#want to reread in the future

[ellennieel]

do you ever think about cardan truly feeling at home in faerieland only after becoming the high king? that he always must've felt as an outcast, an unwanted son, like he doesn't belong, like he has to prove something, that he was eaten alive by his own hatred, by fear and anger. he was just that one excentric youngest prince whom his father doesn't even want to see. his own mother doesn't love him. too young, too weak, too mean.

and then suddenly faerieland at its core is his beating heart, he is the lifeblood, he does not only finally feel like he belongs, faerieland is him. he is genuinely a good king, he is loved, he raised an isle from the bottom of the sea. and it's the deepest connection that can ever be.

because i do.​

[gibbycat]

there are not enough words to describe how much mithrun means to me. there is something wonderful about a character who has to rediscover themselves after having their sense of identity stripped away from them except for one thing that they have for their reason to keep going.

as someone who was in a similar position, mithrun's journey means a lot to me. someone who acted on a desire that, at least in the short term, provided some semblance of direction but would inevitably burn out in the long run. desiring revenge wasn't sustainable, yet it was the only thing that kept mithrun going. because that was all he had left of his identity.

but in the end, when mithrun realized that he wanted to do something else? that he wanted to live? i cried so hard.

[chipjrwibignaturals]

lost in the waves - kooman & dimond | the hole in the sea - jrwi

[romance-rambles]

eden ayn | the best of distractions

A moment in time, where Ayn attempts to write a letter and then promptly gets distracted.

1.7k, takes place during ayn's eden reborn ssr [traveler's letter], domestic fluff + light angst, reader is mc, series: none

— and happy birthday ayn!

[EXCERPT FROM AYN'S LETTER]

...

That day, I told you that you were my first—the first time I missed someone as deeply as I miss you. Thinking about it now, you've always been a series of first. The first one to tell me I'm worth it. The first person I ever kissed. The first person

[The rest of the line has yet to be written.]

As I'm writing this, I think of you, sitting on the couch with me. I'm sure your ears are as red as mine, but you'll still reach out and pinch my cheek. And I'll kiss the palm of your hand and you'll say, "You like me." As if you won't kick your feet and squeal, when you're alone—the way you do when you're reading a good book.

Since I'm a good lover, I'll pretend I didn't hear anything. Or that I don't know why you're suddenly in a clingier mood than normal. And I'm sure the next words out of your mouth when you read this will be, "That's only because you like being mean to me."

Whenever I write my letters, I think of everything about you. Your eyes, your smile, your cold feet—and the way you use me like a personal heater. About how I'm grateful you stayed, no matter how selfish I feel afterwards. About what it would be like if we were sitting together, instead of kilometers apart.

And now you'll say, "That wouldn't be a problem if you'd just take me with you."

...

[End of excerpt]

AYN STARES AT HIS HALF-FINISHED letter, keenly aware of the warmth traveling up his cheeks—a scene that, much to his chagrin, can't be chalked up to the rising sun outside his window. His only saving grace is that you remain entranced with the Ayn of your dreams, muttering blissfully about how cute he is, all the while oblivious to how cute you are.

It remains to be seen whether he'll include that part in the final letter. Or the part about how you clung so stubbornly to his sleeve as he was leaving that he feared you would wake up the moment he shook himself free.

Because, as it turns out, baring his soul on paper is no less embarrassing than it would be in person.

In fact, he'd wager it's more embarrassing.

Words spoken will eventually disappear. Only their memory will remain, and only in the hearts of the parties involved. Words written, however, can live on forever. So long as the letter remains, anyone can read it.

…provided they can wrestle it out of your zealous grip.

And, truthfully, not many can.

As he sets down his weapon of choice, his promise to you rings out clearly in his mind, reminding him that there's no escaping his commitment. After all, it was the only way he could think of to ease your disappointment—his deepest thoughts exchanged for another stay in Eden, where you would await his safe return.

Where you'd be safe.

Then a spark of inspiration paves the way for his next paragraph. The truth is, Ayn is aware that his desire to keep you safe is, in many ways, selfish. You were not the one who nearly lost control of your powers. You were not the one bedridden for weeks, vaguely aware of the hand holding yours, yet unable to open your eyes.

That was him.

And if something happened to him out in the harsh world that resides beyond Eden, you would be forced to twiddle your thumbs as the manifestation of your bond left you in agony. But you would be safe. He's allowed to hope for that much, isn't he?

Until he finds an end to the sands outside of Eden, at least.

After all, there were times when the roles nearly reversed, and it was him who had to stay by your bedside, even if only for a night or two.

"Alright, what else?" he mutters to himself, his gaze flickering towards the sizable gap left between his paragraphs. Somehow, it's enough to help him swallow down his guilt. Temporarily, at least. "What to add…what to add…"

Home is where the heart is, and where his heart sits is in the palm of your hands. And with that distinction comes his clumsy dreams for the future—a ring on your finger, and a matching one on his, followed by a kiss that comes too early.

But you laugh against his mouth, painted lips slanting into a smirk as you pull away first. The friends that have followed them both this far have many things to say, and on the topic of his affection, in particular. It boils down to this:

Ayn is whipped for his wife—and proud of it.

In that way, you are also a first.

He just has no idea how to tell you that.

Closing his eyes, Ayn lets out a sigh. It happens to coincide with the creaking of the door. This room was once a bedroom, but you had it converted into an office for the nights when you'd bring your work home with you.

When he asked—jokingly, wanting to have a turn at seeing you stutter and blush—why you couldn't have made this into his bedroom, you merely raised an eyebrow at him. Ayn had read enough of O'Connor's trashy romance novels by then to know that the correct answer was to back out of the discussion entirely.

As he leans back against his chair, twirling the pencil in his hand aimlessly, the feather light footsteps he's grown accustomed to come to a halt. Neither of you dare to breathe. A stalemate—and you're the one to break it.

You draw closer; the anticipation leaves him antsy. His heart is stuck on taking a peek. His mind is intent on biding his time. The hand left empty hovers by the edge of the desk, its owner knowing well how much you love your spoilers.

If he can discretely grab the letter before you notice—

A pair of hands—frosty, despite the lovely weather indoors, not helped by the ring on your finger—cover up his already closed his eyes. The empty hand changes its prerogative. It comes to rest on your wrist, squeezing gently before its other half joins it on your other hand.

Ayn opens his eyes and sees darkness.

"Morning," you say, and even without seeing your face, he knows of your silly grin. "So this is where you've been. Couldn't sleep?"

The weight against his back assures him you have no intention of swiping his draft. Your gentle tone asks, nightmare?

A faint smile slips onto his face. There is a kind of affection he's come to realize exists only for you. And if his heart is a cup, carefully built glued back together with a technique he's read of in the history books (kintsugi, he remembers, the art of mending broken pottery), then the surge of affection he feels is threatening to overflow.

For once, what kept him up was not a nightmare.

It was this letter—and you.

"You tend to snore, remember?" he tells you, mischief dripping from his words.

You do. Just not enough to disturb his sleep. But it's always fun to pretend, especially when it leaves you huffing and pouting indignantly. Like now.

"I do not."

"Ask anyone else." Before you can pull away and cross your arms, Ayn tugs your hands down. They sit encircling his neck, leaving his own hands to properly grasp yours. "They'll say I'm right."

Your hands have always been on the softer side. It's a consequence of your upbringing, in a world that knows mostly peace. Sometimes, he'll catch a paper cut on one of your fingers—and Ayn does not believe kissing it better works, but he makes sure to give it a try anyway.

As his scarlet eyes soften, he leaves a light kiss on the palm of your hand, then on the cool metal band on your ring finger. A simple promise ring, one he'd clumsily welded together with his powers.

"Morning," he greets, for no particular reason.

Something soft presses against his cheek, a flash of muted purple appearing in the corner of his eye. It's succeeded by a soft laugh, one that—like others of its kind—lodges itself in some distant corner of his brain, for the days when he misses you the most.

"You're okay?" you ask softly, seemingly having forgotten your earlier exasperation.

Ayn hums. "I'm okay."

Despite his words, he can feel your skepticism seeping out into the air around you. Letting go of your left hand, he taps the half-finished letter on the table. You lean over his shoulder, your slightly unkempt hair obscuring your side profile.

"It turns out I had a lot to say," he says, mirroring your tone, and watches your hair gleam in the sunlight. "Enough that I couldn't sleep."

Silence, as comfortable as it can be, engulfs them both. You pull back, burying your head in the nape of his neck. Your breath is warm—and if you ever ask why his ears are too, he'll chalk it up to a transfer of heat.

When you pull away, your tone is chipper and he's given up wondering about the words bouncing around in your head. But he thinks I'll miss you and Let me come too might comprise some of them.

"Come on." You exhale, as quietly as you can, and pat his shoulders cheerfully. "Let's get breakfast."

Ayn leaves I'm sorry for the letter, hidden amongst his fear of losing you. Instead, he swivels the chair around and catches you standing under the door frame, one hand holding onto the edge of the door.

And calling your name, he says, "I love you."

You whip your head around, startled. He thinks it has less to do with the frequency with which he says those words—a fact he knows only because you're no longer wide-eyed about it—and more to do with the thoughts in your hand.

Once you recover from your surprise, a grin spreads across your face. "I know."

Laughter accompanies you as you slip out into the corridor. Then, warmth spreads across the palm of his hand, dissolving his annoyed expression into a fonder one. I love you too spell the letters, with a little heart at the end.

Ayn glances at the unfinished letter with a wry smile, before following you to kitchen—where last night's leftovers wait to be devoured.

It isn't until night falls upon Eden once more that he remembers to pick up where he left off.

[metanarrates]

in some ways this is true + a beautiful way for kdj to help yjh in a way that only he ever could, but this is still another instance of kdj removing himself from the situation and firmly placing himself in the role of reader and yoo joonghyuk in the role of character. while this does solve the present issue (yjh's identity crisis brought about by insecurity and fear at kdj continually killing himself) it actually exacerbates the core issue in their relationship - yjh desperately wants an equal companion, but kdj keeps hiding behind the fourth wall and keeps removing himself from yjhs life. even his act of help creates a certain distance between them because he doesn't treat them as being on the same level. he doesn't think he can save anyone because he doesn't exist in the same world as everyone else.

at the end of the day, kdj still is not treating yjh's feelings of care towards him as valid, and not understanding that issues like this will keep cropping up as long as kdj keeps engaging in self sacrificial and emotionally distancing behavior. one issue down! one gigantic rift still widening!

[astracora]

A Mandated Holiday Break - Chapter 8

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: Sylus myth mentioned, mild hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1424

Written: 22nd December 2024

Notes: Post-relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Masterlist AO3

Sylus enjoys a karaoke bar, especially if he's got access to you for a duet. You tease him but you'll always join him, hanging onto his arm and letting loose, and he sometimes falters over the words because he's too busy watching your face.

Still, this is good too. You've set up the game system that the doctor bought for his base, presenting it with a sigh. 'You won't know the right one.'

He'd been a little insulted, but he'd acquiesced, in the end the doctor knows gaming better than he does. It's never appealed to him, and he's never had real time to try. A sing-a-long game is loading up, yelling out 'let's sing' loudly from the speaker system.

You'd presented it to him with the doctor, beaming, "You'll like this one, I promise!"

The fish had groaned from the sofa, "Why do we all have to suffer the crow's crooning?"

As much as you've teased him for being out of tune, you've always encouraged him. He can't count how many times you've asked him to hum for you. Lay against his chest, and unable to sleep for nightmares.

The reason for the at-home karaoke session, are the cocktails that Luke has decided he wants to try making. Kieran is his primary test dummy, and if anything doesn't make him spit it straight back out. You're trying them.

It's ill advised… Sylus knows you're not a light weight, but he does know you and the twins can get competitive. It feels like it's only moments before you start doing shots together, and if that happens he's bound to get dragged in, and as quick healing as he is, he doesn't fancy driving anyone anywhere. Nor does he want to get into a taxi with someone he doesn't trust. Not with you and the twins.

He needs you safe.

He also blames you for Luke’s new hobby, you’d showed them some movies, made comments about how stylish a good bartender is, (He hadn’t filed that information away, to practice. At all.), and Luke had taken that as a challenge.

“It can’t be that hard.”

“Yeah! You can do it bro!”

You’d laughed and not thought anything of it. They’d gone out, and returned with… boxes.

Then raided his alcohol supply.

He’d dragged them both back by the scruff of the neck when they went for the very expensive top shelf. In no world were they mixing that with… was that moonshine? Where did they even get moonshine from?

He doesn’t see you drunk often, there are times you’re out in busy places because you feel you have to attend, and he’s seen you drink then to soften the anxiety and stress. You always call someone to be there then, drunk you is far more willing to rely on others. He also has seen you drink when you feel safe, has carried you on his arm more than once in those situations.

You apologise but there’s no need, especially when he gets to see the embarrassed but enamoured look on your face as he holds you in one arm. Your fingers drifting over the veins in his bicep, with a look he can only describe as hungry. He flexes a little more than he needs to on those occasions.

(There was one time you’d made a comment about beef clod, and he had truly not known how to respond.)

He can see you getting to that point now, you’re trying something green that you and Kieran are sipping from the same glass with separate straws. Luke is taking his turn at the microphone, singing something about what he wants for Christmas. Sylus is unsure if the radioactive green drink is good for either of you, but you don’t look sick, still. He’s wary, and flicks your forehead. As you put a hand to the targeted area, pulling away with an offended ‘Oi’, he grabs the glass and sips from your straw.

“Aww, Boss come on.”

It’s… not as bad as he expected, but he can’t imagine drinking it for fun.

Whether his taste buds are ‘broken’ like you’ve claimed before, and its somehow worse than he tastes, he still doesn’t feel good about putting it back in either your’s or Kieran’s hands. So he downs it.

Wrinkling his nose and pushing the glass away.

Before you can grab another concoction, now that Luke is back and shoving something else onto his brother, (He’s going to have to hide the key to the liquor cabinet he thinks, if this becomes a long standing hobby for them.), he pulls you over to the karaoke machine. “It’s our turn kitten, I’m owed a song for saving you from a terrible fate.”

Your tongue is out at him, but you stumble over grabbing his arm to steady yourself, and pick up the controller to find something you both know well enough to get through it with little effort.

His song repertoire has grown substantially since you’ve reentered his life, he feels confident that anything you sing to often he has memorised. Catalogued away to think about on nights you’re not here to sing for him.

When you’re satisfied, lining up a particular choice, you thrust the microphone into his hand, that’s not currently steadying you at the waist.

You look right at him when the song starts, familiar with some things enough to sing them blindfolded, and as tipsy as you are, with your voice wavering a little, he’s as starstruck as he always is.

“And I’d give up forever to touch you, ‘Cause I know that you feel me somehow, You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be, And I don’t want to go home right now.”

There’s moments in his life, where Sylus wonders if he blinks, will you disappear? A fragile illusion on a wishful soul. That someone, somewhere has truly seen into him and seen something worth adoring and loving. He thinks you are easy to love, there can be no doubt that you are worthy without the need to earn it.

“And all I can taste is this moment, And all I can breathe is your life.”

You have reminded him, again and again that you love him, that he does not need to pay for it, or gift for it. That everything that is offered is freely given, and wholehearted. That there is nothing to earn. It is not a transaction, no relationship should be. You do not keep score, and you would rather he did not either.

“And sooner or later it’s over, I just don’t want to miss you tonight.”

It still leaves him with the feeling that in seconds he could wake up, in a cold cave, surrounded by gems he no longer sees beauty in, in a world where he is nothing but broken horns and lost family.

“And I don’t want the world to see me, ‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand, When everything’s meant to be broken, I just want you to know who I am.”

He loves you, he loves his life with you, and he is so scared-

Your hands move to his cheeks, his voice halts, wavering and pausing. Blinking at you. The microphone is out of your hands and you stretch up as tall as you can pressing a kiss to his eyelids. He almost drops his own, hand tightening on your waist. You sing just for him, lips at his cheek now, and his breath escapes in a long exhale, shaking.

You are his, you are his, you are his.

When his heart wavers, yours is there, keeping it beating, in time to a song only you can hear.

He is yours, he is yours, he is yours.

“I just want you to know who I am.”

He lifts you into his arms, and he sings with you, game forgotten because it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters. If you are happy, he is happy, and he is so very happy with you in his arms.

If he wakes up tomorrow and you are not here, he will find you anywhere. He has done it before, and he will do it for the rest of time, because you are the one who sees him.

And later, when you are laughing and stumbling through his bedroom door, trying to pull away from the uncontrolled kisses he plants on your skin, tickling you and nipping, he will swear into your skin that he will always see you too.

Whoever you choose to be.

[andypantsx3]

now you're one of those ppl who wants to:

Please God, I want to be impregnate by Toji Fushiguro so bad. I want him to make me bear our children with my beautiful child-bearing hips. That handsome, radiant white angel. Like a god, having come down to Earth to cleanse us of our sins.

Toji is beyond divine. I can’t help but drop to my knees in worship whenever I see his manly figure. I yearn for him in a way both primal and spiritual. I would commit more war crimes than every president in United States history just to lick the sweet, glistening sweat from his smooth, creamy skin. I want him to listen to my moans as his manhood throbs within me, I want him to hear my heart race as our bodies become one and our souls irreversibly intertwine in the holy sin of carnal union.

I want him to suckle at my motherly bosom, slurping that rich coconut milk from my teat as I gently strokes his raging erection. I would like him to stir my velvety Samoan cream into my coffee and let his balls boil in it. My cries of pleasure and the rocking of our bed would be louder than the cacophony of ten thousand drone strikes. He would make love with me until my body gave out, and then some. I would let him break my rib cage with any part of his body. I would let him hit me with his cursed tool just to be near him for a brief moment.

He's so perfect it hurts. Every moment without him I suffer a pain worse than breaking every bone in my body simultaneously while drowning and also having shards of glass coated in hot sauce forced through every orifice of my body. I want him, I need him. I want him to desecrate my pure, white pantsuit. I want to start a family with him and retire after our twenty seven children have grown up and moved out. I want to see those luscious lips speak such filthy, perverse words into my ear while I slides ice cubes down his gaping pisshole.

every day i log on to tumblr.com and i am forced to see things with my good christian eyeballs

[shayberri789]

Something about how in chapter 4 of trc Adam is insecure about the fray on his second hand sweater, and how it's a symbol of his background and insecurities, and how most people don't notice it, and if they did, they didnt think better of him for it

And how Blue saw it immediately and it was something she liked about him, a girl too good at seeing the vulnerabilities of other people, but Adam didnt want someone to see his insecurities, didn't want someone to acknowledge that life

But Gansey did. Gansey needed someone to see him at his worst and love him for it, and blue did that

And how Adam needed someone to see him at his most unruly, and encouraged that

And Ronan makes Adam loud

[astralhope]

- Yuma... Someday, once again, we will... -

Rank 55: Yuma Jet!!

[the---hermit]

13|12|2023

Today was a day of simple joys. In the morning when I was in class I realized how good it feels to sit in that room. It's the polar opposite of what I was feeling last semester in my protohistory class. In February I felt out of place, I was uncomfortable and I felt frozen in place unable to talk to people. In this class everyone is just so casually nice. People smile at you and say hi simply because they have seen you there before, even if you haven't really talked. It's such a calm and relaxing vibe to be in for someone like me. And again I don't really know anyone here so it's the people there making a difference. After class I met up with two uni friends and we had sushi for lunch and walked around the city and after we said goodbye we continued texting each other for hours. I realized how comfortable I feel with them, and it's absurd. I was already friends with one of them but this new friend joining us somehow makes me feel like our friendship got deeper. I am truly comfortable and relaxed when I am with them. I don't feel the pressures I normally feel when I am out meeting and talking people, I am just old silly me and it feels great. I feel like I am healing from a lot of things thanks to them, and one year ago I could have never imagined to form such a strong bond with someone I met just a couple of months ago. I feel really grateful about this, which is also why I wanted to record this joy in this digital journal of mine.

[do-rey-me]

what if i got a second hogfather tattoo this hogswatch season

[nobilisseoblige]

🎄(if it isn't too late)

Yarne wanders the celebratory hall with a small pep in his step, even with the loud atmosphere of it all… he's alive. And safe, above all else. An event like this? No one would (probably) go for him here. No, for once, Yarne could… enjoy himself.

So, of course, Yarne still finds a way to be awkward.

"Oh, uhm, hi… sorry!"

Yarne rubs his head, wincing as he bumps into the loud one - for as large as he was, he still sometimes struggled to pay attention. And here he was, bumping into… a carrot? Wait, no, check again, Yarne.

Not a carrot… but very carrot-colored.

"…I like your hair?"

He awkwardly chuckles, moving to go, before he spies that ever-inedible plant above his head. Crap.

there were certain figures in the crowd that happened to catch his eyes, as they swam about in the sea of students that ebbed and flowed through open hallways.  it became more evident in the snow, as the fellow’s long, manelike hair and tufts of fur seemed to suit the holidays with ease. he hadn’t managed to strike up a conversation, not for lack of trying but for lack of opportunity… but it was only a matter of time before Ferdinand had his foot in the door, as he was determined to introduce himself before the year’s end. 

Ferdinand had been made keenly aware that he knew fairly little of the world at large. (and the urge to know more, see more, understand more, made him want to bridge the difference.) nowhere in Adrestia did they have beastfolk. the only beasts were those whose blood no longer favored humanity. but there were many cultures unheard of in these parts of Fodlan, graced with just as much good as any other. 

“Excuse me!”

he had no intention of making a spectacle of the young man, but everytime he saw his tall cut and downturned ears, Ferdinand wished to ask after him. (is it hard being far away from home? does your culture go about life differently than ours? is it rude to ask? have you been enjoying your life at the academy?) it’s colder now, but he hadn’t noticed, as he was enveloped in the delightful warmth of the academy kitchen, having baked for a number of hours just for the occasion.

”I am Ferdinand Von Aegir, eldest son of the noble Aegir household. I’ve been looking all over for you!” 

giving pause, he could have sworn the young fellow had said something about his hair...? he always loved complements, however. "Why thank you. I like your hair as well. I try to keep myself well-groomed, haha."

there is no coincidence that they are alone, nor was it just by chance that Ferdinand had caught him under the mistletoe. it seemed like the little sprigs were planted everywhere, so Ferdinand decided to embrace their presence with new design. pressing his hand to his chest, he proudly presented his fellow colleague with a wrapped bag of cookies—sprinkled with cinnamon, sugar, and a dollop of chocolate in the center. they were assorted by vanilla or carrot batter, as he had been a little too excited about making a good impression. 

“I’d… very much like to get to know you.” without an ounce of shame, he spoke his truth. “so I thought long and hard about how I’d begin to bridge that gap, and it lead me to this.”

”enjoy your yuletide!”

[helixobesity]

2025!!!!

Henlo!! Had to get pushed out of my comfort zone pretty much all year long, a very mentally, emotionally and physically draining process obviously won’t get into the specifics of my family situation but definitely still the biggest hurdle of my life right now. I guess I’m at the point of wanting to go back to a normal that doesn’t exist and writing out my emotional word vomit on here to cope

Overall mentally speaking I’m doing a thousand times better than when I started tumblr as a way to connect with people and share an interest and love of something I knew there was already a community of, with feedism

And not a day goes by without that desire of wanting to bake something or buy a lot of treats or make dinner or just anything like that with someone else as a partner, to have a wonderful feedee to pamper and share interests together

yeah I’ve been incredibly overthinking the idea of making posts again, mainly cause I used to have so much free time to just, write whatever I could and just rewrite over and over until I thought whatever I finished was the best it could possibly be, perfectionistism on a kink blog hehooo, but I just haven’t had any time to focus on it for long enough to feel I could post you know?

So I wanna connect more as I’ll keep saying, either on here or in person (I will say I’m east coast soooooo maybe luck of the draw?👀👉👈)

Heck even my streaming plans fizzled out cause my pc’s power supply borked out and been saving for a new one sooo uh idk

Asks will be on standby I’ll look at them soonish?? Either way merry Christmas, Hanukkah and new yearrrrr very tired writing this at nearly 10pm on 4 hours of sleep !!

Last thing thank you very much to those I have talked to you’re all lovely and I hope i don’t let you down too much by not being as present you’re all too nice for sticking around since I ramble more often than not ok see you all around(or rounder👀👀👀)

🌀💿🌀💿🌀💿🌀💿🌀

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

the father [solar lunacy] the son [you move to dayshift but aren't paid any more, go figure] and the holy spirit [i see you, sundrop!]

[kyouka-supremacy]

Well.

[getyinyusedtoit]

i saw a post the other day referencing feng xin and how it's mentioned that he's frequently in the mortal realm and it said something along the lines of "what if he was spending time searching for xie lian" and i love that and am personally 100% certain he was searching for xie lian or news of him during their time apart. HOWEVER i also got the feeling while reading tgcf that feng xin doesn't and never did give a shit about heaven. certainly not in the way xie lian or mu qing did. like yeah he takes his duties seriously and he's good at his job but i think between all the shit that comes with being a god and all of the awful prayers he has to hear he just wants to fuck off and get some peace and quiet and that's also a big reason why he's never around.