#saved you from a river concept

[priceprime]

She ends but

Never ceases.

Dies and does not

stay dead.

But I am the one,

I am the one

Who must hold her too closely

As she is too still and too silent.

On the long walk through hell

And to the river styx.

I am the one

Who must lid her glassy eyes

Trace each edge of porcelain split.

Who must wash the blood

From her hair

And the corner of her lips.

I am the one

Who must annoint

Her stubborn brow

And her perfect heart.

Inlay her crown

With all she will forget.

I am the one who must lay her to rise.

I am the one who must mourn.

I am the one who must love her

Over and over again.

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week

1. ‘We are just getting started’: the plastic-eating bacteria that could change the world

In 2016, Japanese scientists Oda and Hiraga published their discovery of Ideonella sakaiensis, a bacterium capable of breaking down PET plastic into basic nutrients. This finding marked a shift in microbiology's perception, recognizing the potential of microbes to solve pressing environmental issues.

France's Carbios has successfully applied bacterial enzyme technology to recycle PET plastic waste into new plastic products, aligning with the French government's goal of fully recycling plastic packaging by 2025.

2. HIV cases in Amsterdam drop to almost zero after PrEP scheme

According to Dutch AIDS Fund, there were only nine new cases of the virus in Amsterdam in 2022, down from 66 people diagnosed in 2021. The organisation claimed that 128 people were diagnosed with HIV in Amsterdam in 2019, and since 2010, the number of new infections in the Dutch capital has fallen by 95 per cent.

3. Cheap and drinkable water from desalination is finally a reality

In a groundbreaking endeavor, engineers from MIT and China have designed a passive solar desalination system aimed at converting seawater into drinkable water.

The concept, articulated in a study published in the journal Joule, harnesses the dual powers of the sun and the inherent properties of seawater, emulating the ocean’s “thermohaline” circulation on a smaller scale, to evaporate water and leave salt behind.

4. World’s 1st drug to regrow teeth enters clinical trials

The ability to regrow your own teeth could be just around the corner. A team of scientists, led by a Japanese pharmaceutical startup, are getting set to start human trials on a new drug that has successfully grown new teeth in animal test subjects.

Toregem Biopharma is slated to begin clinical trials in July of next year after it succeeded growing new teeth in mice five years ago, the Japan Times reports.

5. After Decades of Pressure, US Drugmaker J&J Gives Up Patent on Life-Saving TB Drug

In what can be termed a huge development for drug-resistant TB (DR-TB) patients across large parts of the world, bedaquiline maker Johnson and Johnson said on September 30 (Saturday) that it would drop its patent over the drug in 134 low- and middle-income countries (LMICs).

6. Stranded dolphins rescued from shallow river in Massachusetts

7. ‘Staggering’ green growth gives hope for 1.5C, says global energy chief

The prospects of the world staying within the 1.5C limit on global heating have brightened owing to the “staggering” growth of renewable energy and green investment in the past two years, the chief of the world’s energy watchdog has said.

Fatih Birol, the executive director of the International Energy Agency, and the world’s foremost energy economist, said much more needed to be done but that the rapid uptake of solar power and electric vehicles were encouraging.

---

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[manicmanuscription]

The Right Time

Pairing(s): Feysand x Reader

Word Count: 2501

Warnings: Angst, Possible Medical Inaccuracies, Fluff, Love Confessions, Delirium, Lack of Sleep, Depression? Panicking, Dissociation.

Summary: Reader is a new single mom, and she pushed away her only support system determined to prove she could do it on her own. But on a bad sleeping night she's slipping. Luckily her mates friends are there to pick her up.

A/N: I've been really obsessed with baby/pregnancy fic's lately due to baby fever, but I have never actually been pregnant before so a lot of this stuff is based on information from family members or other fanfic's. So a lot of this might not be correct. This fic has also been playing in my head after a shit ton of pregnancy fics i read so there might be grammatical errors!

acotar masterlist | main masterlist

divider by @cafekitsune

You didn’t know what you expected your life to be when you were just a faeling but it certainly wasn’t like this…

Living in a small cottage nestled in the countryside of Velaris, a wailing baby in your arms, bags under your eyes, no ring on your finger and no baby daddy in sight. Your house was an absolute mess but you didn’t have the energy or time to clean, you would’ve hired a maid but ever since your daughter was born a few weeks ago your paranoia had skyrocketed. It didn’t help that you were a valued member of the Inner Circle and not only had your life been threatened numerous times but you had been attacked just as many. 

You never expected it to be this hard though. Andromeda was squealing at the top of her lungs and you were sobbing right along with her. Rocking her up and down and desperately trying to figure out what was wrong. Not only were you still recovering from your intense labor and your homones all over the place but it was impossible to get any sleep, if your lovely daughter wasn’t having difficulty latching and by some miracle she had fallen asleep for longer than forty five minutes than you were staring at the wall cooconed in blankets a deep sense of dread overcoming every sense in your body made it diffuclt to fall asleep.

Anxiety kept your eyes awake at the thought that something would go wrong the second you let yourself relax. Your body would pass out from sheer exhaustion and Andromeda’s cries would awaken you and you started the whole song and dance over again. 

You were so, so, tired. Your mind had you seeing shadows moving across the floor and you could barely stand up straight. It was a miracle that fae get pregnant, conception taking years at a time and even then the pregnancy and labor extremely diffuclt, a lot of fae not surviving the process. You knew you were incredibley lucky to have a daughter, to have the chance to hold her and you loved her fiercely with ever fiber in your being yet you couldn’t help but regret everything.

You wished you never went to that club, never met that male, you wished that male had stayed instead of running in the opposite direction and you wished to all gods that you hadn’t pushed away your only support system, determined to prove you could do it on your own. 

Your family had been a shining star during all of this. Especially your High Lady and Lord, Rhysand and Feyre knew the deep intracies of pregnancy better than most after everything they had been through with Nyx.

Theey had stuck to your side the second they learned you were pregnant. Taking turns holding your hair back as you violently threw up from intense morning sickness, got all your cravings the second you mentioned it, held your bump when the weight started hurting your back or rubbed your feet when your ankles swelled.

They even forced you to stay at their house for weeks at a time so they could take care of you and when you insisted you were becoming a burden and returned home they had made themselves comfortable on your couch before you felt guilty and returned to the River House if only to save their spines. 

You had tried pulling away from them, guilt eating you alive every second of your pregnancy. Their actions didn’t help the absolute massive crush you had on them, in fact it only increased your adoration for them which made you shame spiral. The second your daughter was born you knew you couldn’t continue leaning on them for support, it only hurt you at the end of the day when you remembered they were mated, they had each other and a son and despite their overly flirty comments and lingering touches that just ended up causing more confusion. There was no room for you, you couldn’t keep pining after them when you needed to focus on Andromeda.

You told them you needed space, practically shoving them out the door even after they had spent 18 hours holding your hand’s and helping you deliver your beautiful daughter. Of course they had straight up refused your attempt to push them away and stayed with you a few days after labor, helping take care of you during the harsh after effects. But you finally kicked them out throwing out some cruel word’s that would haunt you to this day. Andromeda needed her mother to be present and emotionally healthy and you couldn’t provide that if you keep second guessing and overthinking every brush against your hand or every comment about your eyes. 

You could do this, you had to do this. You needed to be the best mother you could be for your little star. 

Yet you couldn’t even do that because she would not. stop. crying. The sound shredded your heart to pieces and guilt and shame turned the shattered bits of you to dust. She was fed, clean and warm and you couldn’t figure out why she kept crying. The thought made you feel like a horrible mother and you let out another sob at the same time as Andromeda as you bounced her up and down, forcing your numb feet to pace the room. “Please, please just go to sleep.” You begged. “I don’t know what’s wrong.” Your voice cracked and you spiraled at the scream she let out. 

You couldn’t do this. 

It was too hard, you were a horrible friend and an even worse mother and you didn’t deserve this little miracle in your arms. A better female would be able to handle it. You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t do this, you couldn’t- 

“Oh Angel.” A soft voice broke and you turned to find Feyre and Rhys standing there, you opened your mouth to say something but Rhys was moving the instant your eyes met their’s. As soon as he was a breath away from you he reached for Andromeda, saying something about help yet the words were distorted and muffled in your exhaustive state, soft arms gripped your shoulders and you almost fell over at the weight of your baby being removed as Rhysand gently pried her away from you and into his arms, a smile gracing his elegant features.

You were too tired to fight, to do anything to protest as Feyre led you away from the bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom. She was saying something too but you didn’t hear it, all your last remaining energy focused on listening for Andromeda, making sure she was ok. Feyre titled your chin to look up at her and she pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. Your mind suddenly sharpening as her magic brushed against your mental walls as she forced you to listen to her. “She’ll be fine Sweetheart, Rhys has got her, now let me take care of you.” 

Everything felt so far away as if you were dreaming, moving through life in a haze as Feyre gently undressed you and settled you in a warm bath. She washed your hair and body and massaged your shoulders, whispering word’s of comfort that did not reach you as you floated away from your body. She fed you fruit and cheese’s your body chewing the food on autopilot. When was the last time you ate? 

The food and Feyre constantly touching you slowly brought you back down to earth. To the reality of your hunger, your tiredness, how sore all your muscles were and to the lack of Andromeda crying, you could hear Rhysand humming lowly through the crack in the door and the occasional creak of the floorboards as he calmed your daughter down. The thought had tears lining your eyes again. “She hates me.” You whimpered and Feyre brushed your tears away with the pads of her thumbs. “No she doesn’t.” Feyre she affirmed confidently. 

You shook you head in disagreement. “I can’t do anything right Fey, I said all those nasty things to you a-and I couldn’t even get her to sleep, and I’m so tired. I wasn’t cut out for this alright? I’m going to fuck her up so badly, I’ll ruin everything.” You were sobbing again, a broken sound tearing from your throat and the sound looked like it physically pained her. “Andromeda adores you alright love? We can all see it, she never looks at anyone the way she looks at you.  Your so attuned to her, you love her so fiercely and that’s the most important part. Your doing your amazing love. You’re not going to fuck anything up. You’re an amazing female and you’re an amazing mother. I forgive you, so does Rhys. We just want to make sure your ok.”

You let the words sink in, your heart beating wildly out of her chest as you cried at the tenderness of her words. “Why are you dong this to me?” You asked brokenly, you felt as if they were pulling you in all different directions. “Why are you saying all of these things when-“ when you’re mated. Were the unspoken words. But you couldn’t say that, you’d never say that and ruin whatever pieces of friendship you had. 

“When what?” Feyre asked softly as she stroked your damp hair.  

“When- I- I-“ You stuttered not knowing what to say as your mind panicked at the close confession you’d almost made. “Why are supporting me like this.” You instead asked, needing to know why they had stayed so close to your side and pulled at your heart strings so violently. “Just..why Feyre? Go home, to your son. I’ll be fi-“

“If you finish that sentance I swear to the gods-“ Rhysand exhaled heavily from the now open doorway,. “Rhys.” Feyre warned but he brushed her off as he crossed the room and  kneeled in front of the bathtub, gripping your face in between his large hands. “Do you not see how much we love you? How much we care for you. I think we have made it obvious Angel. You are our mate. Just please- please let us help you.” The last part sounded like a desperate plea, a whine leaving his lips and you didn’t have it into you to be shocked that the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court were kneeling beside you, begging. your heart froze at the love confession. 

“Wait…What?” You asked slowly, waiting for them to tell you this was all a big joke. You couldn’t believe this, you couldn’t let yourself hope. Feyre was giving Rhysand an annoyed glare but at your voice she turned to you, her expression to shifting to one of hope. “You are our mate darling.” She whispered, entertwining a tattooed hand with your’s, water dripping onto the rug, reminding you that were naked in a bathtub and an embarrassed flush crept up your cheeks. 

“And we love you.” Rhys added once again, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

“We didn’t want to tell you like this, especially not right now.” Feyre added with a pointed tone, giving her - your -  mate another glare. The High Lord just rolled his eyes. “I’m tired of waiting for the right time Feyre.” 

You were pretty sure your heart was beating a milllion miles per hour and you couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle that turned into a delirous laugh. Their brows furrowed and expressions shifted to something more broken at that and you immediately apologized as you gasped for breath in between your laughter. “I- just.” Your voice cracked as you started talking, regaining some wisdom. “Do you know how long I’ve been in love with the two of you?” You whispered, your voice coming out in a high pitched tone as you tried to get it out all in one breath. “I felt so guilty-“ Lips crashed onto yours. The addicting scent of lilac and pear completely invading your senses as your gorgeous mate kissed you. Fireworks exploded in your chest and all of a sudden it felt like you could breath again. 

You felt as if you had arrived home as you finally allowed yourself to recognize the glowing bond in your chest instead of gaslighting yourself and pushing it down. It was overwhelming to feel the surge of emotions on your mates side and exhilarating all at the same time. Feyre moaned as your tugged on her bottom lip possessively. Soon her lips trailed down your neck and shoulder and a new set of lips met your own. 

Rhysand was different than Feyre yet just as addicting as his tongue clashed against yours, immediately taking control of the kiss. 

After a few more minutes of your mate’s overwhelmingly beautiful touch and you finally pulled away, panting hard. “What..What about Andromeda?” You asked timidly, knowing you would put her above yourself always, if they didn’t want another child than you couldn’t do this. Couldn’t allow yourself to hope only to crash and burn later. 

Rhysand hummed softly, taking one of your hands and kissing the inside of your wrist. “What about her darling?”

“Do…you still want me? She’s not your-“

Feyre gripped your chin firmly once again, directing your eyes to hers. “Andromeda is ours just as much as Nyx is. If you’ll allow it.” She added hastily

“You’re ours, Andromeda is ours, we love her deeply. Nothing is going to change that.” Rhys agreeded with just as much conviction os Feyre. You almost started crying once again, completely overwhelmed by the revelations of the night and Feyre hummed softly as they both remembered why they were here in the first place.

To take care of you and their daughter. Rhysand got up and grabbed a fluffy bath robe you don’t remember buying and Feyre helped you out of the bath stealing a quick kiss from you. “There’s still so much we have to do and talk about.” You mentioned as Rhys slid your arms into the robe. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “We can talk later, let’s get you into bed Sweetheart.” You could feel the adrenaline  from the night starting to wear off as Feyre led you to the bedroom. Your daughter finally snoring softly in the crib next to the bed.

They dressed you in your favorite PJ’s and each pressed a kiss to your lips before tucking you in the bed, Rhys magically changing the sheets with a snap of his fingers. 

Feyre snuggled in beside you, running her nails along your spine and Rhys sat on the end, massaging your sore feet as they forced the usual dread and anxiety away and for the first time in weeks you allowed yourself to finally relax at your mate’s gentle touch, your body completely melting underneath them. One hand gripping your daughter’s finger through the bars of her crib and one hand holding onto Feyre’s as you drifted off to sleep

[lovelybluebirdie]

The astonishing failure of a simple plan

Astarion x f!Reader

Summary: Astarion tries to wrap his head around you, when a sudden tumult in camp occurs.

[AO3]

The concept of altruism had always been quite strange to Astarion.

Doing something solely for benefiting others, without one's own needs primarily in mind – how outrageously foolish. 

And yet, he caught himself considering the idea more often since he had met you. 

You, the soft-hearted soul who always seemed to stumble directly into the next best opportunity to solve the problems of complete strangers that would cross your way – gladly interfering with any sort of personal drama. 

Although you and the rest of your travel companions had been infected with a tadpole to the brain, leaving you in desperate need for a cure to this rather urgent condition, somehow you would always manage to save a child from getting gruesomely killed by harpies, pick a fight with a powerful hag to rescue some random woman you just met or annihilate an entire camp full of goblins to ensure safe travels for a bunch of Tieflings – without at least demanding a proper compensation for all your troubles. 

You just did those things, and it drove Astarion mad.  

Perhaps one of the reasons for your undeniable saviour complex were the recurring thoughts that plagued you. You had once explained it as particularly dark urges, the impulse to hurt and kill spreading its roots inside your brain, evolving into a yearn to act out the most gruesome visions one could imagine. Gloriously kill an innocent to bathe in their blood, crush a squirrel to death with your bare fists or rip off a stranger's hand in need of help – malicious ideas that would otherwise never cross your mind.

The origin of these unwanted desires were unknown to you, but you sensed that it had to be connected to your past somehow – a part of you that had yet to be completely revealed. Of course, you had sworn to give everything in your might to resist them. And luckily for the life of your travel companions, you were mostly able to succeed.

Regardless of these murderous tendencies coming with your affliction, you were still the kindest person Astarion had ever met. A contradiction in itself, and yet you were – well, you.

Lately, Astarion had caught himself just perceiving you. 

Taking in your soft expression as you were mindlessly humming a song to yourself, sitting barefoot by the river, hands elbow-deep in the cold water to wash your clothes, sticking this stupid little melody to his head for the rest of the day.

While resting at camp, he had watched you reading – one of your favourites, the lexicon of bird species in Faerûn – a terribly boring topic, but you seemed to indulge in the lengthy descriptions of a blue jay’s wingspan. You would fetch Astarion a caught smile between slowly turned pages, eyes half-closed, before eventually dozing off in the flickering light of the fire. He had barely been fast enough to catch the edges of your slipping book, saving it from landing in the dirt.

The other day, he noticed you carefully picking flowers from the road, acting like it was the most important task on your schedule. Later, you would sit in silence, brows furrowed in concentration and hands busy with knotting them into a beautiful headband. A gift for Karlach, since you had sensed that she hadn’t been too well on this particular day.

A sickeningly sweet gesture.

And yet, so typically you. Affectionate, always looking after your dearest companions.

He remembered the feeling of you casually squeezing his shoulder after an exhausting battle, the concerned look you would give him as you noticed that he had been injured, and how you insisted on treating his wounds with the utmost care, not leaving his side before you made sure his bleeding had entirely stopped.

There was the sensation of your fingers gently forming circles through his white curls, while he had buried his fangs deep inside your neck, greedily gulping down the blood you had been willingly offered to him. The quickening of your pulse, the little shivers your body would give away as he was feeding on you. 

Your thumb shyly placed against his brow, the tender movement as you traced his features. The sincerity in your voice as you described the outlines of his face to him, after he had shared with you that his lack of reflection had turned the image of his own appearance into a dark shape from his past. Profane vanity was all he had initially seeked from you that evening, listening to you calling him beautiful and stroking his ego, and yet there had been a certain intimacy resonating in that moment. You had described to him what the world would see when it looked at him – what you would see. 

Astarion groaned and pulled his blanket up to his chin, almost covering his bottom lip with the thin woollen fabric.

Gods, how you irritated him. 

How you had infested his mind with your nauseating goodness. 

When you first met, Astarion had decided that precisely this outstanding character trait of yours should be your undoing.

You offered an easy prey, he had thought to himself in a blissful glee, as he imagined all the ways in which he would bargain your trust. 

Luring and deceiving were practically moulded into him, therefore charming you appeared as easy as picking the lock on a broken chest. In order to survive under his former master Cazador, he had become an unwilling adept in these abilities. 

Astarion flinched as the memory of his ruthless tormentor reentered his mind. Cazador had turned him into a vampire spawn almost two centuries ago and made him his slave, forcing him to a life in complete darkness and made him use his body to bring more than thousands of victims to him.

In order to deceive you, Astarion had formed a rather simple plan: Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you would never turn on him – old habits that cemented over the past centuries had kicked in.

Therefore, it should have been easy with you. Instinctive. Following a pattern of studied behaviour, throwing his best lines at you until you would breathe his name between tousled sheets - leaving your body aching for him and trusting him unconditionally.  

All he had to do was follow this nice little plan of his, deepening the selfish bond he aimed to create between the two of you in order to secure his safety. To get you on his side. 

It should have been nothing more than an insurance. A simple transaction, so to speak: His honeyed words for your protection. Performing an act, yourself delightfully unaware of your leading role in this little play of his.

Well, and what else could it ever be? After all, manipulating others in order to get something out of them was the only way he had ever known. 

And yet: with you, things had somewhat felt entirely different.  

At least, his plan had evidently borne fruit by now: Not only were you voluntarily offering your blood to help him with his cravings after he had revealed his past of being a vampire spawn, you had also sworn to help him finding out the meaning of the scars on his back and dealing with Cazador when the time would come.

Still, instead of savouring his accomplishment he found himself distracted with his attempts to wrap his head around you. 

Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to peek inside this little skull of yours, picking your brain until he would satisfy his curiosity with you and determine the reason why you were lingering on his mind of late. 

He wanted to figure out what made him actually want to listen to the things you had to say, admire your wit when you would share a heartfelt laugh over one of your foolish jokes or why he would seek your company after a night spent in familiar solitude. And even worse: Why in the Hells he had caught himself enjoying how your face would light up after you had saved another unfortunate soul in need on your travels. 

Astarion sighed and pushed his fingers to his eyes, hoping that pressing them shut would free him from his vexing thoughts, as a sudden noise distracted him.

The pounding of hurried footsteps and jumbled voices rose outside his tent, growing louder and faster.

He let out another disgruntled sigh.

Gods, what would it be now?

Whoever was roaming around your camp this late at night, screaming like an animal, better had a rightful reason to do so.

His annoyance fell off immediately as he came to understand what the unfamiliar voices were yelling: Your name. Followed by pleas for help.

Before he even comprehended what exactly posed this sudden level of urgency, his feet had already dragged him outside in the dark, a cold breeze brushing against his skin.

“What is going on?” he heard his own voice meddling into the sudden tumult. 

Then he spotted you: Arms and legs hanging lifelessly, brought down on your bedding by one of the Harpers he remembered from the Last Light Inn. You were followed by a few other Harpers who positioned themselves around your tent - they were desperately shouting for a healer.

An icy grip twisted Astarion’s chest as he stormed forward to reach you, stomping through mud and dirt.

“Is she hurt?” His voice broke as he saw your face. You were lying on your blanket, eyes rolling behind closed lids, cheeks all flushed and a thin line of sweat forming on your brow. You looked utterly terrible: Weakened and sick, seemingly in a feverish delirium. 

Astarion had seen you wounded before, due to blood and gore being in the nature of your journey to free yourself from the tadpoles, but never like this: more dead than alive, not moving a single major muscle.

What in the Nine Hells had happened to you?

Astarion swallowed hard before he found his voice again and turned to the ones who had brought you in.

“What did you do to her?” he hissed, readying himself to grab the Harper next to him by the throat and shake him until his tongue would loosen. “Explain yourself, now!”

Before any of the men could open their agape mouths in response to Astarion’s daunting request, Shadowheart broke the heated atmosphere with a soft push to his shoulder and made way to kneel beside you. 

“Let me see her.” She spoke quickly as she felt for your pulse and started to spread her hands protectively over you, encompassing you in a blue radiance. She was already casting a healing spell.

“Your friend, she… she was fighting a shadow creature, and it must have poisoned her,” the Harper that had carried you pressed between quivering lips. “We already sent someone to call for Isobel. She will know what to do.” As he met Astarion’s furious glimpse, he hastily added “They – they should be here any minute.”

Poison? Astarion wrinkled his nose. Indeed, your blood smelled different – somewhat tainted. 

He focused his gaze back to you, suppressing the urge to slap that damned Harper straight across the face. 

Instead of acting out this violent thought, he sank to his knees next to Shadowheart and carefully laid one hand on your cheek. You were burning hot and letting out ragged breaths between your cracked lips.

“I can cast my spells, but I am not versed in the toxins of the Dark”, Shadowheart declared with the most tensed look on her face, her magic still hovering over your body. “We need Isobel – fast.”

Another twist in Astarion’s chest. He racked his brain for a solution, his hand still held helplessly against your cheek. You were in need of healing, desperately, and more adept than Shadowheart could provide. His senses began to blur.

Through the pulsing sound of blood rushing through his ears he could only gather a few scraps of the enfolding conversation between the Harpers and the rest of your companions that had hurried to your aid.

It was enough to paint a picture of what happened to you: During your night watch, you had noticed a Harper being dragged away in the shadows and went immediately to his aid. With a few quick blows, you had managed to kill the attacking creature and save the unfortunate man from his demise, but for its final act it stroked you with its claw, leaving a deep scratch on your right arm – the source of the suspected poison that would flow through your veins. 

Astarion bit the inside of his cheek, spilling blood. His mind was racing. 

Of course you had gotten yourself in danger over saving someone else again. 

In normal times, he would have loved to tease you for your foolish act of heroism and give you an “I told you so”, probably earning a defiant look from you while you would emphasise the importance of helping those in need. 

Hells, he desired nothing more than to listen to your moralising if it meant that he could just hear your voice right now. 

But instead of lecturing him on morality, you were still lying on your mattress, unmoving and probably on the verge of death, and he couldn’t think of a single way to rid you of this terrible state.

He felt numb. Useless. It made him sick.

A gut wrenching thought rushed over him. 

What if you would die right now – just like that? 

Before he could… Well, before he could do what exactly?

The image of your limp lifeless body with dead staring eyes entered his mind.

No. You didn’t deserve to die. You couldn’t die. Not like this. Not now, not ever, not from saving a goddamned Harper.

Then you whimpered. 

Silent, almost inaudible, but enough to set Astarion ablaze. 

The urge of punishing every single one who had dared to lead you to harm overcame him like a ruthless wave crashing shore. He wanted to cut open, to rip apart and to send everyone into eternal hell.

Fire took over his crimson eyes as he bared his fangs, the look of a predator on his pale face, ready to curse those wretched Harpers or worse, as another quiet sound spilled from your lips.

“As… Astar... ion…?”

He froze.

His name – spoken as gentle as a flicker of moonlight glistening through leaves. Not moaned in lust or used to denounce him in anger – just… him being called, in the most faintest way. 

He felt his eyes wet before he even knew it, his mouth opened for a split second only to his lips pressing it shut again, forcing himself to blink before a single tear could make its way down his cheek.

You sounded so fragile. So ... in need of him.

“Asta...rion?”

His chest twisted again.

He wanted to whisper words of comfort to you, chanting them over and over like a prayer, assuring you that everything would be alright.

“Don’t speak,” he managed to breathe in a cracked voice. “I’m here, my sweet.”

Your eyes were still closed and moving fast underneath your lids. You spoke in a fever, and he could sense that you were in pain. 

Astarion brushed a strand of hair off your sweaty brow, using just the tips of his slender fingers. A most careful touch, as if a hint of deeper force would break you. 

Then, there was no more sound coming from you.

“Hells, where is that goddamned cleric? If she doesn’t arrive here any second, I’m going to drag her over myself-” Astarion’s voice was nothing more than a helpless plea. He sounded way less threatening than he had wished for, almost spilling those tears he had to hold back, and seconds before bursting if there would be no aid for you right now.

“No need to shout, my friend. I’m right here.”

Isobel. Finally. 

A fire in his stomach again.

How dared she sound so calm, considering your condition?

With haste, Isobel knelt between him and Shadowheart and opened her pouch, revealing a set of different sized bottles. She began to examine you with concentration, lifting your eyelids to look at your pupils, checking your vitals and thoroughly inspecting the wound the monster had inflicted on you. 

Astarion gritted his teeth in anticipation, a thick lump forming in his throat. 

“Will she be alright?” he eventually demanded, his voice cracking like a violin out of tune, but Isobel ignored him and silently continued her treatment. 

“Astarion, I’m worried about her too, but I think we shouldn’t disturb Isobel right now,” Wyll interfered softly and squeezed his shoulder. 

Taken aback, Astarion pressed his lips together. Of course Wyll would be the voice of reason in a situation like this, but unfortunately he wasn’t wrong. Isobel was the most profound healer available, an expert on the shadow creatures - and unlike himself, she offered the possibility to save you.

“As I thought,” Isobel mumbled after a minute that had felt like eternity and opened one of her potions with a loud plop. “She will need this.”

She then put her thumb on your chin, carefully opening your mouth and pouring in a dark liquid, before she continued to clear your wound. 

Astarion eagerly watched her hands treating you with expertise, still not laying his gaze off you.

“I gave her a powerful antidote,” Isobel began to explain calmly as she spread a colourless balm on your torn flesh. “Such poison needs fast treatment. Fortunately, if dealt with in time, it can still be cured. I’m glad I was able to aid your dear friend before it made its way through her entire body. Otherwise… It most likely would have been fatal.”

Astarion’s muscles tightened and his stomach turned. You almost died tonight.

Isobel seemed to notice his tension, so she quickly added “With this antidote, she will be completely fine in the morning. Her fever might continue through the night, but I promise that there is no more reason for concern.”

“Are you completely sure of that, Isobel?” Shadowheart asked, seeking out reassurance that the treatment truly had succeeded.

“I swear by Selune, she is not at risk anymore. The antidote freed her from the poison and the balm will heal her wound,” the cleric responded confidently. “Her body will do the rest.” 

The tight, dark blanket that had wrapped around Astarion’s chest began to loosen up.  

“I… I’m glad that she’ll be alright,” was all he managed to vocalise as the adrenaline slowly faded from his body.

“Thank you, Isobel,” added Gale, who had been nervously walking up and down your tent as Isobel had tended to your condition. 

Even Shadowheart, a devoted follower of Lady Shar, spared a few words of gratitude towards the cleric following her sworn enemy’s beliefs.

A general sense of ease took over from the strained atmosphere that had prevailed just a moment ago.

“She needs rest and quiet now,” Isobel claimed and gave a telling look to your companions and the assembly of Harpers that gathered around your tent. 

An unspoken demand that it was time to give you some space now.

*

“I will stay with her,” Astarion announced to Shadowheart and the remaining group after Isobel and the Harpers had left for the Last Light Inn. There had been a quick discussion if you should have been brought with them, but eventually it was decided that you were more safe in your own bedroll than being dragged through the shadow infested lands again. 

“Are you sure, Astarion? I’d be more than glad to watch over her myself,” Shadowheart responded, not hiding her surprise over his proposition.

Even if Astarion wasn’t sure about anything in particular right now, he felt the pressing need to remain by your side until you would open your eyes again, ensuring that Isobel had spoken the truth and the threat had passed. 

“Well, I won’t be able to get some more rest tonight anyway, so I might as well just stay over here,” he attempted in a more indifferent manner. “Besides, her tent is by far the most comfortable one our excuse for a camp has to offer, and I’m looking forward to indulging in some peace and quiet after all of this night's terrible trouble.”

Karlach listened to his explanation in slight amusement and gave him a supporting nod. Liar, her smiling face said.

“Well, if you’re sure, and there are no objections… Then it’s fine with me, I suppose,” Shadowheart replied with a raised eyebrow. “But promise to shout for me if something’s the matter, will you?”

“Gods, would you please give me some credit here, you mother hen. I got this,” Astarion said and rolled his eyes. On the inside, he was still shaken up, and he could only hope that the slight pitch in his voice wouldn’t give him away. “So hush hush everyone, off you go now. Get in some  beauty sleep, as you all are evidently in need of it.”

“Chk!” Lae’zel interfered in the most angry whisper she could muster. “Leave Astarion to look after her for the night if he insists. I’m certain he knows the fate that will await him should she come to harm under his supervision.” Lae’zel’s very own way to express that she came to care about you.

“Charming as ever,” Astarion replied at this implicit threat, still holding no intention to move merely an inch from his spot next to your bedroll.

“You see, Shadowheart? There seems to be no need to worry about our dearest friend,” Gale added with a slight chuckle. “I suppose she’ll be in good hands for tonight.”

Shadowheart let out a grunt and readied herself to leave with the others, but not before she would lay one last gaze on you, ensuring that you had not gotten any worse over the last few minutes.

*

Astarion watched your chest rise and fall in a soothing rhythm.

What a mess this night had been.

From the moment the Harpers had brought you in it had been like a heavy weight violently crushing his chest over and over, turning him into an angry, scared wreck, and the pressure only began to wear off by now.

Realistically, he knew that you were safe and the danger had passed. But then, why was there such an uneasiness lingering on him?

He had been scared in his life before, probably more times than he could recall, and yet… The fear over losing you tonight had shifted something in him. 

You had called for him in your feverish delirium, as you were lying helpless and in pain. 

It was an image hard to shake off.

Astarion sighed, when he noticed that you were still in your armour. There was no way in Hell he would let you sleep in this reeking dirt-covered piece of cloth, so his dexterous fingers began to peel it off, piece by piece. Carefully not to wake you, he stored your armour aside, until you were lying in your undergarment. Then he took your blanket and wrapped it around you.

With another gentle motion, he let his finger stroke along your brow, brushing over the dampness of your skin. You were still feeling hot. 

His nose wrinkled as he pulled down his sleeve to cautiously wipe your sweat away. There was no need to get up to fetch some extra cloth, and he would be perfectly capable of cleaning his shirt the next morning.

For a while, Astarion would just watch over you, mustering your relaxed face and ensuring that your breathing continued steadily. You seemed to be in a calm sleep, still feverish, but evidently better looking than the moment you had been brought in.

The next morning came to his mind. Perhaps he might attempt to prepare your favourite food for you, a simple but apparently very delicious berry porridge. Not that he had any particular experience on the matter, since his culinary needs were restricted to blood these days, but if someone like Gale was able to cook it, he surely would be too. Maybe he would surprise you with the dog or the owlbear for some morning snuggling in bed, as you seemed to never spend a single day without indulging in some pets on your journey. Well, he probably should bring in both. Oh how delighted you would be, waking up to these furry little beasts, he thought with a grin. 

Then it hit him.

Shit.

His nice, simple plan with you had truly and utterly fallen apart.

What should have been nothing more than an insurance for his safety, a way to rid himself of the tadpole in his brain and offer him a powerful ally to face Cazador some day, had developed into something he never experienced before.

He genuinely cared about you - more than he thought himself to be capable of. You had become most precious to him, and he felt the urgent need to be honest with you. 

You were incredible, and you didn’t deserve to be lured into a selfish alliance.

You deserved something real. 

He wanted things between you to be something real - even if he didn’t know what real looked like. After all, charming and deceiving others was the only way he had ever known. Forming a sincere connection and being close with someone posed an entirely new and remarkably scary sensation. But maybe, with you…

Your faint voice brought him back from his thoughts. 

“Asta...rion?” 

His face softened, not as an act of will, more like a reflex.

You looked at him with half-open eyes, sounding still a little weak.

He bowed his head closer to you and spoke softly, letting his thumb brush gently over your cheek.

"There you are, my little fool. Getting ourselves in trouble over our constant need to do something heroic again, weren’t we?”

“Mh… Is that so?” you asked in a raspy voice, offering a weak smile through glistening eyes underlined with dark circles, your hair pressed damp to your skull. “And you saved me, I suppose?” 

Astarion’s heart grew tight with adoration. To him, you had never looked more beautiful.

“I’m afraid not, my dear. Actually, you have been poisoned by a shadow creature, so you were in need of a more adept healer. Isobel treated you.”

“Mhm.. How bad was it?”

He thought for a moment, the fear he had felt rushing over him for a split second and piercing his chest like ice. 

"Well, not as bad as it could have. I’ll spare you the details for tomorrow.”

“That’s… good.” You hummed, sounding drowsy and still a little feverish. Then, you gave a soft plea. “Astarion… Would you… stay with me tonight?”

There it was again, a pull at his heartstrings. 

Gods, you wicked little thing.

“Of course, my darling. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

A promise, unimaginable honest had it been another time, with another person, but this was now, and this was you.

He gave another gentle press to your hand, carefully intertwining your fingers with his, as if to underline his words.

"Thank you,” you whispered, eyes closed for a second before you let your gaze meet his again. Another quiet mumble. "Could you... hold me please?"

Astarion was overwhelmed by your vulnerability for a second. He wanted nothing more than to provide you comfort, to make you feel safe, but didn't know if he should give in. Even though you had often shared your bedroll these days, this somehow felt more open, more intimate.

Before he realised what he was doing, he swiftly lifted off your blanket to slip underneath and laid his arm around your waist, pulling you in close.

He could feel your hand on his chest. Your head gently resting on his shoulder, fingers loosely clutching around the end of his collar. Your warm body against his cold.

Astarion let his fingers gently caressing the small of your back.

You were breathing steady, already seeming to doze off again. A soothing calmness came over him.

“I hope… I didn’t worry you too much,” you mumbled, more asleep than awake.

Astarion bit his lip.

“Well…” he said and cleared his throat. “I managed.” A complete understatement of events, but this was also a confession for another day. “Rest now, my love.”

Astarion continued to gently stroke your back, his lips turning into an affectionate smile. He never thought his heart to be this full over the failure of such a simple plan.

Masterlist

[gimlilithegreat]

My ideal sequel to The Hobbit (ignoring LOTR, the OTTrilogy can continue being perfect forever as a completely separate concept) is a vaguely slapstick groundhog’s day style redo where every time Bilbo dies he’s sent back to the day Gandalf arrives to invite him on an adventure.

It starts off enthusiastic because Bilbo is going to do everything right this time, he’s going to tell Gandalf immediately so they can fix everything and save everyone and stop Sauron.

But Bilbo keeps dying and everything keeps going wrong in new and incredible ways. They try the whole eagle thing. They try going with a massive army. Bilbo tries sneaking past Shelob, so many times.

He dies to orcs, spiders and old age. He dies falling off horses, tripping off cliffs and on one memorable occasion of a heart attack.

He lives through wars and councils and losing everyone over and over again.

And eventually Bilbo is a defeated hobbit with too many deaths in his memory to count and nothing left in him to give. He wakes up after his latest failure and decides to just go on the stupid quest to Erebor because if nothing else it worked last time.

He finds himself enjoying it, enjoying spending time with these dwarves who are confused by the tiny little war veteran in their midst. He’s weirdly laissez faire about dying and surprisingly good with a sword considering he’s a hobbit.

They get attached and work together to stop their little companion from walking into oblivion and Bilbo slowly remembers what living felt like and is starting to get his motivation back. This time with the desperation that this time will work out specifically because he loves these dwarves and no other versions of them will ever be the same. He has family now and he doesn’t want to leave them behind.

Bilbo’s learnt a lot over hundreds of life times and he uses all of that knowledge to get them through safely.

Facing off with orcs, brow beating stubborn elves and whipping the gold sickness straight out of dwarves.

He comes to the end of the journey, his dwarves are safe, Erebor is reclaimed with shockingly minimal loss of life and he has the ring and the willingness to try again for Mordor - when Bofur’s like, “what do you mean Mount Doom’s the only place it can be destroyed? Sounds like you just need lava. Follow me laddie.” And takes him down to the deepest and darkest parts of the mines under Erebor where dwarves have dug the deepest and uncovered great chasms at the bottom of which flow molten rivers of magma.

They drop in the ring.

It floats on the surfaces for a moment before it cracks and dissipates with an unsettling scream.

In the distance to the east a tower falls and orcs and goblins watch with horror as the eye melts and shatters.

Down the depths of Erebor Bilbo lets out a great sigh of relief.

“It’s almost four Bilbo, we should get you some tea before that stomach of yours starts a revolt.”

And Bilbo goes back up into the sunlight to settle in for a nice afternoon visit with his dwarves in the garden they built for him on the slopes of Erebor.

[autumn-sweet-fae]

Jayvik + CaitVi Arranged Marriage Royalty au concept

But, Viktor isn’t the one Jayce is engaged to.

Piltover is ruled over by a council of family houses

While Zaun has One royal family that looks out for their people and keeps the Barons in line.

The council proposed arranged marriage, declaring it a wonderful way to reforge their once severed bond, as equals. And yet, the offer is for Jayce Talis, the 24 year old head of the lesser house Talis, to marry Violet, the newly 18 year old eldest princess and heir to the thrown of Zaun.

After the proposal King Vander has to talk his husband King Silco down from declaring war for the obvious fucking slight.

To offer such a minor house as the groom-to-be to their daughter and heir, as if the kingdom of Zaun is little more than a vassal state for them to exploit yet again. They did not fight and sacrifice so much for their sovereignty to be given such disrespect.

But there are trade relations to remember, and livelyhoods of their people to protect, so they begrudgingly accept the proposal after some serious haggling.

They demand for Jayce Talis to be who travels out to Zaun, instead of the suggested insulting idea of Violet going to Piltover, and for there to be an official courting period where princess Vi holds the right to cut off the engagement at the months end if she so chooses.

The council agrees and promptly ship Jayce Talis off to Zaun by the days end.

The expediency of his quick arrival does raises a few eyebrows as well as suspicion,

As it should… because had Zaun not agreed to the proposal, Jayce Talis would have instead been exiled for his crimes of attempting to create magic.

His trial had been a secret, as all house related trials are. His mothers pleas for mercy to not have her boy banished to some far off continent had been what had given the counselors the idea to use him instead as their political pawn.

But, if he fails to secure this engagement by the months end, then both he and his mother will be stripped of their house statues and banished.

So Jayce, force to surrender his life’s work in hextech (save for a single notebook he managed to hide), is escorted across the river to Zaun to woo a princess he has never met before. He doesn’t even get to say goodbye to his mother or his only friend Caitlyn.

Meanwhile, Viktor, respected inventor and tutor to the royal children of Zaun, (and the unofficial fifth adopted sibling if you asked those children) gets a front row seat to the explosive fallout from Vi learning about the engagement.

It’s obvious to everyone who knows her that she will absolutely be rejecting the proposal to this man the second she that can. But the fact that she has to court this Piltie pretty boy for entire month?? And he’s arriving TODAY???

How Viktor got roped into being the one to welcome Jayce to Zaun, he’ll never know.

Once Viktor believes his stalled long enough for Vi to agree to the charade, he brings the him to properly meet her. Jayce and Vi’s introduction and pre planned first date would be so fucking awkward and even hostile a first.

Jayce would be spiraling because he can tell how much she hates him and it’s becoming clearer and clearer the more he get to know her that there is NO CHANCE she’ll feel anything for him beyond friendship at best by the months end.

He’s set up for failure, there’s nothing he can do here to save his mother from His mistakes…

In a rush to excuse himself, his secreted notes gets left behind. Vi finds them and mistakes the scientific and mathematic notes to be something of Viktors so returns it to him.

Viktor is enthralled by the research he finds, surprised to discover this clearly belongs to Jayce (who signs every page of his notes). He simply must find Jayce to ask him about what this all means.

Viktor does not expect to find Jayce attempting to step over the railing of his fourth floor balcony.

Much like in Arcane, Viktor talks Jayce down off the ledge, inspiring him not give up and to continue his passion for science. Jayce opens up to Viktor, telling him the true reason he was chosen for the betrothal. How he was the expendable would-be exile with ideas too dangerous for Piltover.

“But not too dangerous for Zaun.” Viktor tells him

With those words the two dive into his research together, spending days in Viktors lab to recreate Jayce’s lost equipment before they’re finally able to test their theories.

Meanwhile, Vi cannot say she’s disappointed to be stood up for another of her and Jayce’s scheduled ‘dates’, but she is curious as to what the hell he’s up to. Not enough to investigate herself, no, she’s much happier running around Zaun with her siblings and checking in on her people.

Until she finds a young Piltie enforcer trying and failing to not draw attention to herself.

The enforcer, Caitlyn, informs Vi that she’s currently investigating a sensitive case regarding the relations between Piltover and Zaun and request Vi direct her to where she might fine a contact to the royal family house hold, if not Jayce Talis himself.

Vi, deeply amused by this topsider who clearly has no idea who she is, decides to spend the day giving her the run around for her own entertainment and to get more info from her.

Now, the truth of Jayce’s situation is incredibly dangerous for anyone to know. Offering a member of a lesser house for a princess heir’s hand in marriage is bad enough, but a criminal exile?? The uproar, the unrest, what were the counselors even thinking?? A sentiment that had been privately discussed between Caitlyn and the young counselor Mel Medarda. Mel had hoped talking with you younger Kiramman might give her insight on her mother’s ideals as well as Jayce’s character due to their friendship. Instead she inspired the young woman to take up the investigation personally.

Over the plot, Vi and Caitlyn grow closer to each other. The ladies both unaware of each others true statues as the Princess of Zaun and the High Counselors daughter of the Great House Kiramman.

Meanwhile Jayce and Viktor fully realize hextech and discuss the possibilities for it in Zaun, while also trying to figure out what to do about the engagement and how to save Jayce’s mother.

My plot ideas fizzle out here, however there is still the idea of Piltover still pushing for the engagement and throwing an ultra fancy ball to celebrate the desired couple’s official announcement once the courting period ends.

Everyone is invited, the councilors, heads of houses, the Zaun royalty and barons. All waiting in anticipation for Princess Vi’s arrival on the arm of her betrothed beau Jayce Talis.

Only for Vi to appear at her own engagement party with her betrothed beauty Caitlyn Kiramman on her arm. To Caitlyn’s mother’s horror and Vi’s fathers’ delight.

All this providing ample distraction for Jayce and Viktor to smuggle Ximena Talis out the back and into a carriage headed for Zaun. Viktor making sure to act as the perfect gentlemen to his future mother-in-law.

[h0neyfreak]

helping “The Environment” as an individual is such a nebulous and ever changing concept and seems to be very much in the Discourse™️ at the moment so I just want to take a minute to shout into the void with some reminders I gave my enviro students when they got to the “oh dear god we’re all gonna die” phase of the class:

“Individual choices don’t matter” is like. true(?) for climate change (unless you’re a kardashian or CEO or something) but that just means you can’t reusable tote bag your way out of a private jet society. NOT that you can’t have any impact through community initiatives and activism. Advocate for municipal composting and public transit!! Get involved locally!!!!! Write weekly to your representatives! Do whatever you can to get unstuck and scrape together some modicum of hope.

Also on individual choices. There are some that “matter” but be very wary of outsized benefits promised for seemingly small choices (e.g. the straw debacle). An app is not the thing to save us from a hundred years of industry. Going out and collecting litter DOES have an impact even if that impact is just “this area of the world no longer has trash in it.” It’s not solving the issue of microplastics or whatever but it is helping local birds. And it’s helping YOU feel more connected to your local environment and getting you involved with the world and your community.

Finally, the best thing you can be is well informed, persistent, and kind. Be willing and able to help if you bump into someone who is open to the idea of not letting Shell and SHEIN pour toxic sludge directly into every river. It’s more people than you think. But most people only know how to buy things that are “better.” (Electric cars, reusable bags, expensive neutral clothing made of flax). They want to do SOMETHING but we’re all just kind of vibrating balls of anxiety all the time. Know what sort of things are going on around you and invite them! My go to’s are composting initiatives, textile recycling programs, and pollinator friendly/grass free gardens.

Again, it would be great if we were all willing to drag the Shell and Nestle CEOs out to account for their crimes but being paralyzed by fear is not gonna help. Neither is another ethical clothing brand selling $400 linen underwear (probably). I’ve found time and time again that people who have any amount of tangible connection to the world outside have a much more visceral reaction to billionaire super yachts than defeatist suburbanites who drive EVs and have a kitchen full of dubious organic snacks.

[baronessblixen]

Asking For Miracles

Merry Christmas, @katebeckets! I'm your PoangPal Secret Santa, and as I am mostly a writer, you're getting a fic 😁 You said you were enraged that we didn't get to see Mulder and Scully reunite at the end of "Redux II" (same, btw). So I wrote a scene where Scully tells him that she's in remission. It's angsty - but of course, it has a happy end. I hope you like it!

(Here's the AO3 Link)

@poangsecretsanta @today-in-fic

“Mulder, I know it’s late, but I- I need to see you.”

The words Scully left on his answering machine still ring in his ears, even half an hour after he first heard them. By the time Mulder arrives at the hospital, his legs are like lead and feel as if he’s just finished a marathon. Every step he takes is pure agony; if only he could turn around and run. That, of course, is not an option. Not when Scully asked for him. 

Mulder enters the hospital lobby, the place as familiar as his own home by now. He nods at Jeff, the doorman, and he nods back at him. Maybe he recognizes Mulder, or he has compassion for every sad soul that passes by.

He stops in front of the elevator, his fingers fidgeting with the lapels of his jacket. An elderly woman standing next to him eyes him wearily when he presses the elevator button twice more. He’s grateful she’s not making conversation as they step inside. His thoughts are loud, screaming at him. They have been ever since Scully’s phone call - another one he missed. The sound of her suppressed tears is too familiar; it already haunts his nightmares.

It’s late. The hospital is deserted – save for the elderly woman, who’s clinging to her purse, staying with him on the elevator until they reach the oncology ward. They share a silent look, pain evident in their movements as they set out in opposite directions. 

A phone call late at night is never good news. Scully must have called him just after 9 p.m. He grabbed his jacket as soon as he heard it, not even caring if it – or he – smelled bad. Scully is all that matters. 

Yet, now that he’s here, he slows down. The closer he gets to her room, the smaller and heavier his steps become. As long as he’s out here, and as long as he hasn’t looked into her eyes, and heard what she has to say, he can pretend. He can pretend the disease isn’t taking her life, cutting it way too short.

He passes room after room, getting closer to the truth. For once, Mulder doesn’t want it. He wants the miracle, the fantasy. From somewhere he hears music. Or maybe that’s just his imagination. It’s an older song, melancholic. A woman singing about wishing she had a river she could skate away on. Mulder thinks it’s a Christmas song. Who plays Christmas music in the middle of the year? He considers telling Scully about it, hoping it will make her smile. 

It’s no surprise that he hates hospitals. He’s hated them long before Scully got sick, but not always. The first time he remembers being in one was when he was a toddler, just about three years old. On his first visit, he was apprehensive. He knew the concept of hospitals from books; big, white rooms with doctors looking like angels, sometimes healing, sometimes taking people to heaven. That’s how his grandmother Mulder had described it to him when he’d asked. 

The angels, his grandmother had explained, too, had taken good care of his mother and his sister. As a new big brother, he had to know these things. It was his time to be brave. Just like now, he thinks, as his shoes squeak against the linoleum. Back then, his much smaller feet had shuffled along, trying to keep up with his father, who was holding his hand in his large, steady grip. Before that day, Mulder can’t remember his father ever holding his hand.

The room Mulder remembers is filled with a sunny warmth, despite it being November. What are the chances of it having been a sunny day? But that’s how he remembers it. Just like he remembers the soft smile on his mother’s face and the way he had to stand on tiptoe to see Samantha and her squishy face. Seeing her cemented his fate; he was a big brother and he would look after her forever. Only that forever had been taken away from them. Much like last night when he lost her again. No matter what he does, he keeps losing.

The memory ends there. In the following years, hospital walls became tainted. There was blood and screaming. Samantha broke her collarbone and Mulder broke his arm. His grandmother died; the angels she’d believed in taking her away. The memories are strung together like a pearl necklace in his mind; one painful memory after another. An endless circle. Now, there is another memory to add.

He stops in front of Scully’s hospital room. All is quiet. The music has stopped. His heart, however, hasn’t. It’s thumping steadily, loudly. So loud in fact that he wonders if Scully can hear it through the closed door. He closes his eyes and knocks.

“Come in,” Scully’s muffled voice says and so, finally, he does. His eyes find hers the second he steps inside. Her face is puffy - puffier than he’s seen it in weeks. The hollowness for once hidden. How many tears has she cried without him here? She throws him a small, shaky smile. A laugh falls from her lips that sounds more like a hiccup.

“I came as quickly as I could,” Mulder says, flinching when he realizes that’s a lie. He may have driven to the hospital as fast as he could, but he took his time arriving. 

“I thought you should hear it first,” she says, sniffing. She grabs a tissue out of a half-empty box and blows her nose. “This is ridiculous,” she adds, avoiding his eyes. “I just- I called you first when I- and you… you were the first person I wanted to call when I found out.”

Blood rushes in his ears, his temples throb; this is the last moment before he knows. Once she says it - once the words are out there - they can’t be taken back. It will be real.

“They did more tests. I- the last PET scan showed no improvement and I-,” she trails off and Mulder’s knees buckle. No improvement. There’s no cure for this cancer, just like Scully said months ago when she asked him to come to the hospital for the first time. No cure, no improvement. There’s only one way this can end. He wants to cover his ears; it can’t be true if he doesn’t hear it, or see it. 

“I wasn’t ready to accept that,” she goes on, her voice steady. She glances at him as if waiting for him to say something. It’s not like him to remain quiet, but what is there to say? He wants to get on his knees and pray to a God he doesn’t believe in. “So I asked for more tests. When you’re dying, doctors will do whatever you ask of them.”

“I’ll make sure to remember that,” Mulder mumbles and Scully cracks a smile.

“We did another PET scan, among other things, and Mulder- I don’t know why is this so difficult to say.” Another hollow laugh from her and he can no longer keep his hurt in. It expels from his mouth as his lips begin to quiver. Scully’s eyes open wide.

“Oh, Mulder,” she says, reaching out her hand and he’s too weak to deny her, to deny himself. Her skin is as soft as ever, her touch as assuring as it’s always been. He’s crying openly now, weeping. The tears are blurring his vision, but he sees what’s important: her in the hospital bed, smiling up at him.

“You shouldn’t have to comfort me,” he says with a sob, trying to compose himself. He thinks of his father, of the way he watched him dismissively the night his grandmother died. When Mulder, at ten years old, had wiped his tears away with the sleeve of this sweater, he had asked his father why he wasn’t crying. Wasn’t he sad? His father hadn’t replied and only stared at him before he’d wandered off.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, Mulder,” she says, tugging at his hand. “Sit down.” When he doesn’t, she tugs more strongly. “Sit. Please.” He does, his hands folded in his lap as if waiting to start a prayer.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” she says softly.

“You’re a mind reader now?”

“I don’t have to be. I should have started with the most important news,” she says, waiting. He knows she wants him to look at her. He braces himself before he lifts his eyes to hers. Hers are brimming with tears, just like his own.

“My cancer has gone into remission.”

Mulder stares at her, not understanding. These are the words he wants to hear. Remission. Cured. Yet, he can’t believe them.

“You believe everything but not this?” she teases, her voice shaky.

“You’re- and the cancer? It’s- it’s.” He doesn’t know what to say. How do you describe a miracle? It just is.

“Like I’ve been trying to say, I couldn’t accept that there was no improvement. My mother… my mother and I prayed together and then I knew I couldn’t give up. I asked for another PET scan and more blood tests. Mulder, I don’t know what… something changed. Whatever it is, whether it’s the chip or, or-”

“You’re in remission,” he repeats, his brain finally catching up. She nods.

“I’m in remission. The PET scan shows great improvement. The tumor is shrinking.”

“I can’t- it’s shrinking? You’ll be fine?” He reaches for her other hand, needing to feel her. Again, she nods, smiling.

“I’ll be fine,” she whispers. Mulder stares at her, watches her, and sees his whole future. Their future. Together. His lips quiver again, but this time from joy. Scully nods, understanding him without a single word spoken.

“Come here,” he says, desperate. He lets go of her hands and engulfs her in his arms. Their positions on the bed are awkward, but they make it work. His heart thumps against her chest, and he feels hers, too. He doesn’t care if it was the chip or a miracle. For once, he doesn’t care about uncovering a secret truth. He just wants to hold her in his arms and have her by his side for as long as she wants to be.

“Will you stay?” she asks into his neck. Her lips are warm and wet and her touch brings him back into the here and now.

“I’ll stay,” he says. He’ll stay as long as she will endure him in her hospital room.

“I need to call my family,” she whispers and he loosens his grip on her. Her face is as wet as his own feels and he wipes at her eyes with his thumb. Her blue eyes are almost translucent and he’s in fear of losing himself in them. Instead, he finds himself nodding along, reaching for the cell phone on her bedside table and handing it to her.

“Tell them right away,” Mulder says. “Say you have good news.” He smiles sheepishly. She doesn’t need to know about what he’s gone through in between her call and her breaking the news to him. Still, he’d like Mrs. Scully and Bill Jr. to know what they’re in for so they won’t have to worry anymore. There’s been too much heartbreak already. Scully nods at him, new tears falling from her eyes.

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Mulder muses and Scully’s eyebrows knit together.

“It’s not Christmas,” she says with a chuckle and he takes her hand into his, entwining their fingers. She lets him. He marvels at their laced hands, remembering the song from earlier. He hopes the woman found a river to skate away on. He hopes she found her happiness somewhere along the way. Or maybe what she was looking for was right in front of her eyes the whole time. He knows what’s that like. 

Mulder lifts his head and grins at her, falling deeper in love with her, allowing himself the full force of his emotions for once. The skepticism in her expression lets him know that she’s about to call him crazy. Or she would if this weren’t the exact moment her mother picks up the phone.

“Mom?” she says, trying to keep the tears out of her voice. Mulder squeezes her fingers to remind her he’s here with her. “I have something to tell you-…,” Scully goes on and looks at Mulder. There are so many things unspoken between them, and so many possibilities now for their future. 

“It’s good news.”

[amitiel-truth]

River Maiden Pt. 10

(A/N: I call this one, The Crash-out Saga)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 11,

(Y/N)'s sobs echo through the damp, watery cell in Poseidon's Golden Palace under the Agean Sea, her anguish palpable. She has never felt so alone and hopeless before, trapped in this watery prison where she can barely breathe without feeling suffocated.

She's desperate to be with Telemachus, to feel his embrace and hear his comforting words.

"Why... why can't I be with him?" her voice choked with despair and sorrow.

Poseidon's booming voice interrupts her thoughts, echoing throughout the palace. "Because, my dear," he says mockingly, "you're my leverage. As long as you're here, that pesky mortal won't dare to go against me."

He appears outside her cell, a sinister smile on his face. "And I, oh, am going to enjoy this."

(Y/N) takes a deep breath, steeling herself.

"What do you want now?" (Y/N) asked, glaring at her 'Father'.

Poseidon chuckles, his voice dripping with mockery. "What do I want? Oh, nothing much. Just a little entertainment." He leans against the bars, his gaze fixed on (Y/N). "You see, I quite enjoy watching you suffer. It's oh so satisfying to see you, a daughter of mine, so hopeless and desperate."

His eyes gleam with malice as he continues, "And I love even more how that silly mortal believes he can save you. It's hopelessly romantic, really."

"Haven't I suffered enough?" (Y/N) stood up, walking up to the cell, continuing her glare at him.

"I was born from your sins, forced to grow up in darkness, and watch the only parent I know deteriorate because of you, do you know no mercy? Do you even rest? Do all you think of is implementing suffering for others!?" (Y/N) yells, tired of him.

"Mercy? Rest? Those are foreign concepts to a god like me." Poseidon sneers, undeterred by (Y/N)'s outburst.

"You think I care about your suffering?" he asks with a cruel chuckle. "I am the god of the seas, and I do as I please. Your pain only fuels my power, my dear. It amuses me to see you struggle and despair, knowing that you can do nothing to change your fate."

"You're wrong" (Y/N) challenges.

Poseidon quirks an eyebrow, intrigued by (Y/N) defiance. "Oh really now? And how exactly do you intend to prove me wrong, my darling daughter? You're trapped here, completely at my mercy."

"Because Odysseus once defied you...and won." (Y/N) taunted, a smug grin on her lips.

Poseidon's expression darkened at the mention of Odysseus's name.

"Yes, well, that blasted mortal was lucky," Poseidon grumbles begrudgingly. "But there's no chance Telemachus could pull off the same feat."

"You underestimate him." (Y/N) points out, looking at him blankly.

"Underestimating a mortal?" Poseidon scoffs, his arrogance evident. "I am a god. I am infallible. No mere mortal can stand against me."

"You underestimates a mortal once...do I even need to repeat what happened?" (Y/N) taunted, tilting her head.

Poseidon bristles at (Y/N)'s words, his pride wounded. "Enough!" he bellows, his voice echoing off the cell walls. "You forget your place, girl. I am the god of the seas, and I will not be mocked!"

"I am also a product of you, a vile, selfish man, who knows nothing but take, take and take!! " (Y/N) points out, glaring at him.

Poseidon's gaze hardens as (Y/N) continues to defy him. He hates hearing the truth spoken out loud, especially by his own daughter.

"Watch your tongue, insolent child," he growls, trying to hide the growing frustration in his voice. "You speak of taking? Do you know the power and responsibility that comes with being a god?"

"All I see is your selfishness and brazenness, a brute with no mind." (Y/N) glared at him, insulting him once more.

"How dare you!? I am not a brute," Poseidon seethed, his fury mounting. "I am a god, and I rule the seas. You, on the other hand, are just a mere girl, a mortal with delusions of grandeur!"

"Then forget about me as I forget about you!" (Y/N) screamed, holding onto the bars.

"You cannot forget about me," Poseidon thundered, his voice shaking the entire palace. "You're my daughter, my blood, and I will not let you go so easily!"

(Y/N) heart pounds in her chest as Poseidon's words wash over her, but she refuses to back down. She meets his gaze with a mixture of fear and defiance.

"Then why keep me imprisoned like this?" she asks, her voice cracking slightly.

"Because you are valuable to me, dear one," Poseidon replies, his voice soft and chilling. "You're the key to my revenge on Odysseus. As long as I have you here, that insolent mortal will do whatever I want."

He steps closer to the bars, his eyes narrowed. "And I plan on milking this opportunity for all it's worth."

Commanding the water around him, he made the watery cage around (Y/N) in the likeness of a giant bird cage, rising her up above the open field.

(Y/N)'s heart sinks as she's lifted from the ground, trapped in a water cage that perfectly resembles a birdcage. She feels imprisoned and vulnerable as she's hoisted up into the open field, the weight of her captivity overwhelming.

"What are you doing?" she demands, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.

Poseidon's smug smile widens with satisfaction. "Why, my dear, I'm simply making sure you're...comfortable."

He begins to walk away from her water cage, leaving her suspended in the open field.

"Oh, and do try to enjoy the view from up there," he calls over his shoulder, his tone dripping with mockery.

Poseidon gazes up at (Y/N) trapped in her watery birdcage, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Now, stay up there and wait for Your Prince." he sneers. "Let's see how long your precious hero will take to find you."

Hermes flies both Odysseus and Telemachus towards the massive golden palace of Poseidon, its opulent facade standing out against the backdrop of the sea.

"This is it, lads," Hermes says, nodding towards the palace. "Poseidon's lair is in there, told you it won't be that much of a journey, the Lady upstairs made sure if it. Are you ready?"

"Ready as we'll ever be," Odysseus replies, gripping the bag of Brutus Flowers tightly in his hand.

Telemachus simply nods, his expression stoic, mentally preparing himself for the confrontation with Poseidon.

"Then I should get going now, do try not to get yourself killed, she'll gut me for sure, Good luck~." Hermes bid farewell, before disappearing.

Odysseus and Telemachus watch as Hermes vanishes, leaving them standing before the imposing palace.

Odysseus takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "Alright, Telemachus," he says, a hint of determination in his voice. "Let's go get your girl back."

Telemachus nods, his gaze fixed on the palace. "Lead the way, father."

With that, they begin making their way towards the entrance of Poseidon's palace, their hearts pounding with anticipation and a sense of purpose.

Suddenly, they heard cries in the halls of the palace, catching Odysseus and Telemachus's attention. They exchange a glance, both knowing who the crying is coming from.

"That sounds like her..." Telemachus notes, his heart filling with worry and anger.

They followed the sobs, reaching an open courtyard, they stopped in their tracks at the sight of (Y/N) standing next to Poseidon, her face streaked with tears. They watch as Poseidon continues to speak to (Y/), his back to them.

"(Y/N)..." Telemachus whispers, his heart filling with rage at the sight of her tears.

(Y/N) turns around, seeing Telemachus, a bright smile on her lips.

"Telemachus! Your finally here!" (Y/N) cried out with a large smile.

"See Father? I told you he loves me!" (Y/N) proclaims, looking at Poseidon with a smile, confusing Odysseus and Telemachus.

Poseidon hides his irritation at (Y/N)'s outburst, maintaining his composure. He turns to Telemachus with a smirk, playing along with (Y/N) claims.

"Ah, Telemachus," he greets him, feigning a friendly tone. "Welcome. I see you've come to claim your beloved back from me."

"Well, here she is, all yours, I've grown bored of her." Poseidon pushed her towards him, making the (Y/N) run up to him.

"Telemachus! Oh, How much I missed you!" (Y/N) proclaims, holding his hands.

Telemachus's heart leaped at the sight of (Y/N) rushing towards him, but something about the scene felt off. He glanced at Poseidon, who had a smirk on his face, and then back at (Y/N).

"(Y/N)...?" Telemachus asked, his voice filled with a mix of relief and caution as he feels her hands on his.

"What's wrong my love? Don't you miss me?" (Y/N) asked, tilting her head.

Telemachus forces a smile, playing along.

"Of course I missed you, my love," he responds, gripping her hands tighter. "I thought about you every moment we were apart."

As he holds her hands, Telemachus subtly notes the coolness of her skin, a deviation from the usual warmth he remembered.

"Oh, How I missed you, beloved." Y/N) smiled at him, hugging him tightly, too tight.

Telemachus hugged her back, his arms encircling her as she hugged him tight. The coolness of her skin seemed to linger, an unsettling contrast to the warmth he knew her to have.

"It's alright, my love," he murmured, his heart pounding with worry. "I'm here now. I won't let you go."

Suddenly, Telemachus stabbed her back with his dagger, His heart pounded in his chest as the illusion of (Y/N) dissolved into water, dissipating the moment the dagger pierced her body.

He looked up at Poseidon, who had a smirk on his face, clearly pleased with his little ploy. Telemachus clenched his jaw, his grip on his dagger tightening as he realized the extent of the god's trickery.

Odysseus watched with a mix of surprise and confusion. "What just happened?!" he exclaimed.

"It wasn't her, her hands are too cold, and my arms don't fit right around her." Telemachus sheated his dagger, before glaring at Poseidon

Poseidon chuckled darkly, amused by Telemachus's observation.

"Clever boy," he taunted, his gaze cold and calculating. "I see you caught onto my little trick."

Odysseus's eyes widened, his expression turning serious as he realized the implications of what had just occurred. "So, where is she...the real (Y/N)?" he asked.

With the snap of the God's finger, a birdcage made of water began to rise.

Telemachus's gaze followed the ascension of the birdcage, his heart lurching as he heard the sound of (Y/N)'s sobs. Anger welled up within him as he realized she was inside.

"(Y/N)!" he called out, his voice carrying across the courtyard.

(Y/N) looks out of her cage, her breath hitched.

"You came..."

Telemachus's heart ached at the sight of her, caged and helpless.

"Of course I did," he replied, his voice filled with determination. "I would travel to the ends of the earth for you."

Odysseus stepped forward, his gaze fixed on (Y/N) in her watery prison. "We'll get you out of there," he assured her.

"Ah, ah, ah," Poseidon interrupts smugly. "Not so fast, mortals. If you want your little damsel in distress back, you'll have to play by my rules."

Telemachus's knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, his anger flaring.

"Your rules?" he spat out, his voice filled with venom. "What rules? You're nothing but a coward, locking her away up there like some prized prisoner."

"Careful, boy," Poseidon warned, his eyes narrowing. "You might not like the consequences of your words."

Odysseus stepped forward, his voice firm but measured. "We're not here to play games, Poseidon. We came for (Y/N), and we won't leave without her."

"Oh, you won't, will you?" Poseidon chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what makes you think you have any leverage here? You're both just mortals, insignificant and fragile compared to me."

Telemachus gritted his teeth, his patience wearing thin. "We may be mortals, but we're not powerless," he shot back. "And we won't let you treat (Y/N) like some bargaining chip."

Poseidon's gaze shifted between Telemachus and Odysseus, his smirk faltering momentarily as he faced the two mortals.

"Is this supposed to intimidate me? A mortal with a spear and another with a bow?" he taunted, his tone tinged with amusement.

"Telemachus!" (Y/N) calls out, before throwing something for him to catch.

Telemachus caught a double-ended spear made of her tears, his eyes widening in surprise. He felt the power within the weapon, the will of the waters flowing within it.

"No way..." he whispered, gripping the spear tightly, a sense of determination coursing through him.

"We're not only mortals...we had a bit of help." Odysseus taunted, before using the Brutus Flowers, with its necter and pollen at the tip of his arrows.

With a flick of his wrist, Odysseus launches a Brutus flower-tipped arrow at Poseidon, the pollen swirling through the air towards him

Poseidon's eyes widen as he realizes what Odysseus has done. He tries to dodge, but the pollen envelops him, rendering him vulnerable

Telemachus charges forward, wielding (Y/N)'s double-ended spear. His movements are swift and precise, every strike aimed at exposing a weakness in Poseidon's defense. His heart beats in sync with the rhythm of battle, his focus solely on rescuing (Y/N) from her watery prison.

Despite being weakened by the effects of the Brutus Flower, Poseidon fights back with the full force of his trident. His movements may not be as quick and precise as before, but he compensates with sheer power and experience. Each swing of his trident sends the air rippling around him, creating small waves with every attack.

Telemachus, his heart racing in his chest, dances around each swing, dodging and parrying with his double-ended spear. The battle becomes an intricate dance of blades and tridents, with each strike echoing across the courtyard, the sound of their weapons mingling with their ragged breaths.

Telemachus, his heart racing in his chest, dances around each swing, dodging and parrying with his double-ended spear. The battle becomes an intricate dance of blades and tridents, with each strike echoing across the courtyard, the sound of their weapons mingling with their ragged breaths.

While Telemachus distracted Poseidon, Odysseus used it to free (Y/N), seizing the opportunity, grabs an arrow and expertly attaches a length of rope to it. He swiftly fires it with his bow, the arrow soaring towards the top of Egeria's cage and anchoring itself securely. With a steady grip on the rope, Odysseus begins his ascent.

(Y/N) looks at the rope before looking down, seeing Odysseus.

"Sir!." Egeria whisper yells in greeting

Odysseus glances up, his expression filled with determination as he climbs the rope. "Hang on, (Y/N)," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the battle below. "We're getting you out of here."

As Odysseus reached her, she managed to slip out of the cage with her power, as he helped her down the rope

(Y/N) clung tightly to Odysseus as they descended the rope, her heart pounding with a mix of relief and anticipation. Once they reached the ground, she turned to him with a mix of gratitude and worry.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice shaky. "But Telemachus..."

The strength of the Brutus Flowers began to wear off, and Poseidon's godly powers started to return. As his strength rejuvenated, Telemachus found himself growing tired and outfought. He tried to hold his ground, but Poseidon's power overwhelmed him, pushing him back.

With the lift of the God's trident, he sent a powerful gust of water down onto Telemachus, as he lays down onto the ground, injured.

"NO!!" (Y/N) and Odysseus yells, as they both ran towards Telemachus's side.

(Y/N) and Odysseus rushed to Telemachus's side, their hearts heavy with worry. Odysseus knelt down beside him, taking in his injuries with a grim expression.

"Telemachus," Odysseus calls out, his voice shaky in near tears. "Can you hear me?"

"No! Nonononononono!" (Y/N) panics, accessing his injuries... it's grave, his abdomen and chest feels soft, his ribs are broken.

"Telemachus, please stay with me, please!" (Y/N) begs, holding his hand, patting his cheek.

Telemachus grunts in pain, his body feeling battered and bruised from the relentless attack.

"I...I'm alright," he croaks, managing a small smile despite the pain. He looks up at (Y/N), the worry in her eyes making his heart ache.

"No, you're not! You're mortally wounded!" (Y/ screams, trying to keep him awake.

Odysseus clenched his jaw, his expression turning grave. The severity of Telemachus's injuries was clear, and time was running out.

"Telemachus, you have to stay with us," Odysseus urged, his voice firm but tinged with desperation. "We can't lose you now."

Telemachus sees the panic and desperation in (Y/N)'s eyes, and he reaches up to gently touch her cheek, trying to offer some reassurance in his fragile state.

"Don't...don't worry about me," he says, his breathing labored. "I...I'll be alright."

(Y/N) looks at him in distraught, he's the one mortally wounded and yet, he is still worried about her well being, making her clench bee teeth.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry I never told you who I truly am, I never told you because... because I thought you wouldn't accept me for who I am, the part of me that I hate, the part of me I rejected all my life." (Y/N) admits, crying heavily as she looks at Telemachus's critical state.

Telemachus gazes up at (Y/N), his eyes filled with love and understanding. He reaches up to wipe away her tears, his touch tender and gentle despite his fading strength.

"My sweet, beautiful (Y/N)," he whispers, his voice weak but steady. "You don't have to apologize. I don't care about who you are or where you come from. I love you for you."

He coughs weakly, pain flooding his body as he tries to speak.

"I...I would never reject you..." he gasps, struggling to speak with every word. "You... you're my world... my heart... my everything."

Tears stream down (Y/N)'s face, her heart breaking at the sight of Telemachus, the man she loves, lying so helpless and vulnerable, whispering his last words to her. She grips his hand tightly, holding onto it like a lifeline.

He slides his hand up to caress her face, his fingers brushing against her skin, wanting to feel her warmth for as long as he can.

"Please...please don't cry," he pleads, his voice growing weaker with each word. "I... I hate seeing you like this..."

Tears stream down (Y/N)'s face as she listens to Telemachus's words. She grasps his hand tightly onto her face, her heart breaking at the sight of him struggling to hold on.

"Please...please don't leave me," she pleads, her voice choked with emotion. "I can't lose you too. I love you so much."

Telemachus weakly continues to touch hee cheek, his hand trembling with effort. His touch is gentle, his fingers tracing the contours of her face, committing the feel of her skin to memory.

"I...I wish I could stay with you... forever," he whispers, his voice barely above a whisper now. "But... I'm so tired..."

(Y/N) sniffles, taking a deep breath, before finally accepting it, knowing that Telemachus will only suffer in pain from holding on for her, she raised one of her hands, stroking his hair.

"Rest now, my Love, I'll see you in the morning" (Y/N) says softly, kissing his lips.

Telemachus's breath hitches slightly, the taste of her kiss bittersweet. He looks into her eyes, his gaze filled with sadness and love.

"Will... will I dream of you?" he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

(Y/N) looks at him with a bitter sweet smile, trying to give him at least a smile he could remember of her despite her tears.

"Yes, you will, always." (Y/N) reassures, trying to keep it together.

Telemachus manages a weak smile, his body growing increasingly still. He weakly moves his hand, brushing back a strand of (Y/N)'s hair, his touch tender despite his fading strength.

"Good...that's good," he murmurs, his voice fading further.

Odysseus, witnessing the scene unfold before him, feels a mix of sadness and admiration, knowing that Telemachus will die in the arms of his beloved.

"Rest now, My love, I'll see you in the morning, I love you." (Y/N) presses her forehead against his with a smile, despite her tears falling onto his cheek

Telemachus's eyes flutter closed, and a weak smile plays at the corners of his lips as he feels (Y/N) warm touch on his forehead.

"I...I love you..." he whispers, his voice barely audible now.

His hand, still weakly holding onto (Y/N)'s, begins to go slack, his body finally succumbing to the damage and exhaustion.

The silence is heavy, broken only by the sound of (Y/N) stifled sobs and Odysseus' ragged breaths. Telemachus's hand, now slack in her grip, falls limp to his side, his chest no longer rising and falling with each labored breath.

Odysseus stands nearby, his expression a mix of grief and anger. The reality of Telemachus's death is almost too painful to bear, and he clenches his fists, fighting back the urge to shout in rage and frustration.

(Y/N) looks at Odysseus, her eyes so full of tears. "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry." (Y/N) begs for forgiveness, as she gently placed Telemachus body onto Odysseus's arms as he sat on his other side.

Odysseus looked at (Y/N) with a mixture of sadness and understanding. He shook his head softly.

"It's...it's not your fault, my dear." Odysseus assures her. "Telemachus's death is a consequence of a battle we had to fight, and he fought bravely for you."

(Y/N) looks at the sight before her, Odysseus, holding his son's body, as she begin to break at the scene, kneeling onto the ground, and screaming in pain, tears endlessly flowing from her eyes.

Odysseus only looks at her, his heart breaking for her loss. He holds Telemachus gently in his arms, his own tears flowing freely grieves with her. The courtyard is filled with the sounds of their shared sorrow, with (Y/N)'s heart-wrenching screams echoing in the air.

Poseidon, now having regained his godly powers, let out a mocking laugh, relishing in the scene before him.

"Ha! Look at you all weeping over the fallen one," he says, his voice full of arrogance and cruelty. "The great Telemachus, defeated by a single blow. What a pity!"

"You really thought you could defeat a god with a mortal's strength?" Poseidon sneers, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. "You were all just playthings to me, nothing more than insects to be squashed under my heel."

He looks down at Telemachus's lifeless body in Odysseus's arms, his taunting tone growing more cruel.

"And now, look at the prize you've lost. How does it feel, hero?"

"Your tears. Your sorrow. They are nothing to me," Poseidon continues his mocking tirade, taking pleasure in Odysseus's grief. "You are all so weak, so powerless. You thought you could defeat me, a god, with your mortal struggles? How naive."

He looks over at (Y/N), now on the ground, her grief too overwhelming for her to hold back.

"And you, hybrid. Do you think your tears will bring him back? You are both pathetic."

Suddenly, the air stills, as (Y/N) sat up from her kneeling, shocking Odysseus at what's happening to her, but Poseidon couldn't see as her back was turned to her, the spear made out of her tears that Telemachus had dropped in his defeat, dissolved, and snaked it's way onto her, slithering on her back to her hair.

Droplets of water began floating around them, as (Y/N) stood up, her once (H/L) (H/C) turned into water in the shape of snakes, similar of that to a Gorgon, as she slowly turned her head towards him, her eyes glowing white, too bright, with endless amounts of tears flowing from her eyes, as the droplets began pelting Poseidon.

"What is this... what are you doing?" Poseidon demands, his voice taking on a hint of panic.

Each hit felt like a rock, completely surrounding him, as it ended (Y/N) was now in front of him, winding back her arm and sending a blast of water in the shape of snakes towards towards him, sending him flying across the courtyard.

Poseidon quickly regains his composure, looking up at (Y/N) with a snarl.

"How...how are you doing this?" he demands, clearly shaken by her newfound powers.

(Y/N) ignores his question, her gaze fixed on him as she continues her approach, each step sending tremors through the ground underneath her. The howling wind sounds like her screams, creating a chilling chorus of anguish and determination.

"What have you become?" Poseidon finally manages to say, his usually mocking tone now tinged with fear.

She couldn't even hear him, all she could hear was...Telemachus.

"I would never, ever let anyone take me away from you"

"You are more precious to me than any Princess or wealth could ever be."

"I'd have stayed in that river with you forever, if I could."

"No one else can have me. I'm all yours."

"My beautiful nymph."

"You're too good for me, love..."

"You are... intoxicating,"

"Please...please don't cry"

"You... you're my world... my heart... my everything."

"I...I would never reject you..."

"Will I see you again?"

"I...I wish I could stay with you... forever"

Imagine being so full of grief and rage, that you force your divine half to take over.

Amidst her anguish, a new title is bestowed onto her.

(Y/N), Mistress of the Waves.

Goddess of the Sea, Earthquakes, Storms and Snakes.

She continues to attack him, every form of water are in the shape of snakes, as if to remind him of his past mistakes, of her mother, Medusa.

Poseidon's fear and disbelief grow as (Y/N) continues her relentless attack, every bit of water shaped like a serpent, tormenting him with the memory of Medusa.

"No...no, this can't be happening," he mutters, struggling to maintain his composure.

Each attack lands with precision, causing Poseidon to stagger back, the pain and fear from his past haunting him once more. (Y/N), fueled by her grief and fury, is a force to be reckoned with, her power growing with each passing moment.

Odysseus struggles to maintain his balance as the wind intensifies, the gusts becoming stronger and more tumultuous. He holds Telemachus tightly in his arms, trying to shield his body from the elements, but the force of nature proves overwhelming.

"(Y/N)..." he calls out, his voice barely heard over the howling wind. "(Y/N), please, you have to stop!"

But (Y/N) didn't listen, or she simply couldn't hear him in her grief, as she continues to attack, in his fear, Poseidon even tried to hit her with his trident, as she caught it with her bare hand, snapping it in two and throwing it to him, making him stumble.

As she throws the broken weapon back at him, the reality of his situation becoming all too clear to him. Poseidon, the mighty god of the seas, is being bested by a woman consumed by grief and rage, her powers beyond anything he could have anticipated.

(Y/N) pants as she glares at him, as behind her she forms a giant snake made out of water, brandishing it's fangs towards him, threatening to attack, an imposing sight that only adds to her already fearsome presence. It glares malevolently at Poseidon, its fangs gleams in a threatening manner, as if ready to strike at a moment's notice.

Poseidon's face goes pale as he stares at the snake, realizing that he's facing a force he can't easily overcome. His fear is evident as he takes a step back.

(Y/N) raises a hand, preparing to send it down onto him, biting her lip so hard that it bled, as she was about to send it down, a familiar embrace stopped her, hugging her gently, with a hand on her cheek, snapping her out of her rage filled state, her pure white eyes returning back to normal, but her hair is still remained made out of water in the form of snakes, gasping as the giant snake made of water drops into nothingness, as she leans onto the familiar, comforting hug.

Hera, the goddess of marriage and queen of the gods, holds (Y/N) tightly in her arms, a mixture of concern and sympathy etched on her face.

"It's alright, child," she whispers gently, brushing a hand through (Y/N)'s hair, which is still in the form of water snakes. "You don't have to do this."

Hera looks over at Poseidon, who stands there, stunned by the sudden turn of events, a mix of fear and confusion visible on his face.

(Y/N) cried out, burying her face onto Hera's shoulder, as she held onto her purple peplus tightly, crying as she screams, and dropping to her knees, with Hera following suit, unable to form any sentence, filled with heartbreak

Hera holds (Y/N) tightly, her own eyes filled with sympathy and compassion. sitting on the ground and continuing to hold her close. The goddess gently strokes (Y/N) hair, her touch soothing and comforting.

"Shh, it's alright," Hera whispers, her voice soft and tender. "Let it all out, my dear."

(Y/N) is inconsolable, to the point Hera has to force her to stop biting her lips so much that it bleeds, as she continues her anguish cries.

(Y/N)'s sobs are heartbreaking, her grief overwhelming and unceasing. Hera, holding her tightly, tries to soothe her, gently chiding her to stop biting her lips.

"You need to stop, my dear," Hera says softly, wiping some of the tears from (Y/N) cheeks. "You're only hurting yourself more."

Despite her attempts, (Y/N)'s anguish only seems to deepen, drowning herself in her heartache and sorrow.

"I...I lost him!" She cried out, burying her face onto Hera's chest, barely being able to keep herself upright.

Her words, filled with despair and heartache, hit Hera hard. The pain in her voice is palpable.

"Shhh, I know, darling. I know it hurts," Hera whispers, holding her close.

Hera gently runs her fingers through (Y/N)'s hair once more, trying to soothe her, but the tears continue to flow, unstoppable in their intensity.

"Please, help me, I'd do anything to give him back to me" (Y/N) begged, gripping onto Hera's shawl

Her pleas pierces through the air, her desperation and pain palpable. Hera's heart aches as she holds her, feeling her anguish.

"My dear, I wish I could bring him back to you," Hera says, her voice trembling as she fights back her own tears. "But even I cannot reverse the hands of fate once death has claimed a soul."

She tightens her embrace, holding (Y/N) close, offering whatever solace she can.

"I'll do anything, please" She begs, holding her hand, unstable.

"I'll give you anything of mine, please, anything but this, anything but him! I can't lose him, I can't lose him like this" (Y/N) begged hysterically.

(Y/N)'s pleading is heart-wrenching, her desperation driving her to make any bargain, surrender anything to reverse the inevitable.

Hera, with tears in her own eyes, tries to console her. "My dear, your pain is understandable, but there are limits to what even I can do. I cannot bring someone back from the dead."

"Please, anything of mine, anything! Just take it! Anything but this, anything but him" (Y/N) begged, burying her face to her Aunt's shoulder.

Hera's heart heavy as she witnesses the extent of her grief. As (Y/N) begs for any solution, even offering any part of herself in exchange for Telemachus's life, a thought springs to mind.

Hera pulls back gently, looking deep into (Y/N)'s tear-filled eyes.

"(Y/N), my child, listen to me. There...there may be a way."

"Please, I'll do anything." (Y/N) begged, looking at her, pleading.

Hera took a deep breath, her expression a mix of hesitation and hope.

"I cannot promise anything," she warned, her voice almost a whisper. "But there is one possibility. You have both mortal and divine blood in you, a unique combination of both worlds."

Hera paused, her eyes never leaving (Y/N)'s face.

"You could...give up your divinity."

(Y/N) looks at her in shock, as Odysseus watches the exchange.

Odysseus stood watching the exchange, his thoughts swirling with worry and disbelief. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

He silently observed, torn between hope and caution. On one hand, he desperately wanted to see Telemachus alive again, to hold his son in his arms and bring him back to life. But the thought of (Y/N) giving up her divinity, her very nature, filled him with dread.

As he watched, his mind was a whirlwind of emotions, contemplating the implications and consequences of such a sacrifice.

"I will also offer you my protection, and being mortal, you will cut your ties with Olympus and Poseidon himself from being his daughter, do you accept the terms, my dear?" Hera asked, shocking Poseidon

As Hera made her proposal, a gasp escaped Poseidon's lips, his eyes widening in disbelief. The thought of (Y/N) renouncing her divine heritage and severing her connection to him was both unexpected and jarring.

"No...no, you can't do this!" Poseidon spluttered, stepping forward in protest. "You can't take her from me, she's my daughter!"

"Take it" (Y/N) quickly answers, making both the Gods look at her in disbelief

"I'd rather live a single mortal life with him than live an eternity without him, please, Auntie...." (Y/N) begs, looking up at her with tearful, pained eyes.

"Take it" (Y/N) begged with her broken voice.

Poseidon's protests go unheard as (Y/N) accepts the offer. He stands there, stunned, watching as his daughter willingly agrees to relinquish her divinity.

Hera glances at Poseidon, a look of determination in her eyes, before turning back to her. "Are you sure, child?" she asks gently, her voice carrying a heavy weight.

"Divinity is something many sought after, are you willing to trade it away for his life?"

"How could I ever continue living...without him who truly makes me feel divine?" (Y/N) asked with a broken smile.

(Y/N)'s words hang heavily in the air, her emotions on full display. Her pain is palpable, the love she holds for Telemachus consuming her very being.

Hera gently places a hand on her shoulder, her touch a mix of sympathy and understanding. "I know, my dear, but you must be certain. Once this deal is made, it cannot be undone."

Hera looks over at Telemachus's body, lying motionless on the ground, and a pained expression crosses her face.

"I understand, Auntie, I'm only saddened that I'll never get to see you again" (Y/N) admits with a frown.

(Y/N)'s words hit Hera like a dagger to the heart, her frown deepening. She looks down at student, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and pride.

"You are a remarkable young woman," Hera says softly, her voice heavy with emotion. "Your compassion and depth of love are admirable."

Hera gently cups (Y/N)'s cheek, her touch tender. "I shall miss you, dear one," she whispers, her voice thick with sorrow.

"Thank you...for everything." (Y/N) smiled at her, grateful for raising her.

Hera smiles sadly as tears fill her eyes. She's both proud of (Y/N)'s strength and saddened by the loss of her divine heritage.

"It was an honor to watch you grow, my dear," Hera whispers, fighting back her tears. "You are a gift to this world, and I shall always cherish our time together."

She holds (Y/N) close, her embrace filled with bittersweet emotions.

"You have a great heart," Hera adds "and it pains me to see it ache like this. But remember this, My Student, and don't forget."

Hera gently lifts (Y/N) chin, meeting her gaze with a mix of sternness and love. "Even as a mortal, you'll retain lessons learned and traits gained from your divinity. Hold onto your strength, your resilience, and above all, your capacity to love."

She brushes a strand of water hair away from her face, her touch gentle yet firm.

As Hera gazes at (Y/N), memories flood her mind. She sees the little girl she once raised, the one she took under her wing, and the woman she has become.

Hera's eyes well up with tears, and a bittersweet smile plays upon her lips. Her heart aches for the loss of their bond, but she is also filled with pride.

Hera takes a deep breath, steadying herself as she prepares to undertake the process of reviving Telemachus. She closes her eyes, her mind focused and resolute. A soft energy emanates from her fingertips, and her voice takes on a incantatory quality.

"Let the threads of life once more become unbroken. Let Telemachus's path be illuminated by the light of the living."

She holds her hands above Telemachus's corpse, channeling her divine power.

As the process ensues, (Y/N) can feel a subtle change within herself. It's as though the threads of her divinity are unraveling, loosening their hold on her being.

Meanwhile, Telemachus's lifeless body responds to Hera's intervention. Color slowly returns to his cheeks, and a faint pulse can be discerned. The process is gradual, but the resurrection is taking effect.

Odysseus, witnessing the scene, observes the changes taking place. He watches as color returns to Telemachus's cheeks and a pulse appears, a sign of life returning to his son's body.

At the same time, Odysseus's attention is drawn to (Y/N). He notices a subtle change in her demeanor, as if something within her is shifting.

(Y/N) noticed Telemachus's slow return, as she runs to him, desperate to see him alright.

"Telemachus! Please wake up!." She begs, as her hair is slowly going back to normal.

Telemachus's eyes slowly flutter open, his consciousness returning. He feels disoriented and weak, but the sound of (Y/N) voice and her touch ground him.

As his vision clears, Telemachus looks up and sees (Y/N)'s face, filled with worry and relief.

"(Y/N)..?" he whispers, his voice hoarse and frail.

As Telemachus gazes up at (Y/N), confusion and awe wash over him. Her hair, made of water in the form of snakes, dances around her head, a striking and unique sight. Yet, despite the Gorgon-like appearance, Telemachus can only focus on one thing - her captivating beauty.

"You...you look astonishing," Telemachus manages to utter, his voice soft and filled with admiration.

(Y/N) looks at him in shock, as Telemachus continues to describe her mesmerizing beauty.

Telemachus's gaze remains fixed on (Y/N), taking in every detail of her appearance. His eyes trace the curves of her face, the way her hair sways around her head like a crown of serpents.

"Your beauty... it's like nothing I've ever seen," he whispers. "The way your hair moves, like a living river... it's mesmerizing."

He reaches up, gently brushing a strand of her snake-like locks away from her face, his touch filled with reverent wonder.

Telemachus chuckles softly as the water snakes surrounding (Y/N) head react to his touch, nipping at his hand playfully. He watches in fascination as they seem to recognize him, their movements becoming more curious.

"They know me," he observes, a hint of amusement in his voice. "They're... they're quite spirited, aren't they?" Telemachus chuckles, looking at (Y/N) with a mix of amusement and fondness. "It's as if they enjoy my touch."

(Y/N) smiled at him as she shook her head, her hair going back to normal as her divinity completely leaves her, pulling him into a hug.

"Welcome back, my beloved." (Y/N) mutters with a large smile.

Telemachus was taken aback by the sudden change in (Y/N)'s hair, returning to its normal state, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it. As she pulls him into a tight embrace, he melts into her arms, relishing the touch he thought he had lost forever.

Hera watches the scene with a small, knowing smile on her face. She can see the tenderness and love between Telemachus and (Y/N), and she feels a sense of satisfaction for having facilitated this reunion.

She watches as Telemachus and (Y/N) embrace each other, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. It's clear that they were destined for each other, and that their bond is stronger than any divine power.

She steps forward, clearing her throat to draw the couple's attention back to her. She waits until Telemachus and (Y/N) breaks apart, their arms still around each other, before speaking.

"Telemachus," she says, her voice firm but gentle. "You have been given a second chance at life, thanks to (Y/N)'s sacrifice."

"What? What did you sacrifice?" Telemachus asked, checking her, counting her fingers and toes

"Telemachus, I gave up my divinity" Telemachus's mind struggles to process the gravity of her sacrifice, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions.

"You... gave up your divinity... for me?" he repeats, unable to believe it. He gazes at her, his eyes wide and teary, trying to understand the enormity of what she had done. "Why?"

"Because," (Y/N) raised a hand, caressing his cheek, "I would rather die, than grow old without you." She professes, pressing her forehead against his

"Because eternity without you...is torture."

Telemachus's heart melts as (Y/N) speaks, her words cutting deep. He can feel the sincerity and the depth of her love radiating from her every word.

He gently cups her face with his hand, his touch tender and full of longing.

"You're a fool, you know that?" he chuckles softly, his voice full of affection. "Risking everything for me..."

She chuckles, tearing up. "I guess, that makes us fools in love." (Y/N) smiled at him, tears streaming from her eyes.

Telemachus can't help but smile at her words. "Fools in love," he repeats, savoring the sound of it.

He gently wipes away the tears streaming from her eyes, his touch gentle and filled with tenderness.

"Well, if we're fools in love, then I'll be a fool with you," Telemachus murmurs, his voice soft and affectionate. "Until the end of time."

(Y/N) pulls him into a kiss through her tears, holding him tightly.

Telemachus melts into the kiss, his heart overflowing with emotion. He wraps his arms around (Y/N), pulling her close, as if trying to erase all the time they had lost.

Their kiss is filled with longing and desperation, a physical manifestation of the love they share. The world around them fades away, leaving only the two of them in a tight embrace, their mouths locked together as if they can't bear to part.

"Alright, break it up, you two, she's not the only one who was crying over you." Odysseus calls out as (Y/N) pulls away with a smile, letting Odysseus hug his son.

Telemachus breaks apart from (Y/N) with a gentle yet reluctant smile, turning to see his Father, Odysseus, standing nearby.

As Odysseus calls out to him, Telemachus feels a surge of emotions. He can see the relief and love in his Father's eyes, and he knows that his return has not gone unnoticed.

Telemachus rises to his feet, meeting Odysseus's embrace with equal force. They hug, tears streaming down both of their faces.

"Father... I'm... I'm sorry for worrying you," Telemachus whispers, his voice choked with emotion.

Odysseus holds Telemachus tightly, a mix of relief and joy on his face. He can feel the weight of his son's body in his arms, his heartbeat reassuring and real.

"You damned fool," Odysseus mutters affectionately, his voice thick with emotion. "You gave me quite a scare, you know that?"

He pulls away from Telemachus, still keeping a firm grip on his shoulders, and looks into his son's eyes.

Telemachus smiles sheepishly, a hint of guilt on his face. "Yeah, I guess I may have overdone it a bit."

Odysseus shakes his head, chuckling softly. "A bit? You were dead, Telemachus. Dead. Do you have any idea what that did to this old man's heart?"

Telemachus's smile falters a bit, realizing the true gravity of his actions. He looks down, shame coloring his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Father," Telemachus says quietly. "I didn't mean to cause you any pain. I was just... desperate, I suppose."

Odysseus regards Telemachus with a mix of empathy and understanding. He knows all too well what it's like to be driven by desperation and love.

"I understand," Odysseus replies, his grip on Telemachus's shoulders softening. "You were willing to do anything for (Y/N), even if it meant risking your life... I get it."

He paused, a nostalgic glint in his eyes.

"In fact, to be honest, I'd probably do the same for your Mother." Odysseus admits

Telemachus's expression softens, realizing that he and his Father are not so different after all. Despite their differences and their clashes, they share the same capacity to love selflessly, to risk it all for the people they hold dear.

"Maybe we're both fools in love then," Telemachus says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Odysseus sighs, a mixture of resignation and affection. "Maybe we are. But love has a strange way of making fools of us all."

He pats Telemachus on the back. "Just try not to do anything that stupid again, will you?"

(Y/N) watched with a smile as the father and son converse, and turns her head back to Hera with a large smile.

"Thank you, Auntie"

Hera looks at (Y/N) with fondness, her gaze lingering on the young woman who was like a daughter to her.

"You're welcome, dear one," Hera replies with a gentle smile.

She reaches out and places a hand on (Y/N) shoulder, their connection evident in the warmth of her touch.

"You know, I never expected to see you sacrifice your divinity for anyone," Hera chuckles light-heartedly

"I have no other use for it other than to see you." (Y/N) smiles at her, before frowning, looking at the Goddess sadly.

"Will I...see you again?" She asked with a hopeful smile.

Hera's expression softens as (Y/N)'s question hangs in the air. She gazes at her with a mixture of fondness and melancholy.

"I wish I could promise you that we'll meet again," Hera says, her voice heavy with a sense of finality. "But the truth is, I cannot. You no longer have divinity running through you, and that puts us on different planes. It means that our paths will diverge, and the chances of us ever meeting again are slim, if not impossible."

(Y/N)'s heart sinks at Hera's words, a sense of loss and sadness washing over her. She had hoped for more time, more moments with the Goddess who had once been like a mother to her.

"I see..." She mutters with a frown, looking down on the ground, before looking up at her again with a sad smile.

"I guess...in another lifetime will do, Auntie?" She asked sadly, tilting her head.

Hera's expression softens, her heart heavy with the weight of (Y/N)'s words. She reaches out and places a gentle hand on her cheek, her touch tender and comforting.

"Yes, my dear. In another lifetime, perhaps. In another lifetime we'll meet again and may your path be a kind one this time."

She smiles bittersweetly, her gaze holding a hint of sadness and hope. "Until then, cherish every moment you have with Telemachus."

She leans onto her hand, smiling "Thank you, for everything, once more." (Y/N) mutters gratefully, before hugging her tightly.

Hera smiles warmly at her, her heart full of affection for the young woman who had grown into a force to be reckoned with as she hugs her back, running her hand through the young woman's hair.

"You're most welcome," Hera says softly. "And remember, even though we may be on different paths now, I will always be proud of you. You've become the kind of woman I always knew you would be."

(Y/N) smiled at Hera, before catching Poseidon's eye, bringing a frown on her lips, who is still slumped onto the ground.

Poseidon looks at (Y/N) with a mixture of anger and hurt in his eyes. He can't believe that she had chosen a mortal over him, a god.

"You chose him," he mutters with a sneer, his voice laced with venom. "A mortal."

"Better than you, a selfish god." (Y/N) answered, frowning at him.

"One who I can never call my Father."

Poseidon's face contorts with anger, his eyes darkening at (Y/N)'s words.

"How dare you," he fumes, his voice booming across the room. "I am a god, the God of the Seas, and you dare to compare me to a mere mortal? You ungrateful child!"

"Ungrateful?" She retorted, her voice filled with anger.

"You're the one who never gave me never gave me anything, I was all alone, even as a child, you never saw me or cared for me, heck you didn't even know my name, The one who found me nearly dying of starvation at the ripe age of 3 was Auntie Hera, but you, still didn't care, and now that I've found my happiness, you intended to destroy it?." (Y/N) sighs, shaking her head.

"Fine, if that makes me ungrateful, then so be it." (Y/N) pulls out her arm bracelet, throwing it to Poseidon.

"This is yours, I don't want anything of yours in my new life."

He catches the bracelet that she throws at him, gripping it tightly in his fist.

Poseidon glares at (Y/N), his expression a mask of anger and bitterness. He feels stung by her words, but also guilty, knowing deep down that she's right.

"You were nothing but a burden to me," Poseidon seethes, his voice filled with venom.

"Then let me be your burden, and forget about me." (Y/N) didn't even bother turning around to face him, as she walked back to Telemachus and Odysseus, Hera gave him a warning glare, before following her.

Poseidon's eyes blaze with fury, a mix of anger and hurt that he can't quite admit. He feels her defiance in his bones, and he can sense the love that she has for Telemachus.

But despite his anger, he knows that he has lost her. He had never treated her as a daughter, and now she had chosen Telemachus over him.

But he can't bring himself to admit his past faults, and instead, he grits his teeth, glaring defiantly at her back as she walks away.

All he could is clench the bracelet tightly in his hand, a memory of another woman flashing through his mind.

As (Y/N) approached Telemachus and Odysseus, she grew nervous looking at the older man. "Sir, I'm so sorry about-"

before she could even say anything, Odysseus pulled her into a hug.

Odysseus wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. He holds her for a moment, his eyes soft and weary.

"Don't apologize," he replies, his voice gruff but gentle. "You've done nothing wrong."

He pulls back and looks at her, a small smile on his face.

"I can see how much you care for my son," he says quietly, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and concern.

(Y/N) hugged him back, "But...I got him killed"

Odysseus sighs, his grip on her tightening slightly.

"Yes, you did," he replies bluntly, his voice firm but softened by a hint of understanding. "But you also saved him. You gave up everything for him."

He pauses, his expression turning thoughtful.

"I have to admit," he admits, looking at her with a small frown. "I had my doubts about you at first."

"I thought you might just be toying with my son's feelings, or using him for your own gain," he continues, his voice tinged with a hint of protective fatherly concern.

"But seeing the lengths you've gone to for him... I can see that you truly love him."

He gently cups her chin, looking into her eyes with a mixture of approval and wariness.

"Just promise me one thing," he implores, his voice serious.

"Treat him right. Don't break his heart."

"I won't, I promise, Sir." (Y/N) tells him seriously.

Odysseus gazes into her eyes, searching for any hint of dishonesty. But he sees nothing but sincerity and love. His expression softens, and he relaxes his grip on her.

"Good," he says gruffly, his voice carrying a hint of satisfaction and acceptance. "You better keep that promise, young lady."

Odysseus looks at (Y/N), a warm smile on his face. He can see the love and affection in her eyes as she gazes up at him.

"You know, you don't have to keep calling me 'sir,'" he says gently. "You can call me Father if you'd like."

(Y/N) looks at him in shock, tearing up, before blinking away the tears with a large smile.

"Alright, Father."

Odysseus smiles fondly at (Y/N), his heart swelling with affection for her.

"There's no need for tears, my dear," he says gently, reaching out to pat her on the head. "You're part of the family now."

"Ehem." Hera coughs to let her presence be known

Odysseus and Telemachus quickly kneel before Hera, paying their respects to the Queen of the Gods.

"My Lady Hera," Odysseus greets her with reverence, his head bowed.

"Your Highness," Telemachus echoes, his voice filled with awe in the presence of the divine.

Hera chuckles at their display of respect, amused by their formality.

"Rise, rise," she tells them, her voice warm and amused. "You make me sound like a tyrant, no need for kneeling."

Hera glances at Telemachus, her expression gentle. "Take care of her, Telemachus. She has given up a significant part of herself for you."

Telemachus looks at Hera, a determined expression on his face.

"I will, Your Highness," he replies, his voice filled with conviction. "I will take care of her, and cherish her for the rest of our lives."

Hera nods, satisfied by Telemachus's answer. She can see the determination in his eyes, and she can feel the sincerity in his words. She knows that he truly cares for (Y/N), and that he will do everything in his power to keep her safe and make her happy.

She glances at the two of them again, her smile turning a bit sly. “And don’t keep me waiting too long for grandchildren.”

"Auntie!" (Y/N) exclaims, blushes deeply.

Telemachus's face goes beet red as he glances at his Father, who bursts out laughing.

"It seems the Queen has spoken," Odysseus says, still chuckling. "You had better get busy, Telemachus."

"I forgot, you've been busy." Odysseus corrects, as the two blushes harder

Hera chuckles, finding great amusement in the young couple's shyness.

"Oh, come now," she teases, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "You've been through much together, and yet you still get flustered at the mere mention of grandchildren. It's adorable, really."

Hera chuckles at (Y/N)'s embarrassment, enjoying the young woman's reaction.

"Oh, don't be shy, my dear," she teases. "You two make such a lovely couple, I can't help but look forward to seeing what kind of little ones you'll produce someday."

"Auntie, please," (Y/N) protests weakly, her face still burning red.

Telemachus manages to regain his composure, though his cheeks are still tinted pink. "We'll...keep that in mind, Your Highness," he says, his voice a bit shaky.

Odysseus pats his son on the back, grinning widely. "Don't worry, Telemachus, it's perfectly natural to be a bit flustered when it comes to these things."

He chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and affection. "You'll get used to it in time."

Hera laughs at them, before looking fondly at Telemachus.

"Take good care of her for me, Young Prince."

Telemachus nods, his expression solemn and determined.

"I will, Your Highness," he says firmly. "I promise you that I will take care of her and make her happy, for as long as we both shall live."

Hera's lips curve into a small smile as she watches the scene unfold. Seeing Telemachus and (Y/N) finally together, with Odysseus by their side, warms her heart.

"Hermes," she says, her voice firm and clear. "Take them home, won't you?"

Hermes, the fleet-footed god of messengers and boundaries, nods at Hera's command.

"Of course, milady," he replies, his voice as swift as his wings.

He turns to Telemachus, (Y/N), and Odysseus, a sly grin on his face. "You three ready for a little ride?"

"Cousin!?" (Y/N) exclaims in shock, he was watching them the whole time.

Hermes chuckles at Egeria's surprise. He grins at her and shrugs.

"You didn't think I'd miss all that drama, did you?" he teases her. "Of course I was watching."

"That's right, little cousin," he says with a wink. "I couldn't help but keep an eye on you and your man here."

He looks at Telemachus, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "And you, Telemachus, you're a lucky fellow to have snagged this one."

Telemachus couldn't help but chuckle at the God's words.

He puts his arm around (Y/N)'s waist, pulling her closer to him. "I'm very lucky," he says, looking lovingly at her. "And I have no intention of ever letting her go."

(Y/N)'s blushes heavily, a sheepish smile on her lips.

Hermes grins at (Y/N)'s blushing expression, finding her reaction amusing and endearing. He chuckles to himself before speaking again.

"Ah, young love," he sighs dramatically. "It's a beautiful thing, isn't it?"

He looks at Telemachus and (Y/N) with a cheeky grin. "You two are too sweet. I might just get a toothache from the amount of sugar you're giving off."

"Isn't that right, Old Friend?" Hermes turned to Odysseus

Odysseus chuckled at Hermes' question. He knew the messenger god too well to be offended by his playful tease.

"You're one to talk, Hermes," he retorted with a grin. "Last I heard, you had more than a few admirers of your own."

"But not as sweet as this one, It's making me a bit jealous" Hermes sighs

"But what do you know? You have your Penelope anyway"

Odysseus smiles fondly at the mention of his wife. "Yes, I do have Penelope," he says, his voice filled with love and affection. "She is the light of my life."

He glances at Telemachus and (Y/N), his eyes filled with a mixture of happiness and fatherly pride. "But our Telemachus deserves his own love and happiness as well. I couldn't be happier for him."

"Yeah, yeah, spare me the lovey dovey, time to finally get you all home, especially you, Old Friend" Hermes taps Odysseus's nose

Odysseus chuckles at Hermes' affectionate pat, amused by his friend's playful banter.

"Yes, I am more than ready to go home. I've been away far enough and for too long."

Hermes grins widely, his wings flapping in anticipation.

"Then let's not waste any more time," he says, his voice eager and excited. "Hang on tight, everyone. This is going to be a quick ride!"

He wraps his arms around Telemachus, (Y/N), and Odysseus, holding them close. Then, with a swift and sudden movement, he takes off into the air, soaring towards Odysseus's kingdom.

Hera watches them take off with a fond smile, happy that her dear student had found her happiness.

"Why did you help them?" Until a gruff voice ruins the moment

Hera turns to Poseidon, her expression hardening at the sight of him.

"Why does anyone do anything, Poseidon?" she replies coolly. "Compassion, kindness, a desire to see two people who care deeply for one another reunited. Is that so hard for you to comprehend?"

Poseidon glowers at her, his anger barely contained.

"Compassion? Kindness? Don't make me laugh, Hera," he spits out. "You know very well the trouble that girl caused me. And now you're just letting her and Telemachus prance away happily ever after? It's enough to make a god sick."

Hera turns towards him, frowning at him.

"Did you not notice anything when she was losing control on you earlier?" Hera asked, looking blankly at him

Poseidon's expression flickers with a hint of confusion, but he quickly hides it.

"What are you implying, Hera?" he grumbles, his suspicion clear in his voice.

"She had control over everything you had dominion over, while you didn't." Hera points out

Poseidon's face twists into a scowl at Hera's words. He knows she's right, but he's too stubborn to admit it outright.

"What's your point, Hera?" he growls, his irritation growing. "Are you trying to say she's more powerful than me or something?"

"No, she's not more powerful than you, you lost your dominion over the seas, storms, and earthquakes at her moment of grief." Hera reveals, shocking Poseidon.

"Oh, I'm so proud, she's my student after all." Hera praises herself

Poseidon is stunned into silence for a moment, his mind racing with the implications of what Hera has just told him.

"I...lost control?" he finally manages to sputter out, disbelief and anger mingling in his voice. "How is that even possible? I am Poseidon, the god of the seas and all the power they hold! How could a mortal have taken that away from me, even temporarily?"

"Because, she's your daughter." Hera reminded him, as she walked past him.

"And I know that girl like the back of my hand, with that intense of a grief, it would have been trouble for all of us." Hera sighs, shaking her head.

Poseidon's expression darkens even further at Hera's words. He already knew that Egeria was his daughter, but hearing it said aloud by Hera still stung.

"So you protected her from me because she's your student, huh?" he snarls, his resentment and anger bubbling to the surface. "And because she has the potential to be a threat to everyone, including me?"

"No, not really, I only expected her to be a demi god, with her kind and peaceful nature, only wanting to live for herself, but you just have to push her to the brink of destruction, that's why I had to step in, to remove her divinity and bring back your dominion to you." Hera explains, raising an eyebrow at him.

"You should be thanking me, really."

Poseidon scoffs at Hera's words. He's still angry, but a part of him knows that she's right.

"Thanking you?" he huffs. "Why should I thank you when you only intervened because you were afraid of what my daughter might become?"

"She had the power to destroy the world, Poseidon, that's why." Hera points out with a serious frown

Poseidon's expression darkens even further as he processes Hera's words. The thought of (Y/N)'s power being strong enough to destroy the world is both awe-inspiring and terrifying. He lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"Fine. I'll admit that you had a good reason to intervene. But that doesn't make me feel any better about the situation."

"Then I'll just see myself out while you lick your wounds, and do clean up after yourself, we wouldn't want another case the same of my student once more." Hera orders before leaving with a purple mist.

Poseidon watches her leave, a mix of anger and guilt swirling within him. He knows that he played a part in (Y/N)'s grief, but it's a tough pill for him to swallow.

He lets out a deep sigh, his mind filled with conflicting emotions. He can't shake the feeling that he's lost something important, something valuable, and it's not just his broken trident.

[deesea-ao3]

Fun Lore Ideas for Fawcett City

I've been sitting on these concepts for ages and need to get them out of my system. For my current WIP, it was important that I have a strong concept for what kind of city Fawcett was going to be. While the plot isn't technically taking place in Fawcett, a huge amount of my lore interpretations/characterisations rely on there being a solid original setting to draw from. Also, it's super fun to extrapolate history and economy for a fictional magic city to try and make it feel as plausible as possible.

Now, to start with, I had to establish where the city would actually be located. Fawcett is typically represented and/or thought of as being in the Midwest, so I was able to whittle down my options even more. I couldn't have it too close to Central City, Keystone City, or Smallville since I wanted Fawcett to retain its isolated feel. It'd be harder for it to get away with being magic if it was a stones throw from speedster stomping grounds, for instance. In the end, I looked up old maps of America DC Comics had officially released for inspiration. What I got were these:

The first didn't have Fawcett at all, and the second had it placed near the border of Wisconsin. The latter was serviceable for my purposes. However, I wanted something more to draw from. I wanted to make Fawcett feel like an actual city with history before I slapped on the magic superhero. It technically was just an ordinary city until Shazam placed a portal there after all.

My second go of looking for inspiration was much more fruitful. I looked at a few fan-made maps and eventually stumbled upon this one in a reddit forum:

Upon closer inspection, I realised something.

That's fucking Chicago.

The idea that then formed was brilliant, my best one maybe ever. If I don't want to write a 2K+ document detailing an organic history of fictional Fawcett City, coupled with local industry and culture to boot, I can just STEAL a real one!

The existence of IRL Chicago is not necessary for my story, and its absence would be barely noteworthy in the grand scheme of things. Functionally, it wouldn't even be gone. Its location and major historical events would still have occurred, just under a different name. It not only saves me tons of labour as a writer, it's also fucking hilarious.

The heart of ALL of magic lies in an abdoned subway station in downtown Chicago Fawcett, the Windy city that houses pagan subcultures, talking animals, cursed objects and people who still think it's 1945.

Southern Lake Michigan has freshwater mermaids. The flat lands of the city proper are surrounded by bluffs as old as the ice age, which thrum with prehistoric magic. The sunset is always pink, and moonbeams are brighter somehow here. In the river that flows through art-nouveau styled skyscrapers swim fish with rainbow scales. The people are happy and chatty and full of little secrets, kept close and safe for rainy days. The woman who dresses in leaves and sleeps on park benches is liable to be simply human, but the jolly old milkman who visits you every morning is fae through and through. Weird is normal and normal is weird.

All while in Chicago, Illinois, one of the most populous, wealthy cities in America since the 1870s. The mechanic who enchanted your car to not break down anymore was raised by regular steel mill workers. The politician who dreams of addressing the city's entrenched class divides is stuck doing paperwork to establish legal protections for the local gnome population's tree houses. When it snows in winter, Yetis clear driveways and salt the sidewalks. No one talks about it much because what is noteworthy about public servants doing their jobs? So what if they're Yetis? You got a problem with that?

Fawcett blows Gotham out the goddamn water for weirdness, but because they're so nonchalant and humble about it, Gothamites walk around smugly assured of their tolerance for insanity, unaware of the bigger fish, which is the average Fawcett citizen. When tourists come to visit, the very genre of reality changes the second they step foot within city lines.

Fawcett solos, tbh. DC writers are weaksauce for not seeing the vision that is mystic Chicago city, home to all of magic.

[bonefall]

I’m in love with your “Frostpaw meeting King Arc” concept, and I really want to make a comic out of it at some point. For now, have some sketches from today:

Thank you with all my heart, I cannot be normal about it either. Something drives me absolutely crazy about the idea that two, intersecting themes of BB!ASC are "echoes of the past" and "love was there, it was not enough, but it was still there."

Small recap for others; In BB!DOTC, the Park Cats are now a cultural group with a king. King Arc leads a massive group of refugees up from the south and establishes a kingdom by the river. The First Battle is caused when Clear Sky takes his prince, River's Ripple, as a hostage to hurt Thunder Storm, not respecting the political value of his son's friend. King Arc dies in this battle, and Riverstar continues the River Kingdom until his death, kicking off Riverstar's Heir.

I'm unsure if it came across, but something I intend with the Arc/Frost meeting during Frostpaw's Sabbatical is that King Arc is seeing his son Riverstar in her. The way that the ambition and responsibility that he put on him as his prince, is reflected in the stress and confusion that Frostpaw herself is now going through.

He, too, died saving his child, much like Curlfeather did. It's still a terrible burden to put that on someone you love so much.

I still need to tweak her siblings (thinking in my next draft for Mistpool, I'm gonna use blue merle dog markings and give her the same shape as Graysky), but this absolutely validates Frostdawn's design in my eyes lmao <3

There's a scene in my head during the first book of BB!ASC where Frostpaw is shoved up the tree by Curlfeather. Curl looks up at her and everything is moving in slow motion, her eyes full of love and sacrifice. She tells her daughter to trust no cat as the teeth of the dogs sink into her, softly, gentle as a kiss.

...And the camera cuts quickly to Frostpaw, up in the tree, the "wool" pulled off her eyes for the first time, the screeching, violent agony of her mother's bloody death reflected in them. Her grip falters as her body trembles with nausea, but she catches herself. Tears her face away from the horrible sight, and pulls herself up further out of harm's way.

I'll be making sure to write it down in the upcoming post too, but, preview <3

[the-cypress-grove]

Worldbuilding Checklist (STILL UPDATING)

This is basically a bunch of worldbuilding checklists crammed together. Use what works for you, leave the rest. This is fantasy orientated and I will continue to update it regularly so reblog or comment something you think should be added.

History:

How far back does recorded history go?

How does history interact with myth and folklore?

How did the current system of governance come into power?

What are some notable figures of history?

Is your world's history broken down into eras?

What events have been twisted and changed as they've been passed down through the generations?

Geography:

What is the climate of this area?

What are the common plants of this area? Are there any fictional plants?

What are the common animals of this area? Are there any fictional animals?

Are there continents? Islands?

How much of this area is inhabited?

What area is known?

Country borders?

What are the major geographical landmarks i.e. rivers, mountains?

Where are the major trade routs?

What are the seasons like in this area?

Magic System:

How is magic practiced? Using wands, staffs, runes, etc?

How is magic learned?

Can magic be taken?

What can't magic do? What are its limitations?

What is the first thing a person learns when learning magic?

How are magic users perceived by others?

What are the laws regarding magic?

How does magic link to religion?

How has magic influenced history?

Politics and Law:

What style of leadership rules the area i.e. theocrasy (ruled by religion), monarchy (ruled by a royal family)?

How are laws created?

What is the process from the conception of a law to the point where it passed?

How is the law enforced?

What is the judicial system of this place?

Is there a death penalty?

Society and Culture:

How many major cultures are there?

What is their global population?

Where are they located geographically within your world?

Is there a social hierarchy / a division between the classes?

What are the major pieces of art in this world?

What does its music sound like? What instruments are used?

Are there well know folk songs?

What food is eaten by each group of society?

What are the treat foods of this area?

What are the foods saved for special occasions?

What holidays / special occasions are there?

Religion:

What are the major religions in this area? Do they get on with each other?

How are these religions viewed by their worshippers? By those who worship other religions? By those who worship no one at all?

How much does religion influence politics and the laws passed?

What do these religions believe in?

Are there divisions within these religions between groups who believe slightly different things?

How old are these religion? Which came first?

Which religion has the biggest influence on the world?

What are their opinions towards the government?

What are their opinions regarding the poor and the rich? Do they differ?

What are their opinions towards magic and technology?

Commerce and Industry:

What is the major industry?

Main imports / exports?

How wealthy is this country / area?

What valuable resources does this country / area have?

What are the common crops / livestock in this area?

Is this area coastal? Is there a fishing / trade industry?

Is this area forested? Logging and timber?

Technology:

What are the transport option available? For the poor? For the rich?

[thelargefrye]

THE WATERFALL … mature one - shot

pairing : dragon!seonghwa x witch!f!reader (background poly dragon ateez)

genre : dragon au, fantasy, smut

word count : 1.9k

warnings : language, mating / concept of mating, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, pet names (love, little witch, princess), marking

note : just something short while i write a longer piece lol also i miss this au and needed to do something with dragon!hwa. suffer with @sanjoongie everyone

seonghwa takes you to a secret place within the land of the clan and you experience something different with the eldest prince.

"watch your step," seonghwa says as he leads you through the dense forest. you note how warm his hand is around yours and you've come to the conclusion that all dragons are made to feel warm.

"will you tell me where we're going?" you ask softly, once you step over a large tree root and down some rocky sides. you note the sound of water and wonder if there is a river nearby.

"its a surprise," he says turning to look at you with a wide grin, and you hold back wanting to roll your eyes at him.

ever since you had saved seonghwa from the dragon hunters and came back to clan, you and him have grown significantly closer. you notice that this is much to the dismay of some of the other princes; however, to yeosang and mingi they were to delighted to see the two of you together.

"if we take too long, wooyoung might come look for us," you tease and seonghwa hums in reply before speaking.

"then let him come find us. i'm sure he'll enjoy what i have planned," he says, a smirk overtaking his features. you felt your heart skip a beat at his words as you felt a chill run down your spine. "we are close, close your eyes for me."

"how do i know you won't leave me here?" you question and originally it was meant to be a joke; however, you are quick to dismiss it once you notice seonghwa's face fall. "i-i was just–

"i won't leave you, ever. i promise on my life, y/n," he says as he stands facing you as he takes both of your hands in his own. "do you trust me?"

that's the big question. if he had asked you that when you first arrived at the clan, you would have said no, but now? did you trust him?

"i do trust you," you answer, licking your lips as you look him in the eyes.

"then close your eyes, my little witch," he says and you nod before doing as he says as you allow him to guide you through more of the forest. the sounds of water getting louder and louder.

you fell seonghwa move around to behind you, his body pressing flush against your backside and you can't help but a blush run over you due to the closeness. his breath is hot against your ear as his hands settle on your waist.

"okay, open them," he says and you are immediately greeted by the sight of a beautiful waterfall in front of you.

"wow," you say, taking in the sight before you.

"this waterfall is a secret place within the clan. only the head of the clan and his mates know about it," seonghwa explains and you suddenly can't help the cold rush roll over you at his words.

but you and hongjoong aren't mates. the prince still refuses to acknowledge you as his mate's mate and here seonghwa is showing you something that only hongjoong and his mates know of?

"p-prince seonghwa," you say turning around, eyes wide. "are you... are you sure we should be here? what if prince hongjoong–

"don't be scared of hongjoong," he says and you feel flabbergasted by his words. don't be scared of hongjoong? impossible.

seonghwa seems to notice the fear in your eyes, "whether he wants to admit it or not, you are our mate. his mate and he will eventually accept it. if it makes you feel better then just know that i asked if i could bring you here."

"and he said yes?"

"well... not originally, but i can be persuasive when i need to be," he says giving you week and you feel a blush rush to your face again when you realize what he means.

"i still feel like i'm invading in his space," you confess and seonghwa let out a hum at your words before he taking a few steps away from you and towards the water.

"well it can't be helped if you feel that, but since we are here... why don't you help me bath?" he says turning to look at you as he slowly begins to undress himself. "what do you say, princess, come help me?"

the water is cold when you first step into it. you let out a gasp at the coldness before you will yourself to take more steps into it. seonghwa's bare back is facing you after having asked him to turn around until you were in the water. you noticed how hard he was trying to remain still, his fist clenched tightly by his sides.

"i guess i should have warned you about the water, but dragon's don't necessarily feel the cold like humans do," he says as he roles his shoulders.

"its okay, i'm use to it with wooyoung," you tell him before your submerging your whole body and swimming further into the lake. "you can turn around now," you say and seonghwa waste no time in doing so and he spins so fast that you're worried he might give himself whiplash from it.

seonghwa waste no time in undressing and stepping into the water and you have to look away because of how carefree he is in the moment. as much as you would like to have looked at him in his full glory, you weren't mated yet and you couldn't help but feel like a perv if you did look at him.

seonghwa swims over to you and you allow him to pull you in close to him. your bodies flushed against each other and you have to suppress the moan that threatens to escape when your nipples rub against his chest. his other hand runs down your spine before tracing over the curve of your ass before he's lifting your leg to hook around his waist.

"prince seonghwa..." you say trailing off as you two make eye contact.

"call me seonghwa," he says as he rests his forehead against your own and when he moves, his lips just very so slightly brush over yours. "will you let me love you, princess? let me mate with you and fill you up?"

you felt your heart skip a beat at his words, like it was back when you and wooyoung had mated for the first time all over again.

"yes, please," you say and the dragon smiles before he's pressing his lips to yours in a heated kiss. you're quick to wrap your arms around his neck as your other leg came up to rest around his waist as well.

you felt your body stick his own thanks to the water. you couldn't help but moan when seonghwa begins to roll his hips, his cock rubbing between your folds and just barely missing your entrance. seonghwa pulls away from your lips in order his trail his own down your jaw and neck. his tongue pressing against wooyoung's and yeosang's marks before he's trailing down your chest.

"ah, seonghwa!" you cry out as you feel him sheath himself inside of you, filling you up like how wooyoung and yeosang have done so many times before the eldest dragon.

"f-fuck," he moans as you clench around him before he begins to move his hips. the water around the two of you moves in small waves and it reminds you of when wooyoung and you would take baths together back at your cottage. the way too small bathtub just barely being able to fit the two of you as wooyoung's wandering hands make you sit on his cock and by the end of the bath, the water would be cold and half of it would be out of the tub and in the floor.

however, this is different. seonghwa holds you close to him as he rocks his hips and the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

"h-hwa," you moan as you feel your head fall backwards, but seonghwa stops you from fulling submerging your head under the water. he presses his lips to your left shoulder and presses a strong kiss to it before you him nibble at your skin. you run your hands down his back, your nail probably leaving a trail of red lines. you can't help but hope that one of the others will notice and know what you and seonghwa did together.

"can i mark you, princess? make you my mate like yeosangie and wooyoung have?"

"yes, yes, yes! please!" you say when he picks up the speed of his thrust and even the water doesn't seem to pose an issue to his ministrations. you let out a loud cry when you felt seonghwa bite down on your shoulder, his teeth sinking into your skin and marking you as one of his mates.

you feel seonghwa moan into your skin before he's pulling away slightly in order to lick at the wound. you feel a mixture of pleasure and pain coursing through your body. pain from your left shoulder and pleasure from seonghwa continuing to abuse your pussy.

you can't help but feel a mixture of emotions crash over you in waves. not only the pleasure and pain, but over just an overwhelming sense of joy and comfort. joy because of how happy you are to be with seonghwa in this moment, to know that you're relationship has changed and grew so much, but the comfort.

the comfort was what made tears well up in your eyes. knowing that seonghwa finally accepted you as a mate, accepted you as a part of the clan and a part of himself. you couldn't help but let out a small sob rip through you.

"y/n?" seonghwa's voice crashes through your thoughts and he's looking at you with wide, concern eyes. "what's wrong, love? did i hurt you?"

"no," you say with a smile, tears running down your face as you, "i'm just happy," you add on as the eldest dragon prince leans his forehead against your own. "thank you, seonghwa."

"don't thank me. if anything i should be the one thanking you for giving me a chance," he says with a soft smile, you note how his thrust have slowed down a little bit, but not completely stoped. the two of you share another kiss before seonghwa is doing one last thrust into you before you're clenching around him and cumming.

he groans into your lips before he doing several more thrust and then stilling inside of you. his cum painting the inside of your walls white and you can't help but clench even more in an attempt to keep all of him inside of you.

"if you keep clenching around me, princess, i might not be able to pull out," he teases as he trails his lips down your body. he begins to slowly move backwards in the water and the air around you sending goosebumps over your body.

seonghwa grins when he notices and pulls you close to him once you both are out of the water. he sets you done on the ground, back against a large rock that was near the edge of the water before he's hovering over you.

"want to go another round?" he asks, smirk gracing his lips and you can't help but laugh at him. you open your mouth to answer but the sound of someone else stops you.

"hey! what are you two doing? seonghwa, you bastard, you better not be hurting my mate!" wooyoung's voice is loud as he comes crashing through the tree line. seonghwa seems surprised by how wooyoung was able to find you both, but you don't seem phased by it.

"i told you, he would come look for us if we were gone for too long."

tag list : @frankenstein852 @watamotee33 @kawennote09 @mixling-blog @marahleiwhen @kpopnightingale @harry-the-pottypus @pyeonghongrie @sanniesbum @marvelahsobx @khjcoo @mysticfire0435 @exfolitae @dementedaly @simeonswhore @moonm1st @nvmbheart @spooo00oky @frgogh (i still don't know why i can't tag you) @sookacc @seongwin @burnsmepls @ad0rechuu @tunaasan @northerngalxy @silverpixiedust23

network : @cultofdionysusnet

[r--kt]

Okay, but why the "Kannabi" Bridge? I mean, why is this called that? Turns out, this is an amazing and very beautiful metaphor.

Kakashi Gaiden analysis. Kannabi — the bridge between two worlds

I will look at this from the side of Shinto culture (based on the materials that I could find, feel free to correct me if you know more about this) and from the side of Kakashi and Obito's storylines.

Contents | cultural code · significance for the plot structure · the idea itself (this one is really important!)

Cultural code

In Shinto culture, it is not customary to divide the world into human and sacred, especially into divine and demonic principles — everything exists in harmony with each other, in a single system.

Kannabi (神奈備) refers to a region that is a shintai (repositories in which kami reside) itself, or hosts a kami. In fact, Kannabi is a place of connection between the human and the spiritual. Usually these are mountains, rivers, and forests that stand out for their beauty. These are such accumulations of natural energy, so sacred that their presence requires observance of a certain rite. So, if in relatively modern times be present next to the blossoming sakura, picnics in picturesque mountains and the like has normalized in Japanese culture, then in ancient times people did not dare to disturb mountains or groves with their presence. In such places, people performed rituals of worship to the deity, wrestling matches, divination, sacred dances, offerings, etc. The territory of the kami did not completely coincide with the territory of worship to them, people still tried to move away from the center of the sacred place so as not to bother their deity. To mark the border of entry into Kannabi, symbolic gates were installed — most often in the form of torii.

examples of kannabi in real life. Mount Fuji and Nachi Falls. [ as I understand, shintai and kannabi are synonymous concepts, but kannabi is broader in meaning. ]

It's all about how important the term is in a cultural context. A place of divine power that cannot be desecrated. From here, the Kannabi Bridge and the surrounding area can also be considered endowed with divine energy — and here the most interesting thing begins.

Significance for the plot structure

Now about the scenario composition. In general, the Battle of Kannabi, as the event itself in Kakashi and Obito's storylines, according to Joseph Campbell's «hero's journey», is a stage of transition between worlds. That's what the symbolism of the place also works for. This is the moment when the hero assumes responsibility for the beliefs he carries and their consequences, and literally or symbolically crosses the threshold between the safe and familiar world to the dangerous and unknown one, embarks on the path of reflection and prepares to meet the unconscious.

Thus, briefly speaking, Kakashi finds the strength to resolve his internal conflict in favor of his father's attitudes about the value of each Shinobi, and Obito sacrifices himself, protecting his loved ones and defending his ideals. Then their paths got separate so that each one could face with the unknown by himself.

In the context of the monomyph model, this is how the beginning of the initiation stage is demonstrated (i.e., the transition from one state to another, which is accompanied by some kind of ritual). Since Kannabi in culture is the boundary between the human and the divine, it can be concluded that this very transition is shown almost literally, thanks to the sharingan awakening and the broken tanto. This is the first turning point in history, structurally coinciding with the end of the first act.

The idea itself

And what do we see in general? In the battle of Kannabi, the religious Shinto subtext is vividly read. For the battle in a sacred place, the moral positive change of the hero (Kakashi) or his original courage (Obito) and a certain sacrifice (Kakashi's eye), the deities give a reward: the power of sharingan, which helps them save Rin, which is shared between Obito and Kakashi and in the future generally serves as a direct demonstration of the spiritual connection between them. At the same time, for the desecration of a sacred place (the goal of the mission was to blow up a bridge), heroes are punished: from this point of view, Obito's death is a certain sacrifice for the damage inflicted on the deity.

There is also information that the name of the bridge - Kannabi-kyo (神無毘橋) - can also be interpreted as «A bridge where the gods won't help». idk if it's true, but sounds cool.

Moreover, the very name of Obito's mangekyo — Kamui (神威) — literally translates as «The Power of Gods». Perhaps it is based on the mentioned concept of the place where Kakashi and Obito received the power of sharingan. And maybe that's why they call the technique the same way: because they treat it rather with such a religious meaning.

and thanks for reading to the end ♡

[derww]

Hearts and their true value | Essay

ZAM: Something i've noticed is that people who are willing to stand up are the people that have been around longer. It's interesting. Its not like Jumper's that new anyway, like she's been around, she's, I feel like she's not really like... I don't know, understood the devaluing, or the lack of value that hearts have.

Okay, I wanna tell you a story.

[ENDGAME SPOILERS TO SKY:COTL | CW DEATH AND SUICIDE IN THE GAME CONCEPTS]

There is a game called Sky. This is a social game about human connections, and one of the important parts of the gameplay is wings. You get wings by grinding and lose them one by one when your health drops to zero.

From the very beginning, the wings are shown to you as a value: they accumulate as you explore the world, which is beautifully reflected by the star patterns on the cloaks, and, most importantly, they determine the degree of your ability to fly. and flying is the main mechanic of the game, you fly almost always. an unshakable and absolute value. This means that wings must be protected and saved, and this is the essence of the game!

But Sky is a cycle. The end of the cycle is death. and you are losing all your wings in the process. Invariant. And the game never warns you about it; it says that you can lose your wings, sure, but it's nothing in comparison with losing everything. And first time, it's very, very scary: me personally, stories about this place scared me bad enough that I finally got through it only after a week of constant playing. and in the end you're left with... nothing. You have only one wing. You have to start from the beginning. Was all this adventure, all these efforts, worth it?

Usually it takes several months for the players to get used to losing wings. Not only at the end of the cycle, gaining red candles and sometimes unlocking eternal wings or cosmetics, but generally. Leaving themselves in dangerous places, playing with the death, and... Protecting other people, especially new players, by bodyblocking the hits. because, despite the amount of wings being a reason to flex and the importance of being able to fly higher and longer and grinding being just straight up annoying, part of the Sky philosophy as i understand it is the idea that wings are not actually holding much value. 

Two years ago, I had a beautiful sky friend. She was Chinese, resembled an elegant and beautiful flower, and told me to call her 江妤 (Jiang Yu, "Like the Yangtze River,"  she had explained to me). Jiang Yu, in addition to all her wonderful personal qualities, was wingless.

In a normal situation, you can't stay wingless; you always have at least one wing. The whole game is based on the idea that you will fly, but there are many glitches that can temporarily make you wingless. However, here was only one way to stay wingless: from the moment the birth, you couldn't pick up a single wing and continued to avoid them for eternity.

It wasn't a planned way to play, but it was possible, and different people played that way for different reasons. Jiang Yu, having a very developed account on a Chinese server, explained to me that she wants to travel with her friends. "Lead me wherever you wish, and I will follow you,"  she said to me. She couldn't get to many places on the map alone, and even one drop of rain depersonalized her, and she needed someone to guide her. She was extremely dependent on others. 

But Jiang Yu, having no wings, being outside the existing equation, could not die. This was the catch of the wingless: having nothing, they were not afraid to lose something (except their own winglessness, but oh, well), and this made them invulnerable. For me, it was the true Sky experience of connecting with people around and trusting them.

Thinking about the philosophy of it in my walks with Jiang Yu, I came to a personal conclusion: Sky is a game where you are given value, given currency, demonstrated its importance and usefulness and irreplaceability, and then demonstrated that in fact it has no real value. And the wingless ones, even if not planned by the developers, are the apogee of this idea. It is—oh  well, let me give you the most banal quote: "It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything." Do you understand where I'm going and how it relates to Lifesteal?

I don't like to row everyone under the same comb, but to simplify, let's say: many of the new members are scared to die. Old members are generally not. They all have different understandings and positions, and someone has 20 hearts and someone has 4; it's a difference in mindsets.

And Jumper is still new. Especially taking into account that the big part of the s5 she was pretty much immortal with the infinite (not really, but) stash of hearts and that PB&J was kinda built on not understanding things.

Yeah, this is the Lifesteal, the server about killing people for hearts. But it hasn't been just that way for a very long time. The server is fucking alive and is constantly changing, but even before, cool stories were much more important than just not dying. "Reaching 20 hearts" without any twist is a very boring video. Wanna show how cool you are? Do something better.

There is not much interesting in being just passive. Yeah, Wemmbu is scary, but he is the villain; of course he is scary. Im not saying that they have to pick up a sword and fight, but I think Zam is right in that they just don't really understand yet. but its something we've talked about many times before – unspoken rules and conventions and all that. This can be attributed to the same place as the fact that members tend to play along with each other even if it's dangerous. Content is more important than hearts. At the end, you came here to play.

Part of the reason I love 3ht so much is that they embody it. They're constantly dying; they seem weak and worthless, but they're here, and they are doing atleast something. And Planet... Is Planet. Even to go edit, you first need to give a dramatic speech, change movement of the whole arc, and backflip into the void. Despite how important hearts are and that you should still care, it's good to understand that it does not actually matter that much. Yeah, it helps with how many crits you'll take before dying, but is it really the only important thing here?

Many months after our first meeting, Jiang Yu made a mistake and accidentally got her first wing. She was so sad, and I hugged her, and her wings looked like a beautiful cherry flower. I haven't seen her in a long time, but we still exchange gifts sometimes. I miss her. And even if we never see each other again, I appreciate the memories we've made together. And it's more valuable than anything else.

(And, at the end, its just a game. It can be very important; you can be very invested, but it is necessary to draw a line. In-game life may cost nothing, but your real life is infinitely valuable)

[madwomansapologist]

i love everybody because i love you

Meet Kind!Druid!Tav | More Weirdos | AO3

synopsis: It doesn't matter what their first impressions of you were, they certainly did not expect you to be so important in their lifes. And as the days passes, each one of your companions need to understand a simple fact: they love you. They all love you.

warnings: a sequel to that (you don't need to read if you don't want to). song "strawberry blond". companions (lae'zel, halsin) x druid!tav. background cast (alfira, mirkon, scratch, owlbear, shadowheart, astarion, wyll, mizora, karlach, minthara). lae'zel love language is pressing a dagger against your throat. i accidentaly made her somewhat a stalker?? there is a high chance minthara doesn't sound like her because i killed her like two onversations in. if you discover which animated character is my biggest inspiration for this tav i will give you a reward.

In a harsh world, people are supossed to shield themselfs from even the possibility of danger. Is the only rational response to the ambiguity of chaos. What those who crave to survive must learn, what those who deserve to survive must do.

You get stronger, so you won't feel pain. Because to feel pain is to remind your soul that one day your body will perish. To get stronger is to forget about the eventual end. Is to get protected from death itself, even if as just a concept.

When not even death can catch you, you're free. When you have nothing to love, nothing to care about, you are free. That's real strength. To be invulnerable. To have nothing to lose, no one close enough to ever hurt you.

Lae'zel lost the count on how many times you bleed. How many times you fell. Burned, drowned, exhausted in pain. Arrows crossed your chest, swords cut your legs, calloused hands stopped you from breathing.

You're somewhat good at hiding it. How much things can hurt you. When someone disrespect one of your companions, when people blame you for their fates, when you did everything you could and it wasn't enough. It hurts you in a different, worst way. She can see it on your face.

Maybe you could've earned a good end, if the world worked in a different way. A peaceful life, one fit for those who don't aspire greatness. But Lae'zel knew it was only a matter of time until the tadpole took control. She felt it on herself. Saw it on you.

No one would save her, no one would save any of you, but perhaps Lae'zel could. It was an merciful act. To end you first. You failed as a leader, but you tried. Then she'll go to the others, knowing she's brave enough to kill herself after.

She thought you had surrendered yourself to her. That you had come to the same conclusion. A wise druid, after all. Then Lae'zel felt. The cold thread against the base of her neck. A dagger she didn't saw coming.

"Step back," you ordered, voice unaffected. Lae'zel never heard you like that before. She had a dagger against your throat, but you spoke as if you rule the entire world.

"Chk, you think that tiny blade of yours will stop me from free..."

"What I think doesn't matter, but what I know does." Your eyes burned her skin. "You're stronger, I'm faster. I propose you a bet. If you kill me, go on with your plan. If I kill you, that's it. I won't kill them. I won't kill myself. Even if I can, even if I must. You would've died for nothing, forever ignorant if it was the right thing to do."

Lae'zel saw you barefoot at the Emerald Grove, applauding Alfira as she sang. Crossing the river by jumping from stone to stone, talking to Mirkon as if he wasn't a kid but a dear friend. How many times did Lae'zel found a bed shaped of you on the grass right next to where Scratch and Owlbear slept?

A sacreed deer, whose even blood is ever so sweet, howled like an wolf.

Would you turn into a mindflayer out of... stubbornness? Would you let the rest of your beloved party turn into something utterly disgusting, putting in danger all those people you swore to protect, just to prove a point?

Maybe you would. Maybe you wouldn't.

No one died that night.

You intrigued Lae'zel. Before you were her supposedly defenseless prey, and now you are the object of her curiosity. Lae'zel didn't understand you. And she craved to.

So she kept a close eye on you.

You bleed. All the fucking time. You bleed, and you wept. But everytime someone crushed you down, you rose up. For every tear that fall from your eyes, you made sure to smile. You survive, and you keep on doing it.

Strength and weakness merged in the warrior's mind. She knew what strength is, she can smell weakness from afar. Lae'zel was taught everything she was supossed to know.

But you were never the one to fit in old impervious notions.

Lae'zel saw you end a hyena's suffering without flinching, and you trying to hold on the wind when you were about to fall. She heard you helping a bird decorate its nest, and the breaking of a skull of someone brave enough to maim Shadowheart when she was near you.

You yelled at Astarion as he tried to stop you from helping gnomes. Helped Wyll with herbs for his pain after Mizora's trick. Helped Gale with dinner, putting a smile to the usually frowed wizard's face. Gave Karlach her first hug in years.

She saw your every movement. Lae'zel heard you laughing, saw you dancing, watched as you helped your new friends. Sometimes it felt as if you made white lines so she could follow you. So Lae'zel could see you being good, nice, decent. Being you in a way that showed her that no, you would've never let your companions turn into mindflayers. You were bluffing, and she fell for it.

At some point, it started to ache. Anytime you laugh at some tiefling's story, something inside Lae'zel burned. At night, she could picture your smile on her eyelids. When you call her name during battle, yelling instructions that somewhat always end in victory. When you look at her.

She can still see that fire. That same flame that stopped her from killing you right then and there. But diluted, controlled. And still, just as able of burning her entire soul. You have a fire contained within your gaze, and Lae'zel doesn't mind getting burned.

Maybe you're not that weak. And maybe she's not that strong.

She's not watching you anymore. Observing your every move so she can understand your mind. Not a prey, not a walking question mark. Lae'zel is purelly admiring.

For some, you came as a tempest. Slowly, without announce your intentions, your way of being embraced them.

A few flinched, scared of what that meant about them. That by admitting you're good despite it all means they could be good too. Some welcomed it, scared of what that meant about the world. If you're good despite everything that happened, then others could be too. Others chose not to.

But you stroke Halsin as a thunderstorm, just as quickly and fiercly. In such a dark time, you were a lighthouse. A shining light that blind at first, but embraces and comforts.

The grove was in danger, his life could end at any given moment, a goblin camp separated him from the world he worked so hard to protect. But your party helped him, and it gave Halsin the right amount of hope.

You asked him to stay behind, and he did so. Halsin wouldn't be able to control himself, and you didn't need all that attention. He was hopeful, not an idiot. But when Halsin heard screams from the room beside... Knowing that Minthara was there, Halsin couldn't help himself.

A wizard focused on the goblins. As he held them in place, a cleric made sure to end them. But at the other side of the room, the only other druid he saw in weeks had a dagger deep on her chest.

Minthara had you on your knees, her nails digging on the skin of your chin. A burning tiefling didn't knew a way to react that wouldn't end within that same blade slicing your throat. She waited for an order, an instruction of any kind, and Minthara realized that you were leading the rebels.

"Is that your leader?" Minthara looked at the tiefling. Her eyes were numb, bored even, but her grin was sharp. She forced to blade deeper. "A weak druid, barely able of helding a sword? Are you that desperate?"

You should've cried. You should've beg for mercy. You should've do anything, instead of laughing. Minthara glared at you, sure that you were reduced to a crazy, desperate animal. But when you bit her hand, blood staining your chin, you were more of a beast.

Minthara stumbled, and you pulled the blade she left on your shoulder. Blood ran down your side, but that didn't stopped you from rising up. Halsin don't think anything would've.

"Maybe you're right," you hissed. With her dagger on your left hand, you took your sword from the ground. "I'm not a fighter. I wasn't educate to control the Weave. I can't heal a thing. When I can't do something, I find someone that can. Without their help, I would be dead by now."

Halsin came here to act. To help, protect, kill. But all he could do, just like everyone else in that room, was to watch you. To look at your beaming smile, to see the blood on your teath, not even trying not to get blind by it.

"Why would anyone follow someone that professes to be so weak?" She looked at the wizard, a dead goblin at his feet, her brain thinking of all the ways she could defeat your party. "What can you do that give you the right to rule them?"

Your smile seemed to grow wider. "I can beat the shit out of you."

And beat the shit out of Minthara you did.

With a first impression like that, ain't no mistery why Halsin couldn't do anything but to stay with your party. But to go on with you, deafeting the Shadowcurse and exploring Baldur's Gate. But to see you shine, feel your warmth, and let it pull a string on his heart.

At the end, it didn't matter how it started. It didn't matter how much they fought the thought back. If they lied to themselfs, made you a villain on their minds, welcomed you with open arms.

You have their hearts. Simply as it can be. You have their hearts.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

BALDUR'S GATE 3 TAGLIST: @citrusbunnies

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.