#seriously this is a very long post

[sam-sessington-the-third]

outbrust

[spacebubblehomebase]

Shit post!

Don't take this too seriously, but LMAO XD. -Bubbly💙

[basket-of-radiants]

[lully-jo]

I wonder how many people really love and relate to Alisaie because they too were the girl who struggled to understand how folks around her could act like suffering and selfishness and hivemind behavior was normal and their softness was called a weakness and so they built up an abrasive exterior to force people to take them seriously and now they don't know how to be vulnerable without feeling embarrassed or cringe even though they still feel things so deeply it's almost suffocating...

[serpentface]

Faiza performing the Kagnoma Odo (pretty literally 'lion dance'), a weapons dance and one of the more important ritual duties of Odonii priestesses. A relatively new addition to this traditional dance involves the musket as the primary weapon, which is fired mid-twirl into the ground at the climax of the dance. Faiza is experiencing an 'oh fuck' moment because her shot is more than ideally diagonal, but she’s being so cool with it.

This is a wholly ceremonial performance at the onset of the pilgrimage, performed in full regalia and lion skin (of the small, semi-domesticated strain) but no armor. It’s also distinctly a display of political allegiance between the powerful and beloved Odonii priesthood (and its loyal military) with the increasingly reviled and destabilized imperial family, with Faiza prominently wearing a bracelet of the royal serpent, which was gifted (along with the musket) by the usoma Stavis Amanti himself (Usoma is the Wardi word for king, which has been retained in the context of emperors).

The Kagnoma Odo is the ultimate demonstration of the Odonii as an embodiment of the Lion Face of God and living vessel of military might and sovereignty, demonstrating her fitness and proficiency with weapons and as a spiritual unifier for soldiers. It is accompanied by drumming and occurs in stages, running through the three keymost weapons used in war- the spear, the sword, and the musket. The musket is of the most significance, given the weapon has developed a particular esteem as the ultimate embodiment of might and superiority. Assistants (almost always other priestesses, occasionally high ranking soldiers) load and prime the musket to be fired at the climax of the dance, where it is shot into the ground as the priestess leaps out of range of the shot. The firing signals the end of the dance and the rite itself.

While not the utmost exemplar of trigger discipline, only fully inducted and senior (and therefore very thoroughly trained) Odonii are permitted to perform the dance, and injuries during actual performances are quite rare (though are known to occur during training, more than a few Odonii have burns and wounds on their feet).

The most important renditions of this dance are performed upon declarations of war and before battles (in this case, generally done in full armor along with the lion pelt). It is also done during some trainings (while a dance, it is carefully choreographed to include naturalistic maneuvers of the weapons involved and helps soldiers limber up and learn to move their weapons). It is regarded as an impressive and motivating sight and a morale booster, and, seen at a distance, potentially intimidating to enemies.

A special variant of this dance is performed as means of fully incarnating the Odomache, which is done in full nudity with the body covered in the blood of the freshly sacrificed lion and cloaked in its raw pelt (the lion has become the corpse of Odomache in the moment of death, as part of its recreation of God's sacrifice). Her public, full nude appearance once (and only once) in this act is what allows the Lion Face of God to incarnate within her. Those in attendance see the spiritually vulnerable, naked human body obscured with the sanctified and deified blood and cloaked in the sanctified and deified skin. It is a merger of the contradictions of mortality and divinity, the boundaries between the two indistinct in flickering firelight and the flash of musketfire. She is witnessed by her people, dangling in between humanity and divinity and leading them in dance, and and is thus transformed.

[anime-potato-san]

So, I saw a post about why someone dislikes adbell and why it doesn’t work, which is 100% valid, but I wanted to give my thoughts on why I ship it, even in different ways other than romantic.

They just have such a complex relationship. It can go so many ways. In a sick way, as Adler said, they gave Bell a second chance. A way to redeem themselves. It has to fuck with you to know that you used to be a literal terrorist.

Even if technically Bell only knew Adler for over a month, to them, they’ve known him for years. Been through the hell of Vietnam. Bell has a deep, loyal bond to Adler, even if it’s technically fake. It’s reasonable, in my opinion, to assume feelings could have developed. Then to find out all of that is fake, that you’ve been lied to and brainwashed, would destroy your perception of reality and trust.

In the Duga ending, Bell definitely has a personal grudge against Adler. His betrayal hurt them. If Bell felt nothing, they probably wouldn’t go through the effort of stabbing him or anything else they did.

Canonically, despite everything, Bell helped Adler and the team. Bell changed for the better as a person. Did Bell help because they felt guilt for their past? Did they still feel a sense of loyalty to him and the team? Bell didn’t kill Adler when they had the chance on the cliff, only pulling out their gun when Adler did. Bell, despite it all, couldn’t truly bring themself to kill him, costing them their life.

How much does Bell know about Adler? It has to bother him, at least a little. But he has someone who understands the pain. Did he grow to care about Bell? I think he did, even if Adler doesn’t admit that to himself. The times we did see them work together, they did well.

It was never personal my ass.

Adler felt something for Bell. He could have just left them for dead after they were crushed underneath ruble, but he didn’t. He took them to the cliff, told them they were a hero, then killed them.

Was he ordered to kill Bell? Did he do it because they had his memories in a way? He did decide to kill Bell because he saw them as a threat?

Does he feel guilty for what he did to Bell? Does he regret killing them? What did he do with their body?

I personally think he did feel guilty, even a tiny bit. Adler may be an asshole and low-key a psychopath, but he does care about others, like Woods for example. In bo6, he shuts down Case when he tries to ask Adler about the other test subjects, which I’m interpreting that as Adler not wanting to talk about Bell. It hurt too much. Maybe he just didn’t want to open that can of worms and deal with his guilt at that time.

Adler and Bell are deeply connected with each other, and I find it their relationship fascinating with so much potential, including platonically. All the complicated and deep emotions that they have for each other is something I personal enjoy exploring.

Now is Adler x Bell toxic? Unhealthy? Oh absolutely. Even when you take away some of the non-con elements some fics have (like myself. It all has to be consensual for me,) Adler still brainwashed Bell, and Bell used to be a terrorist willing to nuke Europe to get at those “damn evil, capitalistic Americans”.

As always, it’s perfectly ok to dislike or even hate a ship. I have ships myself that I despise. Just don’t automatically go after someone because of a ship.

It’s all fictional.

And I also think we’re allowed to have one dark ship to ship as a treat.

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

working on something rn and just. There are zero thoughts in four’s head

[deerkibble]

what started as a Joke has metamorphosed into Lore

[fantomette22]

Pretty accurate Bloodborne fandom discourse experience on Tumblr lmao

[anghraine]

Hi! Can you explain what really the power of foresight was with Faramir? I read the books earlier this year and I don't really quite understand it. He could predict the future? Like he would see it in his dreams? But how did he found out from Gollum that he was taking frodo and sam to cirith ungol and that he had committed murder before?

No problem, it's one of my favorite topics!

The concise explanation: I think Faramir's foresight/aftersight in terms of visions is a largely separate "power" from his ability to bring his strength of mind and will to bear on other people and animals, and to resist outside influence. The visions seem more a matter of broad sensitivity, something Faramir doesn't appear to have much if any control over. The second power is (in our terms) essentially a form of direct telepathy, limited in some ways but still very powerful, and I think this second ability is what Faramir is using with Gollum.

The really long version:

In my opinion, Faramir (or Denethor, Aragorn, etc) doesn't necessarily read thoughts like a book, particularly not with a mind as resistant as Gollum's. Faramir describes Gollum's mind in particular as dark and closed, it seems unusually so—

"There are locked doors and closed windows in your mind, and dark rooms behind them," said Faramir.

Still, Gollum is unable to entirely block Faramir's abilities. In LOTR, it does not seem that Gollum can fully block powerful mental abilities such as Faramir's, though his toughness and hostility does limit what Faramir can see. (Unfinished Tales, incidentally, suggests iirc that Denethor's combination of "great mental powers" and his right to use the Anor-stone allowed him to telepathically get the better of Saruman through their palantíri, a similar but greater feat.) I imagine that this is roughly similar to, but scaled down from, Galadriel's telepathic inquiries of even someone as reluctant to have her in his mind as Boromir, given that Faramir is able to still see some things in Gollum's mind, if with more difficulty than usual.

(WRT Boromir ... ngl, if I was the human buffer between Denethor and Faramir, I would also not be thrilled about sudden telepathic intrusions from basically anyone, much less someone I had little reason to trust.)

Disclaimer: a few years after LOTR's publication, Tolkien tried to systematize how this vague mystical telepathy stuff really works. One idea he had among many, iirc, was that no unwilling person's mind could be "read" the ways that Gollum's is throughout LOTR. IMO that can't really be reconciled w/ numerous significant interactions in LOTR where resistance to mental intrusion or domination is clearly variable between individuals and affected by personal qualities like strength of will, basic resilience, the effort put into opposition, supernatural powers, etc. And these attempts at resistance are unsuccessful or only partially successful on many occasions in LOTR (the Mouth of Sauron, for one example, is a Númenórean sorcerer in the book who can't really contend with Aragorn on a telepathic level). So I, personally, tend to avoid using the terminology and rationales from that later systematized explanation when discussing LOTR. And in general, I think Tolkien's later attempts to convert the mystical, mysterious wonder of Middle-earth into something more "hard magic" or even scientific was a failed idea on a par with Teleporno. Others differ!

In any case, when Gollum "unwillingly" looks at Faramir while being questioned, the creepy light drains from his eyes and he shrinks back while Faramir concludes he's being honest on that specific occasion. Gollum experiences physical pain when he does try to lie to Faramir—

"It is called Cirith Ungol." Gollum hissed sharply and began muttering to himself. "Is not that its name?" said Faramir turning to him. "No!" said Gollum, and then he squealed, as if something had stabbed him.

I don't think this is a deliberate punishment from Faramir—that wouldn't be like him at all—and I don't think it's the Ring, but simply a natural consequence of what Faramir is. Later, Gandalf says of Faramir's father:

"He can perceive, if he bends his will thither, much of what is passing in the minds of men ... It is difficult to deceive him, and dangerous to try."

So, IMO, Faramir's quick realization that Gollum is a murderer doesn't come from any vision of the future or past involving Gollum—that is, it's not a deduction from some event he's seen. Faramir does not literally foresee Gollum's trick at Cirith Ungol. His warning would be more specific in that case, I think. What he sees seems to be less detailed but more direct and, well, mystical. Faramir likely doesn't know who exactly Gollum murdered or why or what any of the circumstances were. Rather, Gollum's murderousness and malice are visible conditions of his soul to Faramir's sight. Faramir doesn't foresee the particulars of Gollum's betrayal—but he can see in Gollum's mind that he is keeping something back. Faramir says of Gollum:

"I do not think you are holden to go to Cirith Ungol, of which he has told you less than he knows. That much I perceived clearly in his mind."

Meanwhile, in a letter written shortly before the publication of LOTR, Tolkien said of Faramir's ancestors:

They became thus in appearance, and even in powers of mind, hardly distinguishable from the Elves

So these abilities aren't that strange in that context. Faramir by chance (or "chance") is, like his father, almost purely an ancient Númenórean type despite living millennia after the destruction of Númenor (that destruction is the main reason "Númenóreanness" is fading throughout the age Faramir lives in). Even less ultra-Númenórean members of Denethor's family are still consistently inheriting characteristics from their distant ancestor Elros, Elrond's brother, while Faramir and Denethor independently strike Sam and Pippin as peculiarly akin to Gandalf, a literal Maia like their ancestress Melian:

“Ah well, sir,” said Sam, “you [Faramir] said my master had an elvish air; and that was good and true. But I can say this: you have an air too, sir, that reminds me of, of—well, Gandalf, of wizards.”

He [Denethor] turned his dark eyes on Gandalf, and now Pippin saw a likeness between the two, and he felt the strain between them, almost as if he saw a line of smouldering fire drawn from eye to eye, that might suddenly burst into flame.

Meanwhile, Faramir's mother's family is believed to be part Elvish, a belief immediately confirmed when Legolas meets Faramir's maternal uncle:

At length they came to the Prince Imrahil, and Legolas looked at him and bowed low; for he saw that here indeed was one who had elven-blood in his veins. "Hail, lord!" he [Legolas] said. "It is long since the people of Nimrodel left the woodlands of Lórien, and yet still one may see that not all sailed from Amroth’s haven west over water."

In addition to that, Faramir's men believe he's under some specific personal blessing or charm as well as the Númenórean/Elvish/Maia throwback qualities. It's also mentioned by different groups of soldiers that Faramir can exercise some power of command over animals as well as people. Beregond describes Faramir getting his horse to run towards five Nazgûl in real time:

"They will make the Gate. No! the horses are running mad. Look! the men are thrown; they are running on foot. No, one is still up, but he rides back to the others. That will be the Captain [Faramir]: he can master both beasts and men."

Then, during the later retreat of Faramir's men across the Pelennor:

At last, less than a mile from the City, a more ordered mass of men came into view, marching not running, still holding together. The watchers held their breath. "Faramir must be there," they said. "He can govern man and beast."

Tolkien said of the ancient Númenóreans:

But nearly all women could ride horses, treating them honourably, and housing them more nobly than any other of their domestic animals. The stables of a great man were often as large and as fair to look upon as his own house. Both men and women rode horses for pleasure … and in ceremony of state both men and women of rank, even queens, would ride, on horseback amid their escorts or retinues … The Númenóreans trained their horses to hear and understand calls (by voice or whistling) from great distances; and also, where there was great love between men or women and their favorite steeds, they could (or so it is said in ancient tales) summon them at need by their thought alone. So it was also with their dogs.

Likely the same Númenórean abilities were used for evil by Queen Berúthiel against her cats. In an interview with Daphne Castell, Tolkien said:

She [Berúthiel] was one of these people who loathe cats, but cats will jump on them and follow them about—you know how sometimes they pursue people who hate them? I have a friend like that. I’m afraid she took to torturing them for amusement, but she kept some and used them—trained them to go on evil errands by night, to spy on her enemies or terrify them.

The more formal version of the Berúthiel lore recurs in Unfinished Tales:

She had nine black cats and one white, her slaves, with whom she conversed, or read their memories, setting them to discover all the dark secrets of Gondor, so that she knew those things "that men wish most to keep hidden," setting the white cat to spy upon the black, and tormenting them.

Faramir, by contrast, has a strong aversion to harming/killing animals for any reason other than genuine need, but apparently quite similar basic abilities. He typically uses these abilities to try to compassionately understand other people or gather necessary information, rather than for domination or provoking fear. Even so, Faramir does seem to use his mental powers pretty much all the time with no attempt to conceal what he's doing—he says some pretty outlandish things to Frodo and Sam as if they're very ordinary, but it doesn't seem that most people he knows can do all these things. This stuff is ordinary to him because it flows out of his fundamental being, not because it's common.

It's not clear how much fine control he has, interestingly. This is more headcanon perhaps, but I don't feel like it's completely under his control, even while it's much more controlled than things like Faramir's vision of Boromir's funeral boat, his frequent, repeated dreams of Númenor's destruction, the Ring riddle dream he received multiple times, or even his suspiciously specific "guess" of what passed between Galadriel and Boromir in Lothlórien. Yet his more everyday mental powers do seem to involve some measure of deliberate effort in a lot of the instances we see, given the differing degrees of difficulty and strain we see with the powers he and Denethor exhibit more frequently and consistently.

This is is also interesting wrt Éowyn, because Tolkien describes Faramir's perception of her as "clear sight" (which I suspect is just Tolkien's preferred parlance for "clairvoyance"). Faramir perceives a lot more of what's going on with Éowyn than I think he had materially observable evidence for—but does not see everything that's going on with her by any means. He seems to understand basically everything about her feelings for Aragorn, more than Éowyn herself does, but does not know if she loves him [Faramir].

I'm guessing that it's more difficult to "see" this way when it's directly personal (one of the tragedies of his and Denethor's relationship is that their shared mental powers do not enable either to realize how much they love each other). But it also doesn't seem like he's trying to overcome Éowyn's mental resistance the way he was with Gollum, and possibly Frodo and Sam—he does handle it a bit differently when it's not a matter of critical military urgency. With Éowyn, he sees what his abilities make clear to him, is interested enough to seek out Merry (and also perceive more than Merry says, because Faramir has never been a normal person one day in his life) but doesn't seem to really push either of them.

So I tend to imagine that with someone like Faramir, Denethor, Aragorn etc, we're usually seeing a relatively passive, natural form of low-grade telepathy that simply derives from their fundamental nature and personalities (as we see in Faramir with Éowyn, possibly Faramir with Aragorn). That can be kicked up to more powerful, forceful telepathy via active exertion of the will (as described by Gandalf wrt Denethor's ability to "bend[] his will thither" to see what passes in others' minds, and seen with Faramir vs Gollum, Aragorn vs the Mouth of Sauron, more subtly Faramir vs Denethor). At a high point of strain this can be done very aggressively or defensively (Denethor vs Gandalf, Denethor vs Saruman, Denethor vs Sauron seriously is there a Maia that man won't fight, Faramir vs the Black Breath given his completely unique symptoms that Aragorn attributes to his "staunch will", possibly Aragorn vs the Black Breath in a healing capacity...).

Anyway, I hope these massive walls of text are helpful or interesting! Thanks for the ask :)

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

alex + looking at miles

[kitamars]

enmi gintoki…………… orz

[aurieeeeeenyx]

time travel mechanics in link click — intentional inconsistencies? closed loops and parallel timelines (theory)

Back in 2021 or so, I wanted to make a post about the time travel mechanics in Season 1, and how they seemed to be inconsistent in certain episodes. I never ended up making that post, and the idea slowly faded from my mind, but I want to make that post now (armed with all the new information we've received since then) before Bridon/Yingdu arc episode 4 comes out because of the episode preview when Lu Guang says this:

In Season 1, the time travel seems to operate on the principle of a closed loop. This is especially evident in the Doudou arc, when Cheng Xiaoshi sees himself in the past (while he's in Doudou's body) and realizes that he was always there; the "changes" he inflicted weren't really changes, because by the time he dives back from the future his actions in the past have already happened. This is also demonstrated when Xu Shanshan walks into the photo studio and interacts with Cheng Xiaoshi in S1E8, and we later find out that it was in fact Cheng Xiaoshi in Xu Shanshan's body interacting with himself. And again, with the ploy to use Xu Shanshan in order to lure Liu Min/Red Eyes to the photo studio. We also see this closed loop phenomenon happen in Season 2, for example when Cheng Xiaoshi possesses Lu Guang's body to go save himself in the past.

So I've always been a little bothered by the earthquake arc in Season 1. If the dives into the past have already happened, why does Chen Xiao come to the photo studio in the first place? If Cheng Xiaoshi (in Chen Xiao's body) won the basketball game and gave those kind words to Chen Xiao's loved ones, why does Chen Xiao remember otherwise?

I've wondered before what happens to the clients when Cheng Xiaoshi is possessing them—do they just not remember anything? Are they even aware of themselves being possessed? Why is no one concerned about missing memories for hours at a time or not being in control of their own body? Emma sort of skirts around this when she tells Cheng Xiaoshi, "So you were the one who sent that message" in S1E11, implying she's aware it wasn't her who sent it. For the sake of argument, though, I'm going to pass the general non-reaction of the clients to being possessed as a handwavey "the brain justifies it somehow later" thing and ignore it.**

That brings us again to the question: Why does Chen Xiao remember the past differently to the one Cheng Xiaoshi experienced/changed? Maybe the past isn't set in stone after all? Maybe, instead of just being a closed loop, the time travel in Link Click is operating on multiple systems?

In 2021, right after I watched Season 1, I was going to dismiss this as just an error. The writers slipped up and bungled their time travel mechanics a bit, and therefore the earthquake arc is different on accident. But we've learned since then that nothing is unintentional in this show, so why is that arc different from the others? (Also, I want to note, there is that moment in S1E4 where Lu Guang's face does that weird warping thing; coincidence? Maybe, but maybe not...)

My theory is: the time travel abilities that Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang have operate differently.

DISCLAIMER: My knowledge of photography and film is extremely limited, so please correct me if I'm wrong.

There's always been a lot of film imagery in this show—obviously, since the whole premise is based in photography—but as early as the Season 1 OP, "Dive Back In Time," we can see the repeated use of rewinding film rolls as a metaphor for going back in time.

Note also: Lu Guang dropping the photo and it transitioning into a film roll, and Cheng Xiaoshi being tangled up in film rolls and being "inside" the film in the background/trapped in the frame. I'll get to this later.

The thing is, once you record something on film, you can't change it; you can only rewind and play it again. This tracks with the closed loop theory: no real changes can be made, because they have already happened. So how is it possible that "changes are still happening," as Lu Guang says in the YE4 preview? It's likely that Vein (and Liu Xiao and Xia Fei) are involved, but I don't believe that's the root of the issue. And, I don't think it's just the ever-nebulous "butterfly effect," because in YE1 Lu Guang says this:

I used to think that even a flap of a butterfly might cause a hurricane strong enough to ruin the world. I was wrong. The power of time is still far beyond our imagination. The future may not change due to a ripple of the past. Not at all...

(Yes, Lu Guang is a notoriously unreliable narrator, but I've decided to trust him on this one. Not to mention, butterfly effect shouldn't exist in a closed loop system.)

I've seen lots of excellent analyses illustrating the discrepancies this season, from the very first scene of YE1 (different furniture positioning, cracks in photo frame glass, bloodstains, presence of curtain, etc) to the changing positions of clothing, buildings, time of day, food, and so on in YE2 (go check out hyperfaexation's excellent YouTube video on their Shattered Memories theory for more details). The fandom is constantly theorizing about how many timelines there are. But while we've been asking ourselves how many timelines exist (five, ten, more?), we forgot to stop and ask: why do they exist?

The existence of multiple timelines doesn't fit into Season 1's time travel premise. In Season 1, it was always Cheng Xiaoshi that we were watching. Whereas Cheng Xiaoshi could be said to live "in" the film when he dives, perhaps Lu Guang is cutting the roll short at the point which he dives back to and splicing a new roll onto it. This could explain the scene from "Dive Back In Time" that I referenced earlier, with Lu Guang outside the film and Cheng Xiaoshi in it. It's not exactly that Lu Guang is diving back in time; it's more like he's diving out of time, into a parallel timeline and leaving this one behind. Maybe this season, we'll get to see more complicated time travel mechanics that result from the intersection of different powers. (And, while we're at it, maybe we can get an answer to why Cheng Xiaoshi has golden eyes for a few frames in YE1 when they're running away, because seriously what's up with that?)

**Another explanation for the non-reaction to the clients' possession could be the interaction of different timelines, but I'm not really sure how this would pan out so I'm not going to elaborate too much.

What does this have to do with the earthquake arc? Why would Lu Guang have a (slightly) different power than Cheng Xiaoshi, if he inherited it from Cheng Xiaoshi as we are led to believe? What happens to the discarded film, the abandoned timelines, when Lu Guang casts them away? Can Cheng Xiaoshi ever be saved? I don't have answers to any of these questions, and maybe I'm overthinking (ha) all of this and it really is just a writing inconsistency after all, but I want to believe Link Click's writers know what they're doing with this and all we can do is wait for the reveal.

[lulu-draws-stuff]

This was gonna be a comic, but I wasn't having fun drawing it, so I scrapped it

You get the cover and outfits section

[taxlthomas]

this is basically my crazy origin story btw

[silversinfinity]

Cabin Fever

*this is a fetish blog- non-fet blogs and minors DNI (no age in bio -> blocked)*

Fandom: L/ove and D/eepspace Spoilers: None Pairing/AU: Z/ayne X f!Reader, normal universe Length: 5.4k

Contains: sneeze fetish content (duh), sickfic, fevers, caretaking, that trope where a character’s powers act up because they’re sick, reader insert

Summary: L/ove and D/eepspace's "Winter's Emissaries" summer event, wherein everything is the same, except I made it better gave Z/ayne a cold.

Notes: Backstory time! This game had an event last summer that included four different virtual roleplaying games to complete (one for each guy). In the one featuring Z/ayne, you play as “Winter’s Emissaries” searching for treasure to save a village. While playing through these, you also receive special social media interactions, one of them being this one from Z/ayne. I think my inspiration should speak for itself… 🥴

I wanted this to feel like it could seamlessly fit into the original canon plot, so a few lines of dialogue and description were adapted directly from the game. There's also gonna be casual mentions of things which might go over your head if you haven't played, but it shouldn't ruin the fic reading experience!

Okay, enough yapping. Enjoy 🫶

Fic Masterlist

Your reflection was barely visible in the glass as you stared out the window. Snow swirled in a gray and white cacophony, past the glass pane and all across the region as far as you could see. The conditions seemed more treacherous now that you had escaped them, free to observe rather than experience it. 

You'd experienced it enough today, anyways. Your face still stung of whipping, icy winds, and your hair dripped as clumps of ice and snow melted off your head. Every part of you felt chilled- your fingers, your toes, hell, your very soul. This little cabin was truly the desert oasis of the frigid mountain forests. There was no way either of you could've survived a night out there. 

To your right and behind you, a stunted rush of flames brought the fireplace to life. Your hand curled over your chest, relieved. There was never a situation where you weren't grateful to have Zayne around, but this one especially so. His simple presence was enough to flip an unfortunate situation into a favorable one, or at the very least, an okay one. This would be okay.

Another bundle of snowflakes rushed past the window as a new gust of wind took to the air with violence. You leaned into the knotted pine of the window sill and walls, pressing one ear to the glass.

Your brow furrowed. Only the crackling of the fireplace registered to your senses. Not even a muffled echo of the blizzard’s roar could be detected through the glass. Was the soundproofing of this cabin really that thorough?

Zayne’s hand on your shoulder shook the question out of your mind. “You shouldn't stand so close to the glass. A blizzard can break the window.” His voice was calm. “Come sit by the fireplace. It'll warm you up.”

You stood back from the glass, and one of Zayne’s hands caressed your cheek, palm hot against the chapped skin of your face. You found him in a similar state, skin flushed and wind-broken around and across his nose.

Zayne led you to the fireplace with a hand to your back. Heat instantly washed over you, and you tugged off the heavy coat that still clung to your shoulders. 

“You say I need to warm up, but you're the one who gave up your coat,” you said, hanging it on the hook off to the side of the hearth. He'd insisted you take it, once you realized the hard way that your own coat was highly insufficient for the weather.

“You're right. Come sit.” Zayne had seated himself in a wicker chair a few feet back from the fire’s glow. You paused to consider whether there was enough room to join him. If you were expected to fit next to him, you’d practically need to be sitting in his lap.

…Not that you minded. You never minded that.

As anticipated, you found yourself crunching your knees up to settle yourself next to him. You were squished against him, legs to legs, warm body to warm body.

It occurred to you, though, that there was plenty of sitting space throughout the cabin suitable for two people, much unlike the chair you had just forced your way into. You looked at Zayne and smirked. “I get it. You're using the fireplace as an excuse to cuddle, aren't you?” 

Zayne tilted his head and met your gaze. His lip curled so subtly you had to squint to see it: “Well, if you knew that was my goal, why did you still join me?” 

You nearly got lost in his eyes, aglow with a sunset orange reflection of the flames. “Because… I may or may not have the same goal,” you finally admitted, nestling the rest of your body to Zayne’s. Your head settled perfectly against his chest, like a puzzle piece to its match.

“I'm honored to be your personal heater after serving as your navigator.” 

A comfortable silence followed Zayne’s words. Your attention honed in on the crackling of the fireplace, the flames within wiggling their unsteady dance and casting a faint, smoky scent into the air. You inhaled deeper, chasing the nostalgic memories of summer bonfires lingering behind. The air was dry, but warm enough now that you didn’t feel moisture chasing every breath in through your nose. But the same couldn’t be said yet for Zayne, based on the still frequent sniffling above you. It really was dreadful out there…

The whole reason for your journey here slowly crept back into your mind. Today the blizzard would keep you both within the safety and warmth of this cabin, but you knew there was still a long journey in the cold ahead of you. As Winters Emissaries, it was your duty to complete the task given to you. The whole of a village was counting on it. 

As to what it was though, you still weren't completely sure.

“Hey… do you think the treasure the villagers mentioned is something like this?” 

You felt Zayne move above you at the sudden sound of your voice. He pondered your question. “A treasure that brings warmth in winter… the concept is similar enough,” he eventually said. 

“But visiting the palace just to get firewood for them would be pointless. They could just go into the forest themselves, couldn't they?”

“Perhaps the treasure is a self-heating energy stone. Winters Emissaries are like torchbearers. They've been entrusted with the responsibility of bringing energy to the village.”

An image of yourself and Zayne wearing special ceremonial attire during an Olympic opening ceremony, sacred torch and all, flashed in your mind. It was far more flashy and loud than your actual reality, traveling alone together in the winter wilderness of the mountains as the elements assaulted you. “Zayne, your imagination got a little wild there,” you giggled. 

“Oh? Then what sort of fantasy would you prefer to listen to?” Zayne sniffled again. Outside, the world had begun to turn dark.

“Something real, maybe.” Your eyes searched the space above the fireplace, as if the answer would appear there for you. “Hmm… talk about your childhood memories. When we were kids, wasn't there a time a snowstorm trapped you at my house?”

Long was the history between the two of you. You spent your childhood together, grew up together, and now Zayne was a unique combo of your primary doctor, lover,  and a formidable fighter you could rely on in any Wanderer encounter. 

So, you were a little hopeful Zayne would still remember your early days, after everything you'd been through. 

Zayne’s hand fidgeted at the small of your back. “...I remember that,” he finally began. “My parents and I went to your place for dinner. And then it suddenly started snowing. It was getting late, and we tried to head home but the car wouldn't start. We had no choice but to spend the night there.” Zayne paused, swallowed, and cleared his throat. His voice was noticeably rougher when he spoke again though, as if he hadn't cleared anything at all, “But you had already returned to your room. We had barely talked that day…”

There was a tremble you noticed in his voice too, as though the memories themselves manifested within the language he spoke. He wasn't always the most straight forward with his sentimentality of your shared youth, but there were always signs he cherished them the same way you did.

Yet you always felt strange, separated from yourself whenever you reflected on it, everything being the same and yet so different from what you had with him today. As children, could Zayne and I have ever imagined ourselves nestled by the fireplace one day, enjoying idle conversation?

“Maybe it's because I went to bed too early that day. If only I had known…”

You waited for Zayne to respond, or continue, but it never came. His breathing steadied and slowed above you, and you craned your neck to look up at him. 

His eyes were closed, long, dark lashes completely still. No surprise sleep took him so quickly; for as often as he would lecture you about getting enough sleep, you knew his line of work didn't allow him to rest as well as he'd like. He was known for taking any time he could between surgeries to nap. This quiet time in a cabin was the perfect environment for Zayne to take advantage of.

You were careful not to disturb him as you settled your head back where it was most comfortable. The warmth you shared between your bodies had only grown, stealing away any drive you had left to stay awake. The fireplace became a blur as your eyelids drooped.

Against your ear though, you were still awake enough to notice the slight wheeze in his breathing. And from his nose, the tiniest whistle when he exhaled. Both were not typical for him, in all the times you had rested together.

Mentally, you winced, remembering the pity taken on your poor choice of winter wear once the blizzard hit. Zayne assured you he still had enough layers on, and initially you believed him. 

Now though, you realized he would've told you that anyways. Of course he would've; he was prone to worrying more about you than himself. 

You wondered if this wasn't normal tired for him, but sick tired. Had he been hiding it from you? Or was it too early for him to even realize?

You were only barely awake yourself anymore, unable to think clearly. “Zayne?” you murmured, quiet, still hesitant to wake him. You heard nothing back, and then you heard nothing at all, as sleep stole you away too. 

—

You woke up suddenly, somewhere soft, warm. Pillow under your head, and layers of blankets draped over you. Sluggishly, you picked up your head. The grey light of morning seeped through the windows, pale and too early to be awake. You squinted to make out flecks of snow billowing past the window, just as energetically as the day previous. 

This wasn't where you had fallen asleep. So how did you…? 

Oh, right.

Somewhere in the night, you vaguely remembered being lifted and held to Zayne’s chest before he settled you somewhere else- it was in this bed, you now knew. You stretched and whined beneath the blankets before rolling over. Next to you, the comforter was pulled back and the fitted sheet wrinkled, implying Zayne had slept there next to you. The bed suddenly felt cold.

As you sat up, you frowned. Something had woken you, but what? It was quiet in the cabin. “Zayne…?” you called out groggily.

“heh’tSCHh-!”

Oh.

“hegH’SCHUhh-!”

Sneezing. Zayne sneezing, to be exact. Muffled and echoey beyond the half wall immediately behind you, you concluded he was too far away to have heard you, in another room of the cabin. 

You heard him sneeze again, after a longer delay. You internally winced as you had the night before. For all the time you'd known Zayne, you'd never heard such frequent disruptions, except for when an outside factor- such as illness- was actively aggravating him.

The urge to investigate dragged you out of bed. Your ears pointed you towards the bathroom across the way. As you got closer though, you stopped. The sound of rushing water could be heard, loud and clear with the door of the bathroom wide open. Your approach to the door was a little more hesitant- was he showering this early in the morning?

Beyond the steam cloaking the room, you found Zayne not in the shower, but hovering just to the side of the sink. His hair was slightly disheveled from its usual neatness, and damp, implying he'd been standing in there for some time. Even from where you stood in the doorway, his body language read of discomfort.

Though you stepped lightly, your bare feet weren't quiet enough to avoid alerting him. Zayne turned to look your way. His posture instantly straightened, but it didn't hold, wavering in tune with his breath. 

“Y-Y/N, hih…! hH’gnx’SCHhh-!” He notably pressed into his wrist, cutting the volume. That wrist flipped, and his fingers clamped over his nose, pinching tightly over the bridge in a fashion you'd seen before, when he was either annoyed or- “heh-NGTt-uh!” -suppressing a sneeze. 

“Bless you… thanks for the wake up call.” You couldn't help yourself from teasing him.

“Did I wake you?” He paused to sniffle, thick, unproductive. “I tried to be quiet getting out of bed, but I suppose that didn't last…” Zayne’s voice cracked and he coughed, hoarse. 

Concerned, you stepped into the bathroom, closing the space between you. “What's with the shower?” you said. 

“Clearing out my sinuses. You can turn it off.” The steam in the room was pleasantly warm, but the humidity was a little much, you thought. You shut the water off.

“Did it help?” you asked. 

“Well, it made me sneeze through the worst of it.” With the water off, you can hear congestion in his voice more clearly, and you shuddered to think this was an improvement from when he'd first awoke. His illness had set in, and it had done so quicker than you thought possible. Zayne took one step back from the counter, touching one temple and wincing. You saw him sway.

Your brow furrowed. One of your hands drew up to his forehead before Zayne had the chance to stop you. Your fingers brushed his bangs aside with a gentle sweep, and the pads of your fingers ghosted heat, searing his skin deeper than any steam could create on the surface. 

“You have a fever…” Zayne swatted you away, but you grabbed at his wrist in rebellion. Instantly, you gasped and froze in place. Under your palm and fingers was an icy cold, etched across his skin and leaving purple welts in his wake- it could only have originated from his abilities. “Your Evol, why…?”

In one quick move, Zayne shook his head at you, tugged his freezing wrist from your grasp, and twisted away with a wrenching sneeze. 

“hegH’NSCHhih-! Hh…” The exhale carried exhaustion. You allowed him the space to recover but refused him another inch beyond that. As you examined him closer, you realized that white, crackling frost glazed not just his wrist, but his neck too. 

“Are you…okay? Why is your Evol doing that?” you asked.

But Zayne couldn’t seem to catch a break. “I'm f-fine…hih…!” His denial was drowned out in a shuddering hitch of breath. He managed to retrieve a bunched up wash cloth from the counter, just in time to jam it under his nose before he-

“hih’MPFSChh-!”

Punctual.

“Bless you,” you said, wincing. “Uh, you were saying? About being fine?”

He was even slower to recover, as though the very last of his energy had seeped out through his sinuses, dampening the already soiled cloth in his hand. “I'm not denying that. Obviously I'm not well.” Zayne slid past you to leave the bathroom, and you followed nervously behind him to where he dropped down on the couch. He barely seemed to be present, tilting his head back, eyes closed. The dark shadows under his eyes told you he hadn’t slept much. “I just meant… the ice. I'm fine, this always happens when I'm unwell.” 

From where you sat next to him, you took the chance to touch his forehead again, and Zayne didn't protest this time. It was worse than you initially thought. “You're really hot, Zayne…”

One eye opened. “Flirting with me while I'm sick?”

“Hey, you know what I mean…” You smiled and felt at ease- at least he wasn't so ill that mirth failed him. 

It couldn't cure all your worries, though. Your touch trailed down his cheek, to his jawline, and then his neck. It was there that the temperature under your fingers went shockingly cold, as though he'd just been outside in the winter elements without a scarf. Zayne’s brow knitted at your touch, and he shivered. 

“You're freezing,” you commented. It wasn't a question, but Zayne nodded anyway. “Let me warm you up, then.” This too, wasn't a question of permission, but rather a warning that you would try regardless.

Again though, Zayne nodded. Even a doctor as work-driven as he was knew when it was time for someone else to do the caring.

You looked first to the fireplace across from the couch, in front of the chair where you had both dozed off last night. The flames weren't flames but small, smoldering ashes- certainly of no substance to subdue a fever and keep the chill of winter out. 

You tossed another couple logs on and allowed a moment for the fire to catch.

Then, back on the couch, you adjusted your knees under you. “Here, let me squeeze in.” You sidled close to Zayne’s spot on the sectional. He hesitantly straightened his legs, allowing you space between him and the back cushion of the couch.

“It'll get nice and warm here soon,” you assured. Zayne hummed, glassy, hazel eyes fixed to the ceiling above. Your attention drew back to his Evol, still vicious and frosty at his wrists and throat. The warmth of the fire couldn't sedate this- this cold came from within, and the longer you lingered on it, the more uncomfortable it looked. You feared self-inflicted frostbite was in his near future.

“Do you think you might be overdoing it? Your Evol, I mean.”

“It's…” Zayne paused, shivering violently as though simply acknowledging the sensation made it worse. You swore you saw vapor as he exhaled, as if the air of winter itself were contained around his head in a bubble. “It's against my will, mostly…”

His discomfort was nearly palpable to you as you realized this was completely out of his control. This was the same cold extreme enough for Zayne to use in combat, after all, and now it was acting of its own accord, attacking him. 

“Think of it as a flight or fight response,” Zayne went on. “My temperature is up, therefore my body is responding by trying to cool down.”

“It's just too much, isn't it?” you said, finishing his thought for him. Zayne nodded, casting his gaze towards you. He'd never looked so openly vulnerable underneath you, except in distant memories, and you felt your heart soften despite the circumstances. 

You laid your weight heavier into him, shuffling so that one leg intertwined between his own. He caught your eye when he moved his hands out of your way. 

Maybe… if you resonated with him…?

You reached for one hand. “Here, let me just…”

Zayne shrunk away though, tucking his arms to his sides. “No, you shouldn't…touch me when I'm like this. Not on my skin.” Worry, genuine worry flickered in his eyes, and you felt that soft glow in your chest trip and falter.

“Zayne…” Your hands remained hovered at his wrist. Begging him with your eyes. He tensed, but he didn't stop you from closing your touch over his wrist. His skin was frigid, burning against your warmer palms, but only that. “You won't hurt me. I promise.”

You seemed to get through to him, and Zayne found it in himself to relax, finally. Your squeeze over his wrist was firm, but gentle, wringing your grip back and forth. You slowed your breathing and sought his Evol’s frequency, and it met you with a chaotic and unusual rhythm. A warm light glowed from your palms. In a matter of seconds, his skin took the warmth of yours.

“Better?” You asked. 

Zayne nodded, brow raised just slightly as though he didn't expect this outcome. You weren't sure you had expected it to work either. Discomfort crept back into his features, and he breathed through clenched teeth- you healed his other wrist with more urgency.

Briefly, you chewed the inside of your cheek. You couldn't deny that you found it all alarming, try as Zayne might to act casual about the whole thing. The nature of Evol was different person to person, but was it really okay for it to attack its user? Even under circumstances of illness? What if there was more to this?

…No, no. You had to shake this out of your head, stick to the task at hand. Interrogating him in the midst of being miserable wasn't good for either of you.

You forced the frown out of your expression, before Zayne could read it and interrogate you instead. “Your hands look better,” you said. “Is it just your shoulders now?”

“Yes. I think.”

“Get comfortable, then.” Both having lost their icy touch, he tucked his hands under you, and you properly draped yourself over him like a weighted blanket. Zayne tilted his head up to accept your arms wrapping over the back of his freezing neck.

You suppressed a shiver of your own as you nuzzled your cheek into the crook of one shoulder, the cold seeping into you through his shirt. Then, you remained still, focusing to match the frequency of his powers again, further resonating. Any remaining anxiety drained out of you. Maybe you couldn't cure his cold completely, but a small win was still a win in the war against misery.

Zayne sighed above you in relief. ”hh…hih…!” And then in urgency. He fidgeted under you, prompting you to lift your head.

You were greeted with the sight of a man most definitely about to sneeze.

And it had you a little mesmerized, to say the least- the stoic type, you rarely ever witnessed his face so obviously contorted. Somehow, Zayne always maintained a calm and collected demeanor, even when he was feeling anything but. This expression he currently wore though, was scrunched up, needy. His brow pinched together, eyelids taught. And the pink rims of his nostrils ticklishly flared, lip curled back into a snarl.

“Y-Y/N, my…hands…!” His breathy voice barely hung above a whisper.

You didn't get the memo- at least not fast enough. His hands remained trapped under you, and with nowhere else to hide, Zayne twisted toward the couch cushion, squelching the sneeze into submission by willpower alone.

Willpower didn't carry him very far, however. “hH’NXTt’shih-!” The burst of moisture that broke through was audible. Zayne’s chest swelled under you to gear up for a second one, and you braced a little tighter around his neck- “hegH’SCHUhh-!” The force his sneezes wrought nearly folded him at the waist, even with your full weight on top of him.

Zayne stilled after that. You were more timid as you looked back up to him. “Bless you. You shouldn't fight it like that…” you said softly.

“You shouldn't keep my hands trapped, then,” Zayne shot back.

You shrugged, although you did shift your hips up to free one of his arms. Zayne took to knuckling under his nose, before carefully dabbing at any excess dampness with the edge of his sleeve. 

“Really though, don't worry about politeness,” you went on. Your expression turned downcast. “You're sick because of me, after all.”

Several seconds passed as Zayne processed your words. Then, he gave you a look, the one he always had when you said something silly.  “You know people don't get sick just from being out in the cold, right?” 

“Says who?”

“Y/N, I'm a doctor. Your doctor,” Zayne deadpanned. 

You couldn't hide your grin. “Okay, but consider this: I saw it happen in a movie. A lot of movies, actually.”

Zayne shook his head. A yawn crept into his voice, and his eyes closed. “Right. Next time I need continuing education credits, I'll just watch some movies instead.”

“You better invite me over for a movie date night then!”

“But of course.” You held him a little tighter. The corner of Zayne’s mouth tugged into a smile. “Y/N… you really never grew up,” he said. 

“Oh?” You tilted your head at him. 

“You're just as unserious as you were when we were young,” Zayne went on. “More than when we were young, actually.”

To that, you stuck your tongue out. “Coming from the most serious guy I know? You should try it sometime.” 

Zayne opened his eyes, and there was That Look again, the Y/N-Said-Something-Ridiculous Look. For a moment, it even seemed like the feverish haze had left his eyes. But it only lasted a second, and the sorry state of him continued to be evident.

Your eyes shifted down to his throat. The skin looked healthy now, as though it had never been coated in a deadly ice. “So is this whole, uh, Evol thing gone now?” you asked awkwardly.

“For now. I imagine it’ll stay away now, so long as you're here.” 

A complicated knot of feelings sat in your chest, out of nowhere. For all the times Zayne had gone out of his way to protect you, save you, cure you, rarely could you return the favor. And it was a regular experience- you were good at getting yourself into trouble, after all.

But now, here you were, in a position where he needed you. 

“Good,” was all you could muster in response. 

Your hands snaked out from behind his head where they found his face. Cupping his cheeks, your fingers brushed over all the contours you now knew deeply, intimately. You let your eyes drift thoughtfully over his lips, threatening your resolve. 

Clearly you had grown up in some way- the idea of kissing Zayne would've been strange and wrong in your youth, but now you found yourself fighting with your better judgment not to. You could already hear him quietly scold you for kissing him while he was sick.

Only then did you realize Zayne was looking at you. You found yourself instantly shy under his scrutiny- for all the times you had kissed him, gone on dates, fully gave yourself to him, he still managed to make you nervous. 

Just as the tension of your eye contact threatened to become too heavy, Zayne sighed and melted a little deeper into the couch. You shook yourself back into a caretaker mindset. 

“Are you warm enough?” Zayne hummed his confirmation. “Okay… can I get you anything? Fever reducers, maybe?”

You sat up, preparing to get up from the couch, but Zayne’s hands held your waist firmly. “I already took some. Why don't you just rest here with me?” His words caught and he coughed into his shoulder.  

Zayne’s voice was growing ragged, even for how softly he spoke. You made a mental note to raid the cabinets for tea later, whenever he was ready to accept it. 

For now though, resting with him would be an easy task. The light filtering through the snow plastered windows was still too dim and early for your liking. And with the most concerning of Zayne’s symptoms relieved, you were content to relax a little. Your breathing synced with the slowed pace of his, calm.

For all the symptoms that had been relieved though, there was always another waiting to rear its head and break the moment.

Zayne suddenly stirred under you. He stiffly exhaled. “Actually, Y/N…” Zayne sniffled, and then sniffled again, sharply squeaking within his swollen sinuses. “Maybe…you should, hih…!”  You sat up in time to see the twinge in his expression take hold, uncertain, a will-he or won't-he battle. The fluttering of his eyes and twitch of his nares tells you he definitely will, though Zayne seemed intent on holding back. The rest of his words tumbled out in a rush, “...should get me some tih-! tissues, hH-!”

His arm tensed over your back, and he swung up with the intent to cover above you. You moved quicker though, tucking his face against your shoulder. Another gasp shook him beneath you, fluttering against your skin. You only held him tighter.

“heH’MFSCHHeh-!” Throaty and violent, the sound was squashed into your shirt. It was a warm and damp rush in the fabric, and Zayne jostled you as his nose betrayed him a second time. “hH-! ‘ESCHh’uh-!”

Several peaceful seconds came and went. You propped yourself up and met his gaze sheepishly, exposing the damp spot that now soiled your shirt. Zayne’s face was hard to read, but his ears were noticeably pink. “You know, when people ask for tissues, they don’t usually mean someone else’s shirt,” he mumbled.

“I- wasn’t thinking, I guess…” you said. One hand lazily traced along the curved top of his ear. “You don't need to be so embarrassed.”

“I have a fever, remember?” Zayne retorted, so casually that you almost couldn’t detect it as an excuse- almost. He sniffled again, wet and productive. “Listen, I could still really use those tissues… unless you’re expecting me to use your shirt for that too.” His eyes shifted away from you.

The heat on his face seemed to possess your own cheeks, as it occurred to you just how compromised he was under you. Completely at your will, or at least as completely as he would allow, and so far it seemed to be a lot. Your mind threatened to drift to places far from innocent. 

“No, not unless you- asked to, I mean…! N-not at all.” Your words tripped over themselves as your tongue knotted itself with your inner desires. You shimmied back to the other end of the couch, part in preparation to get up, but mostly to hide yourself from Zayne’s intelligent gaze. He could always read right through you.

You managed to pull yourself together while fetching a tissue box from the bathroom. And a glass of water- you were sure he needed it.

You stopped in your tracks exiting the bathroom. Zayne still laid on the couch, eyes closed, somehow serene despite  being in the throes of a bad cold. 

Cute.

He stirred once you approached close enough to be heard. “Here,” you said, passing the box of tissues to him.

“A whole box? How generous,” he playfully remarked. Zayne plucked a tissue from the box, and then another. You looked down at the glass of water still in your hands, for whatever shred of privacy it would offer him as he loudly blew his nose. Soiled, he tossed the tissues into the wastebasket nearby. At this rate, and with the way that had sounded, you had a feeling that the bin would be full of them by the end of the day.

“Thanks,” Zayne said in a thick voice as he took the water from you next. He made quick work of it, and you mentally patted yourself on the back for thinking of his needs before he had even voiced them. 

You checked that the fireplace was still lively, and then you turned back to Zayne where you stood before him.

“Can I get you something else?”

Zayne looked at you with warm eyes. “I don't know… I’d just really like my blanket back.” You frowned, only to falter when Zayne winked at you. Duh.

You needed no other prompting to crawl back into your original position, settling yourself over Zayne like a large lap cat, or a blanket, as he had put it. A new sense of ease washed over the two of you. 

You turned your head where it was more comfortable on its side. Snow still billowed past outside, and you found yourself reflecting again on why you were both here. Although there would be much to do later today, or more likely tomorrow, when the snow had slowed, you could both have this moment. You didn't get to lay and nap together at home nearly as often as either of you liked, but right now, you were free to indulge in it. 

You had each other's comfort. And you had each other's warmth.

“Ya know, maybe what you said yesterday was right,” you suddenly spoke.

“Hm?” Zayne opened one eye, brow raised.

“About the treasure being something warm within winter, or however you put it.” Your limbs twitched, and you curled a little tighter into Zayne. “Maybe it's cheesy, but I feel like we have our own little treasure here, ya know?”

Zayne exhaled a laugh, but it was genuine. “Perhaps you're right.” He closed his eyes, and through a yawn, “We had to find our own little treasure before we could find one for the whole village.”

“Exactly.” You smiled, closing your own eyes. Your ears zoned in on the cracking and popping of the fireplace, coupled with Zayne’s soft breathing. 

Flashbacks of the cozy night prior crept into your mind. “Can you tell me the rest of that story from last night?” Your words were slurred by almost-sleep. Zayne only responded with a soft snore. 

Ah well, you thought. Another day, then; this treasure was treasure enough.