid researcher.

Lan Jingyi ignores him cheerfully and checks his core, stepping into Wangji's personal space without a care.

He narrows his eyes at the steely glint in the boy's eyes.

"I know you love him, Hanguang-jun," Lan Jingyi says, "And love is worth a life." They're immortals, life has little meaning for people who have lived for centuries, "But I wonder if the Wei Wuxian that you so adore will be happy about you risking your life for him."

Wangji's eyes flicker towards Wei Ying, who looks exhausted even in his sleep. "He deserved better."

Lan Jingyi is silent for a moment before he speaks, "Sizhui and I read the book on our flight back. Everything was horrible, I'm not surprised that his spirit sustained so much damage. But it is almost entirely intact now. It shows how much he wants to live, Hanguang-jun."

It's a relief.

---

Wei Ying can't speak but his presence is still loud. He rests for a few weeks to recover from his injuries. During that time, Wangji spends most of his days moving from Wei Ying's bedside to the library and back again.

His beloved has an insatiable hunger for knowledge. He wants to know everything about the modern world.

Every morning, Wangji is confronted with a bright face with sparkling eyes waving a book or a scroll in his direction.

Wangji hasn't experienced such liveliness in centuries. The very air of his home glows with Wei Ying's vitality. Wei Ying's body recovers quickly and soon the man is out of bed and following Wangji around.

His heart feels too big for his chest.

By all appearances, Wei Ying is perfectly content. He walks around Cloud Recesses, visits Caiyi Town, and is happy to watch the sunset with Wangji every evening.

That had been Wangji's wish when he performed that summoning.

He wanted Wei Ying to have another chance to live free and happy.

Looking at him now, Wangji wants to reach out, cup that cheerful face, and pepper kisses all over it. He wants to kiss those fluttering eyelids, smooth cheeks, sharp jawline-

That soft, smiling mouth.

Wangji is an immortal. He has endless patience. He can wait for Wei Ying to come to him.

He must wait.

---

The modern world fascinates Wei Ying. His beloved looks at everything from tall buildings to food stalls with wide, stunned eyes. Cloud Recesses and Caiyi Town are still relatively untouched by the passage of time, but Wei Ying has free access to the internet and has learned how to use it within two months of his arrival.

Wangji doesn't restrain him.

He just watches as Wei Ying, his brilliant and enthusiastic love, learns to thrive in his new world.

His voice has still not returned but that doesn't seem to bother Wei Ying. He is delighted to learn that there's a way to communicate nonetheless.

He starts learning sign language and Lan Wangji, with patient and steady hands, practices with him.

---

Lan Sizhui follows Wei Ying around with quiet affection and aching tenderness. He's much older than Wei Ying now, but he remains their son in spirit. He treats Wei Ying like a senior, with respect and adoration.

His Wei Ying notices, of course. At first, he finds the situation quite strange but Wei Ying isn't stupid.

'Lan Zhan,' He asks, 'Who is Sizhui?'

Wangji brings his fingers up and replies, 'He's your a-Yuan. I went looking for you but found him instead.'

Wei Ying's eyes widen and he spins around, running out of the room to seek Sizhui.

Wangji follows sedately and when he finds his love and his son, they're embracing while crying tears of joy.

---

'Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan!'

Wangji huffs under his breath and carefully sets his brush down, tucking the scroll away before turning to meet bright silver eyes.

Wei Ying leans forward with an eager expression, 'Do you know where Suibian is?'

Wangji nods, 'In storage. I was able to retrieve it from the Jin Clan.'

'Can I have it?'

Wangji rises smoothly to his feet and leads Wei Ying to storage where both Suibian and Chenqing.

Wei Ying only glances at Chenqing for a moment before reaching for Suibian with a desperate expression.

Suibian, a blade that has remained sealed since Jiang Wanyin unsheathed it once, easily reveals itself again.

Wei Ying spins around eagerly and looks at him with pleading eyes.

As Wangji is able to deny Wei Ying nothing, he reaches for Bichen and they immediately head for the training grounds.

It has been a long time since Wangji has really used Bichen to its full capacity. With half of his core pulsing within Wei Ying, they're almost evenly matched.

Wangji has not fought in ages but Wei Ying is still a Cultivator. The spar is fast-paced and thrilling. Wangji acquaints himself with Wei Ying as his love becomes reacquainted with his sword.

Wei Wuxian had been one of the best swordsmen of his generation. He has lost none of his elegance and skill. Wangji presses him and Wei Ying laughs soundlessly, twirling around him in white GusuLan robes, bright and joyful.

He breaks Wangji's heart and mends it at the same time.

---

Wangji has missed Wei Ying for hundreds of years.

He can't resist the urge to touch. He keeps it chaste and respectful but his hands have a mind of their own in Wei Ying's vicinity.

When they're out and about, Wangji guides Wei Ying with a hand on his back. It becomes natural to grasp his love's elbow if he wants Wei Ying's attention.

His touches can easily be dismissed as gestures of friendship by most. But Wei Ying knows him.

'er-gege,' Wei Ying's smile is sweet, 'Wei Ying is cold.'

Wangji's eyes flicker over to the lit fire briefly before landing on his love, 'Are you feeling well?' He asks in concern, reaching forward to place the back of his hand on Wei Ying's forehead.

His beloved laughs and nods, leaning into the touch with a sly smile, 'I'm well, just cold.'

Wangji feels a stir in his chest at the intent look in Wei Ying's eyes. Hesitantly, he cups Wei Ying's cheek in silent question.

Wei Ying nuzzles his palm, his eyelids fluttering close gently.

Desperation and elation flood him and Wangji sucks in a sharp breath. He moves in a blur, lifting Wei Ying off his seat and placing him on his lap.

Wei Ying gasps and giggles, his tall, strong body seeming to almost shrink as he cuddles close. Wangji wraps both arms around his love and squeezes him tight, rocking them gently as he is assaulted with painful love.

"Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying," He chants in Wei Ying's hair, holding him so close, it feels like there's no part of him not touching his love.

When Wei Ying turns to him with a smile in his eyes, Wangji doesn't hesitate to lean forward, bringing their lips together in a long-awaited kiss.

He presses Wei Ying back against the crook of his elbow and tastes his silent laugh on his tongue.

Wangji has never felt so blissful and complete.

---

Jingyi convinces Wei Ying to go to therapy.

Eager to learn and curious, Wei Ying agrees.

He returns from every session with a thoughtful expression.

Months pass but his voice is still lost.

---

They make love and Wei Ying mouths the words he wants to speak. He smiles, sobs, laughs, and pouts as Wangji takes him apart bit by bit.

Wangji has never known such pleasure. He loses himself, drowning in Wei Ying's scent and finding heaven in his body.

He enjoys feeling smooth skin. He sinks his fingers into Wei Ying's silken hair. He tastes the sharp edge of his jaw. He bites. He drives in and takes ownership of Wei Ying's pleasure.

He presses his mischievous sprite into their bed and doesn't hold back, centuries of love pouring out of him.

---

A combination of therapy and Wei Ying's natural approach to life makes his recovery quick. Within a year, he's well-adjusted and happy.

He laughs at almost everything. The first time they fly, the first time they visit an amusement park, the first time they go to an aquarium.

He laughs and Wangji starts noticing the color of his voice returning to it.

Wangji is grateful for what he has. He's grateful that Wei Ying is back, safe, and happy. He is grateful that Wei Ying is unharmed.

But he cannot lie to himself. He misses Wei Ying's voice.

---

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,"

Wangji almost misses it, as engrossed as he is. He presses in deep and feels a shiver of pleasure race down his spine. Wei Ying's fingers curl around Wangji's nape and his lips caress his ear.

"Lan Zhan,"

He stills.

Wangji takes a deep, bracing breath and pulls back a little, balancing on his arms to peer down at his lover.

Wei Ying is a vision. His cheeks flushed, his eyes wide and dark with passion, his lips bitten red from Wangji's kisses. His long hair is scattered and wild, a tangle of glossy strands across Wangji's pillow.

"Lan Zhan,"

Wei Ying's lips move and a voice accompanies that movement. It is slightly hoarse, somewhat weak, but it is still the voice he barely remembers.

Heat flares in him and he sinks deeper, pulling a sharp gasp from Wei Ying.

He spends the entire night filling their room with that precious voice.

---

Wei Ying doesn't ask questions. He doesn't ask why Wangji did what he did. He doesn't ask how he did it. His beloved has always been perspective and he understood Wangji's desperation from the moment he woke.

He reads the book that triggered it all and laughs, "Aiya, they make me out to be some sort of martyr for justice." He says fondly, for he is very fond of the modern world.

Sizhui is sitting at his feet, eyes closed in bliss as Wei Ying gently combs his hair, styling it into an intricate braid.

"They're not wrong, though." Jingyi can never sit straight and he has forgotten all of his Lan teachings over the years. He has his legs thrown over the arm of his chair and his head is dangling over another arm, his hair sweeping the floor as he nods.

Ridiculous.

"I never asked to be glorified in such a way." Wei Ying protests with a chuckle.

"Baba should be grateful no one knows about his resurrection." Sizhui pipes up, "At least, you don't have to deal with modern stans."

Wangji arches a brow at the word and Wei Ying laughs, already more accustomed to the Internet language than Wangji is. "Oh, heaven forbid!"

"But listen, you and Hanguang-jun have the greatest love story ever, you could write a book about it, Wei-quanbei!"

Wei Ying tilts his head to the side and Wangji urges him to consider it with a subtle nod. Wei Ying is happy but he's never content to be idle. The modern world doesn't need cultivation, but perhaps it can benefit from their stories.

---

‘Once you summon successfully, you belong to this being for all eternity as payment for the one wish they may grant. Half of your core will live within them. If they die, you die. If they live, you live. If they hurt, you hurt. If they become corrupt, you become corrupt.

You will sacrifice immortality, but not the eternal bond. Every time you are reincarnated into this world, you will be tethered to the being.

Beware.

Wangji tucks the scroll away, sealing it so that it is never discovered again.

He has no regrets.

[thesunshinebunny]

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part V)

Series Master list

pairing: canon Eren Jaeger x reader

content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter summary: Eren and reader meet face to face and are determined to put an end to the tension that has been building around them since Eren returned from Marley.

Word Count: 7.9k 

The light wind blew the few leaves that had fallen from the trees around me at the same time that it generated a slight comfort, as if the same wind was hugging me and holding me between its countenance. The branches moved to the beat of it sweet music and danced a slow tango around two figures ready to end the other. We were both facing each other, each positioned perfectly and vertically above the other's line of sight, only a few steps separated, perhaps two meters apart, but still the difference wasn’t an obstacle to inspect each other.

Eren standed stiffly on the muddy floor, a position that was becoming a habit lately every time he was about to confront someone, either with words or with blows. His shoes were dirty and torn, some small holes showed through the cloth. Strands of hair fell on his forehead and some were stuck to the skin due to the mud and earth that the footsteps threw into the air. His eyes...just as empty of any light and life that might exist.

His jaw was clenched as well as one of his fists, I didn't find any sign his hand was hurt or his palm was bleeding and dropping a few drops to the floor, so I assumed it wasn’t in his plans to transform here and now. But that didn’t mean that I could be calm.

As for me, surely Eren was looking at me the same way a wolf looks at a little sheep or a poor dwarf white rabbit, one of the most defenseless animals in the food chain. Apparently I was the meal and it was time for lunch. But I was very sure that Eren hadn’t limited himself to looking at me with that horrible analogy, he’d surely noticed my torn and bloody clothes, as well as dirty with mud and some other things that I wanted not to investigate or put my nose in them. He had probably also noticed the multiple scratches on the skin of my arms and on my face, wounds already dry and in the process of healing thanks to the sweat from adrenaline and the race through the forest made in a few minutes. He had probably noticed little strands sticking to the crook of my neck and cold sweat dripping down my spine.

I don't doubt he surely noticed the fire burning in my eyes, my gaze radiating determination, a determination to get out of this place as unscathed as possible and find a way to fix this whole damn situation. He would have noticed how my figure was a reflection of his, I wouldn’t move if he didn’t move, I wouldn’t stop squeezing a finger if I didn’t see he stopped squeezing his. It was like being on the other side of a mirror, copying each and every one of the other's movements.

"So ... wanna make the first move?" My breathing was ragged, however neutral my face might be. Inside I was afraid, I was always afraid, it was a normal feeling and sensation. I was already used to feeling this unconditional fear when going out into the world.

The wind blew around us again, it was like a sweet melody cradling my ears, it was like feeling a hand caressing my battered face, a caress that I hadn't felt for a long time. If the moment had been different, it would have taken me some time to close my eyes and enjoy the breeze. If I did that right now, I would end up badly beaten and dejected, perhaps dead as well.

The breeze was dancing for a few seconds and stopped short, as if the world and time itself had stopped, only the two of us were able to move and yet neither did. Everything around us was silent, not the chirping of a cricket or the footsteps of an animal could be heard. Neither did any footsteps or voices from the other Jaegeristas, completely ignoring their locations, while ignoring the whereabouts of my beloved horse. It was just me and Eren in this little airless bubble.

Seconds of silence and in an instant Eren stepped forward and instinctively I stepped back, letting my left foot hold much of my weight on this. I was leaning back with the possibility of running if necessary, but knowing Eren I would only run a couple of meters before having him on my back and holding me like we’re playing hide and seek. My hands were raised to my torso, palms facing the ground and in position to become fists or grab something, whatever was out of the trees to counter or defend myself.

It wasn’t a position that I wasn’t completely unfamiliar with, was like reliving the old days as cadets in training, each one trying to search for the opponent's strengths and weaknesses, evaluating the chances of attack and their effectiveness. It really was like self-defense practices, practices that Eren put so much effort and determination into. I used to watch him from afar when my partner ended up on the ground given the multiple blows to the stomach that I had so proudly learned from my father. I used to see his frustrated face when Annie managed to knock him down with a simple leg movement or when Reiner was too abrupt to the point of knocking him to the ground from his high height. And yet, no matter how many blows and humiliations the poor boy felt when practicing self-defense, he never stopped fighting and asking for more blows, as if violence and physical damage were his only form of training. Already in the first practices I knew he was completely crazy, that he had something bad in the head, but his determination and that sparkle in his eyes when he got angry at losing, in the same way that a small child gets angry when they don’t have what they wants, was what caught my attention the most.

I used to fight him repeatedly in these same practices, being positioned in the same places we are now, one of us with a flabby wooden knife, but capable of doing a lot of damage if we didn’t use it properly. I was already used to the agile movements that I could perform with a simple kitchen and hunting knife, living much of my lifetime in the middle of a small town lost in the woods. I was used to defending myself and attacking animals with little rational intelligence, which made them much more dangerous than a simple human. I was equally used to dodging punches, and punches, able to redirect them and hit the weakest points of my prey. But I wasn't used to the low blows this boy was capable of. I always had to cover my back because I didn't know when he was going to jump on me and throw me to the ground, like the first time I knocked him down with a blow to the chin and when I was about to change partners, he grabbed my back and neck to throw myself on the floor and make me eat dirt. I didn't know if even throwing him to the ground multiple times he would go against my leg and bend it, hitting my head not only against the floor but also against his shoulder. I didn't know when he would apply the same technique Annie had taught him weeks ago. Unarmed or with a damn wooden knife Eren was dangerous because he was willing to keep fighting, even if he was going to fight dirty, without rules or codes.

I have faced him multiple times throughout the three years of training and in each confrontation there was something new that surprised us both, be it his various angry movements or my simple stances and punches capable of stopping the fight in any way. And that same uncertainty was also reflected in the times we went out to fight with what, at that time, we thought were simple and common titans, unable to deduce the actions of the other, evading death many more times than we could count.

And all that uncertainty and determination on the battlefield started with simple training with the wooden knife. A wooden knife.

A knife.

I withdrew my hand from in front of me and with great care I directed it towards the back pocket of my pants, without stopping looking at Eren who had taken advantage while I wandered in my imagination to approach and settle half the distance that separated us. When my hand reached the pocket, I stuck my thumb and forefinger inside it, grasping a small doctor's knife which I apparently had unconsciously put away in the morning when I finished treating my last patient. I secured it tightly and kept my hand behind my back until Eren again took a big step towards me and, in a protective movement, I positioned the knife in attack mode, eye level, as if was a real fight knife.

"Well that's not very fair-"

With a clean flick of the wrist the small knife rested on my thumb and forefinger and I tossed it to the side, striking perfectly even on the bark of a tree. It had been nailed cleanly and the sound it generated on impact gave certainty that it would be difficult to get it out of that place. Eren never moved from where he was, he simply followed the movements of my hand and at the moment of impact he inspected the cut on the bark before turning his gaze to me.

“I am unarmed… without weapons, without my movement gear, just my bare hands. But it still wouldn't be a fair fight, would it?"

In the four years that we were officially in the legion, at no point had we taken a day to practice our close combat as we did before. You could say that our fighting days were over on the night of our graduation. Although those days were behind us, I was completely sure he had never stopped training, he would continue to launch those unpredictable movements at any moment, let alone his unnatural power.

"You have your titan powers and each hit that hits you will heal, instead I will continue to bleed and spend days with a black eye and broken bones, if that is the case"

I saw what his fists could do to someone like Armin and what they had done to my neck and nose, if this fight went on longer than it should or turned in a bad movement, my body was going to end much worse than it already was; I was even beginning to think that maybe Eren would go as far as turning into a titan and crushing me once and for all. I had to be careful and hoped luck was on my side to make it out alive a second time.

“Come on, let's finish it once and for all” In position and waiting for the first hit, this is how they taught us and this is how I would be mentally prepared from now on, until the moment of my death, even if it were in a few minutes.

He was the first to cut the distance between us, raising his fist to my face. His knuckles slammed into my arm, propelling it toward the contour of my face by the wave and force of the impact. His other fist tried to hit the pit of my stomach, but I could catch his movement and block him with my other arm, hitting him to no effect with the bone. I raised my left leg to hit him on the ribs, but like me, Eren was faster and dodged just in time, avoiding my foot and moved it to the side. As I touched the ground again, I raised my leg again and this time I managed to hit him on the hip, propelling him forward and hitting his body again, this time with my right knee on his face.

His body didn’t move from where he had fallen to the floor, sensing that my blow hadn’t been strong enough to unbalance him, but to mislead him for a second. His face was thrown back by the impact of my knee and I hit him again in the same way, this time right in the center of the face, right on the septum and the mouth. My hand lunged for his hair, grabbing his already disheveled manbun and pushing his head back, my other hand was about to hit right in the neck area, but before I could even put my fingertips on him, his fingers closed tightly on my wrist and twisted it outward, drawing an uncomfortable groan from my throat.

His other fist managed to make a hook towards my chin causing me to loose the grip on the manbun, my legs were unbalanced and I felt blood spurt into my mouth, and one of his feet rose high enough to hit me in the chest and pull me towards him. back and hitting the head squarely against the hard dirt floor. Eren wasted no time and took a short leap towards my figure and placed his hands on my neck for the third time that day. It was like reliving the restaurant scene, me on the floor and him finding a way to position himself on me and immobilize me.

"God, what about you and your choke kink?" With my throat so battered in such a short time, I could barely speak and what I managed to get out was nothing more than hoarse and breathy moans, as if my voice was breaking little by little.

Both of my hands went straight under his armpits holding them in the shape of a sword and digging the bony ends into his weak skin. His arms loosened, giving me the chance to elbow him on the back of his neck and push him away from my body. I put my hands on the ground and got back to my feet with my arms and legs now muddy and dirty, but what was my intention to put myself on guard ended up turning into a new face fall down to the floor, having one of his legs hooked on my knee and making any escape movement impossible. I hit him hard with my free leg on the knee that was hooking me, managing to displace it and perhaps break it on the spot given the creaking sound that echoed through the bark of the trees. With my leg released, I turned around and now that same leg was on his broken knee, applying pressure to the floor, and my other leg took a moment to impact right on his face. His body was now flat on the floor and I positioned myself on top of him without wasting time, pulling his arm back and hitting his ribs with the elbow of my free arm. One, two, three blows, until I felt an impulse bring my body back to the floor as well as a blow on my left cheekbone. I hadn't seen his fist come to my face when he lunged against my body to get me off.

His knee hit me in the pit of my stomach, curling into a fetal position and his fist slammed again into my cheekbone. I tried to scratch his arm the same way I did with his face hours ago, but I failed miserably, as if the pain of the flesh peeling off his skin didn't affect him at all. So I hit his knee with mine, moving him off my stomach, driving him to the ground, and back hitting him on the ribs. Eren lifted his body for a moment to avoid taking any more impacts and gave me enough time to place my legs under his chest and stretch them towards and send him flying against the tree behind him.

Now I could easily stand up, but the pain in my stomach made it difficult for me to breathe and to be able to stand firmly on the ground. I took quick strides towards his body and when my foot was about to hit his face, Eren wiped away a considerably thick branch from the ground and struck my face with the tip, impacting the leaves and small branches on my wounds and throwing me to the ground from the burning. I was in four against a tree, behind me I heard how the dry leaves crunched under Eren's feet and how he was getting up to jump on my back; But this time, I was faster and managed to turn around to hit my leg on his neck for a good time and throw him again towards a crooked tree on our side, hitting his neck against the bark and tearing the skin with friction. From where I was lying I could see blood coming out of his neck, it seems he had torn the jugular area and was bleeding. I could also see the pain on his face and how his body was getting rid of the tension that the fight had caused.

We were both gasping for air, at the moment neither of us could take it anymore and both bodies were asking for a limit, but I knew it was a matter of time before Eren fully recovered and a new fight would take place again. If there was a moment to act, this was perfect. I tried to get up, but my back didn’t give in to my directions and I was thrown back to the floor. My eyes were fixed on the tops of the trees, which let a few rays of the sun slip into our little forest bubble. The sight was almost angelic, if it weren't for the multiple blows that were burning like a bonfire. I saw how some leaves fell slightly accompanied by the wind which had blown again when our fight ended. I felt physical and mental relief as I listened as the smoke rose from Eren's skin, quickly healing his wounds, but still suffering from the bleeding in his neck. My vision began to blur, nothing that was in front of me was seen clearly and I was afraid I was about to faint.

Ahead of me I began to see a familiar sight, quite familiar indeed; the training days, Eren and me in our younger years. I saw us in one of our first confrontations, being completely dirty from the sandy earth but still standing on our two feet, our eyes like daggers about to be thrown at our opponent. Each one prepared to deliver what seemed like the last blow and define the confrontation before ending the day and heading off to the canteen for dinner, ready to define our fifth confrontation with hatred for the other in the veins. Eren, as not, was the first to approach and to be dodged by a young me and give him a poor punch in the face. He complained about the impact, backing off for the next instant to pounce on my shoulder and hook me on the knee to finally throw me sideways to the ground for the fourth time in that three-hour workout. I groaned in pain and grabbed onto my shoulder, injured and battered from so many blows. I stretched out on the floor, in the same way that presumably I was now and I stared at the orange sky, observing how little by little the sun was setting on the horizon and fine dark blue lines welcomed the night.

"Ha, how many times have I beat you today?" his voice and breathing were ragged but still I could tell the false vanity and self-centeredness in his words. He had hunched over his knees resting his tangled hands on them and brought his face closer to mine, covering my beautiful sight and replacing it with his horrible green eyes. I fixed my gaze on his damn crooked smile, the same one he gave to any asshole he had the guts to challenge and finish. I closed my eyes to avoid looking at him and in less than a second I moved my leg over his, hitting his balance and causing him to fall headlong to the floor, hitting the side of his temple. The blow echoed across the ground, earning laughter from some of our friends and whispers around us. I didn't stop to listen to what stupid people might be saying about what had just happened, but stood up heavily, still having a semi air of victory over my body, I wiped my hands on my pants, which deserved a full-fledged clean, and I ducked down to his figure on the floor.

"Not so bad for a country one, huh?" and with that I turned and walked towards the canteen, hoping to be in time before Sasha ate my slice of bread like most nights.

Back at my self lying on the muddy, doughy ground, my breathing come back to normal before my vision returned to having the leaves of the trees in sharp focus. I felt a great heaviness on my body and at the same time I felt like a feather, as if I was experiencing an out-of-body episode ... or was simply rambling. I got up in the same way as in that wonderful memory which for some strange reason happened to appear in my consciousness, and I leaned back on a tree before compiling myself and dragging my feet on the leaves.

"That’s it, I’m done" To be honest, I couldn’t do this anymore. To be honest, I wanted to disappear from the face of the earth and reincarnate in another life, many years in the future. To be honest, my sanity couldn't keep fighting anymore, but I was too cowardly to take my own life. I was tired, not only tired of fighting, but tired of this damn world that the only thing that achieved was to put us in a circle of hatred and anger between each other.

I took a few more steps towards some side of the forest, knowing that I had no idea where I was going, if it was the same side I came from or another completely different, heading right towards the hands of the Jaegeristas. Likewise, if they caught me, they would take me to the others. Would it have been worth it to have escaped from the beginning? Surely not, but I was praying with my few walking neurons that I had managed to take a little time out of them.

"I can still going"

I heard him say a few meters behind me. I could still hear the smoke coming from his veins, this time with much more vigor, a sign that he was about to heal completely. Damn bastard, he'd perfected his healing technique over the years and it didn't take more than five minutes to heal all of his wounds.

"Well I can't!" I screamed reluctantly, as if I was trying to convince myself to give me a break, even if that break meant losing the battle against a terrorist group.

My feet kept moving over the leaves until they hit a fallen tree branch and half caught up with it, causing me to lose my balance and fall sideways onto the bark of the same tree. I instinctively placed my hand and with the fall, the hand didn’t stay sufficiently attached to the surface and drifted to the side, scratching my skin and exposing the raw flesh. I rested my healthiest shoulder on the surface and held my hand. The blood came out slowly, in time with the rapid pumping of my heart, the palm was throbbing and I felt that throbbing not only in that area but also in my ears and in my chest. I blew on the wound to remove the small traces of dirt and grime on the flesh.

"I'm tired of continue fighting, I'm tired of fighting with you and I'm tired of this world, I'm going home"

"What home?" ok, of all the things Eren could have said right now, or all the things he said to me over the past few weeks, this was the one that had hurt the most, the one that had touched my heart the most.

The image of my mother being killed in front of me by a bullet in the head at the age of ten, the image of my father or what was left of him returning to my village after years in training, the image of my family's house destroyed and split in half, while parts of the steps were burned and made charcoal. The image of a cabin in the middle of a field, far from the city, calm, empty and silent, the one that for a couple of years was my residence and now it was used by the queen herself to give birth to the heir. All those images appeared in my mind without invitation to haunt me in a matter of seconds until I gave my answer.

"To what is left of it" I broke away from the surface of the tree and devoted myself to looking ahead and following the path that at first I was taking.

“Wait” behind me the sound of the smoke had stopped and the only thing I could hear was the rustling of the leaves under Eren, who was getting up and standing on his feet.

I ignored his claim and kept walking, always looking ahead and taking good care of where I stepped, I wasn’t in the mood to rip my other hand or fall back on the one that was already badly hurt.

“I said fucking wait” was the only thing I heard before feeling his hands on mine and my shoulder.

I no longer know how many times my back was hit against a surface, I just knew that at this point it would be full of bruises or most likely my back would be a whole bruise, having all the skin covered in a nice purple or black color. My head suffered the same fate, chunks of bark digging into my scalp and some snagging on my hair. Strands got tangled over small branches halfway out of the trunk and pulled my head that way, putting me in a very uncomfortable position. The hand Eren was holding stretched forward, threatening to stretch it further and dislocate my shoulder in the process, the other hand holding my shoulder tightening more and more against my flesh while holding the bone in an impossible way with his long, slender fingers.

If my heart wasn’t already racing too much, the pulsations went crazy when I felt his hand leave mine calmy and position my arm at my side with great care to move to free a lock of hair from the bark and position it behind my ear. Then he stroked my cheek in the same way he had done so many times before. His thumb wandered over my shallow cuts, pulling out the dried blood that had accumulated, and made circular motions over my badly injured cheekbone, as if he was trying to remove the pain that he himself had caused. I leaned my head to the side trying to prevent him from keep touching me, fixing my gaze on the floor, on his feet, on mine, and I hid my face behind the few strands that were loose.

“Look at me” his voice was nothing more than a whisper, only the silence of the forest gave the opportunity to hear him clearly.

My gaze remained embedded in the grass that surrounded the tree below our feet. His thumb, now positioned on my lower lip, forcefully applied pressure downward on the open flesh, parting my two lips and sticking his finger in just enough to play with the tips of my teeth. His index finger came under my chin and forced me to turn my head in his direction.

“Fuck. Look at me! ” His eyes penetrated mine and for the first time in a long time I could see a small glow reflected in them. But that glow, I guessed, wasn’t good at all. It wasn’t the same kind Eren had when he was fifteen, knowing he had the whole world ahead of him and he could be of use to humanity, but instead was the same kind he had before annihilating with extreme anger his opponent.

We stare at each other, his face getting closer to mine. I could feel his breath on my skin and his thumb was still playing with my teeth. The hand that was holding my shoulder began to caress the skin that was visible outside the shirt, over my neck, also sore and full of scratches.

In an attempt to get him to leave my lip alone, I bit down on the tip of his thumb, not hard enough to rip off a piece of meat, but hard enough to make him fucking pull his finger out of my mouth. He waved his hand trying to ease the pain and grabbed my other cheek, stretched it out, pinched it and left a red mark on the area, burning me for a few seconds.

"I missed you back in Liberio" He grabbed a lock of my neck and twisted it between his fingers, playing for a moment and pulling the roots so that my head leaned forward.

The fingers on the skin of my neck continued it’s movements, sometimes going towards the back of my neck, scratching the beginning of the root and pulling a few strands. The caresses were soft, like the massage of a feather, it gave me chills up my spine at the same time that I was having trouble breathing with each step of his fingertips on the bone of my neck. He stopped playing with my lock and cupped one of my cheeks in the palm of his hand, his skin cold compared to mine, warm from adrenaline. It was a somewhat invasive sensation, but at the same time, comforting and uncertain. His thumb again made circular motions over the wounded skin but this time avoiding the scratch marks.

"I missed the warmth of your cheeks and the shapes of your hands" His face moved closer to my neck, his nose brushing against the bruised skin and his breath tickling the tender spots between my neck and collarbone. His breathing made me shudder from head to toe, as if lightning had struck my body.

"Eren" it was pathetic to see how with a simple touch, my body responded so submissively.

I was trembling and not from the wind that blew from time to time over us, but from the multiple caresses on my neck; my cheek being forgotten and now the waist was being the focus point, his lips playing with my mental stability as he delicately rested on me neck, but not enough to lean on and kiss it. My brain was telling me everything was wrong, that I shouldn't be doing this, but my body asked for more, asking for a break, relax and let go. My innermost desires were screaming, begging, to be released, imploring me to succumb and break the tension that was obvious to them, but less to me.

What seemed like endless minutes, were limited seconds before I felt Eren's lips on my warm skin, his hand now resting completely on my neck and my waist, drawing me closer to him, at the same time that he imprisoned me against the tree. I was in the middle of two hard walls and unconsciously I didn't feel like moving. His soft lips compared to his hands and his acting from the last year, roamed under my chin and collarbone, making a path up and down, always repeating the same line of kisses that he left behind. The more kisses he implanted, the more aggressive, open and needy they were, all the while getting wetter and leaving a trail of saliva all around. His knee shifted between my legs, separating them and lifting me to sit barely on his leg, my crotch gently placed on his covered flesh and with each movement his leg applied the necessary pressure to begin get pathetic moans out of me.

"Better keep quiet, you don't want others to find out about our whereabouts" he growled through his teeth as he continued attacking my neck. Now I was sure that, not only would I end up with scratches, but also a few hickeys if Eren wasn't careful enough. What would be more embarrassing? They founding us hot and bothered against a tree or the fact that I was getting carried away sexually with the most wanted person in Paradis?

"Fuck, Eren ..." the hand on my waist tightened and I grabbed onto him, pulling me impossibly closer, fusing both bodies, one against the other's chest.

His hand guided my body back and forth, continuing to generate pressure on my core, a sweet agony that built very slowly, too slow for my liking. My legs were starting to feel numb from the bad posture Eren had me in and were shaking as his leg touched a weak spot. His fingers intertwined with my locks, tightening them and pulling my head back, having better access to my neck and being able to run his teeth through the fine skin. Eren always had a damn habit of biting, and biting hard, not to the point of bleeding, but under the circumstances, I doubted he had enough self-control to even mind ripping the skin. When his fangs aggressively bit my collarbone I grunted in discomfort, but even that feeling, the pleasure was much better. It hurt and it felt good.

Another bite, this time reaching the shoulder. His hand left my hair in peace and stretched the shirt, revealing more clearly his work on my neck and how the curve of my shoulder became more visible under the fabric.

My breathing was shaking, my hands resting on his biceps trying to find a point of balance, my nails dug into his jacket and my leg trying to curl over his for fear of falling. When his teeth came into contact with my shoulder again, aiming for the bone, I screamed in pain, pressing my body against his to dissipate the burning of his teeth on the broken skin. He let go of my shirt and squeezed my cheeks, fixing his eyes on mine violently and commanding me to shut up.

"Stay quiet if you don't want me to fuck you raw until you bleed" Before such a comment I was speechless, my neurons could not connect and I was left blank; the only thing in command now was my animalistic desire.

"Make me"

His lips slammed against mine, needy and eager. They were dry, too dry, and every brush against mine hurt, but neither of us cared about having two pairs of chapped and possibly bleeding lips. All we cared about was melting into each other. My hands dug into the hollow of his neck and his bun, which was already disarmed and strands fell on his forehead and sides, some fell right in front of his eyes, tickling my forehead and eyelashes.

I felt his hands descend to the curve of my butt and grab a good chunk of both cheeks before fully holding them. A little pressure and I was already jumping so I could hold on comfortably. Now we could both feel the center of each other, hot, throbbing and twitching. Every move Eren made to hold us together against the tree sent chills through my entire body, his notoriously erect and hard member rose in the right places and my moans were drowned out by his savage lips.

My nails dug into the back of his neck as I felt a stronger and more violent thrust on my sweet spot. I wanted it, needed it, and desired it. I wished this lustful feeling was the only thing I felt, that I would succumb and refuse to feel any other feelings. I wanted to give myself to him and use me if it meant letting go of all the negativity that had accumulated for weeks. I wanted to remove his clothes from him, to feel his sculpted, chunky muscles on the palms of my hand, wanted to feel his chest throbbing and warm on mine, wanted him completely. I pulled the jacket off his shoulders, getting stuck in his arms. Eren dropped me on the floor with a spear and took off his jacket to leave it god knows where.

"Hey! What the fuck- ”He didn't take long to kiss me again, now with his colossal body on top of mine.

I felt small under him, much more submissive, the sensation of his hands prowling the ends of my torso, reaching under the shirt and feeling my skin burning didn’t fix anything to the situation. His fingertips tickled my stomach, making me shudder every time they made their way to my abdomen. His tongue played with mine, distracting me from his deft fingers and his wickedness as he moved towards my chest and began to work on my nipples. He was a teassing bastard. His fingers poked and twisted one of my red, erect pebble. It was torturous to feel like between the puncture and the circular movement he took the time to stretch it and make it harder. With his other hand, he held my hip next to his, keeping it in it’s place as he balanced his hips against my pelvis. My legs opened involuntarily to better feel his member and in an agile movement he positioned himself between them, reconnecting both hips and placing them on both sides and holding him at the waist. With this, neither could escape the grasp of the other and we slowly melted away with each thrust and twist.

His hand came out from under my shirt and he started unbuttoning my shirt, one damn slow button at a time. Having my chest semi-exposed, his lips wandered towards my clavicle, passing the corner of my lips, the cheek, the jaw and the already sensitive neck, causing a groan to come out unexpectedly. His lips on the crook of my neck, his hands on the skin of my abdomen and his crotch on mine, I felt like I was exploding. I didn’t know where to put my hands, they went through his tousled hair, his shoulders, his biceps until they ended up under his shirt, feeling insecurely on the fingertips as touching his marked abs.

Every time I had the opportunity to admire his sturdy and worked body, it never ceased to amaze me how well puberty had done to him. His body able to surround me and cover me against the floor, pressing so that we could both feel the heat emanating from the other. I hadn't been able to tell him when he was in prison, but seeing him hunched over and exposing his torso and back muscles really had a great effect on me, seeing him wet, being able to discern some drops falling from his head onto his neck, was like seeing an oasis and I was a thirsty one, eager to sink my face into its sweet waters. I had been deprived of touching them at the time, but now that I was doing it, it wasn’t enough, I needed to see them with my own eyes as my fingers ran over them, while I ran my nails and left small marks that would dissipate in seconds. 

The hand back on my chest was the boost I needed to lift his shirt up to his neck. Eren detached himself from me for a few seconds and got rid of the garment in the same way as his jacket, but he didn’t attack my neck like I so much wanted. Instead, his eyes stayed glued to my chest, seeing the work his deft fingers had done on my swollen nipples.

"Fuck" he growled as he ran his eyes over my semi-naked submissive body on the grass.

He bent down to level with his desired pebbles and caressed them with both hands, both giving them equal attention. I let my head fall back, closing my eyes and enjoying the sensation, but there was a moment when his fingers weren't enough anymore. I brought my hand up to his head, running my nails over his scalp, and pulled him forward, leaving him inches from my needy nipples. Eren got the hint because he quickly ran his tongue over one of them while the other was still torturing with his thumb and index finger. His mouth closed on the nipple and he sucked like it’s the only thing able to keep him alive, too painful but that didn't matter to me. He left a trail of saliva when he separated from the bundle with a 'pop' and dedicated himself to giving the other the same attention. I groaned at the needed action, causing his dick to hit my core. I was losing his mind, it was too much and at the same time, it wasn’t enough. I needed to continue, I wanted it with every fiber of my being. My nails had nothing better to do than run down his back and my legs wedged closer to his waist. I felt his dick throb and couldn't help thinking of the veins that ran through it, ending on his pretty and red head, he pre-sum that was surely coming out and wetting his pants, I couldn't help but wish to had him inside me and feel those same veins brush my velvet walls and go crazy with each thrust.

As my thoughts wandered of what was to come, Eren's lips left my nipples and focused back on my neck, this time on the side where my scar was. He left little kisses around the shoulder and around the mark, running up and down the shape, ending a little above the chest. His action was too sweet, too tender compared to his wild and hungry movements. My eyes widened instantly, if his intention was to make me uncomfortable, he had done it. If the intention was to ruin the fervid and hectic moment by reliving the scariest moment of my life, he was damned succeeding. How could I keep my composure when he was kissing the mark I had "earned" by going on a mission to rescue him? How could I stay calm when the memories of an onslaught of titans haunted my mind again, ready to devour me while I was lying on the ground with my movement equipment displaced and my shoulder immobilized by the bleeding wound? The memory of a stone flying towards my face, dodging it at the last moment and ending up hitting my shoulder bone, dislocating it, tearing the skin and flesh and noticing how the blood spurted out, soaking my shirt and jacket. My breathing started to hit, and not in the good way, and apparently Eren wasn’t realizing or hadn't taken it the wrong way.

It was like a bucket of cold water in pure winter. My mind suddenly cleared and every trace of heat my body ever had dissipated, leaving only a cold, stiff container.

"Wait, wait...no, no, this is bad" I put my hands on his shoulders and jerked him off.

"Why?" His eyes didn’t deign to inspect mine. Any normal person in their right mind, just by looking at my pale face could deduct that something was wrong.

"Why? I- You are the number one enemy in the world and of the military police, I would have to give you up and not making up with you right now"

I was babbling as well as shaking. I got up and settled onto my legs, sitting stiffly on the ground. Eren had come to the side before my body crashed against his when I got up and he was looking at me without any expression, as if nothing had happened, as if the only one who had been feeling something, even if it was a minimal sensation of pleasure, it was me, and that made me feel sick.

"I would have to be angry, make you shit on the floor and take you to pieces towards the wall Sina" at any moment I was going to throw up, I knew it. I knew my body perfectly to know that in every moment of tension and panic, my stomach would start to annoy me, to go into spasms and hit me internally. "I shouldn't be doing this with you"

"Is that so bad? Listen to your desires, follow your instincts? " His hands came to rest on my waist and without any permission from me, he placed me on his lap, both of us being face to face, chest to chest.

His words entered my ears and stayed reverberating in my mind. What to do? I was doing everything wrong, but at the same time they felt so good. I wanted to continue thoroughly, but I knew that morally it was wrong, more than wrong, it was horrible what I was doing, anyone could tell me that. I felt bad about myself, but ... deep inside me, there was a small feeling that was getting bigger and bigger and wanted, screamed, to be released. I was so indecisive and overwhelmed that all I could do was cry.

Pathetic. I was really pathetic.

I lowered my head on his shoulder, keeping the tears from being visible to this callous shit. His hands on my waist didn't feel at all comforting as he began to move his thumb in a circular motion. My hands formed into fists and I hit his shoulders repeatedly, each hit receiving a kiss on the head. My energies were exhausted at the very begining and I rested my fists on my waist, my head now barely suspended in front of him, not looking at him.

"I hate you" he kissed my shoulder.

"I know" another kiss, this time on the other shoulder, on my scar.

"I fucking hate you" my knuckles turned white from how hard I was clenching my fists.

"I know" he kissed a tear that had escaped my lashes and was running freely down my cheek.

"You're a piece of shit"

I opened my eyes to find a pair of beautiful turquoise eyes, bright and full of life. Eren placed his hand on my cheek, running his thumb every time a tear fell down it. He leaned down and captured my lips with his sweetly, the tears falling and falling, faster and faster and more forming in my closed eyes. The kiss had a salty taste, my heart was about to leave my chest and when Eren broke away I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to take it anymore.

"…I know"

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