#like his sentences are layered and carefully chosen

[ilynpilled]

The thing about the hand loss and how people attach things behind it like “it was as a result of Jaime’s arrogance towards Hoat” or “he lost it because he saved Brienne from rape,” is that neither is true to what actually happens in the text. Those actions still hold meaning, sure, but the chop itself is also independent to it all (the maiming is symbolically karmic in a lot of ways as it is tied to his greatest sins, but that is not what i am talking about). The capture itself is different, but the right hand and his fate was doomed the moment he landed in Hoat’s hands for reasons out of his control. What is so good about it is that the hand chop is not really about Jaime as a human being (which makes it causing one of the biggest existential crises in the series all the more interesting), and more about Jaime as a token. Ironically, his status and relationship to his father is what ends up dehumanizing him entirely. There are so many things going on outside of Jaime. He is an integral political piece, every side is scrambling for him for different reasons, and he is fully treated as such in the Riverlands.

Hoat had his own motivation, that is much bigger than Jaime, due to his previous betrayal of Tywin, which turned into a death sentence following the results of Blackwater. As Roose implies throughout the dinner conversation, Jaime’s hand chop was, above all else, the result of Tywin and the ruthless foundation of much of his authority (the Reynes and Tarbecks are brought up again). And what I like about it, other than the emphasis on the players constantly making moves solely for their own benefit in war while everyone else suffers the consequences, is that it does address and criticize the Lannister method a whole lot. The hand chop almost feels less karmic for Jaime himself than it does for Tywin. It is another reason that I find the perspective that these books were heralding this kind of sociopathic ruthlessness as competent and uber effective while completely condemning the relatively more “moral” Starks so funny. Like without even getting into where we are headed in the aftermath of the WoT5K, the holes within the “Tywin method” are already being explored. And the results are creeping towards Tywin himself, invading his family, because it is his very heir that suffers directly from it. The more we move along in the story the more the distance lessens between him and his putrid actions to cement his authority and power. “I’ve lost a hand, a father, a son, a sister, and a lover, and soon enough I will lose a brother. And yet they keep telling me House Lannister won this war.” is a Tywin/House Lannister thesis when it comes to the events of ASoS. For a start, he is the one who brought in the Bloody Mummers. The cruelty he unleashes on the smallfolk ends up coming back to him directly through his heir being the one experiencing it full force. There is the layer of loyalty vs utilizing sellswords, which is one way the conflicting sides in the war foil each other, and it is a root cause of the betrayal to begin with. If you use these men, you can end up suffering the consequences yourself, loyalty can only be bought if you remain the highest bidder. Relying on greed is fragile. Then, the part that Jaime is repeatedly faced with throughout his narrative: fear ≠ trust.

Hoat is smart enough to realize by now that his betrayal will not be pardoned by Tywin. Jaime’s offer means nothing in terms of his safety. He is aware of his low status and the meaning of his action to Tywin. That is what truly dooms Jaime and his hand. Hoat needed that token, and he needed to secure a path for himself (without losing his token along the way to Roose) to the Karstarks. He made sure that he brought Roose down with him, and put him in a difficult situation. Sure, Jaime’s skill itself is a huge threat and liability, but that is not the primary motivator. It is his sole ticket to safety from Tywin’s ruthlessness.

Then the goat gets outsmarted by Roose, and Jaime catches on to that part, so Hoat does take the L ultimately I fear, but these layers remain and it adds a lot. I also like how in ASoS, Jaime’s status is constantly fluctuating between dooming him and saving him. It often depends on how clever he is being in the moment.

[hisui-dreamer]

ode to the scheming eel

Pairing: Jade Leech x gn!reader

Synopsis: the world would never know how wonderful he is, but he was a treasure beyond compare

Tags: drabble, fluff, slightly poetic hehe, reader is a simp for jade

Word count: 604

Notes: double posting for floyd's too!!! eel birthday fics wooo!

yes it's been a few days but im still celebrating (⁠ﾉ⁠≧⁠∇⁠≦⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠ ⁠ﾐ⁠ ⁠┻⁠━⁠┻

Masterlist

Your lover often keeps himself wrapped in layers of soft-spoken charm and formal eloquence. The world sees him as a meticulous vice housewarden, yet, there's more to him than meets the eye. He revels in the art of deception, a master puppeteer manipulating the strings of those around him. Words, for him, are the weapons of choice, and he wields them with a finesse that leaves others bewildered. They dance with a subtle wit, each sentence a carefully crafted tapestry of indirect barbs veiled in layers of politeness, but cut sharper than any blade.

Your lover possesses a subtle artistry in the way he observes you. His keen eyes, like an ever-watchful guardian, seem to unravel the intricacies of your being with each passing moment. His enjoyment in watching you is not invasive; instead, it's a delicate dance of understanding, an appreciation for the nuances that make you who you are. In his gaze, you feel a sense of acceptance and fascination, a warmth that borders on admiration. And though he may be admit to being uncomfortable when it becomes your turn to observe him, there’s no denying the blissful smile on his flushed face.

Your lover possesses a remarkable capacity for care and an unparalleled attention to detail that extends beyond the bounds of ordinary affection. It's as if he holds an intimate map of your well-being, meticulously navigating the subtle shifts in your mood. His eyes, sharp and perceptive, catch the nuances of your expressions, and his gentle inquiries are a testament to the depth of his concern. Whether it's a fleeting illness or the weight of a difficult day, his caring nature unveils itself in the subtle gestures—a comforting touch, a jacket on your shoulders, a few words of motivation, or simply a quiet presence that speaks volumes. His attention to the nuances of your emotional landscape is a testament to the genuine and compassionate love he harbours for you.

Your lover takes immense pleasure in the teasing you, delighting in the subtle dance of words that elicit reactions from you. He possesses a mischievous flair, savouring each moment as he skilfully weaves playful banter into your interactions. The sparkle in his eyes betrays the satisfaction he finds in observing your responses, a testament to his mastery in the delicate game of verbal sparring. However, the tables turn when you successfully tease him back. In those moments, a subtle flush colours his cheeks, his usually eloquent words falter, replaced by a silent vulnerability that reveals a side of him he keeps well-guarded. It's in these instances that the power dynamic shifts, and you catch precious glimpses of your tender, unguarded lover beneath the veil of his composed exterior.

Your lover's unusual obsession with mushrooms may be slightly concerning, but you can’t find it in yourself to deny him when his eyes shine with delight. There's an undeniable allure in witnessing his fervor, and you find yourself incapable of withholding support. Your scavenging hikes become cherished adventures, traversing landscapes in search of the elusive fungi. Throughout the journey, he remains attentive, ensuring your well-being at every turn. In embracing his passion, you discover a shared joy that transforms any reservations into moments of bonding and shared experiences.

Your lover, with all his complexities, is the masterpiece you've chosen to love, a canvas painted with shades of eloquence, mischief, and a profound appreciation for the beauty that others may overlook. You find yourself captivated by the enigma that he is, drawn to the uncharted territories of his thoughts and the subtleties of his actions.

Your lover, is none other than Jade Leech.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[namazunomegami]

11 and 21 for the writer ask thing!!

Omg, girl, you're a blessing!

11. Books and/or authors who influenced you the most

No doubt, Frank Herbert is the one who influenced me the most. Like, he literally changed my writing style and techniques from the basics when I read Dune. I absolutely abide his rule that "if you want to be a great writer, write about what you know best" or something along the lines. Basically, write about what you're interested in and willing to put effort in it. In Herbert's case, he was interested in how environtments change people and vice versa, to me I guess it's how people have an effect on each other and I know dysfunctonial relationships like the back of my hand.

I also like subverting tropes in the way that he did with Dune and the whole "hero's journey/chosen one" thing. And using an omnipresent/omniscient narrator, constantly switching POVs in a scene.

It's so funny but I think I should thank Tarantino for influencing me when it comes to writing dialogues. You shouldn't be afraid to put some mundane stuff when your characters are talking, and you can deliver tension with a few carefully chosen words in these mundane segments. And also building your characters through conversations, because that's how real people do when they don't know each other. I always circle back to Inglourious Basterds which is understandable, it's one of my fave movies all time but this movie is the epitome of building up tension in just dialogue alone, and the setting, the character's manerism is just spice to the whole scene.

But some of the writers here on this site are great sources of inspiration too. If I want to write a fic that makes your skin crawl, I read something from @/rush-the-stars or @/banjjakz since their writing styles will never fail to amaze me.

21. Who is/are your favorite character(s) to write?

I think Geto deserves to own a fave title for the sheer amount of shit that I wrote for him. There're countless wips that yall don't know of or won't plan on sharing.

But I like morally questionable, emotionally constipated guys who act like nothing fazes them but go soft for one person. And maybe... have crazy ways to protect them from literally anything. Or not. I have fics and wips of really shitty characters who only want to hurt the reader and they're generally delighted by their pain. But hey, don't judge me, this is a dark content blog.

Characters that can give you a bit of a psychic damage if they want to. The ones that are so complex it makes me want to pull them apart to see their layers and explore them.

To talk about my wips a lil bit, writing Alastor and Asmodeus were quite the fun! I enjoyed every single sentence that I came up with for their dialouges. For you, I really want to elaborate on what I like about writing Adam but sadly I couldn't spend enough time with his fic yet.

About readers... I like the ones who are blusterous, driven, observant, stubborn and even petty to the point to make stupid decisions because that was the only way they saw it right. Shy and inherently submissive readers (even tho that my readers are submissive in sexual situations) kinda make me feel cornered and limited.

When I was thinking about how to answer this ask, an original character, Lotte came up in my mind as my fave character to write. She's the main character of my novel and recently reread the doc (that shit deserves a massive rewrite) and I just love her so much and all the time I can spend in her head. All that pain, repressed anger, petty defiance yet the rest of her emotions are dull and muted from all the suffering she experienced. And even tho she is fucked up beyond repair, her heart is still filled with love, an almost chivalrous kind of need to protect anything that's dear to her. And the arc her character leads me through is just amazing. This is the character I love to write.

[arc-77]

@ofblasters » (MIRAX KUROON) :

                   ❝  i’ve heard much the same from veterans i’ve spoken to, sir.  ❞    the urge to simply speak her mind surged within her lungs, but she bit down hard upon the impulse.   now was not the time for criticism, to dismiss his interest as, even if he chose her for some godsforsaken reason, he could never allow her ideas to take hold as she wished they could.   the fledging lieutenant had done the legwork, read the research, the budgets, the arguments which were within her classification.   to command, the cost-benefit ratio was too far off to pursue it, even as it cost lives, lives far more expensive in the long run than the innovation required for better armor.   even if they worked, her ideas were merely a fantasy, her criticism potentially treasonous... depending on who was asked.

                   pausing in her steps, forcing this obvious shepherding to halt at least a moment, she pivoted to face him.     ❝  there are multiple ways this could be approached, but namely, i believe, along with restructuring the angles and thicknesses of the standard issue and layering the existing composite with the potential one, we could lighten the overall weight while the extra strength depends entirely on how actually durable and resistant the new composite proves.  ❞     as subtly as she could, mirax caught her breath, wishing to shake her head at the ridiculousness of it all.   she’d end up testing the quality of the food supply on some star destroyer somewhere deep in the rim, not involved in innovations no one wanted but those forever maimed by others’ disregard.      ❝  it’s already a technique used in officer combat and some specialty armor, as i’m certain you’re familiar, sir, but there at a far greater expense.  ❞      

                    and then, there was the unknown, the eternal void of possibilities in clearances she did not yet hold, perhaps never will.     ❝  an in depth study of that grade of composites hasn’t taken place, as far as i can find, since the beginning of the clone war.   if there hasn’t been one i’m not allowed to know of yet, logically there should be.  ❞

Her sentences were measured, her words carefully chosen. Learned and refined by necessity of survival, as opposed to the confident-yet-flawed utterances of those carried through the academies by their zeal and privilege alone. Obscured beneath this cultivated surface was something more. Drive. Dissatisfaction. What he saw before him was a honed blade, underestimated by those around her. Given proper motivation and opportunity, there was much they might accomplish.

“Indeed. Logically, there should be. Initial investment in such a study would surely pale in comparison to many heavy-handed, resource-intensive projects our military has seemingly endless funding for — especially if, for instance, the required infrastructure was already in place.” He clasped his hands together behind his back, lowering his voice slightly. “One must wonder where the priorities lie.”

He knew why such improvements for the common infantry were never a priority. It was made abundantly clear to him, in the Empire’s earliest days, that he and his ilk were expendable assets, to be deployed and discarded as his betters saw fit. The practice remained at the core of the Imperial ideology and its war machine even through the advent of conscription, the unsavory reality painted over by propaganda and promises of advancement. Sheer luck and tenacity allowed him to infiltrate the ranks of his betters, but the knowledge of their sins remained always in the back of his mind.

He wondered if she had connected the dots herself. Something was bothering her. It was a good sign. He preferred those of a like mind.

“You’ve spent much time considering the prospect, clearly. How did this come to be your goal?”

[tatiekfuji]

Revealing the depth and complexity in the 52 -selected work of God’s love. Docx

About Denny Ja

In the world of Indonesian literature, there is no doubt that Denny Ja is one of the famous and respected writers. His work which is full of depth and complexity always manages to captivate the hearts of the readers. One of his latest works that should be noted is “God’s love alone”, which was chosen as the 52nd elected work of Denny JA. In this work, Denny JA once again shows his expertise in expressing various aspects of life with a unique and meaningful writing style.    “God’s Love alone” is a work that combines religiosity elements with very realistic storytelling. Denny JA succeeded in describing the complex relationship between humans and God in depth and emotionally. This work invites the reader to reflect and question various aspects in life, as well as exploring the true meaning of love and belief in God.    Through the main character, Denny Ja presents the life of a young man named Adam. Adam is a religious person and has a strong belief in God. However, Adam’s life is not easy. He must face various obstacles and trials that make him doubt his own beliefs. Denny Ja carefully described the internal conflict experienced by Adam, as well as his struggle to remain loyal to his faith.    In “God’s love alone”, Denny Ja also raises social issues that are relevant to the Indonesian people today. Through a short story contained in it, Denny Ja describes the various problems faced by the community, such as poverty, injustice, and social division. With a beautiful style of language and strong narrative, Denny Ja managed to make the reader carried away in the world he created.    One of the things that makes Denny Ja’s work so interesting is the use of rich and imaginative language. Denny Ja is able to use words very precisely to describe the atmosphere and feelings of the character. Every sentence in this work feels like a beautiful and emotional essay poem. Denny Ja also combines the elements of traditional literature with modern techniques, creating a unique and attractive writing style.    In addition, “God’s love alone” also shows Denny Ja’s expertise in composing complex and deep stories. In this work, there are many layers of narratives that are interrelated and reveal various aspects of life. The reader is invited to see from various points of view and understand the complexity that exists. Denny Ja is adept at managing the storyline and expressing important details in a timely manner, thus bringing the reader on an interesting journey and inspires the mind.    Of course, “God’s love alone” is a work that cannot be missed by Indonesian literature fans. Denny Ja succeeded in expressing the depth and complexity in life through this work. Not just a story, this work also teaches us to reflect and explore deeper meanings. Denny Ja once again proves himself as one of the best Indonesian writers with this work.    As readers, let us let ourselves swept away in the world created by Denny Ja in “God’s Love alone”. Let’s explore the depth and complexity of life through beautiful words. And in the end, let’s ponder the true meaning of love and belief in God.

Check in full: reveal the depth and complexity in the 52nd selected work of Denny JA: “God’s Love alone”

[fitaamel]

Revealing the sharpness of the mind in the work of Denny Ja 41: the strongest light

Revealing the sharpness of the mind in the work of Denny Ja 41: the strongest light In increasingly complex and challenging life, art has become an important means to express emotions and deep thoughts. One of the artists who was able to uncover the sharpness of the mind through his work was Denny Ja. The 41st chosen work, the strongest light, is a clear evidence of Denny JA's expertise in arranging stunning and meaningful words. Denny Ja, a famous writer and writer, has exceeded the limits of Indonesian literary arts with his work that continues to inspire and challenging. Through the strongest light, he presents an emotional journey that illuminates our mind. In this work, Denny Ja brings us on a charming spiritual journey. He invited the reader to reflect on the meaning of life, the relationship between humans and nature, and self -existence. In every word chosen carefully, he is able to describe the diversity of human emotions and show the layers of the minds of the mind hidden behind it. In the strongest light, Denny JA uses deep language and evocative metaphors. He combines philosophical knowledge, history, and culture to create a rich and attractive narrative. Each sentence feels like poetry, plays the feelings and imagination of the reader. Not only that, Denny JA also described the social and political conditions that exist in Indonesian society. He reviewed the injustice, corruption, and the struggle of the small people. In each of his writings, he emphasized the importance of social justice and invited us to act for better change. The strongest light not only touched the mind, but also aroused deep curiosity. Denny Ja plays words with extraordinary intelligence and sensitivity. He is able to present a complex story but is still easy to understand, and create a character that lives in it. In addition, this work also revealed the extraordinary strength of Denny JA's imagination. He described the beauty and uniqueness of Indonesia's nature, filling every page with a captivating picture of mountains, forests and oceans. In every narrative, we can feel the energy and natural wonders of inspiring. Through the strongest light, Denny Ja invites us to recognize ourselves and live life with enthusiasm. He presents a strong and inspiring character, which goes through their life journey, facing obstacles and finding the strongest light within themselves. This work is a reminder for all of us that we have unlimited potential to develop and achieve the goals of our lives. Overall, the strongest light is a work that expresses the sharpness of Denny JA's mind. In every word and sentence, he is able to arouse emotions and make us fascinated. His work not only entertains, but also provokes our thoughts and invites us to see the world with a new point of view. As readers, we not only witness the greatness of Denny JA as a writer, but also gain a deeper understanding of life and humans. The strongest light is proof that Indonesian literary arts have an extraordinary appeal, and that Denny JA is one of its best writers.

Check more: reveal the sharpness of the mind in the work of the 41st Denny Ja: the strongest light

[randomwriteronline]

"You should put on weight, beloved," Gaeric said suddenly. "There's signs this winter will be a rather rough one."

The other warden hummed and mumbled, half asleep and snuggled with his cheek thoroughly smooshed against his lover's vast chest: "I am not fat."

"I know, and that's what worries me," Gaeric replied gently. His fingers went to comb through white hair and gently massage at the nape of the man in his hold: "Bibarel fur linings can only do so much - you need some natural layers against the chill or you'll freeze yourself to death."

At that Ingo furrowed his brows and cracked open an eye to better process what he was hearing, because something didn't seem quite right.

"Oh," he exclaimed lazily after a moment of buffering: "You said I should gain weight. Not lose it."

Gaeric pulled himself a little away and looked at him like he was out of his mind.

"In this weather?" he asked, horrified.

Ingo made a quiet noise and pressed a chaste kiss to his neck.

"I wouldn't tell you to lose weight if I was sentencing you to death! Not even the Diamond Clan would - is it a thing in your homeland? Do people not value a good layer of fat against the cold?"

Now that Ingo thought about it, as muscular as they were, Gaeric and Irida did have a discreet amount of fluff on their limbs and stomach to hide them - carefully built through the years with what supplies the Icelands provided, while Palina was losing a bit of it now that she had mostly moved to the Coastlands, Lian was still balancing the distribution, and he himself had remained 'unreasonably lean' according to Calaba.

"I believe they do not," he agreed absentmindedly, leaning back into his beloved's embrace: "The only person to ever tell me to gain weight has been my..."

He interrupted himself, brows furrowing slightly as the fuzziest hint of a memory struggled to resurface: "My... Father... I believe. I think I had not... Been fed enough. Before he came around."

Ah, Gaeric reflected, a chosen father probably, like with him and Irida.

Either way he nodded approvingly and nuzzled a kiss on white hair: "He gets it. A good father-in-law with a good set of priorities. I would have loved to meet him."

Me too, Ingo thought to himself. "I have a feeling he would have liked you."

-

"Gaeric has said I should gain weight," Ingo started as he carefully folded his coat.

"Then you should," Melli simply replied.

He felt the other warden turn to look at him with that stinging surprised gaze of his and faced him, head sinking into his shoulders.

"What?" he asked, stoking the hearth a bit as the night promised to be anything but warm. "I don't like to admit it, but he knows his stuff when it comes to these things. The first time Sabi went to the Icelands he sent her back to us chubbier than a Croagunk's cheeks - and with Calaba in tow to lecture us with his exact words, she said, that we were fools for sending a scrawny child like that over with just some furs on her!"

He watched as Ingo debated wether or not to keep his tunic on, and shed his own.

"You aren't quite fat, though," he heard him say while he busied himself with pulling the garment over his head.

"I come from the South of Hisui too," he argued back, "And even then I've got plenty of things to keep me warm when I'm here in the mountains - you, for one."

"I an not sure my body heat alone would be sufficient to stave off a harsh season."

"Oh, you're no Skuntank, that's for sure, but you do try."

"Alas, I do not have fur."

Hair fully shaken out of the fabric, Melli turned back to the bed, where a lump was already under the covers; with incredible swiftness he snuck over and pressed his mouth to his darling's cheek.

"Maybe if you did have a bit more meat on you, you'd be a little warmer," he posited, slipping under the blankets and wrapping his long arms around the slightly stouter frame as he spooned him.

Soon enough he let out a soft groan into Ingo's nape: "Or at least your awfully sharp bones wouldn't stab my stomach as often..."

A laugh shook the back of the Pearl warden: "This is my hut, you know," he reminded him, shifting to get an arm around him, "I could leave you outside if I so decided."

"You won't," Melli replied flatly.

He was right, of course. But admitting his victory would have made him gloat incessantly about being right, so all he got was a kiss on his lips - which was in fact the same thing, but in this case he very gladly remained quiet if it meant he would get a couple more.

And because his lover was terribly soft about these things, he would get quite a lot.

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH39

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 39: Star Death Reality Show (XXII)

This sound was like a signal to escape. Janet, Alex, Jing Siyu and Jing Sixue ran away in fear, wishing to escape to the ends of the earth.

"Take Lara away, get back! I’ll lead it away, I can deal with it!" Qi Leren kicked Du Yue and told him to act quickly. He shot at the monster's head to attract its attention, and prepared to take it somewhere far away and solve it with his own hands.

The monster came out. The swollen amphioctopus broke from its host body, and Francis's body was like a deflated balloon hanging off the amphioctopus, but this space alien had revealed its true appearance—an odd tentacled creature shaped like an octopus, which was covered in Francis's blood, and had changed from a mass of parasitic "seeds" in the body to a dangerous predator full of viscous body fluids.

Its speed was extremely fast. After breaking free from the shackles of the human body, it rushed toward Qi Leren at an amazing speed!

Qi Leren stopped shooting, picked the flashlight up off the ground, sped up his strides with all his strength, and rushed through the corridor deep in the institute at an inhuman speed!

The boundary between prey and hunter was difficult to distinguish. Both sides were sure that they were the hunter, but it wasn’t known who would die.

The S/L Data’s thirty seconds had passed. At this time, Qi Leren, who didn't have an immortal body, could only rely on his own abilities to handle this difficult opponent. At a gallop, Qi Leren realized that the distance between the octopus and him was getting farther and farther, and he was running fast enough to get rid of this fast-moving monster after having broken the shell.

He looked back, glancing out of the corner of his eye. This monster, which looked like an octopus, came after him as quickly as if it was sliding on the ground. Fortunately, it still didn't run as fast as he did. Seeing that there was a T-shaped intersection ahead, he immediately cheered up and prepared for the final battle.

Three, two, one, do it!

Qi Leren bit the ring off his hand grenade and threw it behind him. He pushed his running body harder, jumping around a 90-degree corner, and hugged his head on the ground.

Boom—

A huge explosion sounded around the corner, and the flames from the explosion lit up the whole passageway. Even Qi Leren, who was lying on the ground, felt the immense heat and shaking, and countless debris blew out and sprayed straight into the corridor ahead. Hiding in the vertical position of the T-shaped corridor, Qi Leren survived the explosion unharmed.

It was over.

Qi Leren stood up and was about to lift his foot to go out when Chen Baiqi's warning came to mind again. He breathed a sigh of relief, kept on alert, and carefully stepped around the corner with his gun drawn.

The explosion had made this area ahead unrecognizable. The body of the octopus had been blown apart, and several tentacles were thrown on the metal wall, sliding down slowly together with mucus, dragging out a scarlet liquid trail. With the loss of its tentacles, the octopus would only move helplessly a few times before falling to the ground completely dead.

All the four mature amphioctopuses had been dealt with, which meant that requirements could be almost declared for this task. Even if there were still a few newly spawned parasitic amphioctopuses in the contestants, they could be easily distinguished by detecting them with the instruments. But to kill people... Qi Leren imagined the scene with a heavy heart.

Once parasitized, it was hopeless. All he could do was let the parasitized people die happily.

Qi Leren pursed his lips and felt a little dry cough. His throat choked by the smoke was also a little painful, but it was still within tolerance.

He should find Du Yue and meet with him first. Qi Leren thought about it and walked along the way back.

At the moment he walked around the corner, the flashlight in Qi Leren’s hands suddenly swept onto a reflective object. When he looked intently, it was a half-open iron door, just at the end of the corridor where he had escaped the explosion just now. That is, at the bottom of this T-shaped intersection, there was no other fork in the road at its end, only a lonely door.

There was no sign on the door, no words, no letters, no special symbols. It was just a heavy iron door, half-hidden, and it was dark inside.

Qi Leren's heartbeat suddenly slowed, and his intuition whispered vaguely in his ear, encouraging him to move forward.

He pushed open the door, and the flashlight lit up the dark space. This small room was an office with desks, bookshelves, and office chairs.

There was also a computer: the same laptop that Qi Leren had been worried about, afraid of, and looking forward to.

His heart jumped wildly. Qi Leren took a deep breath, slammed the door, rushed to the computer in three steps and two steps, took out the prepared mobile power source from the item bar and connected it, and pressed the power-on button with trembling hands.

When the familiar boot screen appeared, Qi Leren clenched his hand and couldn't help tapping on the desk. Hurry up, open it quickly, and let him try again. Could he play Nightmare Game again? He had too many doubts that he needed this game to answer.

After the boot was finished, the mouse cursor moved to the icon of Nightmare Game and double-clicked.

The game interface appeared, and Qi Leren's heart was about to jump out of his throat. He held his breath and moved the cursor to "Save and Load".

Countless save files jumped out, arranged in reverse chronological order, and the last one was in the chapel in the Village of Dusk. At that time, he had gone through rows of old pews and was faced with a choice in the depths of the church: to the left or to the right.

He had saved the file, then walked through the door to the right, received the Holy City task, and had his first death there. In the real Nightmare World, he had chosen to go left, and then he met Ning Zhou in the graveyard outside the door, who had come to sweep Maria’s grave.

What if this time, he chose to turn left in the game? Would he meet Ning Zhou?

This problem had once bothered Qi Leren, but now he could prove it.

[…Reading save file, LOADING……]

[File read completed. Player "Passerby A", welcome back to the Nightmare Game.]

In the game, Qi Leren’s character named "Passerby A" went to the left door under his command. Qi Leren hardly dared to breathe, and countless chaotic thoughts berated him. For the first time, he was strongly aware of the fear that overthinking could bring.

The wooden door opened, and the game entered a cutscene animation. He could no longer manipulate his character, but watched him walk forward.

Outside the door was a gravel path occupied by shrubs and weeds. He went straight ahead. All the greenery in this sunset did not give a feeling of peacefulness, but instead filled his with anxiety and unease.

Qi Leren didn't know whether he wanted to see Ning Zhou in the game or not. His yearning heart was looking forward to meeting him again, even if it was separated by a cold screen. But reason made him resist. He didn't want to see Ning Zhou as an NPC in this game, because he didn't dare to ponder the hidden meaning behind it.

No matter whether he wanted it or not, in the dim afterglow of the sunset, Qi Leren still saw a figure standing in front of the tombstone.

So familiar, because he was so deeply imprinted in his mind, but so strange, because they were separated by the layer of a cold screen.

The figure appeared on the screen murmuring and, just like every NPC, the lines were displayed on the screen:

[Mom, I’ve fallen in love with someone I shouldn't love. He’s made me confused...]

Qi Leren's eyes had just seen this sentence when the words were blurred instantly.

It turned out that on that day, before he had walked from this church and seen Ning Zhou, Ning Zhou had once said such a thing in front of Maria's tombstone.

This was a lost Ning Zhou. At that time, he had not yet firmly believed that he would be willing to exile himself for his love. He was hesitating, unsure and uneasy, but he had no one to talk to. He could only come to his mother's grave and tell her quietly, even if he couldn't get an answer.

Qi Leren covered his face in front of the computer, tears flowing down his fingers and wetting the keyboard. He never knew he was such a fragile person; even if it was just a few words he had never heard before, they made him burst into tears.

He wanted to rush into the screen, embrace that lonely back, and comfort the lonely wandering soul.

But his approach would only wake up the lost man.

"Who’s there?" Ning Zhou appeared again on the screen.

Qi Leren woke up from grief. Ning Zhou had discovered his existence!

He couldn't make any answer. It was just a game with pre-written dialogue. When the game didn't give him options, he couldn't say anything.

They looked at each other without saying a word. They were as unfamiliar as two strangers.

They were indeed strangers.

Footsteps came from behind, and the Qi Leren in the game turned his head. Along this path full of weeds and shrubs, he saw a man walking towards them, bathed in the sunset from where he had come.

His words were also subtitled on the screen: "Passerby A? Ning— Ning Zhou? Why are you here?"

At this moment, Qi Leren was shaking and unable to breathe.

A familiar person stood there, looking surprised and shyly at Ning Zhou behind him.

That was himself.

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

[aidemint]

reflection - bucky barnes

word count: 3k+

notes: god i just love Bucky so much asdkjahdkfjhskdjfsdf his character is kinda hard to capture because of the layers that marvel set up but i tried lol

warnings: angst turned to fluff with a lil bit of spicy kissin with a hickey 😏😏 but mostly (?) wholesome bucky n his beautiful partner 🥰✨

Ever since Bucky moved into the Avengers compound, he was always distant. He’d go out of his way to avoid close contact with anyone besides Steve, even going so far as to skip meals or lock himself up in his room all day, reading books that Steve delivered to his quarters. And despite all the pleading and beckoning from Steve’s end, it seemed like nothing could get Bucky to open up and spend at least a few hours with the people around him. 

Perhaps his self-isolation was a form of self-punishment. Perhaps he didn’t truly believe that he deserved anything, or that he wanted to be with people, that he wanted to laugh and have fun with friends. There was an amalgamation of repressed emotion behind those piercing, dark blue eyes. 

In understanding this, I was fortunate enough to get close to Bucky -- not as a means to fix him, but to understand and comfort him when and where he needed me. We’d spend nights together looking at the stars, talking about the bits and pieces of our childhoods that we could remember, or simply laying next to each other in complete silence, relishing the peaceful and serene atmosphere that the evening brought.

 And it was in that setting in which we shared our first kiss. 

From then on, we always shared a special, intimate relationship. He opened up to me, as I did to him. We were equals -- something that Bucky had never known, being trapped in the Hydra system ever since he got out of ice. 

But I’d only known him for a few months. I’d only been with him for a shorter amount of time. There was so much more to uncover, so much more that he had yet to choose to speak with me about because he just wanted to keep everything stuffed inside a tight little jar and ignore it. He wanted to ignore it because he was scared. He was afraid that the soldier would come back and he would lose everything all over again. 

He was scared of the monster, of the ravager that lived inside of his mind in the minefield of memories. 

A habit of his seemed to sprout from this inherent terror.

Whenever I talked to him, he could never keep his gaze trained on mine. His stare wandered to every inch of my face but never seemed to pass my eyes. He’d look at my forehead and the bridge of my nose at an attempt to fool me into thinking that he was lost in my eyes, but I knew. And it was the same with reflective surfaces. He’d turn away from mirrors and slightly opaque windows with a wince, hide behind his cap and stare at the ground in elevators, among other acts. 

For days, I wondered why. I even mustered the courage to ask him, but he’d deflect, then changed the topic as soon as he could. I didn’t prod, as I didn’t want to venture in a space beyond his comfort zone, so I just left it. 

Yet it still seemed to haunt me. I figured it would be an inquiry that was to remain forever unsolved, but it lingered at the back of my mind whenever I saw Bucky. This was beginning to form a bad habit. I didn’t want myself to become fixated on “helping” him in a zone that he’s clearly not comfortable talking about. I couldn’t allow for myself to spiral into obsession over such a thing.

So the question remained unanswered.

__

A week had elapsed since the thought had initially come to mind. It was midnight and I was finishing up some research about a newer perpetrator that was affiliated with a series of bombings in Berlin. As I sent the documents to Tony so he could do some deep diving, someone entered the hall, light footsteps padding towards the small kitchen island where I was sat. 

I lifted my head up only to see Bucky moving towards me. Closing my laptop, I gave him a small smile and turned to him.

“Buck? What’s up?” He sucked in a breath and let it out shakily as he took a seat on the kitchen island next to me. I couldn’t tell what emotion his expression was of, but it wasn’t something pleasant. No, his brows were furrowed and his lips were pulled into a deep frown with unexpectedly prominent wrinkles forming underneath his eyes and on either side of his nose. It didn’t foretell the beginnings of devastation, nor desolation, but a simpler feeling that I didn’t recognize. 

“I need to talk to you,” he spoke lowly. I nodded, holding my hands out so that he could place his in mine. Not minding that his gaze was lowered as to avoid mine, I still stared at him attentively, making sure that he knew that he had every bit of my attention. 

“I’m here for you, sweetheart.” I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You can tell me anything.” The brunette gave a small but appreciative smile, then cleared his throat before speaking. 

“You know the question you asked me before?” I nodded. “I think I have an answer.” 

“I’m all ears,” I murmured in response, rubbing the tops of his hands with my thumbs, “Take your time.” Bucky opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it soon after, unable to unstick the words that were lodged in his throat. 

He looked as if there was something restricting him from telling me -- a higher, greater force that forbade him from speaking about this taboo topic that was his issue. His irises, normally a deep shade of clear blue, were stormy, clouded with dark thoughts that swirled around his mind. The sight was uncomfortably familiar -- I’d seen that face before, when he first arrived at the Avengers compound. His hair was disheveled and he looked like he hadn’t showered in a week, but what stood out to me the most was how pained his gaze was. The complete and utter wreck that he was inside only showed through his stare and it hurt me more than expected. 

I never truly believed the ambition of the saying “the eyes are the window to the soul,” but for the first time, it became my mantra. How torturous was Bucky’s inner state, how unbelievably despondent he was. That chest of his lacked a spirit because it had died in the wasteland of the mind. There was no shred of hope left in his consciousness. 

There was no sparkle in his eyes. 

I wondered where that gleam had gone.

In the present, I kept waiting for his response, patiently sitting and holding his hands until he was ready. 

Bucky drew in a breath, then let it out, squeezing his eyes shut to focus on clearing his mind and seeking comfort in our bond, in the trust that he’d so courageously given to me. 

He fluttered his eyelids open once he found his place.

And then it all came out in carefully chosen words and cautious sentences.

“I hate seeing my reflection. I hate it. If there was a stronger word, I would use it, but i-it’s all that I can come up with right now. I-I just- Every time that I see myself I just think that this was the last face that people saw before they died, that this was the face plastered across the news, that this was the face that served for Hydra.

And it’s pathetic, I know. I know that I’m an Avenger now, and I know that I’ve somehow changed, and I know how much effort you put into each and every moment, in trying to understand me, and I feel so horrible every single time you look at me and I can’t seem to return that… that hopeful smile, or lovestruck gaze because I just-” He paused, an influx of emotion surging through his body. I rubbed a thumb against the back of his hand to assure him that everything was going to be alright. 

“I can’t look at you because I can’t stand seeing that… that man in your bright eyes. Those bright eyes that are filled with so much life, so much joy whenever they’re on me. I don’t- I don’t want him to be in there. I don’t want him to hurt you, (Y/N). I don’t want-” The brunette stifled a sob by tugging his bottom lip in between his teeth. My heart ached at the sight, my grip on his hands becoming tighter as I watched him come undone. He turned to me with tears in his eyes, tears that threatened to fall onto his cheeks, threatening to stain his skin with the colors of sorrow.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered. A trembling breath flew out of my mouth as all the wind seemed to be knocked out of my lungs at the impact of his words. I took him into my arms, pressing his heart to mine and clenching my fists around the fabric of his shirt. Bucky slowly wrapped his arms around my body, finding comfort in my touch, resting his chin on top of my shoulder blade, drinking in my scent in heavy but silent gasps.

“Oh sweetheart…” I flattened my fingers to softly pat his back, attempting to ease him into a less panicked state. “Everything’s gonna be alright. We’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay, I’m not going to get hurt because of you. You’re not going to hurt me, honey.” The brunette in my embrace shuddered, hopelessly clutching onto me in desperation, almost at a mad scramble for some sort of safety. 

We sat there, intertwined with one another as I whispered words of solace until Bucky’s breaths became even and his hiccups subsided, making way for a smoother airflow and a stable, steady heart rate. Unlocking my arms so that we could separate, I gingerly placed my hands on Bucky’s chest and delicately pushed away enough for me to brush all the hair out of his face and press a kiss to his forehead.

“Bucky, I want to show you something.” 

“What is it?” 

Taking his left hand, I led him to the bathroom down the long hallway on our floor. He sensed what was going on and immediately stopped in the middle of the hall, his grasp tightening around my hand. 

“(Y/N),” he spoke, “(Y/N), please.” I clasped my hands around his metal one and gave the back of it a kiss, my gaze full of sorrow as I stared at the brunette. 

“Please, Buck. Let me help you.” Bucky could hear the pleading tone about my voice. He hesitated for a moment, pausing to take a breath, but eventually gave a reluctant nod as I led him to the bathroom. Upon entry, Bucky immediately bowed his head, completely avoiding the centerpiece mirror as he moved to a spot in front of it. I gave a soft, sympathetic sigh and hopped on the table that was built into the giant vanity, making sure that my boyfriend was positioned right in front of me. 

“If you’d like, you can close your eyes, sweetheart,” I hummed, “Can you lift your head up for me?” The brunette did as he was told, fluttering his eyelids shut as I gently raised his chin so that it sat at a normal angle. Letting a breath out, I admired his features with despairing irises. I looked on at his red, puffy eyes and unkempt skin as a pang of heartache reverberated through my body. Despite how painful it was to see him in such anguish, I managed to swallow the lump in my throat and opened my mouth to speak to the broken man.

“Honey, I-I don’t know how you feel. I can’t even begin to imagine what you must have gone through during your darkest times, but I want to be there for you. I want to be there for you whenever you crash or you forget that your actions in the past don’t dictate your future. You’re not the person you were a year ago, Buck. Your face doesn’t remind me of the desolate times, but of the happiest moments in my life.” Noticing that I was getting loud, I paused for a few seconds to cool off, then continued. 

“Whenever I see this face,” I murmured, cupping Bucky’s cheeks in my palms, “I see my Bucky. I see the face of the man who has been nothing short of sweet, understanding, patient, and oh-so dear to me.” My view flitted to his hair, to which I reached for to slowly entangle my fingers in. Bucky gave a small hum as I brushed my digits through his hair, instinctively collecting the brown locks into a half-bun. His neck arched at the feeling, his shoulders sinking while I continued to play with his hair while talking freely. 

“I see the face of the man who is selfless, caring, who is willing to change and diverge from his past to strive towards a brighter future.” As I secured the half-bun in place with a hair tie, I smiled at the sight of Bucky’s expression: his eyes were still closed, but the edges of his lips were curled up in content and comfort -- a rare but always stunning sight. 

“I also see the face of the man that I love with every single bit of my heart, and who I know loves me all the same.” Finishing the look, I leaned back and reveled in the newfound freshness to the brunette’s complexion. 

“If you want, you can open your eyes, Buck.” To my complete surprise, his eyes shot open the moment those words left my mouth. Without missing a beat, he jerked forwards and looked at the mirror with sudden resolution. My heart jumped upon seeing his readiness and the sudden jerk his body took upon, but soon melted as I recognized spots of determination and wholehearted faith in his expression. 

He was slowly shifting out of his comfort zone. 

The progress made here tonight would’ve taken weeks if we attempted this a few months ago. 

It was an understatement to say that I was absolutely ecstatic about this huge leap we’d taken together. My emotions were beyond elation, beyond excited -- the mere thought that Bucky had felt comfortable enough around me to do this sparked a fire within my chest, one that sent flames rushing through my veins so that the tips of my fingers tingled, trembling as they struggled to contain the enhanced level of exhilaration. 

“Baby,” I breathed, “Oh, Bucky.” I turned around to look at the mirror and watched in pure joy as a delighted grin spread across my lover’s face, lighting up his features in the best ways possible. His gaze shifted to my reflection, then back to his, soaking in the wholeness of the image before us. 

“You’re beautiful,” he spoke, “You’re so beautiful, (Y/N).” My heart leapt to my throat as I burst into laughter, my cheeks rosy and my head spinning. He’d called me beautiful in the past, but it never felt like this -- so pure, so close to the heart and endearing as ever. The brunette stepped back to gaze at me as I giggled with a hand clapped over my mouth. 

“Doll, don’t you dare cover your face, now.” Bucky gripped both of my forearms and pulled down so that the big, dopey grin on my face was fully exposed and my laughter could finally echo freely through the chamber of the bathroom. The brunette drank in the melody of merriment with a big, dopey grin of his own as he started to slide his hands down my arms and to my thighs. 

“Hey, look at me, beautiful.” Instinctively, my gaze shifted to meet Bucky’s. The world seemed to slow moments before our eyes met. Waves of motion blurred and the background turned into white and beige gaze as my pupils started to fixate on my lover. 

There was silence, seemingly senseless blindness, even.

And then this brilliant wave of blue, the crashing of cymbals, the tidal wave that immediately swept over my eyes. 

I started to cry as I saw the way his irises glimmered underneath the bathroom lights as they bore into mine, those beautiful dark blue irises finally making their way into the depths of my soul. I cried my heart out, hot tears streaming down my flushed face, cascading down my cheeks and dripping onto my chin. God. I was breathless. 

“Doll,” he said, brushing a tear off of my cheek, “Hey, what’s wrong? Are my eyes that ugly?” I laughed at his jokes, lightly shoving him in response to his cheeky comment. 

“I-I’m just so happy,” I sobbed, “I’m so happy, Bucky.” The brunette smiled and leaned in, nearing my face as his eyes grew half-lidded. He gave my thighs a squeeze before whispering against my lips, his hot breaths bearing down on them, filled with want. 

“I am too.”

His lips pressed against mine and suddenly everything was right in the world. As my hands slid up to cup his face in my palms, I wrapped my legs around his torso, bringing him closer to me, his lower stomach pressed against my core. I hummed at the sensation of his finding their way to my waist, fingers smoothing over my curves, cherishing every small wave that they found themselves riding. 

Gasping softly as his mouth moved to layer kisses down my neck, I moved my hands to rest comfortably on Bucky’s shoulders as he started to lap at a spot at the base of my neck. Small huffs of breath and mewls spouted out of me as the brunette worked on forming a bruise.

“God, I love you,” he murmured into my skin, “I love you so much.” I could only hum in response, toes curling at the sensation of his teeth gently nipping at my collarbone as his tongue coaxed my nerves to scream in delight. 

Once he was done, he parted from my collarbone with a satisfied glint in his eyes and lifted his head to fondly gaze at my relaxed features. 

“Thank you, (Y/N). For everything,” he spoke. I kissed his forehead and beamed at him, overjoyed to finally have seen him like this -- relaxed, with a radiance about his expression that could not be attained from anything other than pure laughter. 

And with that, I pressed my lips to his again, only parting to reply to his expression of gratitude. 

“You deserve it, baby. You deserve it.”

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 37

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling Fuck the Canon: Happy Endings For Everyone

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36

There is no tea.

Not only is there no tea, but the Emperor’s small private study, located just beyond his personal chambers, is distinctly lacking in any accommodations necessary to serve or consume tea.

Ordinarily, WangJi would find himself irritated, even by such a harmless deception. After five days spent in the Immortal Mountain, however, he finds that he has become more patient. Perhaps not with others, but certainly with the Emperor, whose careless attitude and playful nature seem to conceal a much more complex character, one that WangJi has grown to respect.

The Lan Sect does not listen to gossip, but their new lodgings in the Jade Sword Palace make gossip impossible to avoid. Wei WuXian had lingered by WangJi’s side long past midnight, sunrise only hours away by the time they had finally parted. Yet, great many things seem to have happened since then, each one significant enough to shake the Immortal Mountain to its roots.

Before noontime tea, the Young Master of the Jin Sect had seen his betrothal annulled, the Jiang Sect had fallen out of favor, Sect Leader Nie had been given a title, and the Council seems to hover on the verge of being dissolved.  

WangJi cannot begin to guess what all of these events mean, separate or together, but he knows that Wei WuXian could not have possibly had a sufficient amount of sleep. He also knows that the world of court schemes and maneuverings, as distasteful as he finds it to be, is an inevitable reality of Wei WuXian’s existence. A part of him is even slightly curious, tentatively attempting to forge a connection between these seemingly unconnected events. Another part of him feels pity, that Wei WuXian cannot begin his day without some sort of upheaval.  

Even now, standing by the desk, wrapped in the heavy, intricate layers of the Imperial dragon robes, the Emperor is all exhaustion and tension. Less than a dozen hours have passed since they had seen each other last; WangJi had spent those hours in the peace and silence of the Imperial guest chambers. Wei WuXian looks as if he had spent them on the battleground, fighting for his life.

Still, when he sees WangJi, his face tranforms.

“Lan Zhan.”

WangJi nods in response. He is not sure when he had become fond of the way Wei WuXian says his name, but he can no longer deny the inevitable elation following on its heels. Each time, his name comes with an accompanying smile, and each time, that smile is for him alone.

“I hope you were not expecting tea,” Wei WuXian says ruefully.

WangJi does not dignify that with a response. One must adjust their expectations when faced with an Emperor who runs barefoot over the rooftops, and becomes unreasonably excited over rabbits.

“Uh, right,” Wei WuXian says, “there is something I need you to see.”

The bookcase behind the desk is filled to bursting. Perhaps, if it were only used to hold books, there would be plenty of space, and little to no chaos. But Wei WuXian seems to have filled the shelves with anything that could fit, and many things that could not, creating a precarious mess of objects that could topple at the smallest disturbance. There are numerous jade figurines of all sizes, small pots, boxes and ink stones, a few odd shapes that resemble children’s toys, books and scrolls crammed in between the objects, all with no sense or order.

It is a surprise when Wei WuXian manages to pull out three books and a flat box hiding behind them, without knocking anything to the ground. WangJi realizes that he has shifted to stand on his toes, fully expecting to have to provide assistance, or perhaps even protection from any wayward object that may come flying off the shelf to cause potential injury. No such thing occurs, however, and he places his heels back down, feeling silly for his overabundance of caution.

The flat box looks plain and light. Inside, it holds a single piece of paper, although it is immediately obvious that the paper is an Imperial Order, the Emperor’s stamp bright and bold, and difficult to miss.

WangJi does not expect Wei WuXian to simply offer the paper for perusal, without ceremony, and without any hint as to what the Order holds.

He is even more confused once he realizes that the paper is actually a declaration of succession. In the event of Wei WuXian’s death, the throne is to pass to--

He blinks. The Imperial Order is not long, for there is not much to the actual succession except naming the heir. Still, WangJi reads it again, just to be certain that he has not read the name in error.

He has not.

Well.

While he is reading, Wei WuXian is fidgeting. The dragon robes are not designed for such impatient movement, and WangJi resists the urge to grab him by the shoulders, and tell him to stop plucking at the golden thread on his sleeves. The robe probably costs more than thirty villages are capable of producing in a year.

He offers the paper back.

“I do not understand.”

“Which part?” Wei WuXian says slowly, and WangJi blinks at him.

Is there more than one part to the succession? No, he has read it twice.

“I do not understand why I need to know this,” WangJi clarifies.

“Oh,” Wei WuXian says, smiling again, but it is a nervous smile, as jittery as his hands, “This-- it is important. The-- line of succession. The person I intend to marry should know that the heir has already been chosen.”

WangJi narrows his eyes. He feels as if he had missed a part of their conversation.

His mind inevitably turns to the rumors that had flown rampant in the palace that same morning; the new title granted to the Nie Sect Leader, the dissolution of the Young Master Jin’s betrothal, and the possible dissolution of the Council.

Does-- Wei WuXian mean to marry Jin ZiXuan? It is a preposterous idea. Absolutely ridiculous.

But even so, WangJi suddenly finds that Jin ZiXuan cannot be allowed to live. WangJi will challenge him to a fight, then remove each and every one of his limbs, starting with his head. This should not be difficult to accomplish.

“You are angry,” Wei WuXian says, “I should have-- perhaps I should not have begun with the line of succession. I am not good at--“ he waves his hand, as if the motion is somehow supposed to make his words less incoherent.

He looks agitated and unhappy, and WangJi wants to help, but he is not sure how.

“You want to marry,” he says, trying to establish some logical narrative.

“Yes,” Wei WuXian says, “I want to marry. And before you disagree, I am aware that five days is an extremely limited amount of time to truly get to know another person. I have already gotten a lecture about this from A-Sang. And I have already gotten a lecture from your uncle, who can be extremely rude while remaining polite, a skill I admire, but do not want to confront again. Not if I can help it. And I-- I know life in the Immortal Mountain is probably not what you had in mind if-- if you had marriage in mind. Before today. But I think-- if you are willing to give it a chance, I could make you happy. I would like to try. To make you happy.”

There is a lag in WangJi’s understanding, as each sentence needs to be rearranged in his own mind, just so he can comprehend its meaning. Still, even with the lag, it takes him an abominably long time to fully grasp what Wei WuXian is saying.

Once he does, he finds himself shocked into stillness.

“Are you--“ Wei WuXian looks as if he means to move closer, than stops himself at the last moment, “You look-- more angry now. Than before. I understand that this is not an ideal proposal, what with the-- lack of gifts and ceremony and everything else, but--“

He sighs, apparently forgetting that his hair is neatly arranged, because his fingers make a mess of it in moments.

“An offer of marriage should not make you angry, Lan Zhan. I thought we-- does the idea of it bother you that much?”

WangJi needs to speak. Wei WuXian is capable of drawing thousands of incorrect conclusions before WangJi can formulate a single sentence, and WangJi needs to prevent this from happening, as soon as possible. But what is he supposed to say?

Clarify. This is always a good strategy, especially with Wei WuXian.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” WangJi says carefully, fully expecting Wei WuXian to laugh and deny it.

He believes that he had made his peace with the fact that the Emperor really likes him, whatever that means, when coming from a Divine Ruler. But marriage is-- something else entirely.

Even saying it out loud sounds ridiculous.

“Yes!” Wei WuXian exclaims, “Yes, I am asking you to marry me.”

“Why?” WangJi blurts out, incredulous.

“Why?” Wei WuXian repeats, the dumfounded expression on his face a perfect reflection of WangJi’s own feelings, “wh-- what do you mean, why? Because I fell in love with you. Why else would I marry someone?”

“You--“ WangJi’s throat is completely dry, and seems to have shrank into nothingness.

It is difficult to breathe, let alone form words.

This is utterly ridiculous. The most ridiculous thing WangJi has even heard, seen, or experienced, in his entire life.

And yet, he wants to hear it again. He wants Wei WuXian to say it again. The rush he had felt at those words cannot be described. It is obliterating.

Wei WuXian inches closer, his posture careful, “I still cannot tell when you are just angry, or so furious that you might try and kill me, so-- do not try and kill me? I should have probably led with the declaration of love, huh? I can try again. Lan Zhan, I am in love with you. I would really like it if you would marry me, and become the Emperor Consort. Your uncle has already given permission, and the Council is about to do so as well, or Empire will no longer have a Council. The throne already has an heir, so the succession is nothing to worry about. And since I cannot imagine sharing my life with anyone else, I can swear to take no other spouse, as long as we are both alive in the world. Is that better? Did--“

WangJi does not plan to move.

He does not plan anything. The chaos of thoughts and emotions rushing through his mind can hardly be called thinking, let alone planning. Therefore, he is astonished to find himself acting so brashly. But Wei WuXian does not waste a single moment with something so banal as surprise.

His arms immediately wrap around WangJi’s shoulders, as if they belong there. There is a faint, lingering taste of pears and honey on his lips. His mouth is soft, his breaths hot and fast, his heartbeat a forceful thunder against WangJi’s chest. The exquisite texture of the Imperial dragon robe under his hands has nothing on the actual shape of Wei WuXian’s waist. WangJi can feel the ridges of his spine through the material, enticing but also fragile, and raked with barely perceptible tremors.

Wei WuXian smiles against his mouth, then laughs, his lips pressing a quick kiss to the tip of WangJi’s nose.

“Is that a yes?” he says, “Please tell me that means yes.”

WangJi is not yet capable of forming words. An extremely advantageous hindrance, because he cannot simply accept an offer of marriage, regardless of his feelings.

The bright smile on Wei WuXian’s face begins to fade, and WangJi feels panic, that he cannot explain himself quickly and succinctly, the way the situation demands.

“Lan Zhan?”

“I cannot accept,” WangJi says.

Wei WuXian blinks at him, then shifts slightly, as if to pull away. WangJi refuses to release him, his arms wrapping more securely around the silk-clad waist, fingers clutching handfuls of delicate material.

Perhaps he does so with more strength and urgency than necessary, because Wei WuXian stumbles, catching himself against WangJi’s chest.

“I want to accept,” he clarifies, “but I cannot. I must speak to uncle first.”

“Oh,” Wei WuXian says, “That-- but he-- I have already spoken to your uncle.”

“You have spoken to many people,” WangJi points out, “Everyone whose opinion you care to hear. Other than myself.”

Wei WuXian huffs, his restless fingers now plucking at the thread of WangJi’s robes instead of his own. WangJi would grab his hands to prevent it, but this would mean releasing his hold, and he does not think he is capable of doing so, at least not yet.

“I should be allowed to do the same,” WangJi says, “You must give me time.”

Wei WuXian’s fingers have now found their way to the collar of WangJi’s robes, and the brush of them against the skin of his neck is extremely distracting. The logical part of his brain insists that this is an inappropriate way to have a serious conversation. A marriage, especially one that would make him the Emperor Consort to the Divine Ruler of the Shan Empire is perhaps the most serious conversation that can possibly be conceived.

But Wei WuXian’s hair smells like pears, sweet and heavy, and he keeps biting his already reddened lip. The other part of WangJi’s brain, the one that does not care for logic or propriety, insists that he should stop speaking and kiss him again, regardless of the seriousness of the conversation.

Lan Zhan, I am in love with you.

His arms tighten of their own volition, and Wei WuXian huffs out a laugh. It is a small laugh however, and there is and nervous edge to it, carrying over into his voice.

“How much time? Because-- what if-- what if you think about it, and then-- decide that you do not want to marry me?”

“Then, I suppose you will have to marry Nie HuaiSang,” WangJi deadpans.

Wei WuXian splutters for a few moments, the expression on his face rapidly shifting from shock to displeasure to pure exasperation. Considering how many times Wei WuXian has managed to exasperate him in turn, WangJi does not feel bad.

“Do not joke,” Wei WuXian says, “I am serious. Your uncle had given permission, but he does not like me, and he will tell you all the reasons why marrying me is a terrible--“

“Wei Ying,” WangJi says, effectively cutting off the flow of words, “I want to marry you. I will not change my mind. But you must give me time.”

He is utterly unprepared for Wei WuXian’s bright smile, the warm glow of delight that washes over his face, the tiny crinkles in the corners of his eyes. He is even less prepared to be kissed again, but he is more than willing, Wei WuXian’s mouth eagerly searching for his own.  

They should have spent the past five days kissing. Any moment that WangJi had not been kissing Wei WuXian now feels an unacceptable waste of time, one he has every intention to remedy. Although Wei WuXian seems as invested in this plan as he is, he cannot seem to help smiling into the kiss, his lips often darting to press to WangJi’s cheek, his chin, the side of his nose. It is sweet and silly, his restless excitement, and WangJi is now certain that Wei WuXian had been right.

He will be more than capable of making WangJi happy.

[lethesomething]

The ghost and the witch

I am still dealing with the emotional gut punch that is the ending of Ghost of Tsushima, so have a very indulgent… fluff piece? My proofreaders have told me I can’t call it a comfort fic, so let’s go with ‘soft fic with canon levels of angst’ instead.

Tags: Jin Sakai x Reader, fluff, soft, comfort (?), angst, ridiculously poetic descriptions of nature, ludicrous levels of symbolism, so much pining

You scoop the dry green dust into the pouch, carefully checking the weight on a tiny brass scale. With a small wooden spoon, you stir the dust into the clay powder and dried grass already present, checking the contents of the pouch one final time before closing it up and using a few quick stitches to secure it. 

"There." You add the pouch to the pile and hold out the order. "One bag of stomach salts for the Fushikawa boy, and five wound ointments. That should keep you going for a while longer."

The Ghost, sitting in seiza on the opposite side of the table, bows his head as he takes them.

"Thank you."

He looks tired, sweat and mud mixing with caked blood on his brow. You're fairly sure it's not his, but that knowledge does not soothe you as much as you'd like. There are hard lines in that face, drawn by sacrifice and pain, etched in stubbornness and unwavering, never-ending pursuit.

"It would be better if you rested, lord Sakai."

He looks up. His eyes are clear and focused, crisp as the winds blowing up the northern cliffs of the island.

"Please, call me Jin."

"My apologies," you say, "force of habit."

"I don't recall you ever calling me 'lord' when we were young," he grumbles.

"That's because you wanted it too much back then," you grin. "But either way. Jin. Please take a rest. Your body cannot keep this up, no matter how tight your resolve is. You need actual sleep. You can stay the night if you want. You'll be safe here."

His gaze drops down and his brow knots, as if he's thinking over a new concept, something so foreign to him that it leads to confusion. Then he gets up. "The boy."

You're not about to argue. He's the most stubborn man you've ever met. With a sigh you follow him to the door of your house. "Then come back."

His retreating form stops briefly. The wind twirls leaves around his silhouette, outlined against the moss-covered trees. It's late in the afternoon, and light comes down the canopy like droplets, skittering from branch to branch until it falls to the ground in ever smaller pools. Shadows rule here, hiding his face, obscuring even the horse trotting to his hand. "I'll see what I can do," he says, and then he's off.

 ----

 Rain beats like hooves on the roof, mercifully muffled by the thick layers of thatch and greenery that shield your abode from prying eyes. Still, for a short moment your heart stops when you hear the screen door softly slide open, and just as quickly, slide shut. He stands there, slick with rain and glowing faintly orange in the light coming from the fire. "Excuse my interruption," he says.

You shake your head. "Welcome back." Embers fall off a log in the fire, popping and crackling. The rain drums above you. "Have you eaten?"

"A little," he mumbles, too stubborn to admit to hunger, but not composed enough to keep his eyes from wandering over the shelves for supplies you may have.

Movement comes to you in a sudden rush. "Sit down, I have some millet porridge leftover."

"You don't have to-"

You wave away his concern. "And I have water in the hearth, I'll draw you a bath."

"That's really not necessary," he starts saying, but he stops when you turn and raise an eyebrow at him.

"Yes it is."

For a long moment he halts, as if to take stock of the dirt, the sweat, the blood, the horse hair dampened by the rain but not washed away fully. He watches the fire, breathes in the smell of herbs that fills the very air inside this house and looks towards you, bustling over a pot of warm food. He nods. "Alright," he concedes, and gets comfortable on the floor. "Thank you."

 ---

 Steam rises, curling and dancing in intricate patterns toward the rafters. Jin rests his back against bamboo planks and rolls his neck. The tub is just big enough to submerge his lower half in warm, fragrant water. Whatever it is you’ve put in there smells nice. Calming. He takes a cloth and rinses it, before he wipes it on his face and shoulders, rubbing away what feels like years of grime and fatigue.

You’re tending to the fire, your form similar, but somehow more graceful than what it was. Your hair is longer, the skin on your hands rougher, but the years have not taken much else from you. Certainly the bright flame behind those eyes is still present, unrelenting and unyielding in the face of everything. 

You look up. “Did you want me to do your back?”

He blinks. “Uhhh.”

And then you smile, and that hasn’t changed either. Your lips curl up in a way that could be read as polite or mischievous, depending on the outlook. He’s always been fond of it. 

“Please,” he says. 

-- -

You sit on a stool by the bath and knead the heated skin on his shoulders between your fingers, the pads of your thumbs running small circles on his neck. His back is a patchwork of colours, from dark purple bruises to blues and reds and yellows.

You try to avoid the more painful looking blotches while you make your way down, but he does not protest at your touch. He’s silent, save for an occasional sigh and a roll of the neck. 

He’s grown, you notice. There is a dignity and a will to him that he lacked when he was younger. You’re well aware of what he’s doing, the lives he chooses to take, and those he chooses to save. You know of the enemies he’s made. Part of you is very proud of him. Another fears for his wellbeing at every turn. The path he’s chosen is not an easy one to walk. 

“How long has it been since you last washed your hair,” you ask into the silence that sits on top of the rumbles of fire and the splash of water. 

“I’m not letting you do that,” he says lowly. 

“Can I at least pick out the leaves?”

He chuckles. “If that’s what you want.” He leans back against the side of the tub and lets his head fall towards your knees. “Next you’ll ask me if you can shave me as well.”

“Would you let me,” you say, tugging at the cord that holds his bun together. 

He grins. “I just might.”

He closes his eyes and a curtain of black falls across your lap. You take a silver comb, one of your few treasures, and start gently tugging at the knots, unraveling the work of the sea and the wind. 

--- 

Jin leans back and closes his eyes. Your comb runs across his scalp in languid, repeating motions, like waves lapping at a beach. He times his breathing to their rhythm and sits there, relishing in the soft intimacy of your hands. 

There is comfort in the motions of your fingers running across his head. The smell of camellia’s is faint but nostalgic as you comb out the strands and oil them. It’s been a long time since he felt this warm, this content.

“Can I ask you something,” he says. 

“Go ahead.”

“Why did you leave?”

Your hands pause for a  second, but do not falter. Your fingers continue their gentle motion,  starting at the scalp and gliding down to part the hair, followed by the comb. 

“I suppose they never told you.” He feels a weight to those words, but can’t quite make it out. 

“I have always wondered,” he says. “I didn’t really understand what happened. One day you were just gone.”

“Jin.”

The weight shifts. There is a pause, a silence in which your fingers keep moving and steam fills the void between the two of you. The rain outside has stopped, he notices, and then you take a breath. 

“We were close,” you say. “Close enough for people to notice.” Your voice gains a raspy edge, as if it is difficult to speak. “I was not good enough. Not for you.”

“That’s-”

But you continue before he can form the sentence. “It was decided that it would be best that I move north, so as not to needlessly distract you from your studies.”

He swallows. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know.”

“That was, perhaps, for the best,” you say softly, and your fingers start gathering his hair. “You were not in a position to do anything about it.” You collect the strands in the palm of one hand, smoothing up any stragglers with the other. 

“The last I heard was that you were to marry one of clan Terushima’s retainers, but you didn’t.”

“I did not,” you hum behind him, as you coil his hair and tie it with a thin piece of string. “I’m sure he was nice enough, but I was never going to be some random man’s wife. I decided on a different path.”

You tap his shoulder and Jin sits up, takes in the herbs drying from the ceiling, the shelves of jars and powders. The pebbles, the statues, the trinkets. “You did,” he says, and he watches as you wipe down the comb and carefully fold it in embroidered silk, a piece of an old kimono he vaguely remembers, and store it in a box on the shelves. 

“Do you regret it?” he asks. 

You shake your head and carefully put away the oil. You rinse your hands in a bowl of water and dry them thoroughly. You set your shoulders before turning to him. “No path is easy to walk, Jin. Especially if you follow what you feel is right,” you say, finally. “Some roads are smoother than others, but we all crash into the walls and thorns confining us eventually. Whether you pull back from the edge or push through is up to you. We all do what we must.”

“We do,” Jin says quietly. His eyes feel heavy now. The fragrant water hanging thick in the air seems to call out, beckoning his senses deeper into the mist. When he looks up again, you are standing by his side, a towel in your hands. 

“And you must really rest, so get out of there while I pick up some more firewood in the shed.”

--- 

The birdsong of early morning filters through the blankets of vegetation that swaddle your house. The light will take a little longer to get here, traveling all the way from the top of the forest canopy like honey oozing off a spoon. 

You get up from a nest of fabric and straighten your clothes, combing your hair with a wooden pick before tying it back.

The Ghost lies on a mat in the corner, chest slowly rising and falling.

You poke the dying embers in the fire, sparking them back to life. There are many things to do: clothes to darn, balms to brew, but for now you are content to sit here and listen to soft breaths as you watch the sparks rekindle, adding branches to a fire that is sure to burn you if you continue to let it grow.

---

Jin Sakai adjusts the strap of his glove, tightening it. There is a dull ache in his chest that he didn’t notice before today. It has come to the foreground now that many of his other stings and pains have found relief. 

His breath is deeper, his head is clear. The deep, gnawing exhaustion that turned his every movement into a deliberate act, a decision to go on despite the waves crashing down, is shallow now. It tugs at his feet like mud, enough to annoy, but not to trip him, certainly not enough to stop him.  

You’re leaning against the door style, arms folded. Your lips are curled, smiling, but your eyes are not. 

He sighs. The sun dapples you with blossoms of light, crowns you in golden glory. Slowly, his hand reaches up, fingers tracing the line of your jaw. 

You blink rapidly up at him. “Jin?”

A sudden gust of wind whirls around you, tugging pieces of thatch off the roof and blowing strands of hair into your face, obscuring your vision.

He leans in and softly, briefly, places his lips on your forehead. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For everything.”

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//just one bite. sakusa kiyoomi//

Warnings: Blood/Mild Gore.  Some swearing

Word Count: 2.2K

Notes: My google search history is W I L D after this, but @nekxrizawa needed some Vamp!Sakusa, so here you go, bby ;-;

(Vampire!Sakusa x Human!Reader)

“I’ll only be gone an hour.  Go on to sleep, love,” he had whispered, tucking a loose strand of hair from your face.  It was late, the only light coming from the soft flickering of the candles and the rays of the moon illuminating his face.  The soft gleam of white fangs as lips were eased up into a small smile.  You were only left to watch as his coat was pulled on and a long scarf was wrapped around his neck to help disguise him from the townsfolk.  A quiet thud of a door closing is the only indication that he had wandered out into the night, a small “please be careful” escaping behind him.

Glass shattering in the main room of your small home yanks you from sleep's embrace.  There are soft grunts as a chair is scraped across the floor.  You gently move the blankets off your body and tiptoe towards the bedroom door.  Your fingers tighten around the nearest blunt object: an unlit candlestick.  Excellent weapon choice, Y/N. 

The door is eased open just enough to get a good view of the cause of the ruckus.  The candle is dropped and you throw the door open.  Socked feet drumming against the floor with each hurried step towards the man at the table.  “Sakusa, what happened?” You fret, crouching down to be eye level with your husband.

He gives you a tired smile, fangs shrinking to blend back in with his human teeth. “I told you I’d be back in an hour.”  Small trickles of the sticky red substance ran down the side of his face, dripping onto the shoulder of his now torn coat.  Sakusa winces a little as you move your hand up to move his hair away from his eye, fingertips brushing accidentally over a heavy bruise on his cheek.  “I guess I need to find new hunting grounds,” he mutters, leaning back to the best of his ability in his worsened state.

“Again?  You just found this one last month.”

“Clans already took it over,” he grunts, pushing his hand against his abdomen.  It was dangerous to not have a clan to call your own, Sakusa was the perfect example.  Constantly having to find new places far enough from the prying eyes of the townsfolk just to get your next meal, moving silently as to not alert your prey or the other vampires undoubtedly in the area.  Good grounds were precious and unclaimed ones that weren’t an immediate death sentence were hard to come by nowadays.  It seemed like every inch of forest around the town was taken by one of the few neighboring clans, but when you’re just alone?  It’s damn near impossible to eat when you need to.

“Come on.  You need to lay down and rest.” You reach out your arms to offer him an extra support system, willingly accepted by the injured man.  He lets your arm slide around his waist as he attempts the slow hobble towards the bedroom, desperate to sleep this night away.

But, he couldn’t ignore it.  The pangs of hunger that came and went.  The smell of blood, even if it was his own, making his mouth water, his head spin at the delectable scent.  It took everything in him not to raise his hand to his lips and lap the blood from his cut knuckles.  It’d been days since his last proper meal and a small rabbit never lasted him long.  What he would do for a small snack, anything to soothe him.

You laid him gently on the bed, leaving only briefly to get a wet rag.  Sakusa’s fingers dug into the sheets as you used the towel to wipe away the blood from his face.  His beautiful features contorted into a grimace of pain at the feeling of you attempting to gently scrub him clean.  He didn’t even have to see himself to know that your increase in pressure meant that it had stained his cheeks.  There’s a weak grab for your-

Wrist. The blue vein running up your arm, waving in front of his face. Teasing him. Testing his will.  The all too familiar feeling of his fangs poking the inside of his lips returned, a small quiver in the corner of his mouth becoming evident.  Just one bite.  That’s all it would take.  One little taste and then he’d be fine.  He’d have enough energy to last him until the morning and then he might be able to see his friend at the butcher shop, see if they had anything fresh in, see if there was any blood.  It wouldn’t even hurt.  It’d feel like a bee sting.  Hell, maybe if he waited until you had gone to sleep, you wouldn’t even notice.  Your flesh just looked so soft in the low midnight light.  He had always wondered, from his very first meeting with you, how good it would feel for his fangs to pierce that beautiful skin.  How your blood would look staining his fangs, the crisp metallic taste still on his lips hours after.  He finds himself leaning towards you, eyes trained on the vivid vain that contrasted so teasingly against your skin.  Just one bite-

What am I doing? He shakes his head free of those thoughts.  He promised you that he would stop drinking from humans and you were not about to be his first taste of human blood after years of upholding that deal.  He pulled himself away from you quickly, the sudden pain in his side eliciting a gasp from him.  

“What?  What’s wrong?” You worry, eyes staring into his.  

Sakusa just hums, waving off your concern.  “Moved too fast.”  His voice is barely above a whisper, rasping with every word. His head had begun to feel woozy.  Between the fight in the forest and his slow, painful trek home, he had lost a lot of blood.  Even just from moving from the main room to the bedroom, he had left a small smattering of blood droplets all over the floor.  That was going to be a pain in the ass to scrub up tomorrow.

You continue dabbing at the cuts on his face.  Every few moments, his breath catches in his throat, eyes shut tight to distract himself from the small sting.  Your hand goes down to rest next to him on the bed in an attempt to better support yourself.  The sheets are warm, Sakusa’s radiating body heat-  You stop. Body heat?

Eyes scan down to your hand and the slowly growing stain of red blood on the white bedsheet.  You can feel your heart beginning to thump thump thump rapidly in your chest, head clouding at the sight.  Bringing your hand up to examine the bright color, fingers quivering.  “Sa- Sakusa?”  Your voice shakes just as much as the rest of your body.  Your husband’s head is lolled weakly to the side, eyes glazed as the life is slowly drained from them.  His chest rises with short little stutters as his breathing grows ragged.  Yet, despite everything, there’s a sleepy smile on his lips. 

“Sakusa! Come on, don’t do this.  Stay with me, my love,” you whisper, carefully moving layers of clothing to reveal the deep gash on his side.  “I need to go find the bandages.  Do not go to sleep, do you understand?”  You’re on your feet in a flurry, running to the kitchen, careful to avoid the blood trail.  Rummaging through every cabinet to find the cloth bandages and a bottle of alcohol, anything to disinfect the wound.  You were finally able to get a good look at the scene around you.  Your brain had been fogged with worry, all focus on Sakusa and his health and you had failed to notice the sheer disastrous state that the house had been left in.  Mugs that had been left on the table from your evening tea had been smashed to the floor upon your husband’s rough entrance.  Bloody hand prints seemed to be plastered on every single surface.  It looks like a crime scene in here.

Sitting back down next to Sakusa, you place your cloth, wet with alcohol, against his wound.  The sting brings a low groan from him, body tensing at this new pain.  “Please-” He whispers, weakly trying to move away so you’ll just stop.  “I can’t-” Sakusa gasps as you place the rag back on his side.  His mind, so taken over by the burning of the disinfectant doing its job, couldn’t even register the hot tears flowing over his cheeks.  “Stop, please,” he begs, his voice barely audible.

“I know it hurts, sweetie, but, I promise, I’m only doing this to help you, okay?  You’ll get better faster if you just keep pushing through this.”  You lean over him, peppering his face with soft kisses.  “You’re doing incredible.  Just keep your eyes open, Sakusa.”  

There’s more groans and hot tears of pain.  More whimpers and desperate pleas.   “No more-” “Please, I can’t-” “My love, st-”  You had to stop.  It hurt too much to see him in such a state: weak, broken, a sobbing, bleeding shell of the man you loved so much.  

“I’m going to sit you up so I can bandage you up, okay?”

He nods weakly, letting you pull him into your arms.  Sakusa’s head buried itself into the crook of your neck, letting you feel his soft shallow pants against your skin.  So . . . hungry.  He was so close to all the blood he needed.  He could just sink his teeth in so easily. He could eat.  Regain strength.  He’d be able to heal his wounds if only he had just a little energy.  One little taste wouldn’t hurt anything, right?  You would understand, right?

You could feel his mouth open against your skin, smiling a little as you anticipated him to place short kisses over your shoulder while you worked.  Involuntarily, you tilt your head to the side, giving him more space.  The soft graze of teeth against your skin is almost sinful in this situation.  “Sakusa, you’re making it hard to focus.”

He says nothing, teasing the point of his fangs more harshly on the spot he had chosen, the scent of your blood coursing through your veins most prominent here.  He paused, waiting for you to push his head away, ask him what the hell he thought he was doing.  But, you never did.  You just continued wrapping bandages securely around him. 

It was a blissful moment, really, when he finally broke through.  His first taste of human blood in nearly five years.  He forgot just how good humans tasted compared to animals.  The sharp metallic carried an extra sensation.  He was never able to describe it to you.  He had never had anything human that even compared to the taste, but if only you knew just how delicious you tasted.  Sakusa pulled his fangs out, eyeing the blood seeping from the two little marks.  His tongue darts out before he can stop himself, licking up the stream that had started to creep down your neck.  His mouth attaches over the wound, long, hungry drinks running down his throat.  

You had long since stopped wrapping his wound.  The sudden pinch on your neck had made you yelp, but Sakusa didn’t notice, too lost in the ecstasy of finally being able to eat.  The blood that kept dripping down your neck was not lost to him, enjoying each and every single drop that was pushed up from the wound.  With each swallow, he could feel his strength returning to him, the wounds beginning to close as his supernatural healing was finally able to kick it’s ass into gear with the newfound energy.  His head had begun to clear, satisfaction coursing through him as his hunger passed.  Sakusa pulled his lips away from- 

His eyes shot open and you were convinced that he was going to fall off the bed at how fast he had scrambled away from you.  Embarrassed, he wiped the excess from his chin and stared at you like a deer caught in a pair of headlights.  What had he just done?  You were going to scream at him.  Tell him that he had mere minutes to get out of the house and away from you.  He was a monster.  He shouldn’t be anywhere near you.  

You can imagine his surprise when he sees you just smile a little.  “Did you get enough?” You ask, tilting your head just in case he found himself still hungry.

“I’m sorry.  I don’t know what I was doing!  I was just-  I was hungry and I- I’m so sorry.  I shouldn’t have done that!” He frets, trying to move away from you.  Even in the low light, you could see the red flare up on his cheeks.   Your hand reaches out to caress his face, feeling him try to hide his face in your grasp so you can’t see every ounce of embarrassment evident on his features.  

“It’s okay, my love.  One bite isn’t going to hurt me.  I’m just glad that you’re okay.”

[illyrian-lover-flower]

The chosen forest keeper 7

                    Is a half spoken truth a half spoken lie?

Word count: ~5.7

A scream ripped through the air – howling like one of the mighty wolves back in her home – followed by the sound of cracking bones as a body crashed down onto the earth. Wings, arms, ribs and legs broken and shattered as the crash echoed through the earth below the Illyrian, who screamed in pain and agony at whatever gods to have mercy with her, but no god listened in on her suffering as the female –dark as night- lay helpless in the dark depths of night. Blood running down her back, bones peeking sharp and pearl white –smeared with red- through her dark skin. Howls and cries of pain shook the females body as her destroyed body trembled of fear, every crack and rustle around her too quiet as she howled and cried, in pain, for help only when darkness loomed over her, did her heart retching cries stop. Those crystal-clear eyes of hers, nursing fear as one of the crystals displayed in the ghostly blue sea, letting it grow the closer this looming shadow got to her. Helpless –a prey- that had to wait and see their last face until a final scream ripped from her lungs, obsidian claws tearing them to nothing but shreds, as they could have been remaining pieces of an old gown.

*

*

*

A grunt went through the forest as the leaves got painted in blood, a male – weakened and with torn wings, that dragged behind him on the mushy floor like an old rug – fought his way through bushes and leaves, limping past mighty trees and hollow caves as the smirking creature approached him. Seemingly playing with the tall male as it chased him almost lazily through the deepest depths of the forest. Drenching the earth in his blood and scent as his weakened body limped over stick and stone – his large hands pressing down on a bleeding bite wound in his side that slowly took his strength away- while he hoped to find the secure path back to his lonely home. Though not even one glowing light of home came into sight as he was backed away in a corner of the dark woods and far away from a calm feeling of secureness and safety.

A steep wall of sharp stones climbing up high in the sky, in front of him, as a wide ledge loomed mockingly far out above his head. Sharp, long stones, like the teeth of the creature who haunted him, hanging spiteful above him as they reminded the bulky warrior of the teeth that just sunk into his very own flesh, probably still enjoying the lingering taste of his life elixir on this long sharp tongue it owned.  

A crack of a branch behind him, had his attention ever the more as he slowly backed himself into the sharp stone wall behind him, those cautious brown eyes of his tracing every bush, every tree, for a rattle of leaves – though what rattled were not the leaves in front of him, as it were the sharp stones that came flying down on him like speers, as the last thing he saw was the smirking smile of these sharp pearl white teeth, through which shreds of his torn off skin clung, as it looked curiously over the ledge and howled in laughter as soon as the first stone crashed down on him - only centimetres away from his to death sentenced form. Darkness soon claiming him as the rain of stone needles continued falling down on him.

*

*

*

A scream tore from Elain’s lungs and shattered through the peaceful silence that surrounded both, Fersia’s and her, sleeping forms.  

Sweat clung to the fawn like a second skin as she propped her shaken form up on her forearms, panting like a dog, did she sit there. Lazily glowing embers burning and radiating warmth off to her left, while those haunted pictures chased her - so much blood, so many broken bones – so many deaths and screams still vibrating after in her brain, like a hit cymbal, as she tried to get a hold on herself and her shaking body again.

‘A nightmare –nightmares- nothing more.’ was all she could try to calm herself with, though something inside her seemed to be very against this, as if she already knew that there was something more to these bloody pictures. She had dreaded the answer, with churning guts, as she tried to swallow the thought and the bitter taste of them. But it did not work, as those sharp words cut through her heart and brain like a knife through butter, ‘Oh Mother above, what if those were visions!’  

Dread filled her guts and soon did she roll of the couch, pillows falling like heavy, thick snowflakes to the wooden ground while the blanket tangled up between her legs –a hungry snake that bit into the flesh of her prey, but Elain was no prey –she decided- as she grabbed the fluffy blanket and tried to stumble out of her soft ankle chain, that let her go somewhere on the short way between the dark bath chamber and the gleaming sitting room. Her force was far too strong as she flung the old door wide open and sank heavy down on the floor in front of the toilet, hurling up the contents of her stomach. The bitter taste of vomit tickled on her tongue and up her throat, while the nasty smell of it filled her flaring nose, the retching sounds of her trembling body all that echoed in those pointed ears of hers and the silent air, as  she was bent over the toilet bowl.  

“Goldenrod, are you sure you are fine?” asked her Fersia’s sleep rough voice groggily as she bent down next to the seer, holding back the strands of her honey hair, as it had hidden her friend's misery behind a long golden curtain, draping a comforting wing over the hunched form of Elain. But Elain could not answer, not with the strong urge to gag still lingering in her heaving chest. Sweat sticking to her face, like a dust of water clung to one who walked past a waterfall, soft strands of her hair, framing her pale face as the pictures rushed to her again.  

Dead, empty, fearful eyes, the sight of rotten flesh, that already harboured hundreds of maggots and flies that flew hungrily around it as the maggots long feasted on the yellow-ish pale skin. White bones, that poked out almost pearl white from torn off limbs, not helping her poor state at all as those pictures filled her mind once again. The small break she had from vomiting soon vanishing as the contents of her stomach crawled back to the surface another time, letting her slump down over the bowl once again. Fersia’s warm wing and her strong hand in her hair, was little distraction for the seer, but it was at least something that tried to get her mind off from all those blood-filled thoughts.  

Blood sploshed and spluttered, dried out and got washed away from the heavy rain that sought out these woods. Blood stuck to fearful faces, framed the dead bodies on the lonely forest floor, as the red puddle vanished into a rusty bed bellow the one it once belonged to.

Elain heaved again –those wide eyes sticking to her like glue- as her gaging echoed once again through the quiet hut. She needed to concentrate on something else, anything else, but those pairs of eyes from green, brown, golden, blue, grey and even red.  

A heaved breath –like a wind that swished through the grey skies and chased grey, black and white clouds, no matter their size or form, away from the sky and tried to summon the prettiest blue of the world - was all she could do to get rid of the pictures, as she too, tried to summon this beautiful, peaceful blue in her mind again. A clearness in her mind she wished to see sone again, as she concentrated on Fersia’s warm wing, that lay draped across her hunched back and protected her from anything that could harm her more, and her heaving breaths that made her rise and slump ever so often over the toilet bowl.  

One, a ragged suck of air.  

Two, a heavy blow shivering from her lungs and down to her shaking hands.

Three, a heaving force of air widening her lungs.  

Four, a heavy gust steadily leaving her body.  

And then she swallowed, the bitter taste of her vomit traveling down her gullet, while her Adams apple seemed to jump at the disgusting taste, that slowly crawled back down into her guts. Elain had to restrain herself from the urge to puke another time, but the calming voice of Fersia, that asked her ever so gently; “Feeling better now?”, was a good distraction for her weak mind. The seer only nodded weakly as she tried to cast a small smile on her lips, but nothing even close to a soft smile came close to the grimace she seemed to have pulled, in an attempt to not worry her friend more than she already did, but the calm Illyrian female noticed her hard try and tried also to smile a little at her, as her strong arms slowly lifted Elain off the ground.

The Illyrian knew the sweet seer would have tried to apologise if they would have sat any longer there, so she swiftly moved to pull her delicate friend up and wadded through softly gleaming darkness - that seemed to layer itself around the fawn with each steady step the bulky female did- with her.

Elain blinked confused up at her friend as she was seated carefully on the soft mattress. Fersia merely told her “Put yourself under the blanket –it's large enough for the two of us- and try to find some rest, I’ll be by your side in no time – alright?” and then her dark form retreated. This large form of hers, that softly loomed over her, backed away into the small bath chamber, where she most likely got rid of the vomit. 

Shame washed over the seer as she thought about it and how the female would clean up her mess, she came here to not be babied so much anymore, and yet did it all seem as if it would always be like this as it started all over again, but perhaps –just this once- could Elain allow it to be babied, as she knew that her feet and whole body were still trembling in fear of what bloodshed she had just seen.

Yeah – perhaps Fersia was right, as she merely stated the seer to lay down. And so, Elain did just that, slowly sinking down on the soft mattress as it seemed to swallow up her small weight greedily and welcomed her in a soft soothing embrace of warmth.  

She didn’t even think about getting the soft blanket she had thrown so clumsily down on the floor as she had rushed to the bath room, further more did she not even think of throwing the wrinkled blanket, that lay warm and lonely all across the mattress, over her for she knew it belonged to Fersia and she already had started invading her space as soon as she stepped over the threshold. This – Elain’s body slowly sinking into the mattress and enjoying the warmth of it – was the farthest she would go as the soothing smell of freshly fallen rain embraced her.  

Fersia.

Rung the name in her head, echoing through it, as her closed eyelids and mouth did not allow the world to know of this name and threw the acoustic noise back –over and over again, like a basin of water, through which a constant drum echoed and vibrated time and time again. This name somehow harboured already so many memories – so many more as she ever shared with her sisters in this new life – though she only knew the female for a mere time of two weeks.  

It were two weeks Fersia had spent away from her home –her family- against her will after all. Two weeks that would have not been necessary and Elain could not feel different, than to finally acknowledge the other parasite that kept on nagging at her guts, as she rolled herself in. A small, fragile ball, that lay shattered in this soft bed of feathers as she finally heard the noise of running water. Heavy steps slowly padded over towards the bed. The female merely huffed at her as she placed a porcelain bowl, filled with water, on the top of the dresser – slowly crawling into bed herself as she tried to not disturb the peace of her friend.  

But a curious streak inside her bulky frame could not stand it, as she saw the gleaming eyes of Elain seemingly glowing in the dark. She faced the Illyrian, tears almost overwhelming her sad eyes, like the rain did ever so often with the river that was nearby, as she merely looked at the female that crawled to bed beside her and threw, without a second thought, the soft blanket over both of them.  

“I told you – you can put yourself under the blanket.” whispered her voice carefully into the dark, as she did not know if her voice would hit a crack in her sweet Goldenrods facade and crack it open. Despite the hard work of her sweet friend to keep it up and just look at her with teary eyes, did Elain still not manage to hide the broken sob as she whispered into the soft veil of darkness around them; “I know – I just didn’t want to interfere any more with your privacy.”  Fersia chuckled, as she pulled her sad friend, that almost lay at the edge of the mattress, closer to her and into the middle of the bed, her strong hand still resting on the sweet flowers back as she cuddled closer into Fersia and buried her face in the crock of her neck, where her cold snooty nose grazed the tender flesh of the Illyrian.  

She had to restrain herself from yelping at the sudden feeling of soft coldness, but brushed it off as she buried her friend between her arms and wings. Soft cries escaping from her Goldenrods small body “Are you really sure that everything is fine, Goldenrod?” But she did not say no, not even shook her head as she nodded shakily and slow, as if she herself was not aware of the answer, “Yes. It was just a nightmare – hopefully.” admitted Elain’s voice brokenly as she tried to swallow down the uprising pictures, that seemed to have buried their claws as deep as those of a harpoon inside her mind –not willing to let her go – as all those torn limps, shattered cries and echoing screams vibrated through her shaking body.  

Trying to cling for a bit of sanity, did her pale arms wound around Fersia, holding on to the female as if her life depended on it, though she assumed it was not her life, but her sanity, that depended on her steady being. “What did you dream about then?” asked her the female carefully, mindful of the wounds she knew could be cut open by just a simple innocent question.  

Silence ensued them then, the seer anxious to voice out what she had just seen, but perhaps it was better to talk, perhaps it would be like pulling off a band aid – a long moment of hesitation, before bravery finally decided to pull the sticky material off of the hurting wound, pain always followed, no matter if the band aid was ripped off or slowly peeled off, every inch screaming in pain as the band aid was slowly removed- perhaps it would be just like this, tried Elain to convince herself, as she cuddled closer to her friend.  

No sheet of paper would have fit between them, no force would have been able to part them, but there was this small voice, that whispered many things at her, that would have been reason enough to part from the female. But she didn’t care, not when she needed the heat of another living being, that showed her that there was still life beyond the terrible dream she had. And so, took the seer a shaky breath, a small flower on the wind churning fields standing stiff as a stone compared to her voice.  

“I saw death... there were … dead people – Illyrians.” corrected she her own choose of words quickly. Fersia said nothing, she only pressed her chin further atop her Goldenrods soft head –trying to calm her with a gentle nudge- but no giggle as soft as the wind, like the female hoped would do, broke the dead silence which had cloaked them once again after Elain spoke this shaky sentence, which had set the Illyrian at edge.  

Fersia knew that, since the moment Elain stepped foot onto the grounds of the forest, something kept her bussy, a bit too bussy for the Illyrians taste as she remembered the snow-white face of her friend before she passed out. Something was happening to her, that made the carefree female, that tended to her wounds not so long ago, vanish and replaced her with someone fearful. A delicate creature that seemed to think about every step she took doubled and thrice, but maybe it was better she did so, after all did the female not really have knowledge in the arts of self-defence and combat.  

Only a ragged breath of her sweet Goldenrod, that hit cold against her skin, was able to distract her from the thoughts of worry that slowly started to churn in her mind like a summer storm. “Fersia, I have seen Illyrians run, crawl, jump, beg and plea for their life's as if they were slowly guided into the gates of hell.” whispered Elain’s frightened voice in the dark.  

The pictures she long wanted to forget slowly chasing after her again, just like the cruel creature she had seen smiling, with fangs as long as her arm. A shiver ran down her delicate spine alone at the thought of this, Fersia’s stern voice that had followed after her, did nothing to ease her frayed nerves, as the meaning of her words sank in; “No Illyrian does that – even in front of the devil, do they not plea and beg. Illyrians are a proud folk and we stand to what we have done, Goldenrod, no devil will make us ever regret what we have done. The folk of Illyrians isn’t known to be fearful – after all, most of us don’t even fear death, so it is unlikely that they would beg in front of the devil, furthermore – I think there are higher chances that an Illyrian murder’s the devil and takes the reign in its own hands than to beg.” tried Fersia to joke around, as she knew of the trembling state, in which the delicate female was and this was by far the only thing she could think of doing, though it seemed to have been the wrong thing, as Elains next question had her cold and without an answer – not even a lied one – she could have whispered into the sweet darkness around them.  “So, it was something worse than the devil?”  

“I don’t know.” was all Fersia could admit as she let the seconds pass to minuets and let silence ensue them. This was simply the only answer the Illyrian could think of, for she knew that the light of her sweet sunshine was already dimmed enough. Elain did not need another cloud as dark as the shadows lurking above her head, the seer had already enough of them lurking and waiting behind her. This was a worry she should not face, one that should not be burden upon her delicate shoulders as even some of the female Illyrians here had their struggle with facing what had long come for them, dragging her sweet Goldenrod into this was something neither of them needed right now.  

Fersia was, after all, already worried enough of the seer as she knew that she was a helpless little fawn that might own a dagger, but had no clue how to use it, though there had been times were she had proven her talent with this simple blade of hers. Though there were also times in which she hesitated to grab the hilt of her dearest belonging –like she told her friend once- and searched for another solution instead. A sweet little fault she searched and used in any situation of violence or danger she faced, where others would have long drawn the master piece of a dagger.  

There was always a long hesitation whenever she dared to wield the beautiful blade, that seemed to swallow up the light as the sweet sunrays had caressed the light silver and traced the delicate runes that meandered down the middle of the knifes blade. It had caught Fersia’s breath the first time she saw it, a piece – a fracture- of sunshine, for a sweet shining ray that respected the life of everything and did not care for who it was that needed her help – not even if that someone who needed her help was a poison spitting Illyrian that bled out on the floor and still hissed at the delicate female to go her day and mind her own business.  

A low rumble of a chuckle echoed through Fersia’s chest as she remembered that fateful day, were the last she had seen were the determined glowing eyes of that sweet female, that now lay shaking in her arms. It hadn’t taken the Illyrian long to change the topic as their encounter still lingered fresh, like a bouquet of flowers, in her mind; “How was your stroll through the forest, sweet Goldenrod.” “It was fine …" answered the seer with hesitation, before she added “I had seen many herbs I could use for medicine.”  

The Illyrian could only give way to this low chuckle that bubbled from her, as she pressed her chin softly further atop her silky hair that seemed to tickle her nose trills with her sweet smell of lavender, though a salty note of sweat seemed to cloak a bit of the scent, it still was the one of her Goldenrod. “I see, ever the mindful healer.” it was meant as a light, playful attempt to light the atmosphere that seemed to grow heavier and heavier as the glowing embers gave past to a mellow cloak of darkness, that seemed to drown out any light from outside, but Elain went stiff as a board at those words. Her soft hands digging lightly into the skin little below the stems of Fersia’s wings as she muttered “I am not that much of a thoughtful healer.”

“Why would you say that, dearest?” voiced Fersia her thoughts softly out as she drew back and carefully pried the face of her sweet friend up by the chin to meet her gaze, but those soft eyes of Elain’s were anywhere and everywhere, just not on the worried face of the female that hugged her so tenderly. “Elain?”  

“Please don’t get mad at me, promise?” the seers voice was shaky for she knew that was due to the nagging feeling at her guts as the thought settled in that she was to tell the truth now and only now. “I promise.” spoke Fersia with a soft voice and a slowly nodding head. Swallowing down the poisonous feeling of guilt did the seer speak of what she had hidden even from the ears of her dear friend “Fersia, I could have long let you go home after I had healed your wounds, but I didn’t want to part ways with you so soon – since you were since quite some time the first real friend I had again – and I really enjoyed my time with you. But since you got so well soon, I got scared that you would leave right away and I panicked and then I made you a globeflower tea.” spoke the seer in a fast voice, rushing only some of the words, she held back, out. But Fersia only chuckled as Elain added embarrassed “And I am really, really sorry that I had made you stay so long against your own will.”

“Goldenrod, it’s fine. I enjoyed the time I had spent with you too and besides – this was my first holiday since, maybe three centuries?” questioned the female herself. It was really too long for her to remember when her last holiday was, after all, her tribe always counted on her and her services as well as her cautious eye, that no one else seemed to have as all her family only saw the thick branches of the trees in the forest and never a lurking creature behind a stem, that only waited for their prey, so it was the best to never take a holiday. Never would the Illyrian have imagined that she would have to take a holiday like this – half dead and yet cared for by a sunshine incarnate, which she had the pleasure of taking home.  

Though Elain’s sweet voice rang complaining through the air, it did nothing to bother the Illyrian of the fact what this wicked little female had done. Elain did not need other allegations, as she already had enough served on her own plate “But Fersia – it's not fine. I used my knowledge of herbal lore against you and was the worst friend I could ever be to you, only because I was afraid to be left alone again.” “Elain, I don’t think you could ever be alone. After all, the sun is never alone too and you most certainly are the sun to me, so it would wonder me if you said you were alone, furthermore you seemed fond of your family – whenever you talked about them.”  

“My family …" whispered Elain quietly as she remembered in a far distance all these faces she had left behind. Her sweet younger sister, who always seemed to have a loving gaze and kind smile on her face, whenever she even thought of her dearest mate, who had welcomed the seer so welcomingly among his table and family, Rhysand, who always seemed ready to jump into action for those he loved. The High Lord is a good male, remembered the seer herself thinking all this time ago, and even after these years she still felt the same about him – he was the right one for her sister. Rhysand had gifted her sanity where others would have long gone mad and even though these times – in which Feyre was close to madness – were long before the seer was even thrown into the Cauldron, she still was able to see the dead eyes of her sister. The quiet grey sea, that had long given up hope as she did not know what –or who- to believe as she only was a playball back then and did not dare to think herself as worthy of anything, but the High Lord of Night – whose worried and empty violet eyes – like a starless night in Velaris- had haunted her for so many nights, as Elain knew that he too had struggled with himself, as he did not dare to think that this life he had now, was something he deserved as he had seen back then the dead silence in Feyre’s eyes. To have them both so happy and looking at each other so lovingly, was something both deserved since a very long time, and yet the seer could not help but feel the nagging in her guts, as she knew the churning sea of salt in her little sisters' eyes as soon as she heard of her passing. 

‘It had to be.’ tried Elain to convince herself, as she tried to recall all the other faces. The scolding silver eyes of Amren –her mentor- whenever she casted a wrong spell during their lessons still haunting her from time to time, as they did nothing but to conjure a smile upon her face, as this stern, strong voice of the female –that loved to stand and pace with her arms in her hips- rung in those pointed ears of hers. The seer did not have many memories with the golden Truth-teller Morrigan, but she remembered the golden gleam in her eyes and the silver one in Feyre’s eyes, whenever they went out in the ever-buzzing city. She was a mystery to the seer, but all she could imagine from her, was what the Shadowsinger gave way ever so absentmindly whenever he had deemed it as right to visit her in this quiet garden of hers and lose himself among the many vines, leaves and branches.  

Perhaps it was this look in his ever so beautiful hazel eyes, whenever he talked about the female, that made her heart sting. Though this sting was nothing compared to the one she felt when she thought of their last change of words, that had made her feel so cruel and heartless, that she was not able to face this kind male, who only wanted the best for her, ever again. His ever-gleaming eyes a stream of quicksilver that meandered through the rich brown inside his eyes, that reminded her with the specks of dark green, of the deepest nature. His eyes a portrait painted by the mother, to always remember the nature he was denied for so long and yet did she destroy this peaceful painting as she yelled at him “ I thought you, of all people, would understand at least a little bit!” The seer flinched as her own cruel words rang through her ears like a heavy drum, that seemed to reach every part with in herself that already felt sorry for so long. Yet she never dared to speak to him again, did never dare to change another word with him again for she did not know how much she would hurt him or have the strength to make him believe that he –the most caring male, with a heart of gold, caged in a cell of shadows that did not seem to writher under her dim light of happiness she tried to cast on him, though she herself did not even believe an ounce of this played brightness – deserved to have company and had just as much right to be by her side as Lucien.  

But his flinch, when she had thrown these words at him, still remained between them as he backed away day for day further from her and left her. Thinking that it would be the best for the sweet seer to stay out of his realm of shadows, fearing that she might see parts of him he himself did not acknowledge yet as he also had anxiety creep through his bones that he could upset her again.  

Azriel had not wanted to hurt her by gifting her this dagger, had not meant to pry in the wound as he had sought her out after Solstice, did only want the best for her as he wanted her to have at least a little weapon with which she could defend herself, but he believed her when she had yelled at him that he not understood, did not know of her pain, but he did. And still he had not fought back as the seer hurt him worse than she could have ever done with the beautiful dagger that had rested in her palms.

A sob tore from her lungs as she saw him leaving again and again and again – never returning.

She hated herself for this, hated herself that she had only seen the eyes of her family after this encounter under a thin veil of grey. The black eyes of Nuala and Cerridwen only black stones to her, as this veil of dust had swallowed up all the emotions that were ever hidden in their obsidian eyes.  

Sobbing did the seer remember everything she had left behind, as she clung to the anchor who had brought her in this new world and promised her sanity.  

“What is it, Goldenrod?” asked her Fersia worriedly as she pat her soft her slowly. “Nothing, it’s just … I had remembered their faces again.” “Of the died Illyrians?” “Yes.” lied Elain, as she did not want to tell the Illyrian just yet what was truly on her mind.  

“It’s fine Elain, you know nothing can hurt you here, right?” “Of course.” whispered the seer into the settled silence of night, as all the warmth around her came from the female that clung to her like a baby to a teddy bear, the gleaming embers long having died down to grey ashes as the two females clung to one another as if their life depended on it.  

And even though Elain knew, that her mind had not carried her to the dead faces, she still could not help but to wonder what the stern voice in the forest had wanted from her; Strange things happen on these grounds, too much blood –on both sides- had drenched this earth in the past months. They need each other’s help, only with combined forces will they be able to find the source of poison, that is seeping into every root and leave around here.  

Perhaps she knew what the voice wanted. Perhaps she long had an idea in the back of her mind as the churning voice had settled around her, but perhaps she was just scared to feel this feeling – this searing feeling, that seemed to burn her flesh off of her living being- again.  

But maybe this was the only solution to her questions and Fersia seemed to be the only key that could open the door to her answers. “Fersia?” “Yes?” mumbled the large female into her hair. “I want to meet you Mother again.” said Elain sternly. She did not allow doubt to creep into her thin voice, as the small quivering of her lips was all she deemed as right. The Illyrian only nodded groggily at the sweet female as she simply voiced; “Then we will need every ounce of sleep we can get, you know, she can be a lot of trouble sometimes.” chuckled Fersia into the dark  

Elain only nodded as their voice seemed to have become one in the darkness, through which tiredness slowly weaved their hand, like a lover walking hand in hand; “Good night.” was the last the two females voiced.  

Though they both knew, sleep did not come easy for liars.  

___________________ previous chapter | next chapter____________________

So, hi everyone and I am all wishing you a lot of love for Valentines day😘😘❤❤. I actually had planned so much for this day, but school sadly kept me troubled and I just had not the time to write as much as I wanted. And yes, I know that this is not really Valentines like, but it was sadly all I could afford. I am hoping that what I had planed for this day will be ready at easter, beacause I don’t plan on updating it one by one, but all together. 

I still hope you had a lot of fun with this chap. and hope to have you thrilled for the next one (though I do have to admit, the end is a bit rushed, or? What do you think?)

Taglist (please tell me if you want to be added or removed):

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[astoldbycrimson]

May I?

Summary: Loss can bring closeness. Tenderness. And undeniable love.

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x Reader

Warnings: mentions of death, loss of a loved one, sweet sweet fluff

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5

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As a small child, your mother told you stories of life in the Rebel Alliance. Tales of battle and honor. Life and death. She spoke with intensity that brought every story to life. With each new addition, you longed for an adventure of your own. Of traversing the galaxy and finding a cause worthy of your skill.

And your father spoke of his own journey. The life of a jedi. He was more soft spoken, not quite as boisterous as your mother. But his tales were full of battles too. The most important battle being the Empire versus the jedi. Forces of light and dark. Heroes and tyrants. Every tale had you dreaming of your own journey. Of toppling a kingdom corrupt with power and greed. Of saving a people unjustly marked for elimination under a tyrannical regime. 

Then they shared how their chosen paths ultimately led them to each other. Of course they both had experienced pain, strife, and struggles along the way. But they found love in the most unexpected places. And then their love brought you into the picture. So you couldn't help but envision an adventure that included a love of your own.

However, your desire for adventure had come to a screeching halt when your mother was killed. After that, you only thought of becoming strong. Someone strong enough to protect the people you loved. So your father had taken it upon himself to teach you the ways of the jedi. To use the Forces of Light to hone your skills and find strength within yourself.

You also had your village and grandmother to teach you how to embrace your Dathomir Witch heritage. To accept that balance was achievable between the Forces of Dark and Light. That knowing the ways of both sides didn't make you innately good or evil. It mattered not what skills you used, only why you chose to use them. 

Once you were fully trained and had mastered what you could, you thought back to the tales your parents had told you many cycles ago. And you began to dream of adventure once more. Now that you were strong, you wanted to find something worth fighting for. A cause worthy of your passion and your skill. An adventure beyond the stars of Dathomir. 

You hadn't expected to find all of that when you first met the Mandalorian in your father's cantina. Sure you knew you'd found a way off your planet. And that someone as strong and capable as a Mandalorian meant adventure, thrilling battles, and a chance to prove yourself. But you had no idea how strongly he'd change your dreams. Your future. Or that you'd find love aboard the Razor Crest, in a man carefully hidden beneath layers of protective armor. 

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Din found you curled up in your cot, buried beneath a pile of blankets, clutching your cloak to your chest. You heard him shuffle his feet before he finally spoke. "I… saw the message from your father, (Y/N)…" His tone was unreadable, masked by the filter of his helmet.

You didn't say anything or even turn to look at him. Your body was almost limp and your mind was heavy with thought, lost in memories too far away. 

"Cyar'ika, I'm sorry… about your grandmother." 

The news had hit you far harder than you were ready for. It stole the air from your lungs and practically brought you to your knees. Your grandmother was like a second mother to you. She helped raise you in your mother's place. Encouraged your thirst for knowledge, but grounded you when your hunger for power became incorrigible. She taught you the ancient ways of the Witches, how to utilize both sides of the Force, and how to be strong for yourself. 

"Thank you," you said almost robotically. 

Your Mandalorian had absolutely no idea how to help you. He wasn't used to seeing you so… heartbroken. You, the warrior who bounced back from everything, even near death experiences. You, the one who always had something to say. You, the one socially equipped to handle all this… emotion. Din was completely out of his element here.

"Do you… wish to return to Dathomir?" Perhaps being home, surrounded by your family would be better than in the middle of space with him. Maybe your homeland would help you find peace. Surely your father was more capable of handling matters of the heart than he was. 

You were silent a moment, silent tears streaming down your cheeks.  "...No. I just need a little time to come to terms with this." 

Going home would likely bring you more pain. It was filled with too many memories. Sure many were pleasant and filled with love, but there was also sorrow. Besides, going home after she was already gone wouldn't bring you comfort. You'd just be faced with the reality that she, like your mother, was dead. It was best to stay away from Dathomir right now.

He fidgeted with the panel on his arm. "...Do you want me to leave you alone?"

You closed your eyes and the tears came a little faster. While you didn't exactly want him to see you so incredibly vulnerable, you certainly didn't want to be alone. "...No." But you didn't express what you wanted him to do.

Din would abide by whatever you requested. If you needed space, he'd give you space. If you wanted to lose yourself in a bounty, he would go out and find you one. He just wasn't prepared for you to want him to stay. What was he supposed to do while you laid there suffering?

He wasn't sure what to do. Keep talking and offer words of comfort? Words of encouragement? You both knew that wasn't his strong point. So you didn't expect any sort of pep talk from the man. Just having him in the same room was comforting enough. 

The Mandalorian was at a loss. So his mind thought of the things that you found comfort in. Homemade food. Sweet scents. Soft clothing. Warm places. And touch. He knew how deeply you relied on it, being without your sight. How you found solace in even the simplest of touches. More specifically, his touches.

Din sighed softly, breaking the silence as he reached for his gloves. You turned slightly as you heard him unclasp them and tug them off. But you shrugged it off, snuggly deeper in your blankets. It wasn't until you heard the familiar sound of him removing his helmet that your attention drifted away from your thoughts.

After setting his helmet down on a table, he approached your nest and knelt down. His hand moved to caress your cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear that escaped your eye. You subconsciously leaned into his hand, grateful for the tender touch.

"...May I join you?" 

Now that completely surprised you. Din would offer a gentle touch here and there, maybe an embrace if he was really desperate for physical contact. But never something akin to cuddling. So, at first, you were unable to formulate a sentence at the thought. Though you quickly found your words, afraid he'd retract his offer. "...Please," it came out hoarse and almost like a plea.

You quickly scooted over to give him room and he carefully crawled under the blankets. Of course you prepared for the hard steel of his chest plate to press against your back, but you were pleasantly surprised by his lack of armor. He still had his tactical shirt and pants, but you still felt the warmth radiating off him.

Din brought his arms around you and pressed his lips carefully to your shoulder. "Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la," he whispered into your skin as he held you close.

"What does that mean?" You ask quietly, leaning into his touch. While you were starting to learn bits and pieces of his language, you had no idea what this particular slew of words meant.

"It's a Mando'a phrase for the departed. 'Not gone, merely marching far away.'" His lips moved to your cheek. "She's still with you." 

A smile pulled at the corners of your mouth, touched by his words of comfort. Din was surprising you more and more. Had this happened at the start of your journey together, you would've been forced to deal with this loss in unbearable silence, hidden away in the refresher. But now, after having spent so much time with you, he was learning. Growing. Reminding you that there was a person beneath all that metal. And he had a heart. 

You turned around until your chests were touching. You grabbed one of his hands and brought it to your lips. "Toa lova jii," you whispered into his palm.

First he was flustered by you kissing his hand. And then his head tilted as you spoke. He didn't know what it meant, but he knew it was important. "...What does that mean?"

You smiled so softly, so sweetly at him. "It means I love you, Din."

And his breath hitched at your words. His chest grew tight as he took in the weight of what you said. Of course he knew how you felt. It was obvious in the way you kissed him. When you just needed to hold his hand or be in his space. But he never heard you say it before now. And Maker it sounded so beautiful in your native language. So natural and perfect.

Din raised his hands to cup your cheeks and he pulled you into a kiss. "Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar'ika," he whispered into your lips. You didn't need him to translate to know he felt the same. 

[identityonfilm]

Character analysis - Lucifer Morningstar

Staying true to my chosen topic, identity and the importance of representation on cinema and TV, I decided to analyse one of my favorite, most complex characters from TV. I went through this based on watching the episodes of the show, watching and reading interviews from the creators and the cast of the show, theories and also talking and debating with friends who have watched the show and can relate to him and his experiences, putting in evidence the importance of representation.

Being such a complex character that represents and normalizes a lot of stigma, he allows me to explore trauma, coping mechanisms, sexuality, mental illness and above all, identity.

Lucifer Morningstar is a character from the Lucifer TV show (originally from FOX and found a new family on Netflix after being canceled in 2018) based on the DC comics by the same name.

Lucifer is, quite obviously, the Devil. We’ve since our childhood been taught to think he’s terrible and to fear him, but that’s practically impossible with this fictional satan. If anything, he shows us the biggest, hardest path to redemption humanity could ever witness and that if he can, so can we.

Even though this Lucifer isn’t completely based of the Bible, his origins are. Lucifer Morningstar, born Samael, is the son of God and Goddess, the favorite son, the Poison of God, the Lightbringer. His task was to light up the stars. He and his siblings were neglected from a young age, since Dad was too busy with humanity and his only contact with his children was to command them. Our hero got enough of the neglect and, fascinated by the free will humanity possessed and angels lacked, started a rebellion against his own Father. In result, he got thrown out of Heaven and into Hell as his sentence, becoming its ruler. In the Underworld he created his own identity: Satan, the Devil, detaching himself from his angelic nature. From there, he commanded demons and gave out punishment to the most rotten, guilty souls that got into his realm. There, the demon Mazikeen became his friend and protector, until both of them left to Earth for a “vacation”.

Lucifers backstory is tragic and clearly traumatizing. The Lightbringer went from being the purest angel, God’s favorite son, to being the Devil, owning up to his original name’s meaning, the Poison of God. Lucifer became violent, impulsive, frustrated and, under his carefully crafted layers of confidence, a very insecure creature, full of self hatred. He’s an immensely relatable character to a lot of viewers, for a multitude of reasons. Along this post i will explore these topics.

 Daddy issues: The root of all of Morningstar’s issues is undoubtedly, God Himself. His own father, who’s supposed to love and protect His son, failed, abandoned and vilified him. Throughout the series Lucifer vents and rants about the pain He caused, His injustice and unfairness. His family is the root of all his trauma and the abandonment from a parental figure is something a lot of children and teens unfortunately go through and seeing this strong, seemingly indestructible character breaking at the thought of his Dad, just like they do, is extremely important.

 Trust issues: Alongside the daddy issues blooms his trust issues. He was wronged by his family, everyone he’s ever met and even has been vilified by all of humanity. In the 13 billions of years he’s been alive, he has learned how to build his walls up and close himself off from possible friendships and even relationships. He doesn’t completely trust anyone, not even himself, but we see his walls crumbling down throughout the seasons, especially with Chloe Decker, his partner and eventually, his lover, and Linda Martin, his therapist.

 Interpersonal difficulties: As mentioned before, Lucifer has his walls way up, which doesn’t allow him to have healthy relationships. Most of his relationships are rocky and unstable, big part of that due to difficulty in communication. While his most toxic friendship is with his oldest friend Maze, his rockiest is possibly with co-worker Dan, all the way through his growing relationship with his only present brother, Amenadiel, sweetest sibling-like relationship with Ella, a very awkward friendship with the detective’s “spawn”, Trixie, to the most focused on relationship of the show - “Deckerstar”- his relationship with Chloe Decker, his co-worker becomes friend becomes best friend becomes lover. Chloe is Lucifer’s soulmate, the one who makes him emotionally and physically vulnerable, the true love of his life. The key to his path to redemption. But his most important friendship is, without a shadow of a doubt, his therapist, Doctor Linda Martin. The normalization of therapy is such an important point of this show. Lucifer starts therapy in the beginning of season 1 and continues throughout the show, where she helps him breakthrough most of his issue and teaches him how to deal with his emotions and himself. His character is full of denial. He refuses to be seen as weak, fragile, “human”. He sees emotions as a flaw and weakness. His sessions with Linda help him open his eyes to a new reality and to connect with and embrace his vulnerable side.

 Self-destructive behavior/unhealthy coping mechanisms: Lucifer often falls into unhealthy behavior when something somewhat tragic happens. That unhealthy behavior ranges from excessive use of drugs, abuse of alcohol, sex, self-harm, cutting his wings off often because they’re a symbol of divinity that represent his loyalty to his Father), all the way to being completely reckless and attempting to get himself killed. His complete disregard for his own life and well-being is a constant in the series, going as far as dying to protect/save someone, but in these moments of despair, it goes from a place of protectiveness for the ones he loves to suicidal behavior rooted on his self-hatred and guilt.

 Hypersexuality: As mentioned above, one of Lucifer’s coping mechanisms is engaging in sexual activity. This is often linked to childhood trauma, either by abuse where victims need to reclaim the power over their own bodies or by neglect and lack of physical affection in formative years. He chooses to numb his pain and emotions with pleasure.

“They are addicted to the neurochemical and dissociative high produced by their intense sexual fantasy life and ritualistic behavior.” by Robert Weiss on Psych Central

 Isolation: Due to depression, trauma and spending years alone in Hell, Morningstar tends to isolate himself when things get rough. While he craves love, friendship and affection, he denies that to himself, he doesn’t understand that he can be loved, fully, for who he is, both angel and devil, without it being a manipulation from his Father.

 Sexuality: Lucifer Morningstar is a canon bisexual character, and the best part about it, is that it’s normalized. There isn’t a big storyline about his sexuality or homophobia, he just openly talks about and is shown with both women and men. And it’s normal. Actually, most of the characters on the show are canon LGBTQ+, which is one of the reasons the show is so loved by many. Representation is so important and seeing ourselves and our experiences represented on TV is immensely important in helping us feel more normal and seen. As of 2020, the actor Tom Ellis has won two bisexual representation awards for playing Lucifer. (x)

 Upon this analysis, we can confirm that his trauma, behavior issues and his identity as we see on the show is widely shaped by his childhood and his background story, mainly by his Dad, Mum and siblings. According to the NSPCC, some effects of neglect are:

 l “taking risks, like running away from home, using drugs and alcohol or breaking the law.

l getting into dangerous relationships

l difficulty with relationships later in life, including with their own children

l a higher chance of having mental health problems, including depression.”

 However tragic it may be, his story and his path to redemption and happiness is extremely inspiring and shows the audience that no matter where you came from, your past does not define you. No matter what you’re going through, it gets better. It’s a message of hope, love and identity.

 References:

 Weiss, Robert. (2018). Hypersexuality: Symptoms of Sexual Addiction. Retrieved from https://psychcentral.com/lib/hypersexuality-symptoms-of-sexual-addiction/#:~:text=Sexual%20addiction%20or%20hypersexuality%20is,of%20at%20least%20six%20months.

NSPCC. Effects of neglect. Retrieved from https://www.nspcc.org.uk/what-is-child-abuse/types-of-abuse/neglect/

Feser, Madison. (2019). The Doctor Is In: Therapy Is The Medicine Of Choice In Fox’s ‘Lucifer’. Retrieved from https://studybreaks.com/tvfilm/lucifer-fox-therapy-mental-health/

https://lucifer.fandom.com/wiki/Lucifer_Morningstar

[freejaybird]

hi!! i saw you opening requests for rdr2 hcs?? i was wondering if you'd write about how the gang members react when you gift them something out of the blue????? no limits to whoever it is.. just write whoever you like bcs i love them all!! thank u so much!!! stay safe 💜💜

this is such a MF CUTE IDEA!!! Thank you so much for requesting, I really hope I did your request justice! It was genuinely so much fun to create. I just did the boys on this one because I didn’t want it to be too long, however, if you’d like one including the girls too don’t be afraid to ask <3 stay safe!! 

Arthur Morgan 

You decided it’d be best to give him your gift outside of camp. You both had just finished scouting out a job, the sun resting high in the afternoon sky. It’s rays melted through your clothing, coating your skin in a growing layer of sweat. With a sigh, you look longingly at Flat Iron Lake, whose water you could see gleaming through the trees.

It’s on account of your invitation to go cool off at the shore of the lake, and you’re not surprised that the bulky cowboy next to you agreed almost immediately. He adjusted his gamblers hat, spurring his horse through a nebulous trail through the brush. You followed his lead, as you usually did.

Soon enough, you’re both chilling on the shore, boots long ago kicked off and pants rolled up. The water lapped up at your legs, creating a chill that rolled from your feet all the way up to your shoulders. A wonderful breeze kicks through the air, and it's now when you’re both in pure bliss to give him his gift. Your hand fumbled in your pant pocket, fingers squeezing around the object in an act to reassure yourself before you presented it to him with a smile. 

 “So- I thought you’d like this”

confusion.jpeg 

The first thing he utters is, “Darlin’, are you- you sure you meant this for me?” 

A blush coats your cheeks, the warmth a wonderful opposite to the cool water that swallowed your legs. You nod assuredly, pushing the gift towards him more to convince him to take it from you.

He’ll hold the gift extremely gently, fingers carefully wrapping around it as he turns it in his large hand. His silence worries you for just a second, and you’re just about getting ready to regret every single action in your life leading up to this moment. In reality, though, Arthur’s still reeling in the fact that out of everyone in the goddamn camp, you decided to give him a gift.

You shift your posture to divert your gaze to the water in front of you. The sun glistened off the lake, light rolling in symphony with the rhythm of the waves. The shaded spot you two were sat together in provided a wonderful paradise from the rest of the world, and, as you take a deep breath, you relish in the feeling. You shift your eyes to his again, delighted to see that he met your gaze this time.

His eyes almost seem to twinkle when his gaze falls into yours, and his hesitant, heavy hand comes to rest on your shoulder gently, as if he was afraid that if he rested the full weight of his hand on you you’d sink into the ground. He then proceeds with the goofiest, most sweet smile on his face to say,

 “I.. well this is beautiful, Y/N. Thank you.” 

You don’t think you’ve smiled so hard in your life. 

After that encounter, Arthur will absolutely agonize over what to get you back. Every time he rides out of camp, his mind is extremely distracted by what to give you. He cherishes your gift nearly every day, so he wants to get you something you’ll like nearly as much.

Oh, and he’d definitely sketch your gift in his journal too, with a typical Arthur™ caption that’d say something along the lines of, “So, Y/N gifted me something today. Still making up my mind about what to gift her back”

When he finally does get you something, you can tell he put a lot of thought into it. It’s most likely something that no one else would think to get you, such as a secret hobby you divulge in or something you’ve secretly been yearning to buy for yourself for a while. 

Whenever he sees you using what he got for you, it’s insanely difficult to hide the proud smile and blush that coats his features. You both will definitely tease each other about your reactions. 

Dutch Van Der Linde 

It’s a relatively cool evening when you decide that the moment is right to give Dutch your gift. You had chosen it out for him very carefully, and now that it was time to actually give it to him, your heart hammered painfully against your rib cage. Whenever your eyes drifted to his encapsulating figure by the docks a wildfire erupted on your cheeks, which very quickly spread to your ears.

“You fool..” You whisper to yourself, kicking your boot into the ground before making your way over to the man. Your balance teetered a bit, as if even your body considered this action a bad idea.

When you first appear next to him, he doesn’t think much of it. It was almost routine for you both to stand on the docks of Clemens Point, basked in the moonlight, thoughts silently being swallowed by the lake. However, what he didn’t expect was for you to hold out a gift and, very adorably, go into a ramble about it.

Oh boy, without a doubt this is an ego boost for him. However, don’t think for a second that he doesn’t genuinely appreciate your efforts.

He’ll hold your gift in his hands with remarkable thoughtfulness, a ghost of a smile passing his lips. His eyes are uncharacteristically soft, and it reminds you of the way you catch him looking at Hosea from time to time. 

That softness, though it was a treasure to see, is only there for a passing second though. Almost immediately, he’ll get the most shit-eating grin on his face and purr, “Well… ain’t this fine.” 

Goosebumps almost immediately raise on your skin, sending a shiver through your bones. Instinctively, you clasp your hands behind your back, tipping back on the heel of your boots to take a step back from his looming presence. 

“It’s okay, Dutch? I just- I know you do so much and…” The shaky, undecided sentence you started trails off almost as soon as his deep, commanding eyes make eye contact with you. Your hands tighten around each other, as if that will provide any comfort for your nervousness in the moment. 

Whilst maintaining eye contact, he plucks your arm from your side, running his hand down your arm to your slightly shaky hand before taking it into his and very gently raising it to brush his lips past your knuckles. His mustache tickled the skin there, sending flashes of what felt like lightning where the bristles of hair touched. The smooth fucker.

Heartily chuckling, he encapsulates his hand over yours in an instant. The size difference alone is enough to get you shifting in your boots. “Of course, Y/N. I appreciate… the faith you’ve kept in me. This…” With his other hand he holds up your gift to eye level, momentarily drifting his eyes to it as if it was a prized jewel. “This is magnificent, my dear.” 

He’s definitely going to get you some type of jewelry or at least something that you’d be able to wear. He loves seeing you walk past him to get something, only to freeze and almost proudly look into his eyes when he points out that you’re wearing his gift. 

Javier Escuella

When you pop up by his side one night at the campfire, he’s not too surprised. Although you two didn’t talk too much, there’s always been a silent agreement that you guys sit at the campfire together. Whether it be to listen to him play guitar, or to sit silently whilst lounging in the fire’s warmth, the comfort of on another was always something to look forward to at the end of a long day.

When you present it to him his lips immediately shift into a smile, and he looks up into your eyes with such a soft expression. The orange hues of the fire light danced along the features of his face, adding to the warmth of the occasion. 

“For me, hermosa? You’re too kind.” 

He’ll look over what you gave him for a few seconds, his smile never leaving his face as he takes it into his hands. He shifts his sitting position in order to get a better look at what you gave him, his eyes dancing over it as if it was the most beautiful object in the world.

Tentatively, you ask if he likes it. Your hands fidget a little bit, and ever so slightly you shift so that you’re a little farther apart. If he didn’t like it, your plan was to wither into the dirt. 

“Do I like it? Querida... I love it! Thank you, mi pájaro cantor.” 

He sets your gift down very carefully beside himself to lean over and hug you, closing the distance that separated your bodies. His scent, a mixture of gunpowder, cigarette smoke, and sweat, engulfs you, and for a moment it's hard to focus on anything else other than the comfort of his arms around you. 

Following this occasion, you can definitely expect a gift in return. In fact, the morning after you gave him yours he’ll have placed a beautifully crafted knife next to your bedroll. There’s nothing discerning that the knife is from him, but just the vibe surrounding the item screams Javier. 

Later in the day, when you both share the warmth of the campfire again, he presents a beautiful selection of wild flowers to you, tied carefully with a satin ribbon. He’ll look at you with an expression that’s absolutely dripping in honey seeing you take the flowers he picked for you. Everyone is absolutely convinced you’re both sweet on one another.

The girls will definitely tease you for the rest of eternity for that stunt.

However, any embarrassment you felt would dissipate as soon as you see Javier smile upon seeing you use the knife he got you, as well as the gentleness of any interactions you share following this event. 

Charles Smith

It was routine for both you and Charles to go on hunting trips together. Your strategies and general vibe complimented each other so well that whenever Pearson mentioned that he needed meat for the next stew, you both just assumed you were going to be hunting together. You’d never felt more comfortable with another person, and you cherished his presence. 

You two are finishing up your most recent hunting trip when you pull his gift out of your saddlebag. The sun is just setting, casting a purple glow across the scenery that surrounded you both. A soft wind rustles the leaves of the trees, and in the distance a pack of coyotes bark and yip. 

“Charles?” 

As soon as he turns around, you’re holding your hands out with his gift. His gaze shifts from the gift and then to you, his lips parting. 

You fumbled with your words explaining yourself to the man, very slightly gesturing with your free hand to his body.“It’s for you. I- well I thought you’d like it.” 

The softest of smiles graces his features as he takes the gift from you. His eyes seem to waltz along the features of your gift, his head just slightly tilting. 

“This is such a thoughtful gift, Y/N. Thank you.” 

The eye contact he makes with you after he utters that sentence nearly sends you into cardiac arrest.

For the next coming days, expect him to be really sweet with you. If he’s ever on guard duty, or you’re returning from a task together, he’ll help you off of your horse and make sure you know that you did an absolutely amazing job that day. You’re absolutely swimming in compliments from the man.

It’s during a hunting trip a lot like the one you two shared a few days ago that he gives you a handmade bow. It reminded you a lot of the one he often carried on his back, and your entire chest swelled with pride when you looked over the engravings intricately entwined in the wood. How long did it take him to make this? Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head at the thought.

“So you like it then?” His voice, tinted with amusement, interrupts the silence you created entirely by accident. This man was gonna kill you, you were sure of it.

“I- Charles of course I do! This- how…” Your breath escapes you, almost as if your lungs just decided to forget how to intake air.

It’s hard to ignore the way he looks at you whenever you use that bow (which is quite often might I add). You can’t completely discern the emotion he’s conveying, but all you know is that you’re absolutely enamored by his gaze.

Sean Macguire 

Oh, this is a silly interaction all around. In fact, even when you were even picking out a gift for him, you were almost positive he’d find a way to make the occasion goofy as hell. 

You give the gift to him whilst in camp, snatching the opportunity whilst he was on a break from guard duty.

“Oh my… love. Is this a present for good ol’ Macguire here?”

He has almost a puppy-like expression on his face, and the man doesn’t even let a second go by before he’s taking it out of your hands. A giggle slips through your lips at the child-like grin on his face, I mean, come on, he’s holding this gift as if it’s the secret to life.

“I take that you like it?” You tease, taking the time to lean against a tree. Your body felt light with fondness for the man. 

He wildly gestures with his gift, taking a step closer to you as he tilts his head, “My da always used to say tat’ when a lady gifts y’something it’s a sign, y’know.” His eyebrows raise expectantly, as if you knew the context of whatever he was talking about.

You teetered on the edge of asking ‘a sign for what??’ but decided against it. This grand advice from his da will be listened to vehemently by you, a special occasion reserved only for today.

The sight of his eyes absolutely gleaming with joy as he recounts one of his da’s life advice™ is almost enough to melt you on the spot. 

He’ll definitely give the most bone-crushing hug imaginable to show how appreciative he is for your gift. He smells absolutely terrible, but you can overlook that so long as he continues to smile like he is right now. 

Look, afterwards he’ll try his best to get you a meaningful gift, but it will most likely be something along the lines of whiskey or some type of treat front the general store. He’ll genuinely be so excited for you to react to it, he’ll give it to you almost as soon as he gets back to camp. It most likely happens around the campfire too, with a few gang members watching this interaction unfold like 👀

Bill Williamson 

You surprise him with his gift at the scout campfire. He’s just finished his guard duty, and before he starts his evening alcoholism™ you pounced on the opportunity to give him the item. You call his name once you decide you're close enough, a slight smile turning at your lips as you present it to him.

Once he realizes that what you’re holding out to him is supposed to be for him, he’ll look at you with such a mean scowl that you falter in your next step towards him, causing you to nearly fall face first into the dirt below.

“I ain’t in the mood for your goddamn jokes, Y/N.” He growls, prodding at the fire with the tip of his boot. He glances at you with brief concern as you regain your composure, his posture tightening as he decides on what exactly he wants to do, but he doesn’t threaten to check if you’re alright. He’s still bent on you playing a joke on him, after all. 

“I’m gonna be in a worse mood if you don’t take th’ gift I chose for you, fool.” You tilt your head, a friendly yet threatening smile blessing your features as you lean down to his level, placing the gift in his open lap. The bear of a man glances at you, a huff escaping him. He found it hard to keep his guard up with you looking so intently at him, as well as when he finally studied the object that was placed on his lap.

“Well, thank you very much, Y/N. Don’t know why you’d even think to get me somethin’ like this.” There’s still an ounce of bitterness in his gruff voice, as if he was still expecting you to snatch the item out of his grasp and taunt him. 

Your smile absolutely melts away any doubt lingering within him, though.

In fact, he feels an unfamiliar warmth fill his chest as you sit down next to him with a slight sigh, your head turning to look him in the eyes once again. “Yeah? I thought you’d like it.”

When your shoulders brush, he has to look at the gift again to hide any sign of a blush appearing on his cheeks. He was sure his beard would hide it, but he didn’t want to risk you seeing him in such a vulnerable state. 

“Sorry for…” He makes an awkward gesture towards himself, and he fumbles with the item in his hands before continuing his attempt to converse with you. “This is… This is fine, Miss/Sir.”

You hummed, assuring him with a smile. 

Afterwards, the man is so unsure of what to do with himself around you. Does he get you a gift back? Does he strike up more conversation with you? He’s at a loss. It’s been so long since someone at camp was so genuinely nice to him he doesn’t want to mess up anything. 

If he does decide to get you a gift back, don’t expect anything gaudy. Honestly, it’s most likely something he stole off of someone or a bottle of your preferred alcoholic beverage. He’s really shy when he presents it to you, but upon seeing your true, unadulterated happiness that he even thought to get you something back is enough to get him smiling. 

You two spend a lot more evenings together after this, filled with hearty laughs, Pearson’s stew, and a few beers.