#reviews and comments are appreciated

[fantasycreature123]

01 | Seasons of Solitude

Genre: Fantasy, with classic fairytale vibes

Starting date: March 28, 2023

Last edited: March 28, 2023 (except for some minor changes and title selection)

Published on: June 19, 2024

In a forgotten tower hidden deep within a forest, a princess sits alone, waiting for someone gallant to come and defeat her captor. The beast that keeps her there might not kill her, but it seems boredom will. She clings to the glimpses of life that she catches from her window — the lively birdsong in spring, the golden hues of summer, the melancholy of autumn leaves, and the silent beauty of winter. Her solitude is finally shattered when a sudden storm brings a group of men to her tower.

A long, long time ago, there lived a beautiful princess, locked away in a tall tower by a monster. Her captor was so ferocious that the princess did not dare to even step out of the tower, and she waited and waited for a knight to come and save her. A great many knights did come, but all of them were slain by the beast; and as time passed by, the princess began to think that she had been forgotten. No more knights came to fight for her freedom, and the monster itself seemed to have forsaken her. Yet she waited.

In the early days, the princess used to cry and beg and plead with the monster to let her go, but the brute would not hear of it. It had taken her from her grand palace and brought her to this place, a stone tower in a clearing in a forest, so tall that its top was higher than any bird had ever flown. She would dream of a handsome prince on a grand horse, who would ride down the cruel creature and carry her away to her home. But it never happened. No matter how many princes came, no matter how many knights, the beast would find a way to defeat them all. 

As time flew by, the princess began to look forward to these doomed attempts even more, for they were the only new thing that happened there. Life in the tower was so dull that even an occasional storm seemed to be fascinating to her. All day she used to sit near the window of her room and look down at the vast green forest, and look up at the vast blue sky. Back then the monster still treasured her, and she would often notice its sharp eyes on her, keeping watch lest she escape. The cell where she was kept was not as high up as the top of the tower, and sometimes she would think of climbing down the steep tower wall. She never did, though, for the monster always kept a close guard on her. 

But that had been a long time ago. 

Now the princess was alone, all alone. All the time she had spent here — she did not recall how many moons, nay, how many seasons had passed — had taken their toll on her. Once she had been plump and pretty, with skin as smooth as silk and a face like the moon, but now only bones remained. Her beautiful long hair, all golden curls tumbling around her face, was tangled and matted and filthy. The gown she wore had holes in the fine fabric, and her shoes had worn out too. 

Yet she smiled, and waited.

She watched the days come and go from her perch by the window, like the birds that occasionally visited her. The forest was alive, and it changed colours with the season. In winter it was all silent and white, a snowy wonderland so quiet she could have sung a song to the fishes that lived in the glittering silver stream far away. It would seem that all life had vanished in that vast white land. 

But that would be until spring came. With spring arrived fresh flowers and bright birds that chirped and twittered all day long, singing songs of joy and love and life. The princess saw snow still lingering in the clearing where her tower was, and wondered how, until once she noticed a lovely blue butterfly fluttering down to the field of snow. Then she realised, it was not snow but flowers, a carpet of delicate little snowdrops.

Spring was her favourite time of the year, for then there was life all around, and sometimes she got visitors: mostly small birds, such as robins and sparrows. They sat on the window’s ledge and told her stories of the land, of all they had seen and all they had heard. She listened and smiled and dreamed of travelling the great wide world with them. Oh, how she wished she could fly like those birds! Fly away, out of the tower, out into the open blue sky… but that never happened. 

Once she saw an eagle flying right beside her window. She had often seen those majestic birds soaring high in the sky, but never so close. That one close glimpse of the bird flying by — of the rich brown feathers that gleamed in the sun, the powerful wings that beat the air, and the focused eyes that never lost sight of their aim — made her think, Life is capable of such wonders. She had spent so long waiting, and for whom? She could break out on her own. She would defeat her captor herself and leave, or die in the attempt. But then she remembered — the monster was gone, and she could not even get up.

Summer followed spring. Although she missed the cool weather, summer was not bad either. The sun shone brightly and painted everything gold and yellow. Clouds chased each other endlessly across the clear blue sky, like children in a meadow. The trees, which had started to grow new leaves in spring, now became heavily laden with fruit. Fresh new smells wafted up to her on the light breezes that blew often and brought some respite from the heat. Like spring, summer was a time when life was active, and the princess spent hours staring at the forest and the creatures in it. 

And the rains! They never had a fixed time to arrive, but would come and go as and when they pleased. Be it winter, spring, summer or autumn, rains would come like relatives and friends; their arrival always a surprise, and their departure always a loss. Rains were something to break the monotony of her dull existence. The very earth would have a smell then, a rich fragrance that no words could describe. Sometimes there would be winds, and then the cool, pure drops of water would patter against the tall tower, the wide-open window, and the pretty princess. Those were the only times water touched her dry face, and she smiled at the blessed moisture running down her features. In winter there would be snowflakes instead of raindrops, and the calm beauty of snowfalls was the only thing that made the loneliness bearable.

After some months of heat would come fall, and then the trees all turned yellow and orange and brown. The leaves fell like rain onto the forest floor, which was soon carpeted with their dry, lifeless bodies. A strong wind sometimes blew a bunch of leaves to her, and they danced around her room while she watched on. It would never last long, though, for the wind would soon die out, and then the leaves would fall to the floor again, dead.  It was during those times that the princess would begin to feel sad, for life was preparing to disappear once more during the winter, and she would be all alone in her barren stone tower. 

And then winter once more, cold and barren and silent, devoid of life as far as she could see. Perhaps in the forest there were hares moving about, running from foxes or owls which hunted them. But she never saw any. For her, winter was solitude, winter was longing, winter was regrets. 

One late afternoon, the forest seemed troubled. Dark clouds obscured the sky, casting a gloom on the day. Far away, beside the silver stream, birds took to the air. The breeze blew harder, and brought with it an unusual smell — the smell of smoke. Smoke meant a fire, and a fire, in this cold weather, meant men.

As the princess watched, the day grew darker still, and new sounds could be heard in the forest. What was that? Was that the neigh of a horse? She could only sit and wait and watch. 

It began to rain. Big, fat droplets of water fell to the ground, and within seconds it was raining so hard that a grey curtain fell across her vision. She could listen, though. She heard sounds of shouts and more neighs. Would they come here? Would they find her? Suddenly the princess was scared. Did she really want to go home? She did not know. Where was home? Who was she?

Through the haze of rain, she saw the men coming into the clearing. One, two, three… nearly as many men as her fingers! All of them had horses and wore thick clothes. But the clothes were clearly failing to keep them warm, for the sight of the tower made a cry of delight go through the group. They spoke to each other, but through the howling of the wind and the sound of the rain, the princess did not understand a word.

They rushed into her tower. If the princess had a heart, it would be beating fast against her chest now. Who was she? Where was home? Raindrops ran down her face like tears. The only home she knew was the earth, the forest, the sky; and the only one she knew was… was…

Downstairs, the men were getting dry. They cursed the rain, and blessed the tower. How had it come there? They wondered. But no one bothered thinking much about it, for it was dry and seemed to be safe — and if it wasn’t, they all had good swords. One of them noticed a big door on one side. It looked ancient and majestic. A door like that did not belong in a simple house; or a tower, for that matter. Surely it was hiding something: treasure, perhaps? Gold and silver, gems and pearls… or at least a good high spot to take a look around the clearing and get to know the area.

They broke down the door. Grand though it was, age had weakened it, and it gave way under the strength of the men’s shoves. Creaking and protesting, it came off its frame and revealed, amidst a cloud of dust and splinters, a set of steep stone stairs leading up. By now a fire was ready, and three men took a torch and went up to explore.

Up they went, coughing and sneezing from the dust which lay thick on the stairs and the walls. The flickering flame of the torch soon revealed another door before them. This door was much more modest, and it hardly required one push from a man before it fell open.

“Good gods!”

The sun set outside, hidden behind the thick dark clouds. The stone tower echoed with that cry, the only words spoken in it for a long, long time. And the men stared openmouthed at the girl — at the bare skeleton dressed in a gown, looking out at the world through the window, its teeth bared in an eternal smile.

Author's Note

Hi there! I'm glad you are here and that you read this far.

This was technically my first short story ever, if you don't count the 500-word-long ones I wrote for school essays. We hardly get time to think there, let alone develop a plot or characters. And the word count!

Anyway, frankly, I like this one. Usually I take so much time planning and thinking that I never get around to actually writing, but this story — it flowed out of me. I got the idea in the bathroom, and then I spent the rest of the day typing away on my laptop. I finished it that day itself, which is a rare event for me.

I was going for a classic fairytale vibe in this one. Do you think I achieved it? My only regret is that nothing much happens, it's mostly descriptions. I tried to convey the mood of the princess and her thoughts within that prose, but don't know how successful I was. I enjoyed writing it though. I hope you enjoyed reading it too.

Any kind of interaction would be great, but a short review of what you liked in the story and what could be improved would be best. Your thoughts are very valuable to me, as feedback and criticism helps me learn. So, constructive criticism is much appreciated. Thank you for reading, and I wish you a wonderful week.

(here come my 999+ tags)

[you-were-alone-too]

for those of you that wish we could have gotten a regular byler road trip full of mike and will shenanigans and gay pining, look no further! below is a fic i've been working on for a long time (with art by @oceanic-sunsets and @hei-jessi-draws !!) and i'd love if you'd be willing to check it out and leave a kudos, bookmark, or comment :)

summary: “I’m serious, though,” he says, and when he glances up, Mike’s already staring back at him, brown eyes imploring into hazel. Insistent. “We should do it. For real.”

Will’s breath catches at the way it feels like he can see right through him, and he swallows hard at how sincere he sounds, even if he doubts the idea will ever get off the ground, if he figures that Mike will forget about it in a day or two. “Where would we even go?” Will says, humoring him.

“California,” Mike answers, like it’s obvious.

OR: Mike and Will recreate their perfect spring break by taking a road trip to California.

[lyralu91]

I'm not a Harry Potter fan - my friend just sent me this. Why? 🧐 As a word count reference for readers and writers of fanfiction to see how AMAZING it is that there's FREE books out there about the characters you love! Don't forget to give kudos and comments and LOVE to these writers! 👏🏻🥳❤️

[seithr]

my favourite.. well i guess it could be called "happening" in media, i think is when I'm reading about some edgy/dark, horror-adjacent "everyone's constantly having a bad time" setting or story, in a book or a game, and one if not several of the guys in there are just gay offhand. it's a very specific thing i enjoy when its in these horrible (in-universe, emotionally) environments but they're still there

no homophobia no titilation. romantic relationships (even het ones) have zero presence or importance really. but Just Letting You Know: this character is probably a closeted lesbian

diversity win: this mercenary is bisexual! he mentions he has sex with men. diversity ????: a coin flip rng roll can sever both of his arms and crush his sanity for the rest of the game. diversity i-don't-know: this can happen to anyone so its not because hes into men, you just have shit rolls

[blackandwhlteaesthetlc]

Florence was a guest on Zach Braff’s podcast to discuss her career and their new film A Good Person, which is out today!

I especially loved this bit at the end about her thoughts on possibly Directing films one day:

“I’d love to be a Director. I think I need to learn a bit more. I need to soak it up. It’s such a tricky position to have, and to lead, and to be a leader on a film set. You really have to be-You have to know your shit. And if you don’t a lot of people can get, you know, twisted up by that. And I think, for me, I don’t want to go in and not know and then affect an actor badly…It’s something that you really should go in knowing that you can do it. So I think I’m just going to do a bit more learning.”

[weedle-testaburger]

i love when youtubers with cats let them crawl all over them mid-video

[calamitys-child]

Receiving a bad review because you were talking to coworkers in earshot of customers: makes you feel bad but realistically classic customer bullshit and not a real issue

Review including a description of you as a "weird looking little man" and the heavy implication that being trans is somehow inappropriate: how do I even BEGIN

[startanewdream]

Hi Mah, I’ve noticed a lot of writers saying their fics aren’t being commented on or reblogged as much as they were before, and that it’s been discouraging. I can’t speak why for everyone but this is my story. I used to comment and reblog everything because I appreciated the hard work everyone put in. I got inspired to write a few fics of my own, hoping I would get the same support or even suggestions on ways I could improve my writing from all the writers I looked up to, but I got nothing. I spent hours and days writing, reading articles, and watching YouTube videos on how to improve your writing, but I never got one comment, like, kudos, or reblog from any of the writers I showed my support to. I started to notice people had their own little friend/support group and would reblog and comment on each other's posts or stories, but not the newer writers unless you were a phenomenal writer. If you weren’t worth their time, then you were unnoticed and not appreciated. It didn’t matter that you wrote long detailed comments on every single chapter of their story and reblogged their stories, hoping it would get more attention to help encourage them. You and one other blogger were the only ones that I got a comment from, and I ended up unfollowing everyone except for you and the other blogger. I stopped writing, deleted my stories on one of my low days, and unfollowed everyone but you and the other blogger. I stayed away from the Harry Potter community for a while. You two are the only ones I will take time out of my day to write comments for. I’ve read other stories, but I don’t comment on theirs unless it's by a new writer. I try to show encouragement and give suggestions in ways I wish I would have gotten them. I just wanted to say thanks, and I've come across some great new writers through your blog. I’ve been absent for a long time, but I’m back now. I hope things have changed and everyone is more supportive of one another. I don’t know if people are hesitant to help other writers but they take 5 minutes out of their day to read their stories and write two lines of encouragement or heck even a pm on ways you think the story could be improved, newbies will appreciate it more than you’ll ever understand. I just think if you want a little love then you need to show a little love too.

Hey, Anon. I went back and forth on how to answer this because yes, I understand it, but also... not?

I really don’t want to sound dismissive; I get it, writing takes time and effort, you put a piece of your heart there, and when people don’t seem to notice it, you take it personally. I've been there as, in a way, all who has ever posted their fan work have been. It’s shitty.

But you cannot control anyone else. If you are writing and posting because you want people to comment and engage; don’t. It will drive you mad, trust me, because there is no bar that will ever suffice. Write for your own joy... and read and review for your own joy.

If you want criticism, ask for it, send a pm to those who answer it. Join a discord. The review section in a fanfic is not the place for it, it would be just rude. And accept that sometimes there is no problem, no reason for why your fic is unnoticed; no one has ever cracked the code for what makes a fic popular, and honestly, I am glad for it. It’s cliche, but true: you are the only one who can write your stories.

Finally, I get the if you want love you need to offer some love, but also... it sounds entitled? Threatening? I am not sure. Fanfics are for free; they are supposed to be fun. When they stop being something that you can enjoy, what is the whole point?

I am sorry you didn’t feel your effort was appreciated. I hope that, despite everything else, you loved giving voice to the characters, crafting a scenario out of nowhere, and spinning words into something that was real and yours. I hope you stick around.

[orchidyoonkook]

Saw this today. And I kind of just sat for a moment in shock.

A fic with over 640 THOUSAND words.

A fic with over 84 THOUSAND hits.

And less than 1000 kudos??

Less than 250 comments??

This isn’t it guys. Fic is dying by the looks of these numbers. This author is putting their all into this story and not even 1000 of the 84000 people who opened the work could’ve been bothered to click one button to leave a kudo?

And this isn’t me bitching about me. If you know me you know I never expect likes or comments or reblogs on my work. But when I get them I’m over the moon. I’m showing my friends, my partner, my mom even my grandparents on occasion. I’m ecstatic.

But I don’t need them like other authors might. Like other authors may need them to know to keep going. To know their work is appreciated. To know what they are doing is worth doing and to stick at it.

So remember to be kind today. Leave a kudo. A comment. A reblog with a “I love this” in the tags.

It may not be much to you.

But it is everything to the writer.

[miraisstillalive]

this epitomises the entirely of my lived experience since it included both my love for pure film, barbie movies, and really shitty horror.

my letterboxd let's be friends xx

[mixmangosmangoverse]

Listen I may feel nostalgic for the old PreCure series but seeing all the comments going "wow PreCure was so good it's for babies now" is so annoying. Like shut up PreCure was always for kids! This has the exact feel of people complaining about all modern SpongeBob being childish like do you even know what you're watching?? And when series like Healin Good do touch on dark themes suddenly you don't like it

PreCure elitism is so annoying

[archesa]

From the past, with all my love - 1335 AE

Dust had gathered in the study, a thin silver lining veiling the furniture and golden specks twirling like snow in the sun filtering through the frosted windows.

A shroud of salt and rust stained the glass and the cascade of fire orchids falling from the heights of the greenhouse onto the side of the fort had rained a storm of withering petals on their courtyard where Trahearne had summoned minions to help him beat the rugs and pillows – a flesh and vines golem repeatedly charging a carpet hanging on the low branches of a plum tree.

In the meantime Anwen dusted the furniture Trahearne had omitted to cover before his hasty departure for Cantha – most of them, really, but how could she blame him – and used this opportunity to declutter and reorganise their quarters.

Their desks in particular required some attention. A pile of heavy leather-bound volumes on magical theory and the dragon cycle were stranded there – vestiges from a time just passed – in the midst of Trahearne's own research on the quaggan and largos' exile from the depths – recently proved not to be owed to the elder dragon of the abyss.

She scoured the notes and slipped them in the escritoire, the familiar scent of parchment and ink filling her lungs and welcoming her with a sense of belonging. Under the canopy of glass and metal, in the shade of orchids and wisteria, lulled by the sound of waves breaking on the fort, she was home.

The stationary barely fit the cylinder desk. Her curiosity piqued, she pulled the escritoire from the drawer, a bundle of letters neatly wrapped with a gold and sapphire blue ribbon, falling on her lap, from the depths of the secretary.

She stared, awestruck, as her own writing spread endlessly on the page – deep blue ink and never sealed messages she had long thought lost and regretted she never sent.

And here they were. Every single one of them – most unfinished, as she had left them, dated from 1325 to 1327.

Dearest friend,

An eternity it seems passed since we last met.

I hope life in Orr is treating you well, and that your duties to Pact allow you some respite.

I am writing from Lion's Arch, on my way to the Black Citadel at Tribune Brimstone's request. Assistance with the constant afflux of refugees from northern Ascalon.

The city is the same as ever but the sight of Claw Island, in the distance, beyond the bay, gives perspective to these last months. So much happened in so little time that neither of us really took the time to process.

I expect our business in the Citadel will conclude shortly – after Zhaïtan, what threat could be so hard to dispose of – and if you so agree, I shall bring you my transfer request for Caer Aval in person within a fortnight.

Yours truly,

Anwen Evergreen

PS : Meryw sends her love!

Dearest friend,

Our business in the Citadel it seems will require my attention longer than I originally planned.

The Dredges and the Flame Legion have formed an alliance and they harass these people endlessly. The Imperators seem helpless to deal with their guerilla – hit and run, scorched land – methods.

I took the liberty to offer the Pact's assistance – even if said assistance was then limited to Meryw and I – and assumed coordination of the agents and vigils already mustered there.

Dearest friend,

My sincerest apologies for not writing sooner.

Since Wintersday the days have grown, and yet they're still too short.

I hope you know you are on my mind-

A celebration of the Pact's victory is to be held in Lion's Arch in a fortnight. I dare hope our paths will meet there. I have so much to tell you. I realise now that you probably received a good dozen reports on the events that kept me in Central Tyria but–

Dearest friend,

I must once again delay my coming to Orr.

Captain Theo Ashford, who was killed during the attack, was a close friend of Logan Thackeray's. He asked me as a personal favour to assist the investigators – a detective of the Reach by the name Marjory Delaqua.

I am to meet her and her assistant – a friend of my brother, from the Academy, it's a small world! - in Lion's Arch today for further investigation of the crime scene.

I hope we can find the culprit shortly and I will then be free to officially file my transfer request to Orr.

I long to see Caer Aval again, and I cannot wait to offer my meager gardening talents to the restoration of the isles.

Yours truly,

Your friend, Anwen Evergreen

Dearest friend,

I wish to reiterate my family's thanks for your kind words and well wishes.

My brother is, I believe, on the verge of recovery as this misadventure did not even harm the most prominent part of his person : his ego is unfortunately unscathed. He seems more concerned by the ladies who witnessed his heroism than the healer's orders. And I worry for Meryw who must now endure him for the fortnight – and who definitely does not seem as annoyed as I had expected at the prospect of spending two weeks at the manor with Faren. I dread to think of the influence he might have on her! For all the love I have for my brother, I fear the world cannot endure another like him!

As for Scarlet Briar – or Ceara as she was once called – her motivations are still elusive... Chaos? Perhaps. But I fear there is more to her assault in the Reach – on the Queen's Jubilee – than most would deem.

The Shining Blade and the Seraph see no further than the immediate threat on the crown and Kryta. And the Arcane Council envoy dismissed her actions as a madwoman errance. But I have rarely met such a conflated ego – even for an asura! – and never seen Meryw have such a strong immediate dislike for someone, and though she remains tight-lipped on her reasons, I trust her judgement. Emissary Vorpp might be a brilliant dynamist but his expertise on the intricacies of the mind seem shallow at best.

But I digress.

These recent developments, I fear, will keep me in Kryta yet again.

Until we meet again, I remain yours truly,

Your friend, Anwen Evergreen

I killed you. Scarlet made me see this, made me do this. I know it was just a hallucination – just a nightmare but I see you every time I close my eyes, I feel your blood on my hands and your head on my shoulder as you breath your last.

Meryw saw Sieran.

Scarlet... This toxin showed us a glimpse of our subconscious, a place I hope my darkest nightmares will never wander back to... Every one of us peered into our deepest fear.

Mine is a world without you.

Dearest friend,

I hope this letter finds you well. I can barely believe it has been a year since last we met. I never expected

Caer Aval must be quite tranquil with the arrival of winter. If your duty allows, I would be honoured happy delighted honoured to have you as my guest for Wintersday.

The winter fêtes of the Faren house are famed for the brightness of their illuminations and the sweetness of their spirits.

If it so pleases you, we could avoid the crowds together.

Merry Wintersday, dear friend.

Letter after letter, she revisited this distant past – two or three lifetimes ago, it seemed – until the familiar sound of footsteps interrupted her.

Trahearne froze on the threshold, seeing her sat on the floor, the letters scattered around her and on her lap.

"You had them... I never sent them, and I thought they were lost forever, how...?"

"Meryw."

She stifled a breathless laugh.

Of course!

If there were anyone she could trust had innocent – or at least unequivocally good – intentions sending her correspondence, it was her shield-maiden.

"She wrote a few words with every unsent message, telling me of the unlikely places she had found the letters – blaming your distraction, your forgetfulness."

"I was busy...", Anwen smiled apologetically.

"I had noticed.", Trahearne chuckled. "These letters offered me a glimpse of you – stories I dared hope you would one day share with me."

"And... did I live up to your expectations?"

He laughed and knelt by her side, considering a moment everything they had been through these past ten years, the promise of tranquility after a decade – a lifetime in his case – of constant crisis almost too painfully sweet to believe.

"Our life together surpasses everything I could have imagined."

She leaned in his embrace, a content hum rumbling in her chest as she rested her head against him.

"Rereading those...", she sighed, "I realise how far we've come... and how close I have been from seeing my nightmare come true."

"A second Faren!", Trahearne breathed, in exaggerated horror. "Meryw is immune, but I believe Canach is a good contender..."

Her laughter filled the room with light and his heart with joy.

With the secondborn returned to Tyria to flaunt his success around the most elitists salons – and incidentally find more patrons to finance the Friends' Detective Agency – and Meryw recently recruited for the preparation of the wedding – and as such not-so-reluctantly entangled in the procession of bridesmaids counting in their ranks the oldest friend of Kasmeer, it seemed their orchard had succumbed to the gravitational attraction of Anwen's brother. And, most alarmingly, did not seem to complain!

He felt rather than heard her breath catch, a tremor in the quiet rise and fall of her chest against his.

“Dearheart?”

He reluctantly broke their embrace, a sinking feeling settling in his chest when he noticed her eyes glistening in the faint light. She blinked rapidly, a broken sob shattering on her lips.

"Anwen, what troubles you?"

“Sorry, I– I'm fine. Don't worry, I– I don't know why–...”

“It's alright.”, he murmured, tenderly holding her while she cried and leaned in his touch when he dried her tears.

“I'm so tired, Trahearne..."

It was a simple admission, but it was a relief.

"I... I think it's the first time since these letters that I cannot see further than the next step."

After they defeated Zhaïtan, she had naively believed there would be peace. They had defeated a dragon awakened for over a century and Trahearne had shattered its hold on the land it corrupted. Hopefully, the others wouldn't wake for a few centuries. And if she knew they would eventually bring the fight to Kralkatorrikk she had secretly hoped, since it was as good as dormant since Glint's death, that it would have taken years - time enough for the Pact to gather intel and reform an army to instill fear in the heart of an Elder Dragon. She had hoped...

"I... wanted nothing more than to spend all my time here, with you. And now we're finally there, now we can finally rest, I'm... ruining it."

"You're not ruining anything...", he breathed, tightening his embrace and resting his forehead against hers.

He knew this feeling. After the completion of his wyld-hunt he had felt… Bereft. Helpless. Forlorn. The great purpose of his life was complete and in its absence only remained emptiness and aching.

"Anwen, you're allowed to be tired. You're allowed to be sad because this chapter of our lives is over and relieved there is not battles left to fight. You're allowed to be unsure about the future and elated by what's to come. You're allowed to regret, to be proud of what you have accomplished."

"I'm– I just want to rest... with you."

"We rest, then.", he said softly.

She nodded feebly, a yelp stuck in her throat when he lifted her off the floor and carried her to the sofa nearby. A breathless chuckle broke on her lips, dispelling the shadow looming over them.

"I shall brew us some tea.", he offered, leaning forth to grab the nearest bundle of letters and laying it on the cushion beside her. "The one we brought from Seitung Province?"

"Would be perfect.", she smiled, the bitterness of nostalgia fading at the mere memory of the scent and aroma of white tea and sweet summer peaches.

Trahearne tenderly replaced a stray lock behind her ear and leaned in to lay a kiss on her cheek.

"Rest easy, Anwen. I'll take it from here."

(special thanks to @your-toxic-cat-universe for this beautiful piece! )

[lunarblue21]

Art above courtesy of @dorkaly-doodles from an art trade we did years back! I wrote her a fic based off some of her characters and she drew a scene from one of my fics! If you've ever on DA and adore cute art, drop her some love!

Anyway, this post is for the purpose of saying that finally, at long last, the last 5+1 chapter of "Five Times Manny Hugged Diego" on ffn will be on fanfiction.net finally! If you prefer reading on ao3, the link to the same fic is here. Also I do realise this fic is a whopping 8k words, but it's a good read! It's a heart-pounder!

FFN

[violaeadde]

love when u look up how to pronounce something and one of the first results will be that shitty pronunciation guide youtube channel where all the native speakers in the comments are just like this was mispronounced so horrifically that whoever recorded this should be taken out back and shot

[hyuckmov]

the recent likes to rb ratio for MOST fics on tumblr especially for all the new haechan writing recently...