#i will be eternally grateful to whoever said that to him

[sanctaignorantia]

when he's not interviewing vampires...

x

[throneofsmut]

Bound In Flames - Part 7

Eris Vanserra × Archeron-Sister-Reader || WC: 8.1k || Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, and trauma.

Summary: Feyre and her younger sister go hunting in the forest behind their family's cottage and go through life changing experiences.

A/N: The wolf in this part ( you’ll know once you get to that part of fic ) is basically like the wolves from twilight for reference. Size wise at least. But still it’s a little bigger than that. He's also heavily inspired by Tairn from fourth wing. Him and reader's bond is similar to the bond Violet and Tairn have.

****

Your tear stained cheek was pressed against your bent knee as you sat before the Yew Tree where the Summer Court Faerie was now buried. Fingers pulling and ripping the plush green spring grass beneath you.

Warm tears continued to wet your skin as you sat there and quietly said the prayer usually said when an Illyrian passed.

Voice cracking as you recited it, grateful that no one was around to hear the grief that was thick in your throat for a faerie you didn’t even know.

“Once soaring through skies with grace and might.

Now grounded and wounded in a fateful plight.

Though grounded they stand their soul takes flight.

Denying a flightless fate welcoming death's sweet embrace.

May the wings that once soared high carry their spirit to eternal skies.

So let us remember the fallen ones who will now become a star and be one with the night.

May they fly in the beautiful skies of immortal land of milk and honey.

Feel the wind beneath their wings.

The warm breeze a loving caress against skin.

As they lose themselves in the songs of the wind once again.”

Looking up at the stars, you searched the skies, as if you’d be able to see a whisper of the Summer Court faerie flying above you. Free from pain and suffering. Free from Amarantha. Letting out a deep sigh when you didn’t and stared at the grave at the base of the Yew Tree.

You sniffled and then let out a shuddering breath, “I am so sorry I was late. Maybe—maybe if I had gone Under the Mountain as soon as I got into Prythian, Amarantha would’ve been too focused on me to take your wings.”

Pulling out a small dagger from your pocket, cutting across your palm, letting your blood flow onto the earth. “Before I kill her or before she kills me… I’ll kill whoever she ordered to butcher you—your wings.” You swore.

Too drained to care to wrap your hand, you just sat there letting the darkness of the night comfort you. As it always did. But then you heard it: almost like a whisper, as if cloth were dragging over root and stone.

Nostrils flaring as you scented the air, without a doubt knowing who it was. The tall, thin veiled figure in dark tattered robes, came to sit next to you.

Then slowly, it turned to you, the dark veil draped over its bald head blowing in a phantom breeze. “Hello, Darkling.” Click, click went its fingers against each other, one for each word.

“Hello, old friend.”

The Suriel sniffed the air, once. Twice. “You’re bleeding.” Its fingers clicking again. You didn’t look at them, not even as its robes rustled as if it was looking for something.

Then you heard the sound of cloth tearing. A moment later it’s too long fingers gently gripped your hand—carefully—to not touch the cut on your palm. Then it wrapped the piece of their torn robe around your hand. Squeezing your fingers before putting your now bandaged hand back in your lap. “She knows you’re in Prythian. She’s hunting you.”

“I know.” You said quietly.

“The faeries she sends into these lands are hunting you, faeries like the naga,” It said, its voice was at once one and many, old and young, beautiful and grotesque. “Her ilk will continue to invade these lands on her orders. To find you.”

You felt the Suriel’s eyes on you as you looked down at your wrapped hand. Then at the Suriel. They had torn the cleanest part of their robe to bandage you. “Thank you,” you gave them a small smile, it was all you could muster at the moment and they nodded their head in understanding.

“You know you’re being hunted, so why are you still out here all alone.” Not a question, but a mere fact.

As if on cue the grass brush a couple yards in front of you rustled, the Suriel and you looked up and you smiled knowing who was there. Without looking away from the blue glowing eyes that were now set on you. “I’m not alone.”

The Suriel only chuckled, “No, you are not.”

Moment of silence passed before you spoke again, “You know if I knew you were coming I would’ve brought you a new cloak,” you glanced at the old tattered cloak they wore.

“Well, I didn’t have time to schedule an appointment, my lady.” They said sarcastically, earning a chuckle from you.

“Fair enough. Meet me here tomorrow night and I’ll bring you a new cloak.”

Their dark tattered robes rustled as they stood and placed a hand on your shoulder, “Thank you,” It’s fingers clicking in time with the words it spoke. Then they looked toward the grass brush again where those glowing blue eyes still watched you, “Get her back to the manor. It’s not safe out here.” They said to the owner of those blue glowing eyes, but all the Suriel got back was a low growl in response.

You don’t know how much time passed after the Suriel left, didn’t care, all that mattered were those blue eyes that stared back at you. Slowly you stood up from your spot in the grass and walked towards the grass brush. The same time you stood up, it did too, but it didn’t make a move. It was unnaturally still and silent. Until you spoke his name, “Raihn.” So quiet, it was barely a whisper but you know he heard you by the way his ears twitched.

Then it was walking out to meet you, slowly. Menacingly.

“Raihn. . . It’s me. It’s me, Y/n” you whispered, you didn’t know who could be out here. Listening. Watching. He stalked closer, the night shielding most of him, all you could see were his eyes. Until he was right in front of you. Illuminated by the moonlight you could finally see him. He was bigger than you remembered, then again that was 10 years ago. He had always been huge but now he was massive. His fur was pure white and he had to be at least 10 feet in length and over 6 feet tall from paw to shoulders.

“Raihn, it’s me. Please. Please, you have to remember me.” Your eyes filled with tears as you pleaded. He had to remember you, because you could never forget him.

Your mother told you that her mother used to tell her stories about a rare species of wolves that hailed from the north. From deep in the mountains of the Night Court. They only ever bonded with the Lords and Princes of Illyria, if they were loyal, cunning, brave and possessed the raw killing power.

The wolves used to fight beside them in battle and the more killing power the Illyrian possessed then the stronger the bond between them was. If the bond was strong enough they could channel power into each other and share it, but if one of them was killed in battle the other would fall too even if they were physically unharmed.

It had been centuries since the last wolf had bonded with an Illyrian. Until you. Since you could remember, Raihn had always been by your side until you had to disappear.

Your lips quivered as you spoke, voice cracking, “Raihn.” You slowly stuck your hand out so he could scent you. His snout twitched, once. Then twice. He looked back at you—assessing—then growled, so low, you felt the ground beneath you shake.

The massive wolf’s lips curled back as he bared his teeth inches away from your face. You know he’s confused because he can still scent your true scent beneath the blood spell your mother used on you. Which also changed your physical appearance. If only you could touch him—restoring the bond—then you could talk to him and he could talk to you.

You let out a sharp breath, knowing what you had to do. You tried to brace yourself for the pain you knew you were about to feel, it would only allow him to see you—the real you if only for a couple seconds. But still he would see you and then he’d remember who you are to him.

“Nochd.”

As soon as you uttered the word which meant reveal in the old language, your entire body felt as if it was being ripped apart yet it put back together. Your veins felt as if they were on fire by the coldest flames. Gasping for breath felt like you were drowning in scorching hot water, your lungs expanding and constricting. And your head felt like it was going to explode.

Then nothing.

It was nearly dawn when you felt something nudging your face and hand. You could barely hear the whimpers over the blood roaring through your ears. Your entire body felt heavy and sore as you lifted your hand and felt fur: soft and warm.

Raihn.

His head was still nudging your face. Turning to look at him, really look at him. He has deep scarred scratches on the right side of his face but he wasn’t blinded. And most of his right ear was gone, “You’re as beautiful as the day I last saw you.” He flinched hearing your voice, hoarse from the pain inflicted from the blood spell.

You’re hurt. Stop talking, he orders. His voice deep and gruff.

Letting out a hiss as you sit up. “Yeah, and whose fault is that?”

He growled in response. Don’t do that ever again. You almost died.

“Well, it’s your fault you didn’t recognize me. I had to show you it was me.” You tried to reason.

So it's my fault that you smell like you but don't look like you. How was I supposed to know? He argued.

You shrugged, “At least you know now.”

Yes, but you don't know how I felt all these years, not knowing if you would come back or if you were safe!

“I miss you too.” You chuckled softly.

Get on. He ordered.

You scoffed, “I can walk,” but made no move to stand.

I didn't ask. Now get on.

Raihn moved so he was laying next to you as close as he could without squishing you. All you had to do was hold onto the scruff of his neck and roll over to get on his back. You took in a deep breath and let it out once you were on his back. Cursing as he stood up, the movement jostling your sore body.

Don't be rude, he says. Looking over his shoulder at me before huffing. You're bleeding. Stop it.

It’s your turn to huff, “Don’t be rude,” you sit up a bit, wiping the blood coming from your nose. “Let’s just go back to the manor.”

****

The ride back to the Spring Court Manor was quiet but not uncomfortable. The both of you content with just being in each other’s presence.

None of the sentries stationed around the Manor said anything to you about the dry blood now stained underneath your nose. Or the massive wolf who was carrying your limp body inside. They only moved out of the way, letting you both pass.

As Raihn stalked into the alabaster manor and up the stairs to your room the servants let out shocked gasps. Some stood frozen in shock and when they didn’t move he growled, baring his teeth in warning. Swatting his foreleg lightly, “Hey, be nice.”

They're the ones that need to be nice. It's not polite to stare. He reasoned as he growled at another servant.

Once you finally got to your room he layed back down so you could get off and you slowly trudged to the ensuite bathroom. Quickly washing up and putting on a fresh night gown to sleep in. You didn’t bother looking in the mirror, already knowing your face was puffy from crying.

Walking back into the bedroom, going straight to the closet to pull out pillows and comforters. You laid them on the floor before the foot of the bed for Raihn to sleep on.

Making your way back to your bed and crawling under the covers, the wolf took that as his cue to lay down too. You fell asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow. The last thing you heard was Raihn’s voice, I missed you too.

No nightmares plagued you that night as you got the best sleep you had in over 10 years.

****

You awoke a little before noon to the sound of Raihn’s growl and Lucien’s voice.

“Mother’s tits!” Lucien whisper-yelled, his hands held up like he was trying to show Raihn he meant no harm.

Raihn only lowered his head and growled even louder, baring his teeth at the red haired male. Lucien’s throating bobbing as he remained still. “Relax, fox boy.”

Lucien didn’t look at you as he asked, “Does he bite?”

“Not me.” He didn’t have to look at you to know you were smirking.

“Y/n, please!”

You huffed, “Fine. Raihn stop scaring him.”

The large wolf turned his head slowly to face you, Is he a friend?

“Uh. . . no, not really.” You replied, answering his question.

Lucien's eyes flickered between Raihn and you, “No, what?”

“He asked if you were a friend.”

“And you said no!”

You shrugged, “You never asked me.”

Raihn stalked closer and Lucien began apologizing, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

Getting up from the bed to stand between them, hissing when you moved too fast. Raihn snapped his head at you, Get back in bed, he ordered.

Patting his side, “Stop fussing, I’m fine,” pushing him further back into the room to give Lucien some space. “What are you doing in here anyway, Lucien?”

“Tamlin wants to take Feyre on a ride, to show her something.”

“And,” you arched a brow at him, even though he was still looking at the wolf behind you.

He finally looked at you, his mouth opening and then closing, before opening again, “And… I want to take you.”

“All right.”

“All right?”

“Yeah, just let me change.” You didn’t give him a chance to say anything else as you pushed him out the door and got ready. Raihn huffing behind you.

****

By the time Raihn and you got to the front doors, Tamlin, Lucien and Feyre were already saddled on their horses.

Again no one said anything, Tamlin and Feyre were just gaping in shock and Lucien was just staring as Raihn lowered himself so you could get on his back. Once you were seated he began walking, Lucien’s horse keeping pace beside you.

Then Tamlin came up on your other side, “Is that a wolf?”

“Are we in the Spring Court?” You asked him, sarcasm dripping off of every word.

“Yes.” He answered.

“Then yes, Tamlin. This is a wolf.” Lucien snorted beside you as you patted Raihn’s neck. Tamlin glared at him and he pretended to cough.

“Is he your pet?” Raihn’s responding growl made the High Lord stiffen.

“No,” you laughed. “No, he’s not. Raihn and I are Ceangailte."

Tamlin’s face paled as he looked at Lucien but Lucien was looking at you. Then he whispered, “You’re bonded to each other?”

“Yes, Lucien, we are.”

Raihn let out a pleased noise and you smiled softly.

“What’d he say?” Lucien asked.

“I am his and he is mine, from now until the darkness claims us.”

****

When you all finally arrived at the place Tamlin wanted to show Feyre, it was an hour or two past noon. The light still thick and golden. It was a glen, a beautiful glen.

Lucien had already sat down on the blanket they brought and Tamlin had gone to where Feyre was a couple feet ahead.

“Y/n,” he patted the space on the blanket next him, “sit.”

You looked at him and then back at the trail beyond, “Uh, I think I’m gonna go for a walk. . . Thank you though.”

“I’ll go with you.” The male was already on his feet and next to you before you could say it wasn’t necessary. “Lead the way.”

“Raihn, stay.” He huffed in annoyance at your order but stayed put.

You and Lucien walked the trail for a bit before veering off in the opposite direction of the pool of starlight. You couldn’t look at it without being homesick for a home you’d never been to. The walk was quiet, the both of you content in just listening to the birds around you singing along with the trees and the sounds of their leaves rustling. But, Lucien broke the silence.

“Are you alright after last night?”

You looked at him, brows furrowed before shaking your head no. “Are you?”

He sighed, “No.”

You knew you shouldn’t ask but curiosity killed the cat and you were the cat. “Did she—did Amaratha do that to you?” You asked softly, gesturing to his scarred eye.

He visibly tensed, jaw clenched as he gave you a tight nod.

“I’m sorry.” And you meant it too. Making a silent promise to scar her face just like she’d scarred his.

He stopped walking and you turned to look at him. Lucien searched your face for any insincerity and when he found none he merely thanked you. Then continued to walk.

You both walked until you came across a beautiful bluish green colored lake with a dock. Lucien bent down to roll up his pants and take off his boots. “What are you doing?” You asked him.

“We are going to dip our toes in the water, sweetheart,” his lips settling into a playful smirk.

Lucien sat beside you on dock, his hands splayed behind him as the both of you kicked your feet gently through the water. You were so lost in your own thoughts while staring at the rippling water that you didn’t hear him calling to you.

“Y/n!” He whisper-yelled.

“What?”

His eyes were wide and the corners of his mouth were upturned as he gestured in front of you, across the narrow lake. Where dozens upon dozens of different animals were staring at you, but standing proud, front and center was the Ruler of the Forest.

But you knew the huge white stag with great antlers as the Lord of the North.

He stretched out one of his forelegs and bent the other, before bowing his head. His dark eyes never left yours as you bowed your head to him in return. Then he and the other animals followed and it was as if they were never there.

Lucien cleared his throat, getting your attention, “Listen, I don’t know who or what you are but. . . I know you’re different.” If he saw you tense he didn’t mention it. “You don’t have to tell me. Yet, because you’re different I’m gonna tell you something.” You finally looked at him and nodded for him to continue.

He let out a deep sigh before he began to speak again, “I’ve endured things that make times like last night. . . difficult. Not just the scar and the eye—though last night brought back memories of that, too.” You turned so you could face him better and he met your gaze. “I am the youngest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court." You straightened. "The youngest of seven brothers. The Autumn Court is. . . cutthroat. Beautiful, but my brothers see each other only as competition, since the strongest of them will inherit the title, not the eldest. It is the same throughout Prythian, at every court.”

Which was the reason your mother used a blood spell on you because you were already showing the physical markers of a High Lord's heir. And you were female so that made it even more rare.

“I never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so I spent my youth doing everything a High Lord's son probably shouldn't: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords and being with females who were a far cry from the nobility of the Autumn Court." He paused for a moment, and you could almost feel the sorrow before he said, "I fell in love with a faerie whom my father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline. I told him I didn't care that she wasn't one of the High Fae, that I was certain the mating bond would snap into place soon and that I was going to marry her and leave his court to my scheming brothers." He paused again. His jaw clenching and unclenching as he tried to will away the tears pooling in his eyes, to no avail. "My father had her put down. Executed, in front of me, as two of my eldest brothers held me and made me watch."

Your own eyes had started to fill with tears and Lucien gave you a sad smile when the first one fell down your cheek.

“So. . . I left. Cursed my father, abandoned my title and the Autumn Court, and walked out. And without my title protecting me, my brothers thought to eliminate one more contender to the High Lord's crown. Three of them came out to kill me; one came back."

"You. . . killed them?"

"I killed one," He said. "Tamlin killed the other, as they had crossed into his territory, he was High Lord and could do what he wanted with trespassers threatening the peace of his lands." A cold, brutal, honest statement. "He claimed me as his own—named me emissary, since I'd already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people, while he. . . can find it difficult. I’ve been here ever since."

"As emissary," you began, "have you ever had dealings with your father? Or your brothers?"

"Yes. My father has never apologized, and my brothers are too frightened of Tamlin to risk harming me. But I have never forgotten what they did to her, or what my brothers tried to do to me."

It didn't quite excuse everything Lucien had said and done to you and Feyre, but. . . you understood now. You could understand the walls and barriers he had no doubt constructed around himself. Your chest was too tight, to say anything to him. You knew it wouldn’t comfort him, so you did the only thing you could think of and hugged him. A couple seconds went by and you realized he might not hug you back but when you made to pull away, he gripped your tunic so tightly before he began sobbing into you.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that. You weren’t going to pull away until he did, he needed this. Needed to go through every emotion he’s kept bottled up. And you just rubbed his back and smoothed his long red hair back as he did.

The sun was near setting when Lucien finally pulled away from you and wiped his tear stained cheeks with the sleeve of his tunic. He gave you a sad smile, voice still tight from crying, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” your voice a gentle murmur.

“Gods, I haven’t cried like that in ages.” He said, letting out a chuckle.

“You have too every now and again, it’s good for the soul.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Raihn’s deep, gruff voice sounded in your head, Come back, we're leaving.

All right.

You stood up, putting your boots back on, “Let’s go, Raihn said we’re heading back.”

“All right.” Lucien sniffled before getting to his feet and putting his own boots back on.

****

Feyre seemed tired but surprisingly content from the few hours of swimming and eating and lounging in the glen, she eyed Lucien as you all rode back to the manor that afternoon. You were crossing a broad meadow of new spring grass when he caught her glancing at him for the tenth time, and you braced yourself as he fell back from Tamlin’s side.

The metal eye narrowed on her while the other remained wary, unimpressed. “Yes?”

That was enough to persuade you not to say anything about his past. You would hate pity, too. And he didn’t know you—not well enough to warrant anything but resentment if you brought it up, even if it weighed on you to know it, to grieve for him.

She waited until Tamlin was far enough ahead that even his High Fae hearing might not pick up on her words but you did. “I never got to thank you for your advice with the Suriel.”

Lucien tensed. “Oh?”

You looked at Tamlin beside you, the horse utterly unbothered by his mighty rider. “If you still want me dead,” she said, “you might have to try a bit harder.”

Lucien loosed a breath. “That’s not what I intended, I wouldn’t shed any tears,” he amended. I knew it was true and she probably did too. “But what happened to you—”

“I was joking,” Feyre chuckled.

“You can’t possibly forgive me that easily for sending you into danger.”

“No. And part of me would like nothing more than to wallop you for your lack of warning about the Suriel. But I understand: I’m a human who killed your friend, who now lives in your house, and you have to deal with me. I understand,” She repeated.

He was quiet for long enough that you thought he wouldn’t reply. Just as you were about to drop back, he spoke. “Tam told me that your first shot was to save the Suriel’s life. Not your own.”

“It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“I know far too many High Fae and lesser faeries who wouldn’t have seen it that way—or bothered.” You heard him reach for something at his side and tossed it to her. She had to fight to stay in the saddle as she fumbled for it—a jeweled hunting knife.

“I heard you scream, and I hesitated. Not long, but I hesitated before I came running. Even though Tam got there in time, I still broke my word in those seconds I waited.” He jerked his chin at the knife. “It’s yours. Don’t bury it in my back, please.”

You turned this time to look at him and he gave you a genuine smile and a nod of his head.

Your gaze flickered between the both of them, Feyre now inspecting the knife and him giving you a friendly smile—a silent question. So you smiled back and nodded your head in return, friends then.

****

You gave Raihn a reassuring smile, “I’ll be careful, I promise,” while you finished securing your ash daggers to your body.

I’ll go with you.

“No.”

You’ll be safer with me by your side, he argued.

You sighed, “I’m not saying you’re wrong but, I can’t exactly sneak out with a huge wolf next to me, can I?” His annoyed huff was answer enough as he laid down on the comforters and pillows you had set on the floor for him. Petting the soft fur atop his head, “Sleep, I’ll be back before you know it.”

You know I won’t sleep until you come back.

****

You made your way through the quiet empty halls of the manor, down the staircase and to the door leading towards the garden doors. The sentries were changing shifts and you knew Lucien was on patrol tonight so you took the opportunity, running towards the north-eastern part of the woods. The new cloak you promised the Suriel in hand as you made your way to meet them near the yew tree.

Their fingers clicked twice, “You came,” as they spoke .

“When have I not?” you asked, while offering them the cloak. Looking around as the leaves on the surrounding trees and bushes rustled. Ears straining to hear if something—someone was there.

The Suriel grabbed the cloak and cradled it to their chest, “Thank you, princess—“

“You don’t have to thank me and I’m not a princess. Not anymore.”

They bent down on a knee, “For the kindness you have always shown me,” bowing his head, “you will always be a princess to me.”

Placing a hand on their bony shoulder, “Thank you, old friend.” You heard leaves rustling again, nostrils flaring scenting the air, “Go, someone’s here.”

“Be safe. I do not know when I will see you again but, I have to tell you. You have to know.”

“Know what?” Your brows furrowed as you glanced around trying to see if someone was hiding the shadow covered trees.

“Your mate,” Those two words made you snap your gaze back to the Suriel. “Like you, has fire in their blood. You will find each other on Calanmai. You have always been meant to burn together.”

You felt paralyzed, “What,” you felt your heart pounding. “Who. . . I have a mate?” you said those last four words so quietly you didn’t think the Suriel heard you until they spoke again.

They chuckled, “Yes, darkling, you have a mate. The both of you bound in flames. Bound to each other. He is heir to Autumn and you are heir to Spring. Be safe, Princess, you are of age now and will be affected by Fire Night’s magic.” The Suriel bowed again, “Till we meet again, Princess,” and walked into the dark woods.

You don’t know how long you stood there in shock that you had a mate and in fear that Amarantha would find out and kill him.

You stuck to the shadows as always, making your way back to the manor, mind reeling with possibilities from the information the Suriel gave you before they left. Practically in a trance when Lucien stopped you, still sitting atop his beautiful mare, “Why are you out here so late?”

“I couldn’t sleep. So I came out for a walk.”

He smirked knowingly, “Want to try that again, Princess?”

“Is there a curfew I don’t know about? Am I not allowed to come and go when I want.” Fuck. He heard the Suriel address you as Princess. He was who you heard and scented. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Did he know his brother is your mate? Is he your mate? Fuck.

Lucien chuckled as he swung a powerful leg over his horse, dismounting the beautiful mare and stalking towards you, leaning down so you were face to face, “Who—what are you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shrugged, keeping your face an unreadable mask.

He let out a laugh, which sounded more bitter than amused, “So I open up to you, essentially baring my heart and soul to you and you won’t even tell me your real name!”

You didn’t try to cover the hurt that flashed across your face, as you yelled, “I did tell you my name! Y/n is my name, I haven’t lied about that!”

“But you are lying!”

“No! I just. . . I just haven’t told you everything.”

“Why?” His narrowed eyes—one russet and one metal—searched your face.

Before you could give him an answer, Raihn’s powerful body was in between you as he gave Lucien a warning. A low growl to back off.

Lucien immediately stepped back, with his hands up showing Raihn he was unarmed. Your wolf growled once more, his lip curled back in a snarl. Did he harm you?

“No,” you mumbled.

No, what ? Raihn asked tightly.

“No, he didn’t hurt me.”

Tell him if he does, I will take his remaining eye and eviscerate him where he stands.

You furrowed your brows and couldn’t stop the burst of laughter from leaving your lips as you howled in laughter, “That’s a little dramatic but, no. I’m not telling him that.”

Tell him or I will take his remaining eye.

Your mouth opened but Lucien’s voice cut you off, “Tell me what?”

You looked at Lucien, then at Raihn, “I’m not telling him.”

Tell. Him. Now. The massive wolf order.

“Fine,” you huffed, rolling your eyes, “Raihn said that if you hurt me he will take your remaining eye and eviscerate you where you stand.” Turning to look at Raihn again, even though he was still focused on Lucien, “Happy?”

Not even close.

Lucien’s face turned a sickly pale, no doubt imagining the painful painting Raihn, painted for him. Without another word he turned and mounted his horse. Before he could set her into a walk you a poke, “I wish I could tell you but I can’t. I just can’t, I’m sorry.”

He only nodded his head once and then left.

****

Weeks passed, the days melting together.

The first couple weeks everyone was afraid of Raihn, especially Alis, since she’d just come into your room and he snapped at her. At least he’d been sorry but since then she was wary of him. Feyre got used to him—sort of, Tamlin and Lucien did too. The other servants just tried to avoid him.

Lucien never talked about the night you had argued and Tamlin never said anything about it either. So he must not have told him that he found you outside the manor in the middle of the night. Instead Lucien just pretended it had never happened, which somehow bothered you more.

Feyre and Tamlin had grown closer over time. Well that’s what she told you at least; gentle, soft kisses, and longing touches. He’d even gifted her art supplies and given her a space to paint. The smile she’d given you when she told you was pure happiness and you wanted her to stay like that—happy. All she wanted before was time and tools to paint and now she had them so, paint she did. She never wanted anyone to see them but she would let you and ask for your opinion on certain colors. Sometimes she dared to paint the High Lord, who rode at her side when they wandered his grounds on lazy days—the High Lord, whom she was happy to talk to or spend hours in comfortable silence with. While you spent your days with Lucien or the other sentries; patrolling and training.

Just like today, Lucien and you were getting ready to change shifts and were heading back towards the manor. You cleared the little wood, a spread of hills and knolls laid out ahead. In the distance, there were masked faeries atop many of them, building what seemed to be unlit fires. You halted, they were setting up for Fire Night.

He halted beside you, “They’re setting up bonfires—for Calanmai—Fire Night. It’s in two days,” he explained.

Fire Night. Your brows furrowed and you shook your head.

“It’s just a spring ceremony. We light bonfires, and the magic that we create helps regenerate the land for the year ahead.”

You clenched and unclenched your hands, “I know what it is.”

He rubbed his neck, “Oh. . . It’s just the way you said it, I thought you didn’t know what it was.”

“No, I just didn’t know it was in two days.” You shook your head again and gave Raihn the silent command to start walking again. Lucien did the same with his horse.

“You might see more faeries around than usual—faeries from this court, and from other territories, who are free to wander across the borders that night.”

You nodded your head before letting out a sharp breath, “I thought Amarantha had scared most of them away or trapped them Under the Mountain,” Glancing back at the unlit bonfires hoping that they wouldn’t be there. That maybe you were seeing things but they were still there.

“She has—but there will be a number of them. Just. . . stay away from them all. You’ll be safe in the house, but if you run into one before we light the fires at sundown in two days, ignore them.”

“I'm not staying in the house.”

It was his turn to halt this time, “Yes. You are.”

“No. I’m not.” You didn’t give him the chance to argue before telling Raihn mind to mind to get you into the house. Then to go wait in your room while you hid behind a massive pot in the garden.

You saw the moment Tamlin went rigid—it was quiet with that horrible stillness that usually meant one of Amarantha’s ilk was around. Tamlin bared his teeth at. . . Feyre. Fuck. “Stay hidden, and no matter what you overhear, don’t come out,” He ordered her.

Then he was gone.

She looked to either side of the gravel path, like some gawking idiot. You hoped she wouldn’t move because if she did she would fuck everything up. She had just ducked behind a hedge when you heard Tamlin and Lucien approaching. You silently swore and froze. Then Tamlin’s snarl rippled through the air on the other side of the hedge she was hiding behind.

“I know what day it is,” Tamlin said—but not to Lucien. To the Attor. Him and his brothers still plagued your dreams.

“Your continued behavior is garnering a lot of interest at court,” the Attor said, deep and sibilant. You shivered, despite the warmth of the day. “She has begun wondering—wondering why you haven’t given up yet. And why four Naga wound up dead not too long ago.”

“Tamlin’s not like the other fools,” Lucien snapped, his shoulders pushed back to raise himself to his full height, more warrior-like than you’d yet seen him.“If she expected bowed heads, then she’s more of an idiot than I thought.”

The Attor hissed, and your blood went cold at the noise. “Speak you so ill of she who holds your fate in her hands? With one word, she could destroy this pathetic estate. She wasn’t pleased when she heard of you dispatching your warriors.” The Attor now seemed turned toward Tamlin. “But, as nothing has come of it, she has chosen to ignore it.”

There was a deep-throated growl from the High Lord, but his words were calm as he said, “Tell her I’m getting sick of cleaning up the trash she dumps on my borders.”

The Attor chuckled, the sound like sand shifting. “She sets them loose as gifts—for you—and reminders of what will happen if she catches you trying to break the terms of—”

“He’s not,” Lucien snarled. “Now, get out. We have enough of your ilk swarming on the borders we don’t need you defiling our home, too. For that matter, stay the hell out of the cave. It’s not some common road for filth like you to travel through as they please.”

Tamlin loosed a growl of agreement.

The Attor laughed again, such a horrible, vicious sound. “Though you have a heart of stone, Tamlin,” it said, and Tamlin went rigid, “you certainly keep a host of fear inside it.” The Attor’s voice sank into a croon. “Don’t worry, High Lord.” It spat the title like a joke. “All will be right as rain soon enough.”

“Burn in Hell,” Lucien replied for Tamlin, and he laughed again before a flap of leathery wings boomed, a foul wind bit your face, and everything went silent.

They breathed deeply after another moment. You closed your eyes, needing a steadying breath as well but Feyre yelped. You stood without hesitating, ash daggers in hand.

“It’s gone,” Tamlin said, releasing her. It was all you could do not to sag against the hedges.

“What did you hear?” Lucien demanded—from the both of us, coming around the corner and crossing his arms. Shifting your gaze to Tamlin’s face, but found it to be so white with anger—anger at that thing—that you had to look again at Lucien.

“Nothing—I. . . well, nothing I understood,” Feyre said, and meant it.

You looked back at Tamlin as you said one word, “Everything.”

“If the Attor saw them—” Lucien said, glancing around.

“It didn’t,” Tamlin said.

“Are you certain it—”

“It didn’t,” Tamlin growled over his shoulder, then looked at Feyre and you, his face still pale with fury, lips tight. “I’ll see you both at dinner.”

Understanding a dismissal, and craving the locked door of your bedroom, you trudged back to the house, contemplating telling Feyre who Amarantha was and why she was able to make Tamlin and Lucien so nervous and to command that thing as her messenger. But you couldn’t and you hated yourself for it.

****

After a tense dinner during which Tamlin hardly spoke to Lucien, Feyre or you, you walked out onto the balcony that was attached to your room and climbed onto the roof. And slept under the stars that night.

You went outside the following day but didn’t venture into the woods. Raihn and you were merely sprawled underneath an Oak Tree that was near the house’s private garden. Alis brought breakfast and lunch out to you knowing you wouldn’t have eaten otherwise. Too lost in the thought of tomorrow being Fire Night, the thought of meeting your mate and what would or could happen.

She had tried asking me what was wrong but you couldn’t tell her. How could you when your mates life was at risk just because he was mated to you. You knew Alis wouldn’t tell anyone if you asked her not too yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The instinct to protect your mate at all costs was overriding everything.

****

The day of Fire Night—Calanmai dawned, and you didn’t see Tamlin or Lucien all day. As the afternoon shifted into dusk, you found yourself sliding your blue cloak so dark it was nearly black over your shoulders as you headed towards the doors of your balcony, Raihn following close behind, “Stay here. No one can see you.”

He growled.

You sighed, making your way towards him.

Once you were face to face with him, you cradled his head in your hands, pressing your forehead to his, “Please. You have to stay here. They’re not only hunting me and. . . and if something were to happen to you. I—I wouldn’t survive it. And it wouldn’t be because of the bond. I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt.”

And if you get hurt. . . He let out a distressed whine at the thought.

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

You heard him inhale, scenting you as if you wouldn’t be coming back. Without another word you walked out onto the balcony, giving Raihh a smile reserved only for him, then jumped off.

The sound of drums issued.

The drumbeats came from far away—beyond the garden, past the game park, into the forest that lay beyond. They were deep, probing. A single beat, echoed by two responding calls. Summoning.

You stood, staring out over the property as the sky became awash in hues of orange and red. Noting that your senses already felt. . . different.

In the distance, upon the sloping hills that led into the woods, a few fires flickered, plumes of dark smoke marring the ruby sky—the unlit bonfires you’d spotted two days ago. you needed to find your mate, you reminded yourself.

The drums turned faster—louder. Though you’d grown accustomed to the smell of magic after not being around it since you were a child, your nose prickled with the rising tang of metal, stronger than you’d yet sensed it. You took a step forward, behind you, your long shadow seemed to pulse to the beat of the drums.

Even the garden, usually buzzing with the orchestra of its denizens, had quieted to hear the drums. There was a string—a string tied to your gut that pulled you toward those hills, commanding you to go, to hear—to feel the drums. . .

Smoke and magic hung thick in the air. There were hundreds of High Fae milling about, you could identify which court they came from but some you couldn’t.

You stuck to the shadows as best you could as you made your way through the crowd, your human features caused by the blood spell your mother put on you, hidden in the shadows of your hood. You prayed that the smoke and countless scents of various High Fae and faeries were enough to cover your human smell, but you checked to ensure that your ash daggers were still at your sides anyway as you moved deeper into the celebration.

Though a cluster of drummers played on one side of the fire, the faeries flocked to a trench between two nearby hills. You followed them, savoring the pulsing beat of the drums as it resonated through the earth and into the soles of your feet. No one looked twice in your direction.

You almost slid down the steep bank as you entered the hollow. At one end, a cave mouth opened into a soft hillside. Its exterior had been adorned with flowers and branches and leaves, and you could make out the beginnings of a pelt-covered floor just past the cave mouth. What lay inside was hidden from view as the chamber veered away from the entrance, but firelight danced upon the walls.

Whatever was occurring inside the cave—or whatever was about to happen—was the focus of the shadowy faeries as they lined either side of a long path leading to it. The path wended between the trenches among the hills, and the High Fae swayed in place, moving to the rhythm of the drumming, whose beats sounded in your stomach.

You watched them sway, then shifted on then shifted on your feet. The string— the string you felt tugged once. Twice. You scanned the fire lit area, trying to peer through the veil of night and smoke. You know he’s here. Your mate. But you hadn’t found him. . . Not yet.

None of the masked faeries paid you any heed. They remained along the path, more and more of them coming each minute. The Great Rite was going to begin soon then.

You made your way back up the hillside and stood along the edge of a bonfire near the trees, watching the faeries. You were about to make your way towards the shadow covered woods, your senses were beginning to feel more fae—more animalistic than fae, when someone grasped your arm and whirled you around.

Lucien.

He snarled in your face, “What are you doing out here? Twisting out of his hold, he huffed, “I told you to stay in the house.”

“And I told you no.”

He sighed deeply, “Y/n, you can’t just do whatever—" he turned to look at what you were staring at and when he didn’t see it, he looked back at you. “—What the fuck are you looking at?”

Grabbing his face, turning his head, “Feyre.” There she was, your sister with a high fae whose black hair gleamed like a raven’s feathers. He had blue eyes that were so deep they were violet. You’d know those eyes anywhere. He was the High Lord of Night.

Rhysand.

Lucien cursed violently, then went to Feyre. You were stuck in your spot looking where Rhysand once stood. He was alive. . . He was here. You had to find him. You needed to talk to him.

You scanned the crowd frantically trying to find him, the darkness beyond the crowd beckoned you, called to you and you felt eyes watching you. But, everytime you tried to follow it, the string that had been tugging all night pulled you away, farther and farther.

Without realizing it you’d rejoined the crowd and Lucien appeared next to you. The drum beats picked up, making the flames of the bonfires flicker with each pulse. He was standing so close to you, you could feel the radiating heat of his body and scent his arousal but, not just his, the other faeries too.

His eyes settled on your lips and tracked the way your tongue swept over them as you licked them. He took a step forward, reaching to cup your face when suddenly a tall high fae male had a dagger pressed against your tanned throat.

“Thank you for finding her for me, brother.” The male with the same red hair as Lucien said, but instead of russet eyes his were amber.

Standing before you was the most beautiful male you’d ever seen and the string in your chest seemed to glow and warm in response to his presence.

Brother. His brother. Your mate, he found you.

Lucien snarled at him, “Eris, if you hurt her—“ The tip of his dagger pushing into the soft pale skin of his brother’s throat.

“He won’t,” you cut him off. “He won’t hurt me. Will you, Eris?”

His lips were set in a feral grin that would make anyone else run but, you weren’t just anyone. “Never, little flame,” he promised.

For other parts: Bound In Flames Series Masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12

Taglist: @historygeekqueen @cat-or-kitten @yeeyeebabe @khaleesihavilliard @impossibelle @sleepylunarwolf @cutie232 @meepmeep-318 @belledawnidk @fandomrejects @wasntpriscilla @brandywineeeee @consultinghuntresshasthetardis

*If you would like to be added to the taglist for this story or to my general taglist, please either reply to this post or send me a message.

[magnifythesun]

ianthony prompt: Anthony competing for attention for an oblivious Ian vs a protective cast over their papa ian hehe

heehee this one is cute, thanks for the prompt!!

(post writing note: trying to tread these character dynamics yet keep it feeling realistic is such a fun challenge! I hope I succeeded! this ended up being way more about the aftermath of a situation like this than examples of it happening lol but i hope you enjoy anyway)

When Anthony returned to Smosh, his first goal was to speedrun as many types of new videos on Smosh Pit and Games as possible. Try Not to Laugh, 2 Truths 1 Lie, Reading Reddit Stories, on and on the list went. His schedule was packed. Yet even during the chaos, Anthony started to notice a pattern.

When it was just him and the cast without Ian during a shoot, everything felt surprisingly comfortable. The big ensemble cast ones too, like the slapping video, great vibes all around (bit of a painful cheek though). They were all meshing so well, so quickly, and Anthony was eternally grateful that they were welcoming him with open arms. There was just one thing.

When a video was just him, Ian, and a couple other cast members, he was getting the strangest feeling. Not that they didn't want him there, he was pretty sure. That was the feeling he'd been afraid he'd get when he first came back. Rather, he got the feeling that they were constantly trying to pull attention away from him. Well, not the attention of the viewers. Just Ian's attention.

Anthony knew that he and Ian could get a little wrapped up in themselves sometimes. He couldn't really help it; with their long history together, they had a lot of inside jokes and an acute sense of what joke would break the other immediately. So they would share a glance and suddenly be laughing, giggling over some stupid joke like a couple of teenagers again, and it would be as if there were no other people in the room.

And each time, promptly, one of the other people there would interrupt, saying Ian's name, asking him a sudden question or pointing out something else so that Ian would look over there. Sometimes they'd even physically move Ian away, subtly of course. At first Anthony hardly noticed, but then it kept happening. And then he realized that often, it was accompanied by an almost pointed look at him by whoever was doing it.

Sometimes, they would get tag-teamed. For example, during a video of a light-hearted Mario Party competition, he and Ian were starting to 'yes, and' each other into oblivion, grinning and carrying on over some joke from a ten-year-old video, when suddenly Angela was pulling Ian's arm and getting him to react to something on the screen while Chanse tapped on Anthony's shoulder to show him a trick on the controller. Before Anthony knew it, somehow Angela had swapped spots with Ian on the couch. A little off-kilter, Anthony just bantered with Chanse for the rest of the video instead. To be fair, Chanse had a very similar sense of humor to Ian, so it actually went very well. Still, Anthony just couldn't tell why stuff like this kept happening.

He felt a little confused, and from that was a vague sense of hurt. Had he done something wrong? Ian never seemed to notice, so Anthony tried to push the whole thing to the back of his mind. Surely he was just reading too much into it.

On another video, Anthony, Ian, Arasha, and Courtney were facing off in Everybody 1, 2, Switch. When they went to pick teams, Anthony reached out a hand, ready to pull Ian to his side of the room, when Courtney suddenly popped up beside him, snagging his arm and raising it to the sky in victory.

"Anthony's my partner," They said gleefully, shooting a glance at Arasha, who was herding Ian to her side of the room.

"Heck yeah, dad and son team," Ian said, a little grin on his face as they high-fived. He shot a playful glare at Courtney and Anthony. "You're going down!"

"Dickbiscuit!" Arasha chimed in, looking like the cat who ate the canary.

"Gotta give them their father-son time, Anthony!" Courtney said, rather pointedly, and Anthony got that feeling again. Like there was a plot against him, but he wasn't sure why. It left a sour feeling in his stomach, and he felt bad about it. Anthony definitely didn't mind being on a team with Courtney instead of Ian, but why did it feel like she and Arasha didn't want him to be on a team with Ian?

It was time. He was at a point in his life where he'd rather just talk about something instead of letting the poisonous thoughts rot inside him. Right after they wrapped the video, he walked over to Courtney.

"Hey, could I talk to you over there?" Anthony asked quietly, trying to make sure Ian couldn't hear.

Courtney gave him an inquisitive look. "Yeah sure!" They headed to the little hallway behind the set walls. "What's up?"

Anthony shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. "Well, uh. Well, first of all, I may be totally misreading this."

Even as he spoke, he could tell he probably wasn't. Courtney's eyes had sharpened with understanding, and a slightly guilty yet defiant look was coming over her face.

"I've just been noticing—" He paused, thinking how best to say it. "Well, nothing specific, I don't think, but I can't help but feel like..." He took a quick breath and just got it over with. "Sometimes in these smaller videos with Ian, it feels like you guys don't really want Ian to talk to me?" He glanced at Courtney, stomach sinking as he continued, the worst fear coming to his tongue. "Or maybe you guys don't want me there?"

Courtney didn't look defiant at all anymore, now more gut-punched in a way that made Anthony feel terrible. Could he really have been misreading it all so badly?

"Or, maybe not!" He put his hands out placatingly. "I'm so sorry, I think I was maybe reading too much into things?"

"Oh god, well, no, um," Courtney stammered. "Look, I'm sorry too. You haven't been misreading."

Anthony's stomach dropped. They didn't want him here?

Courtney must have seen his expression and she reached out to grab his arm reassuringly. "Oh my god, not about not wanting you here. We're all really happy you're back, Anthony. This has been amazing."

The emotional whiplash was really starting to get to him. "Oh. Well, that's good!" He smiled weakly.

"We've just been," She paused thoughtfully, "A little protective over Ian, I think. There's an element of, you know, what if you decide this isn't for you after all, and leave again." She looked down, and continued quietly. "I think it'd wreck him, honestly."

Anthony's heart seized and he took in a shaky breath. "I can promise you," He said firmly. "That won't happen. He put a hand on their arm too, squeezing lightly to try and emphasize how serious he was. "This is what I want to be doing, full-stop. And running this whole thing with Ian means more to me than, than anything in the world."

Courtney smiled at him, a shaky, slightly teary thing. "I think, deep-down, despite our fears, we could see that. It's obvious every time you look at him."

Anthony dropped his arm and dipped his head, a little embarrassed. "Well, I can't help but be excited about it, you know?"

Courtney laughed, "I'm sure. There is one other aspect to the whole thing you've been sensing though."

Anthony looked back up apprehensively.

"With you around, he doesn't do the bits he's built up with everyone else as much!" She laughed again, clearly more at herself this time. "It's silly, but we're all a bit jealous!"

"Oh. Oh!" Anthony didn't really know what to say. He raised his hands up guiltily and said, "Whoops."

Courtney covered her mouth to try to laugh more quietly. They were still only separated by the wall of the set from the crew, and presumably, Ian.

Anthony started laughing too, rather relieved about the whole thing. He'd been so worried that there was some really big grievance the whole cast been hiding, an anvil dangling, ready to drop on his head. "It's just like you said, right?" Anthony said as he caught his breath. "Gotta give them their father-son time!"

"Exactly!" Courtney beamed at him.

Anthony smiled, but he felt compelled to continue. "Look, I just want to reiterate. About the leaving thing."

"Yeah?" Courtney said.

"I just," There was a dragging pain in his chest like the words were being pulled out of him. "I love him, you know?"

He'd said it before to Ian, that he loved him, best friend to best friend. But there was something about saying it now, to Courtney, secretly behind this set wall like this. It was haunting almost, like a specter sneaking up behind him to tilt his world permanently on its axis. He wasn't unfamiliar with the feeling. It was often associated with something he needed to work out in therapy.

He shook it off, took a breath. "I never want to hurt him like that again. He means so much to me. I won't let us fall apart like that again."

Courtney tilted her head slightly, narrowed eyes studying his. His breath felt caught in his chest. A moment, then, "Woah." Her expression brightened, suddenly mischievous.

Anthony blinked at her. "What?"

They grinned, "No, no, nothing, haha!" They had that funny wild look in their eyes that usually only came out for the cameras.

"What?" Anthony asked again, a slightly unnerved smile taking over his face.

Courtney shook her head. "No, um, you know? I think this changes things! Sorry about everyone, haha, we're just— well, you know, he's our guy, our 'Smosh single dad,' 'the dad who stepped up,' our 'single working mother,' whatever! We were all just a bit protective of him, but hey look!" She threw her hands out like she was pitching a deal. "I'll pass the message along, that you're, well, uh. That you, um. That there's nothing to worry about here! Just leave some Ian for the rest of us, yeah?"

Courtney started to back away, looking like they were going to bolt and Anthony was so confused. "Sorry about that by the way? I didn't realize I was stealing him," Anthony said.

"No you, well—" Courtney stopped. "Anthony, you do know that whenever you're there, Ian's like, fixated on you, yeah?"

Anthony had not realized that and he was not quite sure why his chest felt all at once like he had just performed a long, far too strenuous yoga session. He kept looking at her as if an explanation would be forthcoming, but Courtney was just looking back at him with wide eyes.

In this moment that felt like it resided somewhere on the spectrum of Wild West duels, Ian came around the corner.

"Oh hey," He said, and then frowned at them when they both jumped. "What are you two doing behind the set?"

"Hey Ian!" Courtney said brightly, and Anthony could hear that hidden relief underneath. "Great to talk with you, Anthony! See you later!"

Ian watched them leave and then turned back to him, suspiciously.

"Are you two plotting some kind of video?" Ian raised his hand to his chin, thinking. "Like, a prank video on me I'm not supposed to know about or something?"

That would be a great idea, Anthony thought a little deliriously. "I don't know, Ian, I guess you'll have to find out."

Ian narrowed his eyes. "I'll have you know I'm great at getting revenge."

"Oh, should I beware?" Anthony teased, the tight feeling in his chest easing up.

Ian scoffed. "Beware all right. I'll get Arasha on my side and then it'll be all over for you and Courtney."

Anthony grinned and walked over to him, slinging an arm over Ian's shoulders to guide them both out from behind the set. "You know, I keep hearing about Arasha's scheme prowess. Wanna show me whatever video that comes from?"

"Oh god, it's a whole series of videos," Ian said, already pulling out his phone. "Brace yourself, it's a wild ride."

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 3.8k

Part 45 - Who Needs Distance, Anyway?

"You kiss the back of my legs and I want to cry. Only / the sun has come this close, only the sun.”- Shauna Barbosa

Warning: A little bit of NSFW (I think?)

Tag list: @thomrainierapologist (If you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know!)

Masterlist

Whoever had left a bath, wash bucket, and roaring fire in the hearth in Ash’s room had her eternal thanks. Crossing the room and leaving Cullen awkwardly standing by the door, she dipped her hands into the room-temperature water. The perks of being a mage with pyromancy meant she never had to take a cold bath. Within seconds, the water was hot enough to soften her skin, but not too hot as to scald. She proceeded to do the same to the wash bucket. Using her innate magic came as easily as breathing, but after the Mage Bane, she was certain that anything else would have caused her to collapse.

With her bath set up, she turned to Cullen, still hovering near the entry, uncertain as he glanced between her and the bath. 

“It’s going to be difficult for you to help from all the way over there,” she teased, grabbing a washcloth.

“Yes, right,” he said, a light blush colouring his cheeks as he strode towards her. “How may I be of assistance?” 

She angled her back to him, sitting on a stool beside the bath, gesturing to the laces that held her bodice in place. “Untie these?” 

He responded with a gentle tug at the laces, carefully beginning to free her from the restrictive confines of the gown. While he worked, she soaked the washcloth in the bucket and began to cleanse the dried blood from her neck and chest, using the warm water to soften it. 

Ash was grateful that a small stack of washcloths had been left for her. She’d easily gone through half by the time she managed to clean away the worst of it. But the blood had soaked into her bodice and glued it to her skin, and though she could soak it from the top, she’d have to jump into the tub fully dressed to reach it all. 

When Cullen was finished with the laces, she turned to face him, the fire casting flickering shadows across his face. Creators, he was gorgeous. She wouldn’t be surprised to learn the gods themselves had crafted that strong jawline and straight nose, injected pure gold into his eyes, and carved his perfectly straight teeth from marble. 

“Help me get out of this?” she asked, Love swirling pleasantly in her chest when his eyes darkened. But Love was in Ash’s bad books and she thoroughly ignored the spirit. 

Cullen grimaced, nostrils flaring as he lifted his hands to rest on the edge of the bodice. “Are you certain? I doubt this will be…pleasant.” 

Ash shrugged. “I’ve had worse. It’s mostly softened, there’s just a bit further down that’s stuck.” 

Cullen nodded, his fingers gripping the edge of her bodice. With a swift tug like ripping off a bandage, he peeled it away from her skin. Ash inhaled sharply as the fabric unstuck, leaving her chest bare and tender. She took a deep, grateful breath, relishing the feeling of freedom after being trapped in the blood-soaked garment.

"Thank you," she said, her eyes meeting Cullen's. His gaze remained steadfastly fixed on her face, a feat of willpower that both amused and touched her. Her breasts were not easy to ignore, especially not for someone as entranced by them as he was - her stays pushing them up and together enticingly.

Ash's fingers fumbled with the fastenings of her petticoat, the adrenaline from earlier finally ebbing away and leaving her hands unsteady. Cullen noticed her struggle and wordlessly offered his hand. She took it, using his strength to balance as she stepped out of the voluminous skirts.

On shaky legs, Ash lowered herself onto the stool, now clad only in her stays, smalls, stockings, and garters. The fire's warmth caressed her exposed skin, and she shivered - though whether from the chill or Cullen's proximity, she couldn't say. But given Love’s constant heating, there was only one correct answer.

"Are you alright?" Cullen asked, always concerned.

Ash nodded, then grimaced as she caught sight of her blood-stained arms. "I will be, once I'm clean. Though I fear I might fall asleep in the tub at this rate."

Cullen chuckled, the sound warming her more than any fire could. "Then I suppose it's fortunate I'm here to ensure you don't drown."

She raised an eyebrow at him. “A dashing knight to my rescue. And speaking of rescues, perhaps you could assist me with these stays? The laces are rather tricky to reach."

Cullen's fingers brushed against her skin as he rounded the stool and grasped the topmost lace. "Of course," he murmured, his breath warm against her neck. He knew very well what he was doing to her, revenge for her eye-catching breasts, no doubt.

As he worked, Ash closed her eyes, focusing on the gentle tugs and the gradual loosening of the garment. She could hear Cullen's breathing, slightly quickened.

"Maker's breath," Cullen grumbled after a minute. "How many laces must these things contain?"

Ash couldn't help but laugh. Trust a man to complain about women’s clothing. "More than you'd think necessary, I'm sure. But they do wonders for the figure."

"I like your natural figure," Cullen said, then cleared his throat awkwardly as if only then realizing what he'd said.

Ash's cheeks warmed at the compliment, and she bit her lip to suppress a grin. "Why, Commander, are you admiring me from back there?"

"I-I was only—" Cullen stammered, his fingers fumbling with the laces.

Taking pity on him, Ash gave him a reprieve - hadn’t she tortured the man enough?

"You're doing a fine job," Ash reassured him. "Don't let my wicked tongue fluster you."

His fingers resumed their work with renewed determination. "Your…tongue does not fluster me," he said unconvincingly.

At long last, after what felt like an eternity of tantalizing touches and charged silence, the final lace came free. The stays loosened around her torso, and she took a deep breath. The sudden expansion of her ribcage made her dizzy, and she sagged forward, catching herself on the edge of the tub.

"Creators," she gasped, reveling in the sensation of unrestricted breathing. Her fingers found the indentations on her stomach where the boning had dug into her flesh, and she rubbed at them absently, wincing at the tenderness.

Cullen moved around to face her, and without a word, he knelt before her. Ash's breath faltered at the sight of him - all chiseled jaw and broad shoulders, backlit by the firelight. He was devastatingly handsome, and the intimacy of their position was not lost on her. Her legs were closed, but she wished they weren’t.

"Allow me," he said softly, his gaze dropping to her stockinged legs. His hands hovered near her thigh, waiting for permission.

Ash nodded, not trusting her voice. She watched with rapturous attention as Cullen's strong hands gently grasped the top of her stocking, unclasping them from the garters. His fingers brushed against her skin as he slowly rolled the fabric down her leg, goosebumps rising to the surface. Ash barely noticed, too entranced by the sight of Cullen's bowed head and the feeling of his calloused hands on her leg.

He repeated the process with her other stocking, his movements careful and reverent. When both stockings lay discarded on the floor, Cullen's hands lingered on her calves, his thumbs tracing small circles on her skin.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against her calf, just above her ankle on the burned skin of her left leg. She could barely feel it, likely wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been staring at him. His golden eyes flicked up to meet hers, seeking permission, reassurance, or perhaps both. She gave an almost imperceptible nod, her heart thundering in her chest.

Emboldened, Cullen's gaze traveled up her leg, searching for an unblemished spot. His eyes found a small gap between the burns near her knee, and he leaned in once more. This time, when his lips met her skin, Ash felt it acutely. The warmth of his mouth, the slight scratch of his stubble, the light pressure - it all coalesced into a sensation that made her toes curl and her fingers grip the edge of the stool for balance.

Cullen lingered there for a beat, his breath hot against her skin. He looked up at her, his eyes dark with leashed desire. He was teasing her, the bastard, and she was falling for it hook, line and sinker.

"Is there…anything else you need assistance with?" he asked in a low and husky register.

Ash swallowed hard, her mind racing with possibilities. Fuck me over the edge of the bath, being the most prominent one. She knew she should send him away, that she was too vulnerable, too raw from the day's events to make any decisions involving Cullen and states of undress. But Mythal help her, she didn't want him to leave.

"There are a couple more items that require removal." Her fingers traced the edge of her garter belt, drawing Cullen's gaze to her hips. "Though I suppose I could manage these on my own."

Cullen's eyes darkened further, his pupils dilating. "I would be remiss in my duties if I left the job half-finished.”

Ash resisted the urge to squirm as Cullen's hands moved to her hips, reaching the clasps of the garter belt. He undid them, and the garter fell away, leaving only her smalls between them. Cullen paused, his hands hovering just above the waistband. His eyes met hers, seeking final confirmation. Ash made a noise of assent.

Hooking his fingers under the fabric, he began to slide it down. Ash lifted her hips to assist, hyper-aware of every brush of his knuckles against her skin. The smalls joined the pile of discarded clothing on the floor, leaving Ash completely bare before him.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The only sounds in the room were their ragged breaths and the crackling of the fire. Cullen's gaze traveled slowly up her body, taking in every curve, every scar, every minuscule mark. When his eyes finally met hers again, the raw desire she saw there nearly took her breath away.

Hadn’t she said they should wait until further discussion before they relearned each other’s bodies? It must have been the blood loss.

"Ash," he whispered, her name a prayer on his lips. His hands rested on her knees, warm and steady. "You are…breathtaking."

A small but pleased smile curved her lips. "You're not so bad yourself, Commander," she teased, trying to lighten the charged atmosphere.

Cullen chuckled, his hands still resting on her leg, and she wished he’d never remove them. "I believe you mentioned something about falling asleep in the tub," he said. "Perhaps we should get you cleaned up before that happens."

Ash blinked rapidly, remembering the reason for that whole…exercise. "Yes, I suppose we should." She made to stand, but her legs wobbled beneath her.

Nude and ready for her bath, Cullen held her hand once more to help her into the warm, soothing water. Ash sank down until her chin hit the surface, sighing as her weary bones were relieved of pressure. She closed her eyes, giving her muscles a moment to release. 

“You can join me if you want,” she offered as she pulled her knees up to her chest. 

Silence answered her, and seconds before she opened her eyes to ensure she hadn’t stepped over the line with her offer, he spoke in a husky tone. 

“Whether I want to or not has nothing to do with it. Rather that if we’re to make it to conversing before…we engage in intimate acts together, then it is safest if I do not.”

Ash snorted a laugh, splashing water over her face to stop herself from breaking out into uncontrollable giggles. “You can just say ‘sex’, you know. Or fuck. Intimate acts, what are we, two repressed Chantry Sisters?”

“I’m trying to be polite.”

“How quaint.”

A splash of water hit her face and she yelped, wiping her eyes to glare at him and his cheeky grin - the scar on his lip pulled taught. 

Ash plucked a washcloth from the pile and tossed it at him, landing in his lap where he sat on the stool. “As punishment, you have to wash me.” 

His eyes darted across her fully exposed body, and his throat bobbed. “That’s more of a reward to me.”

Swallowing her delighted scream, she simply smiled.

He gave in to her immediately, removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, revealing muscular forearms that captured her attention like a magnet pulling iron filings. Scars crisscrossed his skin, and Ash traced the lines with her eyes. In time, she’d explore them all again.

He dipped the washcloth into the warm water, wringing it out before gently pressing it to her shoulder. Ash sighed, tension melting from her muscles as Cullen began to wash away the day's grime. His touch was meticulous, reverent almost, as he moved the cloth in small circles across her skin.

"Lean forward," he said, and Ash complied without hesitation. His hand, warm and steady, rested on her back as he washed away the dirt and sweat and blood that had accumulated there. She allowed herself to be moved by his gentle guidance, turning this way and that as he methodically cleaned every inch of her.

When he reached her neck, his movements slowed. Ash felt his fingers brush against the scar there, a permanent reminder of her near-death. She tensed, waiting for the inevitable questions. But Cullen simply continued, his touch no less gentle than before. She relaxed again, grateful for his silent understanding. Now was not the time to delve into these new wounds.

And if his hands lingered a little longer when he wiped the blood from her breasts, who was she to judge?

Finally, Cullen turned his attention to her hair. He cupped water in his hands, pouring it over her head. His fingers worked through the tangled strands, loosening the knots and washing away the crusted blood. Ash leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed as he massaged her scalp.

The rhythmic motion of his fingers combined with the warmth of the water lulled Ash into a state of deep relaxation. Her mind began to drift, the events of the day fading into a distant haze. Ash felt herself slipping towards sleep, her body growing heavier in the water. Just as her chin dipped below the surface, strong hands gripped her shoulders, gently pulling her back.

"I think it's time we got you out of this bath," Cullen said, his voice tinged with amusement. "Before you prove my fears about drowning correct."

Ash blinked drowsily, struggling to focus on his face. "Mmm, but it's so warm," she mumbled, even as she allowed him to help her stand.

Water cascaded down her body as she rose, and she shivered as the cooler air hit her skin. Love’s heat had nearly vanished. Ash wasn’t sure she’d felt that cold since escaping Haven. Curious, but not something she had the energy to investigate.

Cullen's strong arms wrapped around her waist, supporting her as she stepped out of the tub on unsteady legs. The sudden movement sent her head spinning, and she stumbled, her wet feet slipping on the smooth stone floor. Cullen reacted instantly, pulling her against his chest to keep her upright. Water soaked through his linen shirt, darkening the fabric and outlining the defined muscles beneath.

A mischievous grin spread across her face despite her exhaustion. "You're all wet now."

Cullen raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with a barely suppressed smirk. "I wonder who is to blame for my predicament."

"You, obviously," Ash retorted, her fingers absently tracing the damp fabric clinging to his chest. "You're the one who caught me."

He rolled his eyes, but the fondness in his gaze dispersed any real exasperation. "Next time, I'll be sure to let you fall."

"You wouldn't dare.” She made no move to step away from him, enjoying the warmth of his body against her cooling skin.

His hand came up to brush a wet strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering on her cheek. "No, I suppose I wouldn't."

For a moment, they stood there, bodies pressed together, gazes locked. Ash's heart thundered in her chest, and she could feel Cullen's own rapid heartbeat against her palm. She wanted nothing more than to throw him onto the bed and let him ravage her.

Then, as if remembering himself, Cullen stepped back, hands still on her waist, but a safe distance between them. "Let's get you dried off before you catch a chill," he said.

He reached for a fluffy towel, shaking it out before wrapping it around her shoulders. The soft fabric enveloped her, and Ash sighed contentedly, burrowing into its warmth. Cullen began to gently pat her dry, starting with her arms, working his way up to her shoulders and then down her back. His touch was almost worshipful, as if he were handling a scared Andrastian statue.

When Cullen reached her legs, he knelt before her. This powerful man, on his knees, tending to her with such care, did more to her than was proper to admit. He worked his way up, drying her leg thoroughly before moving to the other. Once finished, he looked up at her, wrapped up in her towel, and smiled softly.

“Thank you.” She hadn’t meant to whisper, but when she met his tender gaze, it had stolen the remnants of her strength. 

“You don’t need to thank me,” he replied, but she disagreed. 

As he rose to his feet, her eyes followed the strong lines of his body. He seemed to enjoy taking care of her, and she wondered how she had ever resisted this, how she had fought against his gentle attentions for so long. Only a fool would run from him.

"Are you ready for bed?" Cullen asked.

"I should probably find my nightgown," she said, though the thought of rummaging through her trunk seemed an insurmountable task.

Cullen appeared to sense her reluctance. "Would you prefer to sleep as you are?" He kept his tone carefully neutral.

"If you don't mind."

"Of course not. Your comfort is what matters."

He guided her towards the bed, effortlessly supporting her weight as she leaned against him. She inhaled, the scent of leather and elderflower that clung to his skin making her want to bury her nose in the crook of his neck.

As they reached the bed, Cullen pulled back the covers with one hand, the other still wrapped securely around her waist. The sheets looked invitingly cool and crisp, and Ash thought briefly to herself that Sweetpea would have enjoyed it - though she’d left the cat in Skyhold for her own safety.

Cullen helped her settle onto the mattress, and Ash sank into the softness as he tucked the blankets around her.

“Will you stay—“ Ash covered her mouth as she yawned. “With me?” 

“You want me to stay?” He tilted his head to the side, scrutinizing her face for any hint of a lie. 

“I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t,” she said, and he conceded with a hum. “Do you want to stay?”

“Yes,” he said much too quickly, though she didn’t mind. He cleared his throat, bashfully looking away. 

Ash giggled softly, her exhaustion making her giddy. She scooted over in the bed, patting the empty space beside her. Cullen hesitated for a beat before taking a step back and turning away, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt. Ash watched, transfixed, as he methodically undressed.

Pulling the shirt up and over his head, Ash was treated to the gorgeous view of his muscular back and the scars that lay across his skin. Cullen folded the damp garment with military precision, setting it aside before moving to his breeches.

Ash tried not to stare as he shimmied out of the tight fabric, but her eyes betrayed her, drawn to the flex of his thighs and the curve of his backside. He folded the breeches just as carefully, leaving him clad only in his smalls.

As Cullen turned back to the bed, Ash quickly averted her gaze, a blush creeping up her neck. The mattress dipped as he slid in beside her, the heat of his body instantly warming the space between them. He settled on his side, facing her.

Ash angled her face towards him, her heart fluttering in her chest, a mix of nerves and excitement making her fingers twitch against the sheets. She’d been certain she would never get such vulnerability with him again, had tried to convince herself she didn’t want it. She could hardly believe that this was real, that he was truly there with her, and it wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Gathering her courage, she slowly extended her hand, palm up, into the space between their bodies.

It was a small gesture, an invitation, a question. Cullen's gaze dropped to her outstretched hand, and with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, he reached out, his calloused palm sliding against hers.

Heartened by his touch, Ash rolled onto her side and shimmied closer, until their knees brushed beneath the blankets.

“Is this alright?” she asked in a whisper, the soft sound feeling much too loud for the fragile silence of the large room. 

Cullen squeezed her hand, meaning to offer reassurance. “Yes. Holding your hand is more than alright.”

She grinned into the dark. “I can move back if you’d prefer.”

“No,” his hand tightened around hers, “stay, please.”

Ash giggled at the hoarseness in his voice. It was good to feel wanted, her own desires stirring in response to his - but they would have to wait. “Can we talk in the morning? I’m much too exhausted to form coherent thoughts.”

Entwining their fingers, he brought her hand to his lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles. “May I ask one question first?”

He was too damn sweet for his own good. What would his soldiers say if they knew about this side of their Commander? Though her heart fluttered, wondering what he wanted to ask, she couldn’t deny his request.

"Just one," she agreed.

Cullen shifted slightly, and in the faint light from the dying fire, their eyes locked. “What does ‘ma vhenan’ mean?”

His pronunciation was close, but weighed down by his clumsy human tongue. A blush suffused across Ash's face, spreading down her neck and chest. She hadn't realized he'd noticed, hadn't known he'd been keeping track of the endearment that sometimes slipped past her lips in moments of vulnerability.

“It means ‘my heart’,” she said, and his soft smile had her instinctively leaning forward. “It’s a Dalish term for someone you love.”

Cullen's thumb absently stroked the back of her hand. "Your heart," he repeated, barely above a whisper. “I like the sound of that.”

“Then I will endeavour to say it more often.”

He hummed his agreement, and as she yawned again, he said, “Sleep well, Ashvalla.” 

“You as well, ma vhenan.”

Sleep came easily after that.

Next Chapter

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the tender touches and good old Ash and Cullen sexual tension - they've really been missing it!

[vaseoflilies]

Elysian Fields Chapter 3: Low Key

warning: there is an emotional breakdown, descriptions of injury and body after a coma, and references to torture an: please check this out on AO3 as i have more information regarding this story on there

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Jun began by telling you about herself. 

She had a rather sad past, you thought. She had been an only child; her mother was unable to conceive another. This left her alone throughout her childhood. Her father, dissatisfied with not having a son, arranged for her to be married off at the tender age of fifteen to a high-ranking coworker of his.

Her husband was nothing short of abusive. A complete and utter waste of oxygen. Hearing that he was upset because she couldn’t conceive when she was only seventeen had your jaw clenching and your mind whirling with anger. How could someone do that to someone else? You didn’t understand.

She stopped talking about her past when she sensed your anger and decided to concentrate on what you were asking her.

“The Eternal Paradise Faith,” she began, shuffling through a few gray kimonos, “saved me in more ways than one, just like it saved you. I stumbled upon the building after running away from my husband a few years ago. Lord Douma saved me that winter night.”

You smiled softly. Both Dr. Isha and Jun held Lord Douma in high regard, which made you curious: who was he? “Tell me about Lord Douma,” you asked, allowing her to help you into the gray kimono. “He seems like a decent man. He did save me from a bear, after all.”

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you recalled what the other members were wearing. White. The cafeteria was mostly filled with white, like a flurry of snow. You remembered not liking waking up in such a dull color. Was gray any better? But still, did it really matter?

“He’s a man of action,” she chuckled, gathering various hygiene products. “He’s always on the move, leading worship, planning, and orchestrating activities. He’s also a great listener. If a God ever walked the earth, it would be him.”

Wow. 

You raised your eyebrow. With those words, the name “Eternal Paradise Faith” became much clearer. You didn’t consider yourself particularly religious, but based on the subtle decorations and mostly plain outfits of the regular members, you assumed it was some sort of Buddhist or Shinto philosophy.  You seemed to remember basic knowledge, at least.

As for your feelings about being here? You still felt a sense of unease, and fear continued to creep in, but it was significantly diminished. There was no doubt that you were grateful to be alive. When you saw the state of your leg without the bandage, your heart skipped a beat, and you could swear you felt the sharp sting of the initial wound. Whoever this Douma character was, you knew you needed to express your gratitude to him. After all, it wasn’t as if you planned to stay here indefinitely.

“I’ve been taking care of your hygiene regularly while you were unconscious, so if you need any assistance, please let me know and don’t feel embarrassed,” she said. Her words interrupted your train of thought. Just how much had she taken care of? The idea of her bathing you while you were unconscious made you feel somewhat guilty and uncomfortable, as it involved someone touching you in such a manner. “When you say maintaining hygiene, do you mean…”

“Yes.”

You purse your lips. No wonder she was so kind to you. She had been caring for you so intimately without really knowing whether you would live or die. “Thank you, Jun.”

She gazed at you, her eyes brimming with emotion, and she wrapped you in a gentle embrace. “I was terrified that you were going to die,” she confessed. You couldn’t help but admire her. The way she cared for someone was nothing short of brilliant. 

You were indebted. 

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After about an hour and a half of talking with Jun, eating a meal she brought, and getting more information about Paradise, you began to question if Lord Douma was ever arriving.

“If he’s not coming, I don’t see why I have to stay here,” you said, quickly eating the dango that she had sneakily fetched from a cart for you. “I could try walking or-”

“Please, be patient,” she interrupted, taking a piece of dango for herself and leaving you with a scowl. “Dr. Isha probably got busy. I’m sure he’ll arrive any second.” 

During your conversation, you learned a lot about Paradise. It was home to more than 200 followers, with some outsiders also working on the property. Jun informed you that the majority of followers worked here and contributed to the community in some way. The property included over a dozen buildings and had an intriguing layout. At the center of it all was a lake teeming with a diverse array of plant and animal life. And even better, just a few hundred feet, was a large hot spring that was modernized. 

It sounded so beautiful; it was almost too good to be true. There had to be some downside to all this.

“Do people usually stay here?” 

“Typically, yes. Unless they attain Eternal Paradise or are turned away,” Jun replied, absentmindedly playing with her empty dango stick. “No one really has the desire to leave. We’re safe here.”

Her words struck a chord with you. Why would anyone abandon such a sanctuary in the first place? No wonder no one wanted to leave. The basic necessities of life—food, clothing, and safety—were guaranteed here. But this place offered more than just the essentials. It promised salvation. It provided an environment to nurture a family. According to Jun, achieving Eternal Paradise was the pinnacle of achievement, and while members were chosen biweekly, it was the ultimate goal for everyone.

But what does it entail? What must you offer to remain in such a place? This was a cult, no doubt. Contemplating all of this, especially having just awakened from a coma, gives you a headache. 

“May we come in?” You hear from the shoji doors, noticing two moving shadows. Fucking, finally ! “We have brought gifts!” Another voice chimes in, a rather smooth male one. “I’m so, so sorry that we’re late!” 

Jun clasps her hands together, a smile gracing her face as she opens the doors for Dr. Isha and the man you assume to be Lord Douma.

Your jaw drops. 

You’ve never seen anyone so peculiar yet so striking. His hair, as white as snow, seems to defy gravity with its wild disarray. Sharp, angled spikes rise from his head in a chaotic symphony, framing his pale, rather cold-looking face quite handsomely. The hair around his head flares to the side, curving backwards, and a single lock slants down to the right side of his face, falling between his eyes. On the top of his head was a pointed black hat with golden stitching. You’ve seen people with strikingly different appearances before, but never anyone this flamboyant. 

His clothing tells a different story. 

It’s clear that his kimono is expensive. It’s a traditional red robe made from silk, as smooth as the calmest imaginable lake. He also wears a thick, black cape with two tresses patterned in purple and black that reach to his knees. The robe is adorned with two large symbols, each on his upper chest. His height is also impressive, towering over Jun, who is bowing to him, and Dr. Isha, who is greeting both of you.

You’d never seen a Japanese man look even remotely similar to Douma. 

No wonder Jun regards him as a God.

Douma greets Jun and moves closer to your hospital bed before settling into the small corner at the end. “I’m so sorry for the delay!” he exclaims, placing a basket brimming with various items beside him. He claps his hands together dramatically, his face adorned with a smile. “Please accept my apologies!”

You blink at him as he bows, his hands pressed together. This man is the leader? His behavior strikes you as rather childish. “It’s alright, I suppose,” you respond.

He ceases his bowing and straightens up. Your gaze drifts away from him, landing on the two women, who are sporting broad smiles. Dr. Isha’s face is flushed, and Jun appears no different. A twinge of annoyance prompts you to clench your jaw, and you shift your attention back to Douma.

His eyes capture your attention. This was the first time you’ve ever seen eyes quite like these and the longer you look at them, the more it feels like you’re swimming in a sea of rainbows. “Could we have some space, please?” he suddenly requests, his smile broadening as he addresses the two women. “I’d like to have a conversation with our guest, if that’s alright.”

Dr. Isha’s smile faded. The two women exchanged hesitant glances before sliding open the shoji door and exiting, closing it gently behind them.

He turned his gaze back to you, his smile giving way to a more sincere expression. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his eyebrows knitting together in a display of deep sympathy. “I cannot simply imagine the emotions and struggles you must be confronting right now.” His words were so soft, they were barely above a whisper.

“I’m thankful to be alive, so thank you.”

His lips curled upward into a gentle smile. “Dr. Isha told me you’re having trouble with your memory.” He began to rummage through the basket on the bed before picking up a few items. “These are a few items from the attack. Let me know if they jog your memory, okay?”

You nodded, your gaze falling on the first item. It was your haori. You had one that matched your brother, though his face was still a fuzzy memory. “Can I hold it?” you asked, already reaching out to take it.

He handed it over to you, and you began to inspect it. The haori, patterned with sunflowers, was in a pitiful state. It was ripped and torn in several places, and the fabric that was once carefully stitched was now marred with dried blood stains and dirt.

You looked up.

Douma was observing you intently as you clenched the fabric in your hands. You didn’t remember much, not really. Looking at the dirt reminded you of mud, but oddly enough, you couldn’t discern whether what you remembered was a dream or an actual memory. Everything seemed more blurred the longer you pondered.

“I remember mud,” you told him, setting the ripped haori down. “Dream or not a dream?”

“Not a dream.” He shook his head, picking up the haori and examining it himself. “It was raining. I don’t know why you were in the forest, but I’m thankful I was there. There was a bear larger than a station wagon that grabbed you and threw you down the mountainside."

You let out a soft tsk. “I was afraid,” you confessed to him, your voice cracking and your hands trembling slightly as you spoke. “Every time I woke up, fear was there, like an unwelcome guest. It’s still with me, this fear, and I don’t understand why.”

Douma, still fixated on you, remained silent. You didn’t think he blinked even once during your interaction. “Well then, tell me about yourself,” he suggested, rising from the bed and moving towards the kettle that Jun had placed earlier. “How does that sound? Let’s see if it jogs your memory, shall we?”

You clicked your tongue, feeling a headache coming on and your emotions running high. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” you countered.

He whipped his head back, his long platinum hair swishing against his waist. “Me?” He chuckled softly under his breath as he plugged the kettle into the wall. You were so thankful that this place had electricity. “Well, isn’t that interesting?” he mused, seemingly intrigued. 

You tilted your head, confused. “What’s interesting?”

He stands still for a moment, his interest piqued by the sound of the water heating up. “Hmm,” he murmurs, shifting his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. You can’t help but notice his discomfort, which in turn stirs a sense of nervousness within you. You wonder if your presence is causing him unease. Breaking the silence, he asks, “What is it that you wish to know?”

You shrugged. "Why do you help people the way you do?" You blurted out the question. You were not particularly good at talking to people, let alone asking them personal questions. But talking to Jun was different; it was simple. She preferred to do most of the talking. But now, talking to the man who saved you, you were extremely nervous. “It must be hard. How does that make you feel?” you added.

He let out a soft chuckle before finally turning to face you. Leaning against the wall, he responded, “I lead my people towards enlightenment.” He then crossed his arms, studying your reactions. “Knowing that my people are well-cared for and saved in this manner brings me great satisfaction.”

As the tea kettle began to boil, Douma shifted his attention towards it and poured a cup of tea for you. “Aren’t you going to have a cup?” you asked, observing the steam rising from the small porcelain cup he had placed by your bedside. “Jun brought it; it’s quite good.”

He walked over to the kettle and unplugged it before taking a seat at the edge of your bed. “Thank you, but I don’t eat or drink in front of others,” he said, crossing his legs with a slight hum.

You furrowed your eyebrows, finding him quite unusual. “Why?” you asked. Your love of food made the idea of not eating or drinking in front of others seem extremely strange to you. A part of you wanted to keep asking questions, but you could feel his unease. You felt indebted to him and figured the least you could do was avoid bothering him to the point of being asked to leave. “You don’t have to answer that,” you quickly added.

He sighed. “Don’t worry,” he said, shaking his head, dismissing your worry. “You’re so tense, it’s making me nervous just talking to you.”

You chuckled nervously, taking a sip of the tea and scalding your tongue in the process. “I’m sure you can understand why,” you managed to cough out, the hot liquid aggravating your already sore throat. “It’s not every day you wake up in a cult.”

“Is that what you think? That me and my people are a cult?”

Your eyes widened. Wasn’t his organization exactly that? In this era in Japan, cults weren’t necessarily a bad thing. Were they taboo? Yes. Did he seem to take it personally? Indeed, he did. You remained silent, only returning his gaze as your breathing quickened.

After a moment of intense staring, he broke the silence with a chuckle and a slap to his knee. “Relax!” He was now laughing heartily, his shoulders rising and falling with each burst of laughter. “I’m just surprised you came to that conclusion so quickly. You’re quite the sharp one, aren’t you?” He shook his head, and his face was rather serious. “But yes, we could be described as a cult. Nonetheless, my followers are happy to work towards Eternal Paradise.”

You visibly cringed.

Joining a cult was not on your bucket list. 

However, if joining a cult meant being fed, staying alive, and remaining safe until you could find a way back home (or remember where it even was), you were willing to make that compromise. As you set the tea back on the bedside table, survival was the only thing on your mind. Jun had assured you it was a safe place, and even though you hadn’t known her for long, you decided to trust her. The sight of people in the cafeteria, well-fed and clothed, some even with children, gave you some reassurance.

“Well, our conversation seems to have become rather tense,” he observed, rising from the bed to his full height. “Why don’t you try standing? I think a tour is in order.” He walked over to a closet in the corner of the room and pulled out two crutches. “Ah, these might come in handy, don’t you think?”

“What about the rest of the items?” You asked, glancing at the basket placed on the other side of the bed.

“I’m sure your nurse will be more than willing to assist you,” he said, moving closer to you on the bed and extending his free hand. “Here, let me help you.”

You studied his hand. 

It was even paler than his face, adorned with short, bluish nails that had a slight sheen. He was already pale, but his nails were so blue that you wondered if he was sick. With some hesitation, you accepted his hand, only to be taken aback by its icy touch. 

You gasped, both at the chill of his hand and the realization that you were now standing. As you wobbled slightly, your heart pounded in your chest. Instinctively, you reached up to touch his face, pressing your hands against his cheek and forehead and getting a grasp on how cold he really was.

“My God!” you exclaimed, unaware of the loudness of your voice. You let go of his hand, took a step back, picked up your hot teacup, and then took his hand again, pressing it against the cup. “You’re absolutely freezing! You really should drink some of this,” you insisted.

Douma’s eyes widened as you held his hand firmly against the warm cup. Could his pale skin and hair be signs of illness? “I think I remember something else,” you said, furrowing your eyebrows in deep thought, “Yes, I knew a few people who were ill as well.”

“Yes…” he trailed off, allowing you to touch his face with your warm hands. His gaze shifted slightly, avoiding direct eye contact. “I have a condition. A rather terrible disease. Not enough blood, you see?” His voice, unusually deep, faltered just a bit, adding an eeriness to the already tense atmosphere.

“Please, accept my apologies,” you murmured, your hands falling from his face as you shook your head, taking a step back. The past few hours have been a surreal experience for you. “Despite your own struggles, you saved me,” you began, your body bending in a deep bow, a symbol of your unwavering gratitude for the life he had saved. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Douma’s lips curled into a wide grin, a stark contrast to the somber mood, as he returned the cup to you. “Think nothing of it, Sunshine!” His voice was cheerful, a sudden shift that left you slightly unsettled. “Now, about that tour. If you’ll excuse me…”

He quickly walked over to the shoji doors, his feet making soft sounds on the floor. Upon opening them, he found Jun and Dr. Isha with their ears pressed against the door, clearly eavesdropping on your conversation. “Well, what a surprise!” he exclaimed, chuckling as he watched them stumble in surprise. “I must be going now. I trust you both will treat our guest with kindness, yes?”

“Please forgive us, Lord Douma,” Jun bowed, with Dr. Isha following suit. “We were just curious, that’s all.”

As Douma made his exit, he paused to whisper something in Dr. Isha’s ear. Then, he continued on his way, leaving you all in a state of surprise at his abrupt departure.

Then, the women entered the room.

Jun quickly moved to your side, gripping your upper arm to help you maintain balance as you stood. “Look at you!” she exclaimed, a smile spreading across her face as you took tentative steps. “Isn’t she amazing? Even after an injury.”

Dr. Isha’s expression was hard to read, but a hint of anger was evident in her furrowed brows, causing wrinkles to form. “You must know something, girl,” she said, coming closer and supporting your other arm as you navigated the room. You paused when her grip tightened. “You seem too comfortable with the Lord Founder. What did you say to him? What made him leave the room so abruptly?” Her voice was almost a growl, her knuckles turning white as she held onto you.

“What on Earth are you talking about?” You hissed, rolling your shoulder in an attempt to get her off of you. “We just talked, that’s all.”

Finally, she released you, her expression still stern. “Do you want to know what he told me, Jun?” Her laughter was bitter, filled with sarcasm. “He said her room is in the Lotus Wing. What a joke!”

Your gaze shifted to Jun, whose eyes had widened in surprise. “The Lotus Wing?” She let out a disbelieving scoff, clearly taken aback. “That’s quite prestigious. You must have left a significant impression on Lord Douma.”

Confusion washed over you as you glanced between the two women. “…What is the Lotus Wing?”

Without acknowledging your question, Dr. Isha continued. “She’s been given the all-clear,” she declared, her hand waving dismissively in the air. “Jun, I’m entrusting her care to you. Ensure her needs are met, I’m sure it’ll be a rollercoaster. Good evening to both of you.” With that, she opened the doors and exited the room, leaving behind a resounding slam that echoed in the silence.

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Neither you nor Jun said anything as she tidied up the hospital room.

It wasn’t that you didn’t have anything to say, but rather, you were quite upset. Dr. Isha didn’t seem to like you at all, and you were starting to understand why.

You didn’t know the exact reason, but you guessed that her demotion from advisor was because of you. That’s why she didn’t like you. Maybe you were too casual with Lord Douma! Touching his face like that, what were you thinking? You had just met him, so why did it matter if he was cold? You should have just let him be and asked if he was alright.

You had a bad habit of getting involved with things you shouldn’t.

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Jun packed everything into a larger basket, leaving you to hold the smaller one that Douma had brought for you. You noticed she had brought a lot of soap, an oddly large amount. You decided to ask her about it later.

You were utterly ecstatic to finally leave the room you’d been confined in. With shaky hands, you slid open the doors, only to be met with another door. They certainly made it difficult to leave. You wondered just how much trouble you had caused. Upon opening the last door, you were greeted with the sounds of crickets and a beautiful garden.

“Wow,” you muttered, utterly astonished at the beauty of this place. “You weren’t kidding.”

Jun paused, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the moon. She inhaled deeply, savoring the crisp night air filled with the subtle scent of flowering bushes that dotted the garden. ““This isn’t even the main part,” she chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she watched your reaction. “You’ll enjoy the Lotus Wing. It circles a private pond.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head, intrigued. The idea of a private pond tucked away in the forest piqued your interest. You followed her as she started to walk at a leisurely pace, allowing you to fully absorb the surroundings. You looked up, noticing the towering trees adorned with blossoms. “Tell me more,” you requested.

She nodded, descending a small set of stairs. Extending her hand to you, you accepted it, and together you began to traverse a path on a hill. “Firstly, this is more of a private hospital wing. There are a few other facilities in that building,” she gestured in front of her. “See how the path diverges?”

You nodded, observing how the pea gravel path forked into two. One trail ascended while the other descended. “One leads to the main buildings, where the main lake is,” she said downhill, where a veil of mist obscured most of the landscape. “Up there, are the hot springs. That’s where the Lotus Wing is, along with a few other structures. The Lotus Wing is the most luxurious place to reside. I’ve only been there a few times, so I’m quite excited to be serving someone who lives there.”

You both began walking uphill, which quickly started to strain your leg. “How does Lord Douma manage this?” you asked, panting. Your coma had really taken a toll on you. “With his condition and all?”

Jun took the basket you were holding and placed it on top of hers. Balancing her basket on her hip, she linked arms with you to help you walk. “His condition?” She turned her head towards you, looking rather confused. “Ah, that. His Worship often rests. He isn’t typically seen during the day, and even then, we’ve all grown accustomed to his nocturnal schedule. The Gods have blessed him so much that it must be nature’s course to burden him with illness. Isn’t that sad?”

…Right. You thought back to how cold his hands were and how odd he seemed. He must be quite sick, you decided. “Anyway, how many people live in the Lotus Wing?”

She clicked her tongue as she thought about it. “Either eight or nine now that Dr. Isha got demoted.” You guys then reached a set of wooden stairs. “As nice as it is up the hill, it sure is a workout.”

“No kidding,” you gasped, placing your hands on your knees. “Eight or nine, huh? Are they more advisors? Doctors? Engineers?”

She nodded, patting your back as you caught your breath. “Something along those lines, yeah.” She then glanced around, as if checking if anyone was watching. “They’re not as harsh as Dr. Isha. Don’t tell her I said that.”

You chuckled. “Your secrets are safe with me, no worries.” The moonlight cast a beautiful glow on her blue kimono. “I’m assuming Douma also lives in the Lotus Wing?”

She winced at your words. “No. A bit past that,” she said, shaking her head. “However, you should address him more formally.”

“Why am I living there? Why did he put me there? I’m no advisor, I can’t even remember my hobbies or my own brother's face.”

“Hey,” she said in a soothing voice, rubbing your back once more. “It’s alright. He saved you personally, remember? I’m sure it’ll work out.”

You sighed. No choice but to push forward. “Alright.” You nodded, continuing your walk on the stairs.

After clearing the stairs, you found a short path leading to what looked like an enormous shrine. Bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, meticulously manicured Zen gardens flanked either side of the path, right where the rest of the stairs ended. Stone lanterns dotted the landscape, their orangish glow challenging the moonlight.

The shrine itself appeared ancient, with sweeping roofs and ornate carvings. It was quiet at the moment, but soft murmurs filled the air, along with the scent of incense. Without a doubt, you knew this was sacred ground.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?” she whispered, aware of the people in the Zen Garden and the few praying to a rather large statue of Douma. Freaky, you thought. “The Lotus Wing is past the shrine, but there are a lot of members right now, so be mindful.”

You nodded hesitantly as you followed Jun. The white-clad wearers watched you in silence as you ascended the stairs and passed the shrine building. On another gravel path, Jun stopped right under a large tree. Pointing, she murmured, “There it is. Pretty, isn’t it?”

“Pretty” was an understatement. You could only see the entrance to the building, but even then, the pink hue of the building, along with its white slanted tile roof, was breathtaking. Moving forward, you and Jun finally entered.

The floor was made of dark wood, but like the exterior of the house, it held a subtle pink hue, as if reflecting the blush of a lotus blossom. 

The furniture was a different story. Each piece, crafted from the same dark wood, was meticulously carved for its purpose. The furniture pieces, whether they were tables, chairs, or cabinets, all shared a small crest of a lotus itched in the middle.

Following Jun down the hallway, you noticed doors spaced generously apart, each illuminated by the warm glow of a yellow lantern. The light from the lanterns cast long, dancing shadows on the wooden floor as you walked and shone beautifully along the white walls.

Upon reaching the end of the hallway, a shoji door crested with a lotus, along with a neatly arranged place to remove and store your shoes. “This was Dr. Isha’s old room,” Jun said, slipping off her shoes with practiced ease. You followed suit, feeling the cool wood beneath your feet. “I assume this is where you’ll be staying,” she added, sliding the door open with gentle hands.

Your eyes widened with surprise.

Douma seemed to prefer Western-style beds, as evidenced by the ones in your room and at the hospital. Your bed had a large headboard made of intricately carved dark wood. A lotus crest was carved into the wood, its design the same throughout the Lotus Wing. A layer of bamboo on the same wall added a touch of nature, as did two nightstands placed near your bed. 

The room was floored with traditional tatami mats, their subtle fragrance filling the space. Despite the high ceilings, part of the room dipped into a cozy area furnished with a table and a few chairs. It looked like a small tearoom, complete with a small fire pit in the center. A long wire hung from the ceiling, holding an iron pot in the pit below. Beyond the tearoom, you could see closed shoji doors that certainly opened to reveal another space.

Never in your life have you seen a room this luxurious. 

With a sense of urgency and a flicker of excitement, you rushed to the shoji doors and slid them open. Your intuition was right. As the doors parted, you took in the imposing size of the walls separating each room. On either side of you, two large, dark walls shielded you from the view of the other rooms while also granting you a generous portion of the private pond that Jun had mentioned.

If you hadn’t been raised with manners, you might have stripped off your clothes and plunged straight into the inviting water. But then Jun’s sympathetic smile pulled you back to the harsh reality of your situation.

That’s right, you reminded yourself. 

You weren’t here on vacation or to celebrate some brazen achievement. You were here because you came dangerously close to meeting the reaper. The weight of that realization began to settle in, casting a pall over the beauty of your surroundings. 

The luxurious room, the private pond, the exquisite craftsmanship—all seemed to mock your predicament, serving as a somber reminder of the grim reason for your visit. Slowly but surely, the initial awe and excitement gave way to a creeping sense of despair. 

You lost a part of yourself.

A part of what made you, you. You would never be sure if you would remember what had happened to you or the important details of your life. You walked over to the bed and noticed that it was bare, but you still sat on the mattress. Your throat began to sting as your lip quivered with emotion.

You tried to take deep breaths, but all that came out were quick, shallow ones. Swiftly, Jun came to your side. “Deep breaths,” she advised. You focused on the sound of her voice as you began rolling up your kimono. Thank God, you thought, relieved that you hadn’t injured yourself walking here. “Why don’t we try making your bed, huh?”

You nodded, deciding to stand up and move to the tearoom. Tears began flowing freely, your chest heaving with sobs as your mind kept replaying the blurry faces of your loved ones. You were so unbelievably frustrated.

“I want to go home,” you cried, gripping the fabric of your kimono tightly. “I want to see my brother.”

Jun nodded empathetically, allowing you to voice your frustrations while she looked for sheets. “But I don’t even know where to begin looking,” you confessed. Pathetic whimpers escaped your lips as you stared at the clear water outside. The room grew rather cold. “My brother, he must be so scared. He was my twin, you know?”

Your face was blotchy red as she spread the pale pink sheets on the bed. You found yourself liking the pink theme. It was unique. “My brother was a difficult child, you see?” You hiccupped, and your crying subsided slightly as you began to recall faint memories of your childhood. “He was a horrible kid. Really. I was calm in comparison to him but..."

The sobs started again and grew louder. “He was too much. My parents sent him off to live with the village leader, but he refused to go because my parents didn’t want to send me.” This happened years ago; why did the pain feel so fresh? “So they abandoned both of us.”

Your crying became uncontrollable as you curled up on the tatami mat. “Shhhh.” Jun dropped the sheets and sat down next to you. “What you’re going through is extremely traumatic. Difficult, emotionally pressing memories will always take priority over more joyful ones.”

That didn’t comfort you. Were you going to be stuck living the rest of your life like this? Is your trauma resurfacing because of your injury? You couldn’t help but wonder. “Why don’t I go get another doctor?”

You nodded. 

If they knew something, anything, that could relieve the extreme distress you suddenly found yourself in, you would be grateful. You stood up, watching as Jun hurriedly made your bed before tucking you in. 

You fell asleep rather quickly.

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You awoke sometime later, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows as it peeked in through your now closed outdoor shoji. You felt surprisingly well-rested, your body rejuvenated from the deep sleep. Stretching slightly, you took a moment to take in your surroundings. A meal had been quietly brought inside and laid upon the table in the tearoom, the dishes neatly arranged and waiting for you.

Just how long have you slept? The question lingered in your mind as you tried to piece together the events of the past day. The last thing you remembered was having an emotional outburst and Jun saying she was going to get the doctor. But now, Jun was nowhere to be seen. Looking around, you got up, your leg slightly sore from the unfamiliar bedding, only to jump back at the sight of a man sitting on a chair directly next to you.

“Jesus!” You yelled, your hand instinctively flying to your chest as your heart pounded against your ribcage. “Who are you?”

His eyes widened in surprise, and he began flapping his hands around, almost like he was trying to explain himself without talking. You watched him, confusion etched on your face, as he began to make noises.

“I, I, I-” His words were garbled, more like random noises than coherent speech. But you managed to catch the repeated ‘I’.

“I?” You echoed, your brow furrowing in confusion. “Why are you here?”

He shook his head, frustration evident in his features. Then, he opened his mouth and pointed at what little was left of his tongue. You gasped and instinctively moved closer to the man. “My goodness, your tongue!” You exclaimed, taken aback by the sight. His tongue had large chunks missing, but despite his condition, he seemed desperate to get you to understand him.

He then pointed at himself and gave a thumbs up, as if to reassure you that he was okay. You felt yourself relax. “I’m guessing Jun went to sleep?” He nodded in response. Then, you took notice of his attire. Just like Jun, the man was dressed in blue. Could he be a nurse, perhaps? “Why don’t we find some paper so you can write?”

He nodded, his long hair shaking with each vigorous nod. “Very well.” You got out of bed and began making it, but he dismissed you with a wave of his hand and took over the task himself. “I don’t think there’s any paper in this room, so why don’t we check the common room?”

He nodded in agreement as you excused yourself and headed to the bathroom. As you shut the door behind you, you were finally alone with your thoughts and your reflection. The bathroom was equipped with a closet, and a rather long mirror stretched across one wall, reflecting back an image of someone who seemed almost unrecognizable.

You were skinny.

Your mind flashed with a brief, haunting image of how you used to look, and a wave of nausea washed over you. You remembered a time when your body was strong and muscular, but now all that remained were frail arms that seemed pitifully weak. As you stripped out of your kimono, a gasp escaped your lips.

Scars, like a constellation of past battles, dotted your body. Some were fresh, while others were old and faded, their stories long forgotten. But what caught your attention the most were your hands. You remembered how they used to be—tough, calloused, bearing the evidence of hours and hours of hard labor. But for what? What kind of work had you done that had left your body scarred and your hands hardened?

Thinking about it was pointless.

It was just going to upset you.

So, you rummaged through the closet, dressed into a silken gray kimono that you were sure that Jun left behind, and got ready for the day. Meeting the man back in your room, he greeted you with a pithy smile and a bow.

“There’s no need to be so formal, sir,” you said, your hand cutting through the air in a dismissive gesture. His stiffness seemed out of place in the relaxed atmosphere of the room. “Shall we proceed?”

He turned his attention to the tea table, where a meal had been carefully arranged. Despite the enticing aroma wafting from the dishes, you didn’t feel the slightest bit hungry. At least, not yet. “Let’s find some paper for you and take a little walk, shall we?”

In response, he extended his arm towards you, making a silent offer of support. You accepted gratefully, your thoughts turning sour at the prospect of navigating those damn stairs. With a courteous nod, he opened the door for both of you, and you made your way towards the common area.

You began thinking about Douma as you opened the various cabinets and desks. Was he the one who sent you this man? What had happened to his mouth in the first place? It was rather unsettling.

Finding a sheet of parchment and a rather fancy fountain pen, you handed them to the man. “Why don’t you tell me your name?” He began writing. My name is Haji. 

You smiled at him. “Hello, Haji.” You quickly told him your name.

Jun and I will be taking turns, watching over you in shifts. Day and night, one of us will always be there,

Your condition, your situation, it’s been relayed to the doctors. They’re aware. Our leader, too, has been informed.

That was rather unsettling, you thought. You gave him a kind smile disregardless. He stilled for a moment, looking around, before he started writing again.

I was there with you that night.

His writing sent a chill down your spine. He was there? A flurry of questions swirled in your mind, each one more pressing than the last. How was he there? What did he see? What did he know? 

“How?”

The sudden opening of the building’s doors seemed to startle him. In a swift, almost reflexive motion, he crumbled up the paper. It happened so quickly, so unexpectedly, that you blinked in surprise. Before you could even react, he shoved the crumpled paper into his mouth, swallowing it as if it were nothing more than a piece of candy. The action was so bizarre and out of place that for a moment, you wondered if you were dreaming.

Two men, both clad in red, approached you and Haji. “Ah, our guest!” They bowed to you in unison, their faces lighting up with a warm welcome. Their gaze then shifted to Haji, their enthusiasm dimming noticeably. “And Haji.”

Haji gave you a silent, pleading look as you began conversing with the two men. You decided to keep his secret. What he had confided in you would remain confidential until you died. You couldn’t help but think that he might be more useful in uncovering the full extent of what had transpired compared to Douma.

You learned that the two men were also twins, fraternal ones, just like you and your brother. Their names were Kuro and Hachiro, and they were the architects who had designed the cult. However, their stay was brief, and they departed as quickly as they had arrived.

“There’s more to this place, isn’t there?”

He nodded.

Shit.

[acciocriativity]

JONGHO AS A BEAR HYBRID - RAISED LIKE SIBLINGS EDITION

(Photos are not mine, credits for the rightful owners)

Ateez Masterlist

I'm a bit late, but I had to write a little something for Jongho's birthday and this is my absolute favorite hc of him, so here we go! I could go on and on about it too, should I make a one shot of this? 👀

The moment your parents got an anonymous call to rescue a hybrid cat out of someone’s abandoned house, they didn’t think they would find a cub bear near the woods, alone and shot in the process.

To this day, that call would be an unsolved puzzle. First, there was no cat hybrid. Second, it was illegal to hunt in that area for many reasons. Third, why anyone would contact a small hybrid rescue organization instead of a wildlife rehabilitator?

They found out the answer for only one of those questions.

While they were in the car, the cub shifted to his human form due to lack of energy and blood. The little boy could barely speak or move, his poor condition clear as a day.

The good news were, from then on he’d have a home and, if he wanted to, a family to take care of him.

You both grew up together.

It was weird to explain the dynamic of you two to anyone who asked. There was no hierarchy between the two of you, something not as common as it was now. You were kind of like siblings, but without the constant urge to fight for everything.

Jongho would never fight you. Not because he didn’t want to sometimes (most times), but because he made a promise the moment he was accepted into the family. He would fight for your family, in whatever way they needed, so that includes you.

That meant, even when you were being stubborn for no reason or just annoying, he wouldn’t fight you. Instead, he would just… judge you in silent until you stopped.

There were some fights here and there, of course. His patience wasn’t eternal, and he had his own feelings and moments of being annoying too… although he blames 99% of those on you.

But who’s counting, right?

You learned all the little things about him from a young age, so you knew him with the back of your hand.

Like the urge he had for affection, even though he hated to ask for it, so much so he would rather be shot again.

Of course, you’d cling to him like a koala all day long and he just… stood there, like an actual tree, paralyzed and overthinking ever second of it.

With time, he got used to the feeling and dare I say, he loved it a lot, but would never say it. If it makes you feel better, it would be plastered on his forehead the confusion and sadness the moment you stopped. He didn’t notice his pout, either.

Or like the way he’d never speak without being spoken to. That didn’t last for long, but while it did, you made sure to ask him as many questions as you could think about.

It ranged from do you know why the sky is blue? to can I touch your ears please, please? He would always say no to the last one until your parents said to stop asking.

You did, but you couldn’t help watching it all the time. It was small, round and it looked fluffy. It was the perfect combination to make anyone in their right minds give a little pet, you know? Still, you respected he needed his space.

He also knew you with the back of his hand. He observed every single habit of all of your family, because he had to be sure they were safe to be around. Then he kept doing it because he wanted to understand why you were so different from every other human he met.

Even though, you were so annoying and loud and sometimes a bit dumb as a child, you were also kind-hearted and generous since little. You didn’t even complain when you had to leave your own room for him to stay, you were soo worried and scared because of the bad condition you saw him in.

You were sincere in your questions about hybrids, how did he do things or why he did it, not in the way he sometimes felt with other people, who looked at him like a fascinating animal and nothing more.

He was grateful for whoever made that call and saved his life by bringing your parents to him, even though he always asked himself who could it be.

[weirdestbooks]

The Shot Heard Around the World Chapter 33

Valley Forge (Wattpad | Ao3)

Table of Contents | Prev | Next

December 20, 1777

United States didn’t expect the feeling when it hit. He had been helping to build another log hut when a sense of strength hit him, intoxicating and powerful. He didn’t realize how weak he had been until he was filled with that strength.

“What was that?” Delaware asked.

“What was what? What are you talking about? Did something happen?” James asked. United States ignored him, too busy basking in the strength that seemed to push aside the cold, leaving him warm and content. United States let out a little laugh, causing the soldier next to him, Sam, to look over.

“Something funny?” he asked. United States just smiled.

“I do believe I have just been recognized by another nation,” he said. United States could think of nothing else that would grant him this kind of strength. 

“We have?” James asked, sounding more excited than United States had ever heard him before.

“We have?” Sam asked, his tone full of cheer and excitement, “Who?”

“I don’t know. I only feel the feeling of strength, one that comes with recognition,” United States explained. “We probably won’t find out who for a few weeks at most.”

“Do you think it is France?” Sam asked. 

“I hope so, but I don’t know. I should go let the general know of this development unless you still want my aid?” United States asked. Sam laughed, waving him off.

“I can build my own hut. You take care of business,” Sam said. United States nodded, smiling as he walked off toward the general’s home, listening to his states celebrate the good news. After informing the general (and being subjected to an interview that went nowhere, United States still had no idea which country it was), United States retired to his tent for the night.

He sat at his desk and pulled out a pen and paper, preparing to write a letter to whoever it was that recognized him. He wanted to capture his feelings, his states’ feelings, the celebration and the joy, and the strength while they were still fresh in his mind.

He needed this country to know how wonderful their gift truly was.

To the country that has just recognized my independence.

I know not your name or your face, but I feel the strength you have given me in this trying time. You have my eternal gratefulness. I felt a strength upon becoming a country, but it is nothing compared to the strength you have given me with your recognition. I know not how I can even begin to repay you for this act of kindness, but know, for as long as politics and life allow it, you will have a friend in the United States of America.

With more gratitude than you could ever know, 

The United States of America

• ───────────────── •

December 31, 1777

United States woke slowly. 

Exhaustion tugged at his limbs, and it took all his energy to open his eyes. He felt somewhat stiff, and he struggled to put his fuzzy thoughts together.

His head was suspiciously quiet. Where had they gone?

“United States?” someone asked, and United States looked over to see the camp doctor standing beside him.

“Yes?” he asked, trying to shake the confusion from his mind. The doctor seemed to relax at his words.

“Oh, praise be to God,” he muttered. United States blinked.

“Did something happen?” he asked, searching through his memories. What did he last remember…he remembered being recognized, building huts, and then—

Oh. He had died.

“You—”

“Died, yes. Smallpox. That's new,” United States said, lifting himself up as he rubbed at his head.

“You seem…unsurprised,” the doctor said. United States smiled.

“God allows me to stay on Earth so long as I have a country to serve, no matter how damaged my mortal body may be. You need not fret when I am dead. I will return, for the revolution, for all those who fight for me,” United States said. The doctor nodded, still looking disturbed.

“I…I must go. I have other patients to attend to,” he said. United States smiled and nodded, and the doctor rushed away. 

United States then pulled his legs off the bed and began running himself through his post-death exercises. 

He hated dying.

• ───────────────── •

January 10, 1778

United States paced as he prepared to bring himself to the prisoner of war camp where Nova Scotia and St John’s Island were being kept, so anxious about seeing them after…after many years.

God, it really had been a long time since he had seen them. Eight-odd years flew by. 

What if they hated him?

“You can’t avoid them because of what-ifs. You should visit them. They’re still family, and they might get more mad if you ignore them,” Virginia pointed out. United States sighed and nodded, knowing she was right.

He exhaled, bringing himself to the entrance of the prisoner-of-war camp. 

“United States!” the guard exclaimed, looking shocked to see him there. United States smiled.

“Hello, sir. I am here to visit my cousin, Nova Scotia, and her son, St. John’s Island. Where are they?” he asked. The guard looked around nervously before nodding.

“Of course, sir, right away,” he said, letting United States in. “They should be in the middle of the camp.”

United States nodded and thanked the man, walking into the camp. He was wearing his military uniform and drew the attention of many of the prisoners as he did so, hearing them whisper among each other as he walked by.

“Do you think they might attack us?” Rhode Island asked.

“They better not. They’re prisoners. They would only get in more trouble if they did that,” Massachusetts said. That didn’t stop United States from keeping his guard up, eyes scanning the British prisoners for familiar faces.

Finally, he spotted them and stopped as his nervousness returned. 

“It’ll be okay,” Virginia said. United States exhaled, calming his nerves, before he raised his voice, calling over to the two countryhumans.

“Nova Scotia! St. John!” The countryhumans, who had been conversing, ended their conversation as they looked in his direction. Nova Scotia gasped as she saw him, hand flying to her mouth, as St John’s Island scowled and began kicking at the dirt.

“Thirteen?” she asked, her voice gentle as she walked towards him. United States nodded.

“Technically, United States now,” he replied, “Shall we go somewhere without an audience?”

There were many prisoners watching them, and United States didn’t feel comfortable talking with the crowd watching them.

“Of course,” Nova Scotia said, smiling as she took a step backward, leading United States to her small hut, St John’s Island following them into it.

“I missed her,” Massachusetts said. United States agreed. He had missed her.

Nova Scotia turned to face him, putting a hand to his cheek, rubbing her thumb gently across it. United States couldn’t help but lean into the touch. He had missed her so much.

“Smallpox?” she asked, her voice gentle. United States nodded.

“I died,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. Nova Scotia sighed.

“I’m sure you don’t want to hear it,” she began, “So I’m not going to bring it up. I’m sorry. But…Edward, do you have a way to get us out of this camp?”

“They won’t let you leave. Not when it’s such an advantage over Father. I’m sorry,” United States said, guilt in his voice as he pulled away from her touch. He wanted to help his cousin, but with the war…there was no way he could.

“I figured as much. It’s okay,” Nova Scotia said, smiling slightly. St. John’s Island scoffed.

“They make us pay for our own food, our own fuel, for upkeep of these cabins!” he said. United States frowned.

“That’s horrible,” Virginia said, “Father, at the very least, you can foot the bill. You have no need for money.”

“I can pay that. I want to ensure that despite you both being prisoners, you will be treated well. I don’t know if, because you are still colonies, that some angry men might take out their anger on you,” United States said, letting his gaze linger on Nova Scotia, “But if anything like that happens, write to me, and tell me, and I will see them punished. I will try to visit often when I can, as well.”

“Thank you, Edward,” Nova Scotia said, looking grateful. Even St. John’s Island looked less angry.

“Johnathan,” United States corrected. “Don’t tell Father or Uncle Alba, please.”

Nova Scotia let out a little laugh. 

“I won’t. Thank you for still trusting me.”

“Thank you for still trusting me,” United States said, pulling his cousin into a hug. Nova Scotia pulled away from the hug, looking as if a weight had been taken off her shoulders. For a few moments, they sat in a comfortable silence that was broken by Nova Scotia’s teasing voice.

“I met your son.”

“Son?” United States asked, a slight trace of panic in his voice. Did she know about his states? Did she somehow find out? Did Father know? Did the British know? Oh, God, did all of Europe think he was insane?

“How could she have found out?” Rhode Island asked, sounding both panicked and confused.

“The new country, Vermont,” she said. United States relaxed. His secret was safe. And Vermont…the new child that he had heard about but never met…he wanted to know more.

“You have? What is he like?” he asked. Nova Scotia smiled.

“He’s a lot like you. Was fighting for your cause as well,” she answered before going to a small chest and grabbing a letter from it. “He gave me this letter to give to you. To introduce himself.”

United States took the letter gently as if it were made of glass, smiling at his cousin.

“Thank you,” he said, tucking the letter into his uniform to read later.

As of right now, he was with his cousin and her son. 

[the-void-writes]

"Why do we keep pretending we don't want to kiss each other?"

(idk why I was thinking about Jasio for this one (for all of them actually) but any couple you like if you think of a more fitting one!!)

This was so much longer than I anticipated, but you really inspired me lmao. I hope you enjoy a little snippet of the early stages of Jasio (not sure how canon it’ll be because I really suck at writing arguments lol)

Freaks Of Preston - Secrecy

Summary: Jason’s relationship with Rio is a secret, and he’s fine with that… until they start acting more like strangers.

WC: 2.3K

The meeting had been going on for hours, and nothing had been accomplished, aside from Vesely getting into a heated argument with the engineers over how to safely build an escape room on the ocean floor. Jason had given up on taking notes long before then. Everyone in the room was either asleep or yelling at someone else, save for the man on Jason’s right.

Rio was as stoic as ever, barely a hint of irritation showing in his expression. It must have taken him years to get to this point, and though it couldn’t have been glamorous, Jason admired his professionalism. Of course, there were other parts of him that he preferred more, the parts that he had fallen for. His secret softness, his humor, his comforting presence, his loyalty… Jason loved him to pieces.

Their relationship was a secret, per Rio’s request, and Jason was perfectly fine with that. No one else needed to see their love, though the idea of showing off to their coworkers had a certain guilty appeal to Jason. Still, he was content with their quiet little life behind closed doors, the peace that only they could provide each other in this hectic place.

The true problem was in how little time they had together. Sometimes, Rio could make an excuse to pull Jason away and have him to himself, but days like today were full of meetings and orientations. They hadn’t been able to speak a word to each other since they woke up. Jason wouldn’t have minded so much if he wasn’t sitting right next to Rio, unable to drag him away.

As Vesely resorted to calling his in-house attorney to prove a point, Jason leaned over to Rio, speaking carefully to not wake up their sleeping coworkers.

“How are you holding up?”

Rio nodded his head once. “Fine.”

Jason shrugged to himself. Always wearing that mask, his partner. Rio had a carefully-built reputation; gruff and quiet and concise. He didn’t let that mask falter for anyone but his daughter and Jason, a fact that he was always grateful for.

Still, he wished they could talk in more than one-word sentences. It was like they didn’t even know each other outside of their rooms. Perhaps that was part of his mask, or he wanted to appear undistracted in front of Vesely, but Jason couldn’t imagine why.

“I feel like I could pass out, too,” Jason said.

“Hmm.”

He almost laughed. Now, they weren’t even using full words. Jason noted to tease him for it later.

After what felt like an eternity, the engineers had to concede. Vesely looked especially smug as he gathered them all and called for a trip to the construction site. That was the signal that the meeting was finally over. Whoever had been asleep woke to a sudden round of orders from Vesely to get started on their testing schedule. Before leaving, Vesely looked back at Rio.

“Have your men ready for a possible escort tomorrow. The land should be clear, but I’d hate to take any chances.”

“Yes, sir,” Rio said blankly.

Vesely’s acidic eyes fell on Jason, making his insides twist.

“Have a good evening, Jason. Thank you for joining us.”

He closed the door, and Jason was alone with Rio, at last.

“Escort missions?” Jason asked as he gathered his papers. “Must be another long night, then.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to wait on dinner?”

Rio didn’t utter a word as he marched towards the door.

“Rio?”

He didn’t even look Jason’s way as he left the board room and disappeared down the hall. Jason didn’t move for a long time. Had he done something wrong? They were finally alone, it was their chance to talk for a bit— and Rio just walked out the door.

Jason sighed and carried his things to the door. It was just another part of their secrecy, then. He’d have to live with it.

————————

The sun had just set over the trees by the time Rio returned to the lab. Jason was eager to welcome him, but he immediately silenced himself when he saw someone walk in behind him, one of the newer soldiers. Rio was trying to instruct him on his duties for the following day, and from the creases in his brow, he had been explaining it for a long time.

“Your priority is the children,” he said coldly. “If I get word that any of them have been hurt under your watch, you’re not gonna be able to use your arms.”

The young officer straightened out his back. “Yes, sir.”

It was impressive to see Rio at work, cutting through to his peers to ensure the safety of the kids. Even if he didn’t say it, he loved all of their patients.

Jason offered a wave as they passed, and Rio gave him a quick flick of his head.

“Evening, Mister Rhodes.”

He disappeared with the officer into the next lab, leaving Jason with a pit in his stomach. It was an unfortunate necessity, using his surname in professional company, but the casual indifference in Rio’s voice as he said it, as though they were nothing more than work acquaintances…

Jason took a deep breath. He was simply overreacting, that was all. Secrecy was a struggle, sure, but he would get through it for Rio. It would all be fine once they got home.

Rio returned to the lab alone, not slowing his pace. His hunched shoulders and stony gaze would have scared anyone else away, but Jason knew him better.

“Hey, you,” he said.

His heart nearly shattered when Rio once again left him in silence. The lab felt cold and empty around Jason, smothering him in its isolation. He couldn’t remember what he had done to make Rio mad. It must have been Jason’s fault. It was always his fault. He couldn’t do this again— he couldn’t lose anyone else.

Jason went back to his apartment alone. He didn’t see Rio for the rest of the night.

———————

The sound of pots startled Jason from his sleep. Early morning sunlight danced across his floor, and someone was humming in his kitchen. He put on his leg and stumbled out of bed towards the door. When he peeked outside, he found Rio cooking by the stove. His hair was messy, and he was still in his work clothes, but a soft smile lit up his face, the one that Jason had always loved.

Bitterness burned the back of his throat. A whole night of being ignored, only for Rio to waltz into his house and start cooking like nothing was wrong? What had been the point, then? Why make Jason suffer through the “tough soldier” act?

The door creaked as he leaned on it. Rio locked eyes with him and waved at him with a spatula.

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

Gorgeous… Did he even remember the day before? The nerve of him— to act like this was just a typical day. Jason marched over to his desk and sat down, unable to respond.

“Jay?”

He kept his eyes on his desk, crossing his arms as he pretended to read his notes from the board meeting. It was a childish act that he wasn’t proud of, but he knew if he gave in and looked at Rio, he’d lose everything that he wanted to say— No, he needed to say it.

“Can you look at me, please?”

Jason remained firm and silent. Rio walked over and balanced his arms on the chair, blocking Jason in. There was an obvious smirk in his voice.

“Not talking to me?” Rio chuckled against his ear. “Good thing I’m an officer. I know how to be persuasive.”

His rough hands traveled under Jason’s sweater and pinched his waist. Jason pushed him away and left his seat, the darkness in his eyes unflinching.

“Okay,” Rio said, “none of that, then. I was just trying to make it easier.”

“Easier?!”

Jason had even startled himself. He tried to calm down as Rio rubbed his temple.

“I was an ass yesterday, I know. I’m really sorry, Jay. There was so much shit to get done, and I ended up neglecting you.”

“You didn’t neglect me,” Jason said. “Neglect would imply that we have a connection— but as long as your coworkers are around, I’m just ‘Mister Rhodes,’ right?”

Rio sighed. “I’m sorry for that, too. It’s old soldier training— Not an excuse, I know.”

Jason stared at the floor, still tasting something bitter. Rio took his hands and kissed them gently.

“I won’t treat you like that again, okay? If I ever do, go ahead and smack me. I don’t want to make you feel abandoned. I adore you, Jason, truly and deeply.”

That was when it came out— the truth that Jason didn’t want to admit.

“Then why are you hiding it?”

Rio blinked at him. “Jay…”

Jason covered his mouth. “No— I’m sorry. I know you want privacy. I’m fine with that— I shouldn’t have—”

He stopped when Rio held his finger to his lip. Despite the pain in his stare, he spoke calmly.

“Go ahead, tell me how you feel.”

Jason closed his eyes and sighed. “I don’t like how we act in public. Secrecy is fine, sure, but it’s like we can’t even look at each other.”

“I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about us,” Rio said.

“Why is it wrong, though?”

“Jay—”

“Is it me? You don’t want people to know that you like me?”

“That—” Rio lowered his voice. “That’s not true, Jay. You know me better than that.”

“Then what is it? Why can’t people know how much you mean to me? Why do I have to hide how much I want to kiss you? Why can’t I tell them how I feel about you.”

“Jason—”

“Why?!”

Rio gripped his arms. “Because I can’t lose you!”

Jason was stunned in silence. Rio hung his head and loosened his grip, muttering apologies to him over and over again. His voice was small and weak.

“Before you came here,” he said, “we had a doctor named Frank. It was just a casual thing between us, nothing we thought would last, but— I really did like him.”

He was practically in tears. This was new for them both. Jason held his face and dried his cheeks, carefully massaging the scar under his eye.

“What happened to him?” Jason asked.

Rio closed his eyes. “Vesely found out about us, said we were wasting valuable time. He pushed me into training and recruited Frank for his special projects. He worked him so hard that I rarely got to see him, up until— until the day he—”

More tears choked the sentence away from him. Jason held him tighter, nearly tearing up with him at the realization.

“He died.”

Rio nodded limply. “Work accident… all because I got him in trouble.”

“No—” Jason held his hand to Rio’s lips. “You can’t blame yourself.”

“Vesely doesn’t want his prodigies distracted. If I had just kept my head down, he never would have taken Frank. I should have done something— I should have—”

Jason pulled him against his shoulder and let him cry. All this time, while Rio had been helping Jason through his guilt, he was harboring his own. This poor, selfless man…

“Listen to me, Rio. You taught me that there are things in this world we won’t be able to control. It doesn’t make us monsters.”

“Jay—”

“Did you enjoy your time together?”

Rio paused. “Yes.”

“Did he?”

“I— I don’t know.”

“He must have, if he still tried to see you. That’s the important part, Rio. That’s the part that you shouldn’t regret.”

For a moment, his own mind flashed with memories of his old home. Days with Will, nights with Henry, weekends with both of them… He would never, ever regret the life that they shared.

“I understand why you want us to be a secret,” Jason said. “You’re scared Vesely will wedge us apart.”

“I can’t do it again, Jay. I can’t lose you.”

“And you won’t.” Jason kissed his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll keep ourselves here, in our little world, and you’ll never lose me.”

“But you’ll be frustrated—”

“I’ll be fine, Rio. All that truly matters to me is getting to see you at the end of it all. I don’t want to lose what we have.”

Rio held him tightly, and Jason could hear his pounding heart. His hands carded through Jason’s hair gently as he whispered to him.

“I love you.”

Jason felt weightless. He never thought he would hear those words again, after everything he had done. The bitter taste and the mess of the last day all floated away as Rio held him.

“I love you, too.”

They could have stayed that way forever, but the smell of smoke drew them both towards the kitchen.

“Shit!” Rio hissed as he pushed the pots aside. “God— so much for surprising you.”

Jason hugged him from behind. “It’s okay. We can try again, it’s not like we have to go anywhere.”

Rio turned to him and smirked. “Good to know, because I think I remember you saying something about wanting to kiss me.”

Jason laughed. “It sounds familiar.”

“Are you going to, then?”

“If you’re asking, then yes.”

“Oh, I’ll beg, if you want.”

Rio turned around so Jason could reach him. He lost himself in the coarse but warm sensation of Rio’s kiss, drinking in more of him with each taste. There was still some good to be had in secrecy, if it meant that Jason was the only one who got to see the glimmer in Rio’s eyes, or feel his body shiver with delight. That pleasure was his, and his alone.

[fallinggravity678]

12 for Boblin (or whoever I’m not your mom)

This is soo late Im sorry but hopefully whatever this is makes up for it <3

I had another ask that also boblin but with #4, and I think that one can technically fit here too so I used both!

12- Write about your ship going somewhere new together for the first time.

4- Write about your ship holding hands in a happy moment. 

As he pulled over to park on the curb, Bob couldn't help but feel joy rushing through him as he gazed at the building; the building that would hopefully be theirs after today. It was perfect. The perfect place to fulfill his dream of opening a restaurant.

Linda gasped from beside him. Although she had seen the building before from photos Bob had eagerly showed her, this was her first time seeing it in person. “Oh, Bobby, it's perfect! Even better in person!”

Bob smiled in response. It was a beauty, aside from perhaps needing a few repairs here and there, but he supposed they could find someone to help them with that issue at a later time.

Bob got out of the car, followed by Linda, and looked around, looking for their landlord as they planned on meeting him there. Though evidently, they'd arrived early.

While they waited, the couple sat atop their car. Bob rambled to Linda about the floor plan he spent all night making, he already knew where everything would go. Linda listened intently, adding in her own commentary occasionally. A reason why Bob loved Linda, she was always eager to listen to him talk about the things he was passionate about when no one else would. He didn't know what alternate universes he saved to deserve a girlfriend like her, but he's eternally grateful he had her.

They stayed that way for who knows how long. As far as they knew, it was only them and nothing else. Their own little world.

The honk of a horn interrupted Bob mid-sentence. He saw a go-kart pull onto the curb in front of their car. Their landlord. They had met him once before, back when they were looking for a place. He seemed nice enough, albeit a bit… odd. Bob tried not to be too bothered by it, the man was offering this place as their new restaurant and home.

A wave of nervousness came over Bob right then. It wasn't unusual for him to suddenly worry about opening up this restaurant. But now they were here and faced with the possibility of the restaurant being a reality, and that thought equally scared and excited him.

Linda seemed to notice the shift. She moved her hand from rubbing her stomach and laid it on top of Bob's, their fingers intertwining. The gesture helped, as Bob felt his breathing ease. How she always managed without fail to bring Bob down to earth, he still had no idea.

“Bobby,” Linda said in that soft tone she did when she comforted him. “Are you ready to go in? Or do you want to stay out here a little longer?”

Bob looked up at the restaurant, their landlord who stood by the front door, waving, and then to his girlfriend, who looked at him with the softest, most loving gaze anyone has ever given him in years.

He sighed, squeezing Linda's hand. “I think…. Yeah, I'm ready,” Linda smiled at that. Hand in hand, the couple got off their car roof and followed the strange landlord into their soon to be home.

[darknessconsumesmeslowly]

The Darkness Within

********************************

Ghost Trick FF

Prompt: Yomiel using his powers and/or creepy stasis corpse to commit crimes.

Warnings: Depiction of violence, twisted mindset.

A/N: Wrote this for @clay-cuttlefish for the ghost swap - thank you very much for the prompt! And thank you very much for organizing this ghost swap event, @fyeahghosttrick! It was super exciting and I enjoyed writing Yomiel - this gave me the opportunity to explore this awesome character a bit more. I really hope I could do your prompt and your preferences justice and hope you like it.

That being said - constructive feedback from anyone is always very much appreciated, so I can hone my skill :) Please enjoy!

I am also super excited for the release of Ghost Trick!! It's trick time!

********************************

It had been months already. Why then did it still hurt so goddamn much? Sissel… this existence… all of it was a nightmare he was powerless to wake up from.

What good did those powers bring him if he didn’t have her by his side anymore? What sense did it have? Gods, why?

He had tried to follow her countless of times, tried to just erase his existence. His very being. And failed miserably.

Sometimes he dared to long for something as simple as… sleep - for any kind of release, really. 

As a consequence, the gods seemed to have decided unanimously for Yomiel to suffer… and he suspected he was in for an eternity.

He dropped the knife that he had held to try and cut off his own body’s hand. Not even a single drop of blood. He didn’t know why he bothered to try anymore. He had lost track of anything he did but for the day his life had been ruined… and the day he had lost her.

Those events were ingrained in his mind, just as intense as when they first unfolded, as well as the exact number of days he had suffered since. It had been them and-

A meowing interrupted his dark thoughts and he remembered. Of course. His friend still had to eat. Sissel had to eat and live… for them.

“What would I do without you, Sissel? What am I doing without you?” He looked at his friend and at nothing all at once. 

The black cat looked up at him and meowed gently.

“... Thank you, Sissel.”

He awkwardly manipulated himself to move to the door, turned the knob without feeling it and stepped out.

“Time to get some food,” ... and retain his sanity for another day… somewhat.

•••

Rats were easy to manipulate. Once he got the hang out of flying, pigeons became just as easy. 

The small animals did everything he wanted them to. He could make them move. He could make them fight. He could even make them stop breathing, but… but that was once… and it hadn't been on purpose. 

Forcing his will on other creatures so easily did something to him, but Yomiel didn’t dare thinking more about that just yet.

When he felt like losing himself, he talked to Sissel. Whenever he switched to the ghost world there was this one familiar core that would stay by his side and he was grateful for that. Then, talking wasn’t even necessary.  

Yomiel started taking over so many different cores and beings, because doing anything was better than to succumb to the hurt and suffering and pain. Sometimes he made them suffer too. Tried to let them feel what he felt, but it wasn’t ever enough. And he felt guilty for that. Each time a little less... 

They say that time would heal the pain. Whoever said that was a bloody liar and hadn’t truly felt real pain. Yomiel felt like no one did. No one felt the way he did. 

Soon Yomiel could do anything once he possessed the core of a small animal and he did try… anything. But never with cats, if he could help it.

He perfected the art of manipulating small animals and started concentrating on manipulating his own corpse better, too. He tried mimicking others in the way they walked, talked, moved. It started to look natural. Human. Was he human? Does feeling pain make you human?

•••

Why... Why were they not feeling it?

It should hurt more. Everything about this should hurt so much. Should feel like agony. They should feel the pain. The unending suffering.

A whimper escaped the person under his corpse's, his, hand.

"You... Do you feel it? Do you feel the pain?" Judging from their weakened screams, when he pushed the knife deeper into their wound, Yomiel suspected that they somehow did. Lucky them.

"P-please... I'll give you anything, please just... just let me go... I won't tell anybody, please..."

Yomiel raised the head of his body - a bit too abruptly and a bit too unnaturally, because he made his victim jump uncontrollably. Hm. Still needed to work on that...

"You don't have anything to give, except your screams and your pain..." He deepened the cut with the knife.

Feel the agonizing pain.

"When will you stop screaming, I wonder...?"

It turned out to be a very long time.

•••

When he washed the last of the blood from his hands, Yomiel just let the water drip. The sound was better to bear than the nothingness he felt whenever his body seemed to touch anything.

This existence... even the pain of others was not enough. They didn’t feel the same way he did. They didn’t suffer enough. 

Sissel... What am I supposed to do?

Yomiel wished he could cry. He wished something would change. Why was he still in this world? It didn’t make sense. He looked for a purpose. For something. It didn’t matter what, just… anything to diffuse the impossible pain and loneliness inside. The hole where once his heart was. The darkness. 

He was sinking.

A nearby phone rang repeatedly and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hated that sound. When was the last time someone called him? When was the last time he needed to pick up the phone? No one ever called the dead.

Why didn't they pick up?

Yomiel paid a visit to that unfortunate neighbor that night.

•••

Yomiel had to check twice, when he switched to the ghost world again. But there was no doubt about it… there were… new cores. Objects... and people.

He didn’t feel any remorse when he seized a core. That was something he left behind a long time ago.

It took some time getting used to. People were a tad harder to control than small animals. 

Forcing his will on actual living, thinking humans did something more to him than it did with the animals. Yomiel embraced it eagerly. 

•••

The body dropped limply when Yomiel allowed his manipulated victim to let go of the throat. It was… new… exciting. 

And the best wasn’t the killing. The best was the expression of the ones acting out his every  bidding. They felt it. The remorse. The guilt. The suffering.

His newfound powers gave him a release he hadn’t imagined he would ever get. And he craved for more.

•••

“N-no, I’m sorry, love, I am not…! I don’t know what is happening! Please, oh god!” 

Yomiel made his new puppet corner their loved one. He found out that a saw was an excellent choice of weapon.

He saw the fear in the victim and the desperation in the other. 

Yes… endure the pain like I do…

The screams of both echoed through the night and it was music to Yomiel’s ears.

•••

He found lots of different ways to let the people suffer - both, the manipulated ones and their victims. He found out that there was no limit to what he could do to them. If anything, he was a perfectionist and he perfected the manipulation of people, too. And the killing of them. It became as easy as breathing was for them.

But… the thrill faded. Soon the screams sounded the same and they did suffer, but while his suffering got worse, theirs stayed the same. It was unfair. And his thoughts circled back to why. 

Every laughter, every happy face made his mood worse. Poor Sissel had to endure all of it, but still, Sissel stayed faithfully by his side. The manipulation of objects didn't even begin to challenge him.

Maybe… maybe they could start anew. But Yomiel just couldn’t let go of the events from years ago. 

It had been them and- ...and in that moment he knew what to do.

It was time that they started to get a taste of what he felt. Random strangers just didn’t cut it anymore (he had made them cut each other up too many times already). Yomiel had access to this immeasurable power. Might as well make use of it. To finally show them what they sowed.

•••

Finding the first cop was easy. Yomiel found not needing to sleep useful for once. He used the detested telephone lines, too. Anything to reach his newfound purpose. That was why he still  existed this long, after all. 

Yomiel wanted him to lose his precious someone, too. And he wanted to do it in the most painful way possible. He took his time to flesh out a perfect plan.

When the small girl started building her little contraption, it got even better than what he had imagined and gods, had he imagined lots of ways. It would be a few days more to wait, but oh was the wait worth it.

•••

The faithful day came and another body tumbled to the ground. A meaningful body.

How does it feel, Jowd?

Yomiel’s thoughts raced when he fulfilled the deed. His heart would be competing with them if it was still beating. 

This… this was it. 

With this he was sure to get what would be his only salvation. Revenge. 

One small gear set into motion. One small step at a time. One death after the other.

... He had an eternity after all.

[pure-garbage]

Anything You Ask For! The Weight Of A Promise

Chapter Warnings: Angst

"I feel... so betrayed!" Lana finally managed.

She was still shaking in Zoro's embrace, but for the first time, she realized it was more than despair that rocked her. Rage overtook her tone as her hands fisted in Zoro's shirt, clutching him like a lifeline as she helplessly broke down.

"You're not the first man to ask me that... to say you want me forever!"

Zoro's eyes flew open wide with alarm as Lana crumbled in his arms. Her tears soaked his chest while she shook with ragged, unrestrained sobs. Her words were wails, keening and broken as she finally gave voice to a pain she'd carried with her for years.

"It- it was so long ago, I- I didn't think about it- I couldn't think about it, not about him... not for years, but when you- when you said that, when you- those words, those same damn words! And I just-"

Zoro didn't know how much more of her desolation he could bear. He quaked with fury and the exertion of restraining himself.

"All I could hear when you said that was his voice! His promises, his lies! He gave me so much hope, only to... only... he let Corrin take me and ran to save his own skin! I know we were young, but he didn't even try! If he wasn't even going to try, why the hell did he say it in the first place?! He didn't fight for me, he didn't even look at me! He didn't..."

Lana's words lost all coherency, dissolving into a terribly symphony of grief that Zoro had no choice but to watch unfold.

'Robin was right,' he realized, grim at the thought that came too late. 'Sanji... they were both right. I should have given her time... damn it!'

Suddenly, Zoro understood that it was pride that led Lana to shut him out. On some level, she'd known this breakdown was coming, knew it couldn't be avoided forever.

'Her only wish was for me not to see her like this and I didn't honor it.'

Shame filled Zoro at his own impatience and lack of perception.

'I should have known better!'

"If you want me to let you... if you..." Zoro struggled to find the right words, not wanting to push his bereft lover deeper into despair. "Say the word and I'll leave you alone, if you want me to. I'll go, I won't be mad if-"

"No!"

The word was a desperate, choked plea. A much as her torment tortured Zoro, as much as he wanted to leave and spare her pride until she could collect herself, he couldn't walk away from her in this anguished state.

"Zoro! Don't leave me! Please!"

Zoro held her more tightly. Her legs buckled and he followed her to the floor, kneeling as she bawled against him helplessly.

"Never!" Zoro promised vehemently. "That's the whole point, isn't it? I'll never leave you."

Lana only cried harder, but she was glad that he didn't let her go.

It felt like an eternity, but Lana's wails died down eventually. Zoro stroked her hair, silent as he waited for her storm to quiet. When she had finally cried all her tears, he wiped her cheeks dry. Terrible as this ordeal had become, Zoro was grateful for one thing at least.

'I didn't hurt her feelings after all. All this, her running off, shutting me out... none of it really has anything to do with me after all.'

Zoro felt no offense and the revelation, only relief.

Vision still swimming, breath still stuttering, Lana met Zoro's eyes to find them full of fury. Dismay washed over her devastatingly, self doubt dragging her to the lowest depths of despair, further than she'd ever imagined it possible to sink.

'I knew it... he thinks this is so stupid. He thinks I'm weak, that I'm being dumb... I probably am.'

"Would it make you feel better..." Zoro asked, voice shaking with rage, "... if I bring you the bastard's head?"

"Wh-what?" Lana gasped.

"Whoever this guy is that hurt you. Whoever it was that made you those promises and broke them. I'll return this suffering on him a thousandfold. I'll tear him to shreds. Tell me that's what you want, and I'll get Luffy to tell me I can hunt him down for you. I'll do so much worse than end him, if that's what it'll take to make you stop crying!"

Fire blazed in Zoro's eyes, a roaring inferno of wrath that Lana realized wasn't directed at her for her loss of control. These flames burned for her sake, longing to consume the source of her pain, to erase it violently from the world.

And Lana knew he would do it. There was nothing Zoro wouldn't do for her, no fight he would run from, no enemy he wouldn't obliterate in her name. She knew in her core that any promise her swordsman made, he would keep, no matter the cost.

"Oh, Zoro," she sighed. Tears welled up in her eyes again, but she hid them against his shoulder.

'Be mine forever and I'll be yours.'

The words echoed in her mind once more, but all she could hear this time was Zoro's voice.

'His. Forever.'

Without the weight of her past attached to the words, Lana realized there was still something holding her back from accepting his proposal. As much as she wanted to, as overwhelmed as she was with gratitude and adoration for the man who wanted her to be his wife, there was still something...

"Tell me," Zoro pressed. "I'll give you anything you ask for."

Lana lifted her face to press a brief, reverent kiss to his cheek.

"Time. Please..."

Zoro grunted unhappily, understanding immediately what she was requesting. Slaughter would have been an easier gift to impart.

"I love you so much," Lana went on, "... but please, I can't give you the answer you want today. I'm not ready. Understand?"

Her words softened the hard edges of Zoro's stubborn resolve. Their love had gone unspoken until now, at least in so many words. That realization gave Zoro pause. It wasn't something he'd put any thought into.

'Maybe I asked too soon... if we haven't even had time to speak it yet...'

"I said anything," Zoro conceded. "Time is... nothing. Of course you can have time. You can have all the time you want."

Zoro grit his teeth, his ire turning inward as Lana's slowing breaths swirled over the skin of his neck.

'I can't say no to her... that's going to be a problem. Someday I'm going to agree to something I'll end up regretting... maybe I already have.'

He couldn't worry about it now.

"And... Lana?" Zoro kissed her forehead tenderly. "I love you too."

"Aww!"

"So sweet!"

"How moving!"

A chorus of admiration betrayed the presence of the rest of the crew.

'Oh yeah, Luffy went to get them all,' Lana recalled, her face turning bright red as she peered over Zoro's shoulder to see their heads poking around the still-open doorway.

"Hey! Can't any of you jerks mind your own damn business?!" Zoro demanded, head swiveling to glare daggers at the comrades.

"It's not our fault!" Nami shot back defensively, stepping into full view with her hands on her hips. "Luffy dragged us all down here yammering about how Lana's gonna eat a devil fruit! Take it up with him!"

"She told me she was gonna eat it!" Luffy huffed.

"I think she meant later," Robin put in with a beleaguered sigh.

"Yeah, these two clearly have a lot going on right now," Usopp tsked. "Seriously, Luffy, read the room."

"Will all you idiots just leave already?!" Zoro roared.

"Of course, bro! Come on, guys, these two need some privacy," Franky announced.

"Yeah, I feel so rude right now," Chopper sighed abashedly.

"So wait... Lana, don't eat the fruit without getting us first, okay?!" Luffy called as Nami towed him away by his ear.

"Sorry for disturbing you," Usopp mumbled, taking it upon himself to finally close the door in parting.

Zoro and Lana sighed simultaneously.

"Idiots!" Zoro muttered in embarrassment.

"It's nice that they care so much, I guess, but why couldn't they have walked away sooner?" Lana lamented.

"That's just Luffy for you."

"Luffy I get, he has zero ability to navigate sensitive situations... but everyone else? They should have known better!"

They're all birds of a feather," Zoro grumbled.

"Nosy birds."

"Yep."

____________________________________________________

<== Previous Chapter

Next Chapter ==>

== First Chapter ==

[darkmatter-nebula]

Steve falls into a thorn bush and Colli uses his healing magic.

Hi! Thank you for the request!

Drabble: The Thorn Bush

"Thank you so much, Shooting Star!" Steve, who fell into a thorn bush, was clearly grateful as a certain small starboy with otherworldly fluffy lavender hair and a heart of gold used his magic to heal the horned man.

"I'm glad that I could help you, Stevie." Colli said with a very sweet smile on his adorable multi-colored face. Steve couldn't help but smile as well as he wrapped his arms around the kindhearted eternal child. Colli happily cuddled close to him.

The former Scout was, not unlike everyone else who loved Colli, very protective of the immortal celestial boy. Colli meant so much to a lot of people and should anything happen to him, his loved ones would hunt down whoever had hurt Colli.

The End

[booklover223]

Bruce is worried. Jason hasn’t been talking with his family for a few weeks because of some argument that pissed him off (there’s too many times it happens that he’s stopped caring about what set him off). But even though he has complicated feeling about his family he still knows their tells. And Bruce is worried. Has been worried for some time from the way he’s even more clipped when on comms.

Jason wonders if it’s something for the JL because Gotham has actually been pretty quiet lately though he wouldn’t say that out loud or even through text in case Murphy strikes, but it has been quiet and he’s honestly grateful, though agitated as he waits to see why it’s been so quiet. There’s only been one breakout from Arkham (it was Joker because when isn’t it that fucking clown) but he was busy dealing with Hood business at the time and it was resolved quickly according to Dick so he let it be, but now he was curious especially with B as worked up as he is, so after patrol he swings by the mansion to his family’s surprise.

When he learns about the headstrong, tall and imposing new Psychiatrist at Arkham (totally Dick’s type he loves a woman that can boss him around) who has captured Jokers attention, and who doesn’t put up with his shit at all? The new girl, Dr. Jasmine Nightingale, is a mystery to him, but it says she’s been working at Arkham for 3 weeks now has made progress with many of their lower ranking rouges. No luck with Joker (that’s a given jason rolled his eyes internally) but she actually seems to be helping some of them. Joker seems fascinated by why she isn’t affected by anything he says or does. Something about her doesn’t sit right with him though, he can’t explain why but he needs to see why this woman is unaffected by the joker.

It all comes to a head one day when Joker escapes with the new girl and has her strapped down in a warehouse with a few bombs. The birds and bats all swarm trying to get into position to save her and stop the bombs but there are more than expected. They notice a civilian around Jason’s age walk in seemingly unnoticed by Joker and proceeds to untie Jasmine. She looks annoyed but smiles at whoever that guy was before whispering something to him. He nods and they go, to hide or escape the team don’t know but they watch as seconds later a glowing green Lazarus pit swirls into view in front of joker.

The few goons Joker had scrounged up stop and stare at their boss who had stopped talking but still had a deranged smile on his face. From the portal comes a regal looking man with a crown that looked to be made of fire and ice simultaneously. He’s wearing what looks like medieval armor and a sword on his hip; ethereal white hair floats with him as if they’re not affected by gravity at all. The being stares at joker before with a swift move joker’s arms and legs are encased in green tinted ice.

“Jackson Oswald White, Joker; self proclaimed Clown Prince of Crime; you have made a grievous error.” The being turns and looks directly at Jason for a moment before he continues speaking. “With the Red Hood, the Avenger of the Alley, as my witness; I sentence you to eternity in the nightmare realm. You will either learn repentance before being ended or suffer until you are nothing.” With that said, an absolutely monstrous Knight in black glowing armour seemingly appears out of thin air beside the being and as Joker starts to laugh (Jason’s eyes tint green as he grits his teeth) the knight raises his sword and plunges it into the Joker who’s laughter abruptly cuts off and Jason watches as a bright flash of light encases the stupid clown before in a blink, he’s gone.

Tension bleeds out of Jason, and he’s so so grateful that he’s wearing his hood right now because his eyes prick and relief floods through him, he slumps slightly as he watches the being nod to him before turning around and going back through the swirling portal. He knows he’s gonna need to talk to the bats, but right now he just wants to go home and cry in peace, finally, FINALLY his murderer is gone. They’re gonna have to find out where and who the being is, Bruce won’t stop until he knows everything, but for now the danger is over and Jason finally feels safe for the first time since he came back to life.

Jazz just wanted to finish her shopping and make the trip back home. But no. Some fruitloop decided to pull out a weapon and yelling at everyone to get on the floor and give him all their valuables.

Please.

It didn't even take Jazz give second getting the guy kicked out of the store without issue. Stupid idiot. If he's going to pretend being a clown, at least be funny and well... intimidating.

"... you just became the Jokers target..."

"She won't survive the night."

"Poor thing."

Jazz didn't bother with the comments and just went back to her car.

[gracefortheday]

GRACE FOR THE DAY

JANUARY 5, 2025, SUNDAY

Entry: 4:55am, Quezon City

WORSHIP:

VERSE OF THE DAY LUKE 7:47 Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven-for she loved much. But he who is forgiven little, loves little.

Our response to Him in worship and gratitude shows the depth of which we understand His saving grace in our lives. worship little, understand little. 2 people owed money, the one who owed a lot was more grateful. "Your faith has saved you" The woman knows that no matter how far you go, God's love goes further and it can reach you wherever you are. Respond to God with everything in your heart God's love and grace is the foundation of gratitude. by Louie Giglio

God, thank You for saving and loving me. Thank You for forgiveness. Your Forgiveness changes everything. Help me to show You the honor and love that You deserve. Give me a heart of gratefulness that prompts me to worship You. In Jesus' name, Amen.

THE HABIT OF GRATITUDE Life doesn't always consist of those mountaintop moments. Gratitude will be tested by the barrage of trivialities and inconveniences of everyday life. PRAY. Pray continually. Direct your thoughts towards God. Gratitude is a response first and foremost to God's continual love. Gain the right perspective on life. You are a humble human before God. Humility brings rejoicing.

God, break through my barriers that keep me from gratitude, and elevate my eyes, that I would give thanks to You always. In Jesus name, Amen.

JOHN 3:16 For God to loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life

God's heart is so wonderfully great and unimaginably powerful, compassionate and generous beyond belief. God has repeatedly and consistently been loving and forgiving. His mercy is a testament of His great love. What an amazing time and opportunity everyday was and is because Jesus has saved me. It's the perfect reason for every season, IT's the perfect purpose for every creation. The Creator has provided all things we need even our greatest need, forgiveness He gave, immediately, with full power, and in the perfectly wonderful way. Such a wonderful life to live, in the presence of my Creator who loves me and cares deeply for me. Thank You Jesus.

MATTHEW 6:34 Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is it's own trouble.

God, thank You for leading me with love and compassion. Even Your corrections are filled with kindness. Right now, please help me to pay attention to how You are asking me to grow, and give me the courage to change. It is an honor to spend time with You -and I don't want to take this time for granted. So here I am, Lord. Please speak to me, use me, and change me. In Jesus' name, Amen.

DAILY BIBLE READING GENESIS 13-15 MATTHEW 5:1-26

ABRAM AND LOT SEPARATE Abram to Egypt, Lot to Negeb. Abram went to Bethel and Ai, in his tent and first altar, He called upon the name of the Lord. There was strife between herdsmen of Lot and Abram when canaanites and perizzites were still in the land. Lot chose Jordan Valley to the east, to Sodom. Abram stayed in Canaan. The Lord said to Abram, "for all the land that you see I will give to you and to your offspring forever, arise, walk through the length and the breadth of the land, for I will give it to you." Abram moved his tent and settled by the oaks of Mamre, in Hebron and built an altar to the Lord. ABRAM RESCUES LOT Sodom was under war and all Lot's posessions were taken. Abram was informed and he led forth his trained men, 318, and went in pursuit as far as dan and they were victorious against Lot's enemy. ABRAM BLESSED BY MELCHIZEDEK Melchizedek the king of Salem brought out bread and wine. (priest of God Most High) and blessed him and said. "Blessed be Abram by God Most High, Possessor of heaven and earth; and blessed be God Most High, who has delivered your enemies into your hand!" and Abram gave him a tenth of everything. "I will take nothing but what the young men have eaten, and the share of the men who went with me. Let Aner, Eshcol, and Mamre take their share." GOD'S COVENANT WITH ABRAM After these things the word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision: "Fear not, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be shall very great." "O Lord God is the heir of my house Eliezer of Damascus?" "This man shall not be your heir; your very own son shall be your heir" God brought him outside "Look toward heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them, so shall your offspring be." Abram believed the Lord, and he counted it to him as righteousness. "I gave you this land to possess" "How do I know?" Abram obeyed God and offered animal sacrifices. A deep sleep and darkness fell on him. "Know for certain that your offspring will be sojourners and servants in a land not theirs, afflicted for 400 years, but I will bring judgment on the nation that they serve and they will come out with great possessions. You shall go to your fathers in peace; you shall be buried in a good age. And they shall come back here in the fourth generation, for the iniquity of the Amorites is not yet complete" a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch passed between these pieces. The Lord made covenant with Abram saying: "To your offspring I give this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river of Euphrates.." THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT Seeing the crowds, Jesus went on the mountain, sat down and disciples came. THE BEATITUDES Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are the reviled on My account, Rejoice and be glad for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

SALT AND LIGHT “You are the salt of the earth, but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled under people’s feet. “You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.

CHRIST CAME TO FULFILL THE LAW “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. For truly, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot, will pass from the Law until all is accomplished. Therefore whoever relaxes one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

ANGER “You have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not murder; and whoever murders will be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother will be liable to the council; and whoever says, ‘You fool!’ will be liable to the hell of fire. So if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift. Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are going with him to court, lest your accuser hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you be put in prison. Truly, I say to you, you will never get out until you have paid the last penny.

PSALM 139:1-12 1O Lord, you have searched me and known me! 2You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from afar. 3You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. 4Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O Lord, you know it altogether. 5You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. 6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high; I cannot attain it. 7 Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence? 8 If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there! 9If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, 10even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me. 11If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night,” 12 even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you.

Psalm 139 is one of the most intimate of the psalms. Such closeness comes through in David’s extensive use of second- and first-person pronouns. John Stott makes this observation in his book Authentic Christianity: “ Psalm 139 is arguably the most radical statement in the Old Testament of God’s personal relationship to the individual. Personal pronouns and possessives occur in the first person (I, me, my) forty-six times and in the second person (you, yours) thirty-two times.” This intimacy prompts the psalmist’s praise (vv. 14, 17-18) and prayers that consider his and God’s enemies (vv. 19-22) and his desire for deeper communion with Him: “Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting” (vv. 23-24). By: Arthur Jackson

GOD KNOWS EVERYTHING PSALM 139:3 You see me when I travel and when I rest at home. You know everything I do.

God truly knows all. But according to an article in The Wall Street Journal, the National Security Agency knows a great deal about us as well through our smartphone data trails. Everyone who owns a cell phone creates “metadata” that leaves a “digital trail.” While each individual crumb of data might seem insignificant, when it’s combined and analyzed, it provides “one of the most powerful investigative tools ever devised.” By tracing our metadata, investigators can pinpoint where we’ve been or where we are at any given moment. Far more superior than the NSA’s digital trail analysis, David said God knows where we are in relation to Him. In Psalm 139, he addresses a prayer to God, the one who alone can search and examine what’s going on inside of us (v. 1). The psalmist wrote, “Search me, God, and know my heart” (v. 23). He knows everything about us (vv. 2-6), is present everywhere (vv. 7-12), and “created [our] inmost being” (vv. 13-16). His thoughts are higher than our human understanding (vv. 17-18), and He’s even with us as we face our enemies (vv. 19-22). Because God is all-knowing, ever-present, and all-powerful, He knows exactly where we’ve been, what we’ve been doing, and what we’re made of. But He’s also a loving Father who will help us walk in His ways. Let’s follow Him down the trail of life today. By: Marvin Williams

Reflect & Pray How does it encourage you to know God truly knows you? How are you walking with Him?

Dear God, thank You for loving me even though You know all about me. Please help me to walk well with You. In Jesus' name, I pray, Amen.

NAMES OF JESUS FOR ADVENT: THE WORD

Describing Jesus (at the start of the Gospel of John) is no small thing. In Jewish culture, words were powerful. In Genesis 1, we hear of the world being spoken into existence. Creation was brought into existence by the word. And in John 1, the Word is revealed as the second Person of the triune God, who said it and it was done. He spoke all things out of nothing in the first creation, He was in the beginning with God the Father, and was God, and by Him all things were created (John 1:14, John 1:9-18). Jesus not only spoke words that lead to eternal life, but according to this verse He is the very words of life, referring to the eternal life of joy and fulfilment which He provides.

Putting this all together for the Jews of Jesus’ time, The Word was more than just language and communication. The Word meant life, power, and was personally involved with them. Jesus as the Word of God means perfect relationship with God, and with us. We can approach the throne of God with confidence knowing that Jesus, as the Word of God, has done it all.

JOHN 1:1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2He was in the beginning with God.

[ongolecharles]

DAILY SCRIPTURE READINGS (DSR) 📚 Group, Fri Jan 10th, 2025 ... Friday after Epiphany of the Lord, Year C

Reading I

----------

1 John 5:5-13

Beloved:

Who indeed is the victor over the world

but the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God?

This is the one who came through water and Blood, Jesus Christ,

not by water alone, but by water and Blood. 

The Spirit is the one who testifies,

and the Spirit is truth. 

So there are three who testify,

the Spirit, the water, and the Blood, 

and the three are of one accord. 

If we accept human testimony,

the testimony of God is surely greater. 

Now the testimony of God is this,

that he has testified on behalf of his Son. 

Whoever believes in the Son of God

has this testimony within himself.

Whoever does not believe God has made him a liar

by not believing the testimony God has given about his Son. 

And this is the testimony:

God gave us eternal life,

and this life is in his Son. 

Whoever possesses the Son has life;

whoever does not possess the Son of God does not have life.

I write these things to you so that you may know

that you have eternal life,

you who believe in the name of the Son of God.

Responsorial Psalm

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

Psalm 147:12-13, 14-15, 19-20

R.    (12a)  Praise the Lord, Jerusalem.

or:

R.    Alleluia.

Glorify the LORD, O Jerusalem;

    praise your God, O Zion.

For he has strengthened the bars of your gates;

    he has blessed your children within you.

R.    Praise the Lord, Jerusalem.

or:

R.    Alleluia.

He has granted peace in your borders;

    with the best of wheat he fills you.

He sends forth his command to the earth;

    swiftly runs his word!

R.    Praise the Lord, Jerusalem.

or:

R.    Alleluia.

He has proclaimed his word to Jacob,

    his statutes and his ordinances to Israel.

He has not done thus for any other nation;

    his ordinances he has not made known to them. Alleluia.

R.    Praise the Lord, Jerusalem.

or:

R.    Alleluia.

Alleluia

---------

Matthew 4:23

R. Alleluia, alleluia.

Jesus proclaimed the Gospel of the Kingdom

and cured every disease among the people.

R. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel

---------

Luke 5:12-16

It happened that there was a man full of leprosy in one of the towns where Jesus was;

and when he saw Jesus,

he fell prostrate, pleaded with him, and said,

“Lord, if you wish, you can make me clean.” 

Jesus stretched out his hand, touched him, and said,

“I do will it.  Be made clean.” 

And the leprosy left him immediately. 

Then he ordered him not to tell anyone, but

“Go, show yourself to the priest and offer for your cleansing

what Moses prescribed; that will be proof for them.” 

The report about him spread all the more,

and great crowds assembled to listen to him

and to be cured of their ailments,

but he would withdraw to deserted places to pray.

***

FOCUS AND LITURGY OF THE WORD

Today’s Gospel reading ends with an interesting line:

The report about him spread all the more, and great crowds assembled to listen to him and to be cured of their ailments, but he would withdraw to deserted places to pray.

Perform a miracle and then withdraw to a deserted place to pray? What a far cry from the world we live in today. Sports stars pound their chests and flex their muscles after every good play. Requests to “like” me on social media are more common now than a simple thank you. LinkedIn provides an endless account of the holder’s accomplishments, some noteworthy but most not.  

What ever happened to good old humility? Sad but true, the world of today equates humility with someone who is unsure of themselves or has low self-esteem. If you are not tooting your own horn, you must be a nobody. But as Christians, we know this could not be further from the truth.

If our goal is to live a more Christ-centered life, then we must learn to temper our egos. We must surrender ourselves to God’s will. In so doing, we are affirming God’s omnipotent hand in all we do, each day of our lives. With humility comes a grateful heart, as we become more and more aware of the blessings that God bestows on us. By practicing this simple act, we will nurture and grow our faith.

So, as we continue on in this all too messy world, let us find our own deserted place to pray, to humbly reflect on our flaws and also on our talents, and what we can do to correct or grow them so we can better serve the Lord. Hopefully, by nurturing our own humility, we will become more Christ-like, more willing to forgive, more open to the views of others, more engaged in serving others with our time, talent and treasure.

So with humility lets pray …..

Take Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, and my entire will, all that I have and possess. Thou hast given all to me. To Thee, O lord, I return it. All is Thine, dispose of it wholly according to Thy will. Give me Thy love and thy grace, for this is sufficient for me.

- Ignatius Loyola

***

SAINT OF THE DAY

Saint Gregory of Nyssa

(c. 335 – 395)

Saint Gregory of Nyssa’s Story

The son of two saints, Basil and Emmilia, young Gregory was raised by his older brother, Saint Basil the Great, and his sister, Macrina, in modern-day Turkey. Gregory’s success in his studies suggested great things were ahead for him. After becoming a professor of rhetoric, he was persuaded to devote his learning and efforts to the Church. By then married, Gregory went on to study for the priesthood and become ordained (this at a time when celibacy was not a matter of law for priests).

He was elected Bishop of Nyssa in 372, a period of great tension over the Arian heresy, which denied the divinity of Christ. Briefly arrested after being falsely accused of embezzling Church funds, Gregory was restored to his see in 378, an act met with great joy by his people.

It was after the death of his beloved brother Basil, that Gregory really came into his own. He wrote with great effectiveness against Arianism and other questionable doctrines, gaining a reputation as a defender of orthodoxy. He was sent on missions to counter other heresies and held a position of prominence at the Council of Constantinople. His fine reputation stayed with him for the remainder of his life, but over the centuries it gradually declined as the authorship of his writings became less and less certain. But, thanks to the work of scholars in the 20th century, his stature is once again appreciated. Indeed, Saint Gregory of Nyssa is seen not simply as a pillar of orthodoxy but as one of the great contributors to the mystical tradition in Christian spirituality and to monasticism itself.

Reflection

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Orthodoxy is a word that can raise red flags in our minds. To some people it may connote rigid attitudes that make no room for honest differences of opinion. But it might just as well suggest something else: faith that has settled deep in one’s bones. Gregory’s faith was like that. So deeply embedded was his faith in Jesus that he knew the divinity that Arianism denied. When we resist something offered as truth without knowing exactly why, it may be because our faith has settled in our bones.

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[erebusvincent]

I’m grateful to Andrew for listening to Donald Trump and Elon Musk last night and sparing me that unpleasantness.

But I did listen to some of the clips this morning.

Here’s my take: Trump’s awful.

This is, I acknowledge, not breaking news. Trump’s awfulness has been so obvious for so long, and we now take it so much for granted, that it seems silly or gauche to point it out.

Still at the risk of seeming overly earnest or moralistic, I am once again going to point it out: Trump. Is. Bad. Uncommonly bad, even by the standards of today’s politics. And he’s someone whose depravity makes today’s politics far worse than they would otherwise be.

The aspect of his degeneracy that most struck me once again in his appearance last night is this: Trump admires dictators.

As he said to Musk, “Elon, I know every one of them and I know them well. I know Putin, I know Xi, and Kim Jung Un. . . . They are at the top of their game. They’re tough, they’re smart, they’re vicious.”

And he went on to explain how well he got along with those vicious dictators. Vladimir Putin, who is right now conducting a brutal war of aggression that has claimed hundreds of thousands of lives? “I got along with Putin very well, and he respected me.”

North Korea’s Kim Jung Un, who presides over the world’s most totalitarian hellscape: “You know, I got along with Kim Jung Un. We had dinner. We had . . . everything. He really liked me. And I got along with him really well. We had a good relationship.”

This isn’t realpolitik. It’s the public and unapologetic admiration of viciousness.

If one loves the United States of America and the principles on which it stands, one cannot but hate this.

In the 1850s, Stephen Douglas took a “don’t care” stance on the question of whether new territories or states would allow slavery. Douglas was a far superior man to Trump, and he thought an openly amoral position on slavery necessary to preserve the Union.

But Lincoln denounced Duglas’s stance unreservedly. The Founders, according to Lincoln, were willing to tolerate slavery where it existed. But they prohibited the spread of slavery into new territories, where it had not existed, and held out the prospect of slavery’s ultimate extinction. This resistance to slavery’s expansion and the prospect of its extinction were key to the moral grounding of the nation.

And so on October 7, 1858, in their debate at Galesburg, Illinois, Lincoln said of Douglas: 

He is blowing out the moral lights around us, when he contends that whoever wants slaves has a right to hold them; he is penetrating, so far as lies in his power, the human soul, and eradicating the light of reason and the love of liberty, when he is in every possible way preparing the public mind, by his vast influence, for making the institution of slavery perpetual and national.

A week later, on October 15, at Alton, Illinois, Lincoln developed his argument further:

That is the real issue. That is the issue that will continue in this country when these poor tongues of Judge Douglas and myself shall be silent. It is the eternal struggle between these two principles—right and wrong—throughout the world. They are the two principles that have stood face to face from the beginning of time, and will ever continue to struggle. The one is the common right of humanity and the other the divine right of kings. It is the same principle in whatever shape it develops itself. It is the same spirit that says, ‘You work and toil and earn bread, and I’ll eat it.’ No matter in what shape it comes, whether from the mouth of a king who seeks to bestride the people of his own nation and live by the fruit of their labor, or from one race of men as an apology for enslaving another race, it is the same tyrannical principle.

Today it is Trump who is blowing out the moral lights around us.

This doesn’t mean that everyone who seeks to deny Trump another term as president needs to talk only about this aspect of Trumpism. Lincoln’s Republican party didn’t campaign exclusively on slavery, and it appealed to different constituencies with various policy proposals.

Kamala Harris should do the same. She and her fellow Democrats don’t have to spend every minute denouncing Trump or explaining how dangerous he is. In fact, as a tactical matter, they should probably spend much more time building up Harris and explaining her program than focusing on Trump; it’s not clear that there’s much more information to be imparted about Trump, whereas voters still have to get comfortable with the rather sudden prospect of a Harris presidency.

But still, beneath all the political maneuvering—which is important!—one can’t lose sight of the real issue: The fight for “the common right of humanity” against the old and awful doctrine that it is might that makes right.