i, for one, welcome our new fear gods that come in many forms.

Functioning From The Heart

There are two pushes at the office in your own life: Fear, and even Love. There are really two places that will give an individual messages, the mind along with the Heart, and sometimes they give you conflicting in addition to opposing information. Your current mind, often times presents you wrong or perhaps distorted information. Your heart on typically the other hand, is definitely connected to the particular truth. To access the heart usually takes endurance, trust, silence, in addition to calm. The mind is the place of disappointment and unrest. When you trust your head, it will lie in order to you almost all the time, and you will be spun this approach which way and even you will sense pressured, pained in addition to guilty. If a person understand to believe in that inward spirit inside the heart, you will feel gathered, peaceful, calm, satisfied and incredibly liked, and you is going to know how to proceed throughout all situations. To be able to access your center, first you have to prevent responding to your thoughts. You have to be able to shut her straight down. Just observe your own thoughts and watch all of them all go simply by; tend not to engage or connect to just about any thought. Next, you must shut all the way down any feeling associated with guilt or any type of irritated thought. Then you have got to go to a private location and you possess to obtain very calm. Shut off the radio, television, your telephone, the beeper, pager, computer, etc . A person have to get rid of yourself momentarily coming from your friends, in addition to from the entire world, as you understand it. Then stay very still and very quiet in a comfortable position, so that your back, legs or even arms do not necessarily get tired. Shut your eyes. Stick yourself inside the night and the peace and quiet that you have created. Started to breathe in slowly and imagine that website is going ideal down in to the heart. The inhale is combined with an even bright easy. When you breathe this kind of breath, and this kind of light moves correct along into the coronary heart. With each breathing you get more calm and peaceful until you are usually very still and very calm. In that case wait, and hear. Breathe in this specific light, wait in addition to listen. This will be the beginning of the heart mediation. While you are very quiet, you will start to feel a light occurrence completing your chest plus coming into the mind. This is the Spirit of sunshine. Accept her, and let the girl to encompass typically the space. Just rest. This is not really an demon, or even anything like this. This is the all- knowing part regarding you. This is the part of you which is extremely ancient and contains unlimited wisdom. And then you’re now accessing this. Now you can easily begin to inquire many questions. read more of Light is aware everything. There is nothing that this all- knowing a part of a person does not find out. The question in addition to answer period goes something like this: "Is this specific the correct thing with regard to me? inch The answer will arrive in different ways. It might be a good audible "yes or no". It might be an actual physical feeling, like the tightness in the chest muscles, or in your belly. That is an uncomfortable answer. Meaning something about what you happen to be asking will be causing you to physically uncomfortable. You may say that will it is a new "no" answer. These types of physically feelings are generally directly related in order to both you and how a person specifically receive info. If you have met an individual and you acquire this physical feeling of a clamping of your chest or abdomen, or the feeling of nausea, do not ignore this particular strong physical feeling. This is warning for you about this particular person. In case you receive this same feeling every single time that you come across this person, this is a clear sign that this is not a person that you should invest time with, or perhaps one that you should give any energy by any means in order to. Most definitely you would do well to be able to avoid connection with this specific person. The same thing applies if you feel this clamping of typically the chest or belly when in connection with a certain team. If upon the initial encounter with this specific person or team you experience this, realize that something happens to be quite wrong. Trust that will. Prior to receiving into any romantic relationship along with this man or woman or this group, check in with the spirit. It has already put out a warning regarding that. Now. The particular Spirit of the particular Light has not really had your focus very often before so it provides you with information, and well then it will eventually see in case you will act upon that information or if you will ignore it as you utilized to do. The particular more which you pay attention and interact to the information, the greater that will come back again and guide. When, for the other hands, The Spirit associated with Light gives you information, and every time, you state, I don't believe of which, that is bull_ _, or that will is my own imagination, remember that creativity is always related in order to your mind as well as your mind causes disappointment and unrest. In case you keep writing from the wisdom as the imagination, then the Spirit of sunshine may not come with no lot of operate in addition to patience. Every time that you simply access her deep perception and she presents you guidance and also you follow, you will certainly turn out to be more skilled at listening, even more adept at the particular communication, and even more good at receiving the information as well as the reward. She will show you how to get anything that you want. Remember that creativeness can even be a tool. You can obtain brilliant book ideas, song titles, plays, great inventions that may make you wealthy. But the key is definitely following the compelling. If it seems good, and it makes you joyful, it is just an excellent leading. It is your current choice to pay attention to these good feelings, these kinds of extremely ideas, and use the Spirit inside to guide you. Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/188598

light│foolish g

summary: the eggpire attempts to manipulate the heart of a kindled lover, their own mistake in the making

warnings: mentioned kidnapping, injury descriptions, evil c!badboyhalo, angst to fluff

pairing: (requested) in-game foolish gamers

a/n: i tried to play with themes of light and darkness, just as a small visual insight :)

wc: (2.7k) - m.list

It was too dark, he noted. You didn’t like the house being dark. 

The second thing he noticed was the silence. There was no crackling fire, no greeting or even the stir of your footsteps inside the usual cozy house. Instead it was cold and empty, like the life had been snuffed and the warmth it once radiated suddenly gone in a broken still. Like it had been taken. 

“Y/n?”

Pushing the door open, Foolish immediately became on edge from the broken lock, it swinging open in a haunting manner that echoed throughout the house. He raised his axe while tightening his grip, and slowly, he crept his way around the living space, searching for any sign that you were there or at the very least okay. 

“Y/n? Love? Where are you?” 

He checked the bedroom, the bathroom, the chest rooms, everything. Nothing was out of place, yet it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. Scanning each room at a glance, he started to become frantic from the realization. You weren’t here.

“Y/n!”

As he started to pace in worry with growing, erratic breaths, he noticed he forgot to check the kitchen, bolting through the small doorway in desperation for any clues to your whereabouts.  Once entering, however, it only worsened his fears.

The kitchen was a mess; from broken glass scattered on the ground to the spilt stew you promised to make tonight, there were signs of an obvious struggle, and one that you must of lost. 

Walking slowly into the room, Foolish stood in the middle, his footsteps crunching under the shattered dish ware. He could only stare in horror to the scene before him, the unexpected attack within your own home. 

He began to shake, in fear or anger, he didn’t know. All that he knew was that he was terrified for you, of your state, your condition, where you were. He didn’t have the answers he needed and it started to boil a new found rage in the pit of his soul, something he never knew he could have felt in thought of you.

Before he could become completely lost to his own thoughts, something bright shone in the corner of his vision. It was small and lost under the fragments, but it reflected the brief moonlight that peeked through the window still. Foolish crouched down, and as he swiped the broken mess away, he let out a small gasp.

It was your necklace, one he had given to you as a gift near the beginning of your relationship. The small pendent, while old and rough, was an old crystal he found eons ago; he was fascinated with the object when he first discovered it, and as a symbol of his love, chose to gift it to you on your first anniversary.

Although discolored from age and time, the crystal had always held some sort of clouded transparency. Unlike its usual form, Foolish held the pendent up and saw a dark stain of red tainting the side, almost in a corrupt manner as it seeped inside the stone in cracked veins. 

The color was too bright to resemble any spilt blood, and with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes, Foolish seethed at the concluding answer. “Bad,” he growled. 

Closing his fist around the charm, he clenched it tightly and raised it to his forehead. The one piece of him you had, now the only thing he had of you. 

He was going to get you back, no matter what it took. 

“You can’t do this, Bad.” Pulling against Punz’s hold, you tried to throw hands at Bad with a snarl. He only chuckled at your attempts, his once sweet tone now malicious and stern. 

“The less you resist, y/n, the easier this will be for us all.” 

Your hands were tied behind your back, the rope burning against your skin, rubbing raw from your constant movements to free yourself. Punz had his arms under yours, locking you against his chest and preventing you from moving your upper body; even then, it did nothing to stop your attempts to thrash as much as possible.

Punz grunted from the hard kick you landed behind at him, your legs fierce as they moved every which way. Antfrost stepped forwards to help control you, though it was his mistake to approach you cautiously from the front since you kicked him in the face with a large crack following after.  

He fell back with a painful yelp, clutching his broken snout that oozed blood and paralleled the red veinage surrounding his eyes. While you internally celebrated your direct hit with pride, it faded when Bad began to laugh.

“Don’t you see now, Y/n?” As he began stalking towards you, Punz learned from his mistake and hooked his own leg around yours, pulling it back so you were further locked it place. You were helpless as Bad leaned into your face with an amused grin. 

“You’re a fighter. Someone that understands the weaknesses of others and how to exploit them. With us, you could discover your own potential and fight for the things that truly matter.”

You hissed at his proximity and cruel intent. “Why the hell would I join an omelette that does nothing but turn you all into brainless puppets.”

Bad laughed again, though forced before shifting into a frown. “We are anything but puppets. We are visionaries chosen to light the way for a new age that calls for freedom and peace. A world with no wars, no loss, and no pain. Only the Egg.”

He turned again, his back facing towards you as he looked ahead. Tilting his head slightly, he smiled sadistically to the thought. “Why don’t we show you?” 

With wide eyes, you yelled and fought harder against Punz. It didn’t matter how pathetic or futile your efforts would be in the end, you screamed viciously to his plan; you would be damned if you were to go near that thing and let it corrupt you like it did to those around you. You refused.

“We’ll make you understand, y/n. Don’t you worry now.”

It had been a while since Foolish last stepped foot in the Badlands. As he mainly stayed within his own land and frequented to Snowchester for his recent commission, he hadn’t seen how bad the landscape had become for some time now. 

There were vines littered everywhere; they broke through the ground and wrapped around everything they could, the previous builds constructed now ruins under the untamed growth. 

The infection worse than he could ever imagine. 

Like the land was corrupted itself, the once blue sky barely shined through the dark, thick clouds that surveyed the surrounding area as the grass’ usual lively, green hue looked almost dead from the sight. It was as if the land had been drained of its life form entirely. 

With a shake of his head, Foolish pushed forwards despite the unfortunate outcomes. You were his main and only concern, and he was coming for you. 

Following the growing trail of vines, he stopped once finding himself faced with an opening in the ground, the vines encompassing the entire area all centering to this one focal point. 

The hole was dimly light, yet in spite of the notable metal lanterns nailed to the cavern walls that lit the descending path underground, Foolish could hear the whispers of an ancient being shrouded in a sensation that could only be described as darkness. Pure darkness that’s sole intent was to demoralize and expand. 

As his own power centered essentially to a form of life in terms of rebirth, Foolish felt his heart race from the opposing force; Death is often seen as the opposite stage to Life, however in actuality, Corruption and Decay hold more differences than the former, for Corruption seeks out to invade and overtake, leaving little room for life to breathe in its natural state as it’s smothered degenerately. Death is painful as a concept, but only works as an end of a cycle that leads to a new one instead. 

His strive to reach you was stronger than ever, and with that he entered the small space. 

“So nice of you to finally join us!” Bad’s voice echoed against the cavern walls, his voice too cheery for Foolish’s liking. Pushing away the overhanding vines that blocked his line of vision, Foolish approached the group with an aggravated attitude. 

Standing in front of the Egg, Bad stood at the center with Antfrost and Punz accompanying his sides. While Foolish went in with a vengeful mentality, all thoughts left him as soon as he saw you. 

You were completely wrapped in the thick, twisted vines, forced onto your knees as the branches covered your body up to your neck. Singular vines were crawled up your head, forming a make-shift halo that encircled your face with obvious pressure on your temples. 

Sitting below at Bad’s feet, you occasional would wince in slight pain yet your eyes remained fixed wide open. They were empty and tinted red, a hollow shell of who you were as you fought for control over your own mind. 

Foolish snarled at the physiological torture, and turned to Bad in full anger.

“Let them go, Bad. They don’t deserve any of this.” Bad chuckled darkly at the demand and raised his arms upward. 

“Deserve any of what? Freedom? Power? A chance to protect all those they love?” Reaching down, Bad mockingly began to stroke your head, and you flinched from his demeaning touch.

Foolish took a singular step forward, his trident pointed threateningly at the audacity he had to both harm and touch you.

“You and I both know that that thing,” Foolish emphasized while turning to point his weapon condemnatory towards the massive egg, “doesn’t do anything but corrupt and spread lies.”

The air grew stiff as a forced silence overtook the room. Bad sighed dramatically, his actions imposing as he showed little care for Foolish’s anger and comment. Crossing his arms, Bad shook his head dismissively with a disappointed frown.

“We knew you would be one of the most difficult to convince.” Foolish froze, confused to his connotations, making Bad smile further. He gestured behind him, and leaned his head forward with a merciless smirk.

“Which is why the Egg demands for y/n more than you think.”

Foolish looked down in seething fury, the thought that you were taken and used as a pawn for his own compliance something inadmissible and unforgivable. He breathed out a humorless snicker, and lifted his eyes up with his head still bowed down.

“Did you really think you could get me to join you,” he lowly asked, his eyes starting to emit a harsh, green glow, “by taking the one person I center my world around?”

He held his own smirk at the growing fear the three began to show, them stepping back as he felt the familiar warmth of power overtake him. Only this time, the light burned like near fire from his manifested rage. 

“Think again.”

There was no time to run or attack as Foolish radiated a blinding light, his body shifting as he changed before them from his mortal to Godly form. By the time the light had subsided and the ever so mighty Eggpire could open their eyes from the jarring glow, it was too late for them already. 

Foolish was pushed against the cavern ceiling from his extreme height and size, though it didn’t matter for all he needed were his hands as he began swatting at them. He managed to throw Antfrost against the farthest wall, the collision knocking him out cold as he slumped over immediately.

Punz, like the mercenary he is, managed to evade Foolish’s attacks and tried to climb his figure for leverage. It was his mistake, however, as Foolish grabbed him by the ankle during his vulnerable ascent and swung him across the space. A sickening snap from his throw lead him to scream in agony, his arm bent awkwardly under him from the severe fall damage. He too passed out from the pain. 

Lastly, Bad could only cower at the man’s wrath, the golden figure pausing to face him in his entirety, saving his final, overwhelming outrage for the leading assailant. 

As he raised his fist to strike him down, however, Bad grew desperate and reached for his best bargaining tool: you. 

He rushed forward and unsheathed his sword, holding it strictly to your throat while you unconsciously grimaced from the cool of the blade. Foolish was forced to freeze his movements.

“Accept it Foolish, you can’t win against the Eggpire. We are the new age. Join us, and you can continue living your lives,” Bad looked down at you with an overly sweet smile, “together.”

Foolish was hesitate and nervous. He refused to back down in knowing fear you would suffer the consequences of his surrender, yet at the same time, your life was hanging in the fate of his next decision. Faltering his gaze at Bad, he glanced up and paused, a new idea, a new option making way. 

Slowly, he leaned down to grab a massive boulder, the vines wrapped around the broken stone snapping as he pulled on it. Bad saw through his intentions and panicked, his sword falling from your neck as he began to cry out. 

“Wait- NO! Foolish you can’t!” Completely ignoring Bad’s pleas, Foolish launched the large rock at the Egg. 

“Foolish, NO DON-”

The air hissed from the impact, and a force pushed all back as the Egg cracked open with a dying cry, the sound a high pitch ringing as it wailed from the strike. It smelled awful, to say the least. Like rotten flesh that was burned for an extended period of time, the fowl odor pervaded the cavern in a red mist. 

As the cloud briefly settled, the visible damage to the Egg became more clear; it was caved in where the boulder was thrown, the inside a glowering, black tint that radiated heat when exposed to the open air. The whispers were now screaming voices, loud cries that shouted over each other. Foolish winced from the overwhelming sound, but as quickly as it came, they fell painfully silent seconds later. 

While there was no visible light that transpired once the Egg was impacted, the underground room felt somehow brighter. Like a dark shadow now removed, the shift of light brought forth a true feeling of peace and quiet, as if the buzzing temptations were suddenly removed, if only for a temporary moment.

Bad seemingly collapsed the moment the Egg was injured, his sword falling with a clang as he fell unconscious besides you. Without pause, Foolish transfigured to his original form and rushed to check on you. 

He scrambled onto his feet once collapsing back into his moral height and instantly checked you over, pulling the dead, shriveled vines off you before gently bringing you into his lap while holding a hand to your cheek. 

“Y/n?” he murmured. Your skin was warm to the touch, and Foolish continued to stroke your face in his attempts to awake you. “Y/n? Please, please wake up.”

Suddenly, you stirred from his words, and slowly blinked your eyes open. Your eyes were squinted in a haze, your sight fuzzy until Foolish came into clear view. “Foolish?”

He let out a laugh of relief, his eyes wet as tears collected from the immense amount of joy that overcame him. Pulling you into his chest, he cradled your head and kissed the top of it earnestly, his eyes shut close as his tears escaped. “Hey there,” he whispered. 

Pulling away from you, his grin met your tired one as you smiled softly, hand raised to wipe his fallen tears. “Hey you.”

“Welcome back,” he giggled, his emotions running high from the reassurance that you were within his arms and you were safe. He beamed to the point where his cheeks hurt from how wide they pulled. 

You gripped his hand on your own cheek, squeezing it as your form of security that this was your reality, that it was real and he was actually here. Two rekindled loves reunited once more, you both gleamed in each other’s warmth and luminescent love.

“Glad to be back.”

Holy Ground - Chapter 1

The one where Andy seems to have lost everything, but he’s not ready to give up.

A terrible car accident ruins Andy Barber’s idea of a perfect life. But if the love’s still there, why wouldn’t he retrace the steps that led him to his happy ending? After all, the best love stories were made to be written more than just once.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist and if you’d like to be tagged on my following Chris Evans and characters stories, just fill out this form.

Andy’s P.O.V.

The never-ending beeping of the machine had become a constant in my life. It was both a melody and a curse, a relief and the worst of tortures, it truly depended on my mood for the day. Sadly, for the last few weeks, it was hard to remember that this meant a good thing, it meant she was alive, there was still hope for us. 

Hope was dying quicker than the woman on the bed, who I watched with unwavering attention, and that only meant it was getting harder and harder to remember that she was still even there. 

A body isn’t a life, that had never been as obvious to me as it was right then, and although her hand was safely wrapped by mine, she never seemed more distant than in that moment. So close, yet so out-of-reach. Still alive, but seemingly just… not there.

Sighing, I released her hand only to run both of mine over my face, needing a moment to close my eyes and imagine I was somewhere else, anywhere else other than this stupid fucking hospital, the only place I ever went to since the accident.

But then, as it happened every time I tried to sleep, flashes of what I imagined had happened to her startled me into opening my eyes again, and sitting up on the chair that was starting to mold into the shape of my body. I really needed her to wake up. Soon.

A surge of anger rushed through me - not the first one I’d felt since this entire situation had happened, and suddenly I was up from the chair, leaning over her, cradling her unresponsive face in my hands.

“Wake up,” I urged, trying to shake her as softly as possible, but still determined to get a response from her. “Wake up, dammit.” 

Unsurprisingly, it was in vain. There was no response, no single movement, no sign from the heavens that the woman I loved was even there at all.

Defeated, I slumped back on the chair and pondered over the same damn details when suddenly, something happened. The beeping had changed. It was quicker now, mirroring my own heartbeat inside my chest.

“Nurse!” I shouted, desperate for someone, anyone to tell me that this was good news, but the second two people entered the room in blue scrubs, I was being thrown out. 

“I’m sorry, sir, but we need you to go wait in the lobby. Someone will come get you once things are stable again.”

Stable. Again.

That’s not what I wanted. No, it was not. Because nothing about my life with Y/N had ever been just “stable”. That word could simply not encompass everything she was, everything she meant, everything we had lived together. Not the way she woke me up with the smell of pancakes in the morning, only to be singing the softest of melodies when I got to the kitchen to watch her sway and cook at the same time. Not the way she listened attentively to everything I ever got to say, especially when I was frustrated and it took me some time to make any sense at all. Not the way she held me in her arms when the night came and brought horrors from the past to my mind, raising nightmares that seemed even worse while I was awake.

I wanted her back, and not the beeping of the machine that kept her there, but not really alive. That wasn’t alive. That was merely existing, and that’s how I felt that I was doing, too. But how does one find the motivation to even try when the love of your life is just… not there?

I was quickly becoming overwhelmed by my own feelings, I could recognize that. Finally deciding to take a seat in the waiting area, I covered my face again as I struggled to think through the fog of emotions clouding my brain. What the hell was happening back in her room? Could it be…

No. I could not afford to think that. I could not afford to lose her. Looking up to the ceiling in the hopes to control my desperate desire to cry, I prayed to whoever was listening that they gave me my girl back. I needed her. God, how I needed her.

“Mr. Barber?” I almost got whiplash from how quickly I turned to meet the doctor, trying to determine if he was coming to share bad or good news by the expression on his face. Unfortunately, the dominion of emotions came with the profession - I expected that, mostly because I used to have the same skill, developed in the exercise of mine.

The days where legal routines ruled my week seemed like a lifetime away.

“We have some news for you.” I nodded, not trusting my own voice as I got up from the chair to follow the doctor closer to the room where she rested, hopefully still alive. “At last, there was some response to the treatment we had been administering…” I ended up blocking whatever medical terms he used while explaining what had happened as I tried to peek through the curtains into the room, check if she was still there, still unresponsive but there. “...She’s waiting for you.”

That startled me, making me meet the doctor’s eyes again.

“I’m sorry, what?” 

The man had a good heart, that much was obvious, because instead of impatient, he just smiled and repeated, “She’s awake now. We still haven’t been able to figure out the damage that the impact has done on her cognitive functions, but she’s alive and awake, and when we said you had been waiting, she asked to see you.”

I nodded, immediately turning my back to the doctor without any further comments and reaching out for the door, eager to see her again. I knew I’d only believe that she was awake when I saw it with my own two eyes.

Her gaze fell on mine when I pushed the door open, my mouth falling open and tears erupting from the utter relief that I felt. It was really true. She was okay. We’d be okay.

I threw myself on her before even thinking twice about it. Instinctively, I knew how to avoid the wires and bruises she still had, after having spent so long just looking at her, memorizing every inch of her face while she couldn’t move.

When her arms closed around me, it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. And then I was crying. Just like she always did the few times I’d done this before ever since we got together, she just held me, hands softly running circles on my back as I let go of all the pain and fear I’d been accumulating these last few months without her.

She didn’t even say anything, just patiently waited as I slowly calmed down, sniffling like a little kid and taking her natural perfume in now that I could bury my face in the crook of her neck. I knew that my unkept beard tickled her, but despite a few chuckles, she never complained.

I was thankful for that. Because I truly needed this. I needed to feel close to her again, in this physical sense, as long as it was the only one I could have until she was able to leave this hospital. I hoped to God that now that she’d woken up, it wouldn’t be too long before I could get her back home.

“How are you feeling, my love?” I watched her eyes momentarily widen, seemingly in surprise, when I pulled away to watch her expression, knuckles grazing softly over her cheekbones. And then she looked confused, maybe even guilty, that deep frown appearing between her eyebrows as she almost pouted at me.

“I’m okay, I swear. I wish you wouldn’t have spent this long waiting for me here.” The sentence was so puzzling it froze me on the spot. What did she mean, I shouldn’t have waited for her to wake up? I should have simply gone home and walked around like nothing was wrong, while she was here alone, possibly dying?

“Why is that?” I finally managed to get out, reaching out to hold one of her tiny, freezing hands between mine, and although she once again looked up in shock at me, she seemed somewhat grateful, the goosebumps along her arms showing just how cold she really was.

“I mean… You just didn’t have to, Andy. I know you’re a nice guy, I wouldn’t have agreed to go on that date with you if I didn’t think so, but I think this is too much, even for you. You barely know me. There was no reason to feel so obligated to keep me company, you know?” And just when I was sure that the pain in my chest signaled a heart attack, she looked down at our joined hands, squeezed mine and said, “Although I must admit, I’m kinda glad you did. I’ve been dreaming about our second date ever since you brought me back to my apartment and gave me that kiss.”

The weight of my wedding ring suddenly became all I could focus on, even if she didn’t even seem to realize the metal was there, warming her cold skin. But it was the burning of the matching jewelry safely tucked inside my pocket since the night of the accident that really made me realize that car crash might have taken more from me than I ever expected.

Death and an Angel part 4

Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: When you and Din arrive at the village in Sorgan, you both learn that the universe is full of surprises.

Rating: G

Word Count: 3,300

Warnings: Fluffy fluff, angsty angst, pining (so...much...pining...)

Author Note: All the love and thanks to everyone who reads, likes, reblogs, and comments on this series! Seriously, the support is beyond words. I wanted to go ahead and spoil it now that Winta does not make an appearance. I love that little girl in the episode, but I just couldn’t get her to fit in this segment. Maybe she’ll appear later on in the future, I honestly don’t know how my brain works. 

Also, fun fact, this will be my 100th post 😱🥳

Links to Part 1 and Part 3 and Part 5

Photo Inspiration: (I love black and white photos if you can’t tell by now...)

Sorgan is a beautiful planet, covered in massive forests and several freshwater lakes filled with krill. There is a tiny, farming village that isolates itself in the midst of Sorgan’s swampy region which is where you hope to find Omera. Rumor has it she’d fallen in love with the community five years ago and bound her nurturing powers to the planet, shielding them against the harshness of famine and plague. Her powers also prohibited other immortals from teleporting directly into the village, even if they meant no harm, thus forcing you and Din to walk the five-mile-long road from the common house to the village boundary line.

Mud sticks to the bottom of your shoes and the humidity is absolutely murdering your hair, but you love the addictive burn of fresh air filling your lungs, the symphonic sounds of the wilderness encompassing you. Here on Sorgan, the positive attributes far outweigh the negative ones.

Din walks beside you, close enough your arm occasionally brushes against his  vambrace, and you find yourself glancing at him out of your peripheral every few steps, dazzled by how the sunlight reflects off his armor. He catches your eye more than once, inclining his head to stare back while puffing out his chest, preening like the kriffing asshole he is. Each time you swiftly turn away with a burning face, hating how his smugness changes to amusement at your inability to hold his gaze, even with the impeding visor.

You string together creative expletives in your mind, each one meant to strengthen your resolve to ignore him. Except, like clockwork, your eyes helplessly drift back over again mere minutes later, dooming you to a continuous cycle of torment and embarrassment.

At least up until you’re less than a mile from your destination and Din abruptly halts without warning. “How will I know?”

You nearly slip as you whirl around to face him, worried at first but then confused when the question registers. “Know what?”

“If I’ve met my match,” he answers, the hand branded with his soulmate marking restlessly clenching and unclenching at his side. “How will I know it’s my soulmate?”

It’s a question you’re extremely familiar with. Maker knows exactly how many times you’ve been asked it throughout your years as a Cupid, but it’s got to be nearing a couple hundred thousand at least. And yet your usual go-to answer—a speech fed to you by your bosses about the perfect plan of the universe—doesn’t feel right to give him. He deserves your own honest opinion.

The first time you ever matched two individuals, you’d naively expected literal sparks to appear when they shook hands. Or a beam of light to shine down on them from above, an unmistakable sign from the universe they were meant to be together. So you were crushed when absolutely nothing noteworthy happened, only that neither one was able to look away from each other, eyes as wide as moons and full of awe. The same kind of awe usually reserved for watching sunsets and hearing a baby’s first cry of life.

You’d realized then the exact moment soulmates experienced their connection was not something externally witnessed by the eyes of the world. It was an internal sensation felt only by the two halves finally becoming whole.

“They’re called your soulmate for a reason, Din,” you say, slowly drawing closer. You’re not truly cognizant of your actions, only your voice, and perhaps that’s why you reach out to take a hold of his gloved hand, rubbing your thumb over his leather-covered knuckles. Distantly, as if looking through a foggy window, you’re aware of the way his whole body freezes at your touch, but still you hold on, still the words keep flowing from your lips.

“The moment you shake their hand, there will be no doubt. It’ll be instant. Like you’re tasting air for the first time after being trapped underwater. Everything will be clearer, colors brighter. Your whole world will crumble apart at their feet because all that matters now is them. And the only thought you’ll be able to think is, ‘It’s you. All this time I’ve been waiting for you.’”

Din sucks in a ragged breath. It’s only barely audible because of your closeness, but it’s also just loud enough to snap you out of your daze. “Angel,” he says hesitantly. It’s your turn to freeze when he leans in, helmet pressing softly against your forehead. “Have you ever—“

You jerk backwards, cutting Din off and releasing your grip on his hand all in the same movement. Panic is swelling in your chest and you can’t stop it, clothes suddenly feeling too constricting and you force yourself to remember why you’re here on Sorgan, the importance of the mission at stake.

“We need to keep moving,” you say, looking anywhere but Din’s direction. “I don’t think the village is that much further.”

Din watches you silently, no doubt trying to make sense of your agitated state. You feel exposed, torn open at the seams with all your insecurities on full display for him to pick apart and criticize.

In the end though, he only heaves a sigh, respectfully granting you time to begin the slow process of stitching yourself back up.

“Lead the way,” Din says, gesturing towards the path with a nod of his head. “I go where you go.”

The rest of the journey would have been completed in silence, if not for how Din’s unfinished question seemed to float alongside you in the breeze, echoing in your ears.

Have you ever...

                                                 Have you ever...

                                                                                          Have you ever...

~~~

The villagers are scared of your arrival at first, panicked to be in the presence of Death. Parents clutch at their children and the elderly are ushered into huts, as if they’ll be better protected by being kept out of Din’s field of vision.

“I promise you, we don’t mean any harm,” you say, but your words do little to reassure any of them.

A woman emerges from the crowd, the only one whose expression doesn’t bear a hint of fear. Segments of her dark hair are intricately braided while the rest flows unhindered over her shoulders, long enough to nearly reach her waist. Her features are delicate, but there is strength in how she carries herself as she marches right up to you and Din, shoulders drawn back with determination.

“Omera,” you breathe, recognizing the woman for the goddess she truly is.

“Yes,” she says, sounding reluctant to confirm her identity. Her eyes flick between you and Din. “Who are you and why have you brought Death here? I have a formal agreement with the Guild that grants me permission to personally handle the passing of my people’s souls into the afterlife. Death should have no purpose here.”

This is news to you. 

Not the reference of the Guild—you’re very much aware of Greef Karga’s organization of reapers who assist Din in maintaining the natural order by collecting deceased souls on his behalf across the galaxy. Despite all the powers that come with being Death, Din is unable to be everywhere all at once. So the reapers bring the souls to Nevarro where Karga holds onto them until Din arrives to usher them into the afterlife. 

What you weren’t aware of is her claim that this village might be the one place in the whole galaxy where Death and his associates have no influence.

“I’m a Cupid. I help people find their soulmates.” You gesture to Din who stands so tense behind you, you’re not entirely certain he’s even breathing. “And currently, I’m helping him.”

The way Omera’s expression instantly brightens is almost comical. A smile grows across her face, warm and friendly as if she’s known you for years and not mere seconds. “Oh, forgive me my rudeness. That’s wonderful to hear. It’s been quite some time since we’ve had guests. Would you like something to drink?”

“Actually—” Din starts, speaking for the first time since you’ve arrived.

“Yes, I would love one,” you interrupt, digging your elbow into his side and eliciting a soft grunt. “I heard the spotchka here is exceptional.”

The villagers, who had relaxed once Omera deemed you and Din weren’t a threat, are eager to prove their reputation as spotchka brewmasters. Nothing brings people together like alcoholic beverages, and within the hour you are sitting on a log bench in the village center and chatting amicably with them.

It’s a happy, tight knit community. Omera’s nurturing powers have only further increased it’s natural conditioning as an ideal sanctuary to raise a family. Everyone knows one another and takes care of each other. You can see how easy it was for her to have fallen in love with the place.

“He’s different than I expected.” Omera interrupts your thoughts by nodding to someone behind you.

You follow her line of sight, and see Din standing distantly in a field of grass, surrounded by a squadron of younglings. He’s too far to be heard, but you can tell by the gesturing of his hands that he’s explaining to them the pieces of his armor. They’re hanging onto his every word, completely enthralled, if their wide-eyed expressions are any indication. You realize as you watch that they’ll never come to recognize Din as the true identity of Death due to Omera’s agreement with the Guild. In their eyes, he is just an interesting stranger wearing shiny metal who they can pester with an endless amount of questions.

“He’s got many layers,” you admit, turning back around before the bittersweet scene makes your heart melt into a disgusting puddle at your feet.

And it is only because you look away first that you notice how Omera’s gaze lingers just a beat too long.

“Does he ever take it off?” she asks. “The helmet, I mean.”

You hesitate, stalling by sipping at your spotchka. “Not when he’s Death.”

Omera looks at you like you’ve told her a riddle. “When is Death not Death?”

When he’s with me, the voice in the back of your head wants you to shout at her, but instead you ask, “You said earlier you handle the souls of the villagers when they pass away?” 

“They asked me if I could protect their planet for future generations,” Omera explains slowly, confusion still present in the lines of her face. “My powers are strongly connected to the growth of life, blessing both expectant mothers and nature’s saplings. After I chose to bind myself to Sorgan, the villagers offered to lend me their souls as sources of energy to further strengthen it. So now, rather than losing them to the afterlife, we continue to see those who have passed on in every blossoming flower and in each drop of rain, remaining part of our everyday lives despite their physical absence.”

“That’s beautiful,” you breathe, because it’s the truth. It’s also the confirmation you needed to hear to honestly tell her, “He wouldn’t be Death here. He’d have the opportunity to be anyone else he wanted.”

Omera lets the words sink in for a moment, then she returns to staring at Din, eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully. You don’t blame her for being curious, especially since he’s barely said anything to her, subsequently forcing you to be the sociable one. 

You thought when you both arrived he’d try harder than this to make a good first impression. Omera’s his potential soulmate, he knows this and yet it seems as if he’s doing all he can to avoid her. 

Omera startles you out of your thoughts when she abruptly inches closer to you, as if preparing to share a secret in your ear.

“You said you were helping Death find his soulmate,” Omera’s voice is no louder than a murmur, seeming uncharacteristically bashful all of the sudden as she tugs at a strand of hair. “Does he...Has he been marked?”

It occurs to you then that this whole time she’s been fishing for information from you, gradually leading up to this particular question. This is a good thing, you tell yourself, despite the sickening pit forming in your stomach. It means she hasn’t been offended by his standoffishness. 

“Yes.” Your head dips in a jerky nod. Fortunately the goddess doesn’t notice your awkwardness as she peers down at her hands folded in her lap. You know what’s there without having to see it. “We came here because I knew you’d been marked too.” 

“I’d hoped so,” she confesses, showing you her palm. “I didn’t think it was possible, someone like me having a soulmate.” An immortal, your mind deciphers her underlying meaning. “But, then again, the universe always seems to be full of surprises, right?”

Soulmate markings all resemble each other as black lines forming the shape of a heart no bigger than a bottlecap in the center of one’s palm, regardless of what the person looks like themselves. They only appear on select individuals the universe picks for reasons known only by the divine Maker. Those without marks often make the ignorant mistake of comparing them to tattoos. A soulmate mark doesn’t fade with time like ink does, remaining eternally vibrant and warm to the touch, as if there’s a tiny flame buried beneath the skin.

You’ve seen thousands of marks on thousands of hands, yet your mouth dries up at the sight of hers despite it looking no different. An unexpected tremor rocks your body, worse than anything you’ve ever felt before. It’s as if you’ve been stabbed by an invisible shard of ice, threatening to freeze you solid from the inside out.

When you speak, each word scrapes against the inside of your throat and tastes bitter on your tongue. “You should go talk to him.”

Omera’s face goes a bit pink. “You think so?”

You force yourself to smile, hoping it doesn’t resemble a grimace or, Maker forbid, a snarl. “I think you’ll never know if he’s your match unless you do.”

Not needing any more convincing, she spares you one last hopeful look before leaving to approach Din. She walks across the grassy field with unhindered grace, not once tripping over a rock or the bottom of her dress, and you can’t help feeling envious, knowing your clumsy feet wouldn’t be able to carry you three steps without an issue. You watch as she says something to the children, inducing several disappointed groans audible even from where you sit, before one by one they each depart, seeking entertainment elsewhere in the village.

Omera and Din fall into conversation, and you bite your lip, knowing you’re only making the ache hurt worse by watching but unable to tear your eyes away. Their conversation is too quiet for you to make out, but given the way Din’s body language is relaxed and without a hint of defensiveness, you’re convinced Omera’s definitely charming him.

They’ll make an attractive couple, you think before you can stop yourself. They’re similar, too, in that they both have protective streaks a mile wide when it comes to those they care about. As a divinely gifted caretaker, Omera will know just what to say to pull him out of one of his brooding episodes. She’ll soften his rough edges, lend him strength when he needs it most, and might even be able to convince him to settle down in the village where he can shed his persona as Death and actually experience life. Most importantly, though, you hope she’ll make him happy.

Because Din deserves someone who will make him happy every day of his existence.

You know it’s coming, but still your breath stutters when you see Din begin to remove his glove. He moves slowly, revealing tanned skin inch by inch as he pulls at the leather with his other hand. He has never been one to hesitate over things in the past, except when he showed you his mark that night at the train station. You really don’t want to think that Din could be nervous, but you also can’t determine any other reason explaining his behavior. Omera, for her part, is the perfect image of patience as she waits for him to initiate contact, if not for the way you spy her pulling anxiously at her brown locks again.

As Din reaches out to grab hold of Omera's hand, there is a second right before contact where his helmet shifts in your direction and you feel the intensity of his gaze cut through the distance, piercing your fragile heart.

In the next breath, an invisible explosive force sends you hurtling backwards through the air several feet. You bite your tongue when you collide with the ground and blood begins pooling in your mouth, causing you to gag at the coppery taste. Ignoring the pain emanating from your undoubtedly bruised rib cage, you force your body to roll over so you can spit out a scarlet blob onto the dirt. Gross, you think sluggishly.

Movement out of the corner of your eye has your head turning to look, but it takes several more seconds before your brain comprehends what you’re seeing.

The village looks as if a massive wind storm has swept through it in the last five seconds. Several villagers are slowly rising onto their feet, having apparently also been roughly tossed to the ground, looking just as bewildered by the state of things as you feel.

Your eyes next lock onto Din’s figure. He and Omera stand in the distance exactly where you last saw them, appearing completely unaffected by the unseen force. But rather than looking at each other with awe as all other soulmate pairs do, there is only unbridled shock on Omera’s face.

With newfound urgency, you stumble onto your feet, knowing something’s gone horribly wrong.

“Din!”

Your shout startles him enough he visibly jolts, increasing your worry tenfold.

Your feet skid to a stop closer to his body than you anticipated, nearly colliding face-first with his chest. It’s on the tip of your injured tongue to ask them what the hell just happened when Din beats you to the punch.

“What happened to you?” he demands, cradling your jaw. He’s using his gloved hand, you can’t help but notice. His other one—still uncovered from when it had touched Omera’s—is pressed firmly against the segment of armor protecting his upper thigh. His thumb starts to wipe at the blood staining the corner of your mouth, but you refuse to be tended to when there’s a bigger issue at stake.

“What happened?” you repeat incredulously, pulling away and resisting the urge to smack the side of his helmet. “I should be asking you that, idiot. Did you two match?”

Omera says nothing in response to your question, but there is something about the way she stares at you directly, like you’ve revealed a secret of the universe right in front of her, that brings back the same self-conscious feeling of being exposed you’d felt earlier.

“Look for yourself, angel,” Din answers with a tone full of scorn, gesturing widely to your surroundings with both arms. “Does any of this look like what you told me would happen?”

Taken aback by his hostile tone, you glance around the field, only to be stunned by what you’d initially failed to notice. In an almost perfect circle encompassing the three of you, the once beautifully green and luscious grass is now black and shriveled, entirely devoid of life. It crunches beneath your shoes as you nervously shift in place, eerily resembling the sound of bone breaking, and you’re beginning to understand the shock you’d glimpsed on Omera’s face.

“No,” you say, feeling slightly hysterical but doing your best to keep it out of your voice. “No, it definitely doesn’t.”

Omera had said that the universe is always full of surprises.

What a kriffing understatement that turned out to be.

Tag List: @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @eleine-t1d​, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives​

Portfolio

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: AU, Angst, Boss!Harry

Word count: 3.5k!

Warnings: Domestic violence mention, boss/employee dynamic

A/N: Hi! I decided to write another fic after Overnight was received so well! Again, thank you to anyone who read and enjoyed it! I’m not sure how I feel about this one lol but I think it’s good enough to post. Please let me know if you enjoyed it and send feedback! Thank you for reading!!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist! 

Part 2

You had always been a teacher’s pet. Growing up, you were the kid who worked hard to get a 4.0 GPA just for the rush of getting a compliment on your intelligence from your teacher. You craved that validation for all the hard work you put in and you just wanted people you admired to like you. And not for nothing, you deserved the compliments. At work, you were the first one there and the last one to leave. You loved your job and it showed.

You were currently working your first job with any real power at an up and coming public relations firm, Styles Public Relations. SPR was quickly growing in size and recognition and being brought onto the team was a dream come true. You loved everything about working there. The offices were beautiful, it paid well, and your ideas and proposals were finally being heard and brought to the public. Well, you loved everything except one glaring, irritating, and gorgeous problem: your boss.

Harry Styles was a striking man. He was tall, impeccably dressed, and obscenely attractive. His skin was perfectly tan and when it got warm in the office you could see  beautiful tattoos revealed by his rolled up sleeves. Those sleeves were worth more than your life and his head-to-toe Gucci ensembles usually showed his wealth off well. He looked like he should be on the front of a magazine, not behind a desk. Well, he was on the cover of Forbes that one time. While he was so nice to look at, the man was anything but nice. He had an abrasive attitude and not much care for pleasantries or mincing words.

Today, you found yourself on the opposite end of his brutal disposition. You had brought a campaign proposal to him for a newly acquired client and he began to rip it to shreds.

“I don’t know why you thought this campaign was a good idea, Y/N,” he told you sternly. “It’s childish, silly, and unprofessional.” Every word he said dug into you. You tried to attribute his harshness to it being Monday, but you knew he would say this to you any day of the week.

“The client said they wanted something more playful to soften their image,” you defended yourself. “I was doing what they asked for.”

“Well, you did a terrible job at it.”

That stung. You had dedicated your life for weeks to this proposal and had expected him to love it. You hoped this was finally the proposal that would secure your position in his good graces. Apparently, not.

“Okay. I’ll restart the project with a different angle.” You moved forward to grab the binder off the conference room table and flee the room back to the safety of your office. You were shocked when he put his own hands on the binder and slid it away from you.

“You’re off the account. I’ll have someone else do a better job,” he spat. Now, that really hurt. Your ego was closely related to your career and you knew you deserved better than this. You did everything you could to hold back your tears, but one betrayed you and fell down your cheek. You believed you saw his hard exterior soften for a split second before his ruthless demeanor returned.

“Fine,” you breathed, never breaking eye contact with the cruel man. “I’ll leave you now, your highness.” The words left your lips before you could fully register them in your own head. You turned on your heel and rushed back to your office, thinking about the insubordination complaint coming your way.

“Did I just get myself fired?” you asked yourself softly when you were finally in the safety of your own office.

The rest of your week passed in a blur. By Friday, you had accepted your fate and decided to get every passive aggressive dig at your boss you could before you carried your things out in a cardboard box. When you saw him around the office, you made sure to make direct eye contact and shoot daggers his way and you responded to his emails with one word answers. You were also producing the best work you had in years. Turns out, spite was a fantastic motivator for you. If he was going to fire you, he would feel bad about it.

As usual, you spent your Friday night typing away in your office. You were a workaholic and had no problem with staying at work late. Unfortunately, so was your new nemesis.

You caught your first glimpse of him after-hours on a trip to the copier. Your next was on your trek to the coffee pot. Later, on a walk around the office to stretch your legs. Each time you saw him, he was in the same spot. He sat at the conference table surrounded by spreadsheets and graphics and stared perplexed at the piles of paper encompassing him. You knew you could go in and ask him if he needed help, but you wanted to watch him suffer. According to him, you would just do a terrible job anyway.

It was about 7 o’clock when you heard a firm knock on your office door. You expected it to be the cleaning crew asking to vacuum your office. With a ‘come in’ your door opened and your boss’ large body leaned up against the door frame, careful not to enter the office he knew he wasn’t welcome in. While you were shocked he was coming to talk to you, you stayed quiet. If he wanted to talk to you, he would have to break the silence. After a few awkward moments, he did.

“Um, I was thinking about ordering dinner if you wanted to join me.” This was by far the nicest thing he had ever said to you other than ‘you’re hired.’

“Well, what are you getting?”

“I’ll buy you whatever you want for dinner if you take a look at the investor relations portfolio I’m working on.” You were taken aback. He was asking for your help. He needs me, you thought as you smirked to yourself.

“Make it the Italian place down the street and we have a deal,” you countered. You didn’t want to spend anytime with him at all but you were taking this as a sign that  1) he wasn’t firing you, and 2) he thought you did good work. Also, their spaghetti bolognese was calling your name.

Soon you were both knee deep in documents and investor information packets. You absolutely could not believe it but the two of you were collaborating well and making real progress on the portfolio. This was the working relationship you always wanted to have with your big shot boss; the opposite of his constant criticism and belittling of your work.

When the food arrived, you both decided to take a break and eat like an entire company’s stock shares weren’t resting on your shoulders. While your conversation stayed surrounding work, it inevitably steered towards the account he had taken away from you.

“So, how’s my campaign doing?” you asked. You knew it was a risky question but you two had been getting along and you decided you needed an update on the account that had become your baby.

“I gave it to Marcus and-”

“Marcus? Really?” You interrupted  him. “Marcus is a shithead.” Your baby deserved better than Marcus.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he said in a joking manner, with a small smile. The smile was just big enough for you to notice that he had dimples. He had never smiled in front of you before. “He’s doing a horrendous job and I was going to give it back to you on Monday.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the second chance,” you confessed. “Can you level with me for a minute?” you asked after a moment of silence. “Why did you rip into me like that? You could have just told me that it wasn’t right for me and taken it away.”

You watched him think for a moment. He scratched at his five o’clock shadow (that was more like a 9 o’clock shadow now) and you could tell he was searching for the right words.

“Because it got you fired up, but I could tell I hurt your feelings and I apologize.” You never expected an apology for the way he acted and you no longer regretted showing him your emotions. He had hurt you and he should feel bad for it. “I thought you were getting complacent in your ideas and you’ve been killing it since Monday.”

“Thank you for the apology. Here I am thinking you did it just to be a dick.”

“Is that what people in the office really think of me?” He looked genuinely hurt and you felt slightly guilty for being the bearer of bad news. But you hoped if he saw it from his fearful employees’ perspective he would lighten up a little.

“Do you want me to be honest?” He nodded his head. “You act like you have a stick so far up your ass it’s touching your brain and that you’re better than everyone else because your suit costs more than my rent.” If he never minced his words, why should you?

“Oh Y/N, tell me what you really think,” he said after a pause with a light chuckle. You were surprised by his reaction. You never expected him to take something like that so well.

“Listen,” you began again. “I understand and respect your toughness on us. But there is a line between criticism and just being mean.” You decided this was a time to call him on his shit, during this very very rare moment of comradery between you. You wanted to have a healthy relationship with him, maybe even a friendship.

“I understand that I can get a bit harsh. It’s just the whole ‘is it better to be loved or feared’ thing. I’ve always thought fear would be the safer option.” You felt like you were getting to pull back the layers of his hard shell and see the human being underneath for a brief period of time.

“But if you were truly loved, no one would ever betray you,” you whispered softly, always the romantic.

“Love has never been reliable, has it?” Your heart broke for him and you realized someone doesn’t become as hardened as he is overnight. Something did this to him.

“What about love being the most powerful force on earth?” you wiggled your eyebrows at him, referring to the slogan for an engagement ring campaign you were both working on.

“Well, when your wife tries to steal the company that you built together and run away to Spain with her personal trainer, love gets a little bit more complicated.” There it is, you thought to yourself. This was the first time he ever felt like a real person to you; not like a teflon shell of anger, wealth, and ambition. His features looked softer and he seemed less like your evil boss, and more like someone dealing with a painful trauma.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” you said softly, genuinely meaning it. “Oh shit, sorry. Mr. Styles,” you corrected yourself. He laughed at your mistake and you watched his dimples reach their full potential. He looked down at the table, obviously a little uncomfortable with his rare moment of vulnerability with the woman who was probably the biggest pain in his ass in the office. Before you knew it, you had decided to share your own uncomfortable vulnerability.

“My ex put me in the hospital while I was still living in New York,” you began, watching his eyes immediately jump to yours and listen intently.

“Oh Y/N, you don’t have to talk about this… I didn’t mean-,” he tried to stop you but you figured if he shared with you, you could share with him.

“No, it’s okay. It’s been a long time,” you reassured him, shaking your head softly. “We were fighting because I found out he had been cheating on me. I had packed a bag and was trying to leave when he pushed me down the stairs of our apartment building. I broke my arm in two places and I had to have a few surgeries.” You rolled up the sleeve of your blouse and showed him the scar that ran down your forearm. You scanned his face and it looked like he genuinely cared about you for a moment. You brushed it off. “After that, I decided I needed to leave New York.”

“Why London?” he said gently.

“I was obsessed with this English boy band when I was growing up,” you laughed. “I guess I romanticised London in my head and decided it might be a good place for a fresh start.”

“While I’m incredibly sorry you had to go through all of that to get to London, I’m very glad that you found your way to me,” he spoke tenderly. His face was serious, but not the seriousness you were used to while getting scolded about your work. It was gentle and like he meant every word he said. You were happy you found your way to this version of him too.

“To the firm, I mean,” he corrected himself and you felt a weird pang of sadness inside of you. You are just his employee, remember that, you thought to yourself.

“I’m happy I found the firm too. If only I could figure out how to deal with my hellish boss?” you asked sarcastically, rolling your eyes dramatically and laughing at him. You realized that this could definitely be taken as flirting, but you decided were okay with that.

“Maybe they’re just trying to push you because you are by far the best campaign director they have,” he said nonchalantly, leaning back in his seat and watching your every movement. You felt your cheeks heat and the rush of adrenaline from finally getting his validation. This was all you ever wanted from him.

“Oh, I know,” you smirked, leaning back in your own chair and studying him as well.

He really was gorgeous. His quaffed hair had fallen over the course of the day and a few stray pieces hung on his forehead. His black dress shirt fit him so well. You were fully able to appreciate the tailored fit after he had shrugged off his blazer and removed his tie, unbuttoning the top few buttons to reveal glimpses of two swallows that sat on his collarbones. A chain that you had never gotten to see hung around his neck, a cross and the Star of David resting on his chest.

“We should get back to work,” he murmured after a few extended moments of staring at each other.

“Probably.”

You two worked for another hour or so before you let out a small yawn and Harry insisted you both call it a night. Although you protested and told him you were fine, he was firm in his demand that you go home and rest. As you packed up your things in your office, he hovered in the room and watched your every move. Conversation was relaxed and casual, not stained with the malice you usually had towards each other.

He took your briefcase from your hands, offering to help as you struggled to carry a poster and a few proposal binders, and carried it as you walked in step with each other out of the office. When you reached the front doors and went to go your separate ways, you were met with a puzzled look on his face.

“Where are you going? The parking garage is this way?”

“Oh, I don’t have a car. I take the tube wherever I have to go.”

“Let me drive you home,” he offered. When you denied his proposal, you were met with a stern, “Let me drive you home or you’re fired.”

Although you fought him the entire walk to his car, asserting that you were fine to take the train, you climbed into his beautiful jet black sports car with a huff and a pout. He had a triumphant smirk on his face that you were tempted to slap off, but decided to take this as a sign from the universe that you just weren’t meant to get blisters from your heels walking home tonight. You watched as his long fingers gripped the steering wheel skillfully and you both sat peacefully, the silence between you only interrupted when you gave him occasional directions to turn right or left. The soft sounds of a Fleetwood Mac song you couldn’t remember the name to flowed through the speakers and his mouth silently lip-synced the words. You admired him the whole drive home and you didn’t want to get out of the car when he pulled up to your building.

You both departed the car, walking around to the trunk where he had stashed your briefcase. Your casual conversations had long passed, both of you beginning to mourn the night you had together. You had enjoyed this night far more than you anticipated and you hoped this would be the first of many late nights at the office that he would join you for. You looked up at him when he handed you your briefcase and you both stood there in silence for just a few more fleeting seconds, neither of you wanting to be alone yet. You were first to break the noiseless night.

“Thank you for dinner and the ride home, Mr. Styles.”

“Please call me Harry,” he said with a subtle smile, stepping up on to the curb, closing much of the space between you.

“I can do that, Harry.” His first name felt foreign on your lips but it was a welcome change.

“Thank you for all your help tonight. I needed your fresh set of eyes on that portfolio.” This interaction felt so intimate; his words hushed and complimentary, intensified by his body’s proximity to yours.

“Whenever you need me,” you breathed, refusing to break the eye contact you were both desperately holding on to.

With one swift step he pressed your bodies and your lips together, backing you up until your body pressed against his car. You dropped your briefcase to the ground and your hands flew up to the base of his neck. He tasted like the lemon cookie he had ordered for dessert and you smelled his intoxicating cologne as you drank each other in. His hands snaked their way under your blazer and rested on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to him. His kiss was deep and demanding and you weren’t sure if you ever wanted it to end.

This morning you couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him and mere hours later you were ready to bring him up into your own. He was infuriating and rude and knew just how to push your buttons. But, he also seemed to be gentle, kind, and thoughtful when he wanted to be. Harry Styles was an enigma. You couldn’t wrap your head around him and it drew you to him even more.

Your bodies flowed in perfect sync with one another and your open-mouthed and hungry kisses were so hypnotizing you couldn’t think. Harry was the only person that existed to you anymore, tuning out the murmurs of a passersby, and anywhere your skin touched his was lit on fire.

Finally coming up for air, you breathlessly peeled your lips away from the other. You both refused to break your eye contact, your hands gripping tight to his biceps to steady your weak legs, and scanned each other’s faces.

“You have a little something,” he murmured, reaching to wipe your smudged red lipstick from your bottom lip with his thumb. You leaned into his touch and smiled up at him.

“So do you,” you panted, staring at his lips that were now stained red.

You both just stood there for a little while, soaking up the other’s company before you pulled away and things got more complicated. He was your boss after all, was this even allowed? Did he want to be something more than coworkers? If things ended poorly, would you still be able to work together? Would he be nicer to you now?

“It’s late. You should get some sleep,” he eventually broke the silence and your spiraling thoughts.

“I agree. You worked me real hard today,” you smirked at him, unable to pass up the innuendo. An amused grin spread across his lips and he took a step back from you, releasing you from his grip against the car. He gathered your things you had dropped on the ground during his assault and handed them back to you.

Harry leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek that lingered a little too long to be considered friendly. It made your cheeks burn.

“I’ll see you Monday, sweetheart” was the last thing he said to you before he climbed back into his car and drove off into the night.

Part 2

Okay so request~~~~

So at the end of last blood, he never stays at his ranch. He tells the aunt “Idk. I’ll move around, like always.” And then proceeds to destroy his home and land beyond repair, you know that story i wrote about picking up first blood rambo?? Well, change that to old man rambo!

What about him having rhat random chance meeting with someone like SR(from the one i wrote) and staying with them. How they take care of him without even knowing him, and how he has a chance to try out a new life away from war and what he was with someone who’s young and starting out on their own ambitions.

I could totally see him being introduced to SR’s friends as “oh, my new roommate!” And him telling SR all about vague war stories, they teach him to cook and cook him breakfast. Honestly just rambo being taken somewhere far away and nice and staying with someone who definitely has their own problems, but takes on the therapy by helping him instead.

Basically, SR is very very damaged and rambo can tell- but they’re so sweet and responsible, mature, and loyal. They take out emotions and pain through spreading love instead of war, he can’t let that go. Not now

(Hopefully that gives you ideas!!!)

I'm sorry this took so damn long for me to write, and I'm sorry that it's so bad, too, but I hope you like it in any case!😓😅

Life Goes On.

John Rambo (Rambo: Last Blood) x Named!OC (not mine)

Warnings: injury detail, death, blood

Masterlist

John's eyes are barely open as he sluggishly guides the horse beneath him further on, their surfaces dry and sore even as he blinks them. By now it's useless, the dust in the air having gotten into his corneas within the first hour of his long ride, irritating his scleras very quickly. Exhaustion has long since numbed out any pain he still feels, his eyes becoming the least of his worries as he gradually loses the sensation in his lower abdomen, where his more serious wound is bleeding profusely onto his shirt, still oozing even after fifteen hours of being left alone. He knows the blood flow isn't too bad anymore, as his hasty attempts to patch himself up have left him with a better chance of surviving, but his other wounds are slowly driving him to a comatose state. The veteran can't move his fingers properly, the digits clunky and uncoordinated as he tries to grip onto the reins, the blisters from the tough leather split and leaking as he struggles to do so. Nausea has settled into his head, his vision blurred as his strength slowly fails him - he's too old to have survived as he used to. Without his medication, John finds himself plagued constantly by flashes of past grief and sorrow, images of his dead team back in 'Nam flooding his conscience, accompanied by the beaten and bruised face of Gabrielle. 

Beneath him, the horse walks slowly, his thighs aching from the hours of riding, chafing sores lining them under the fabric of his trousers, his body slouched forwards in the saddle. Pity for the animal also gnaws at his mind, and he feels a pang of guilt as he realises that it's unlikely it will be able to carry him much further without any respite. It's head is drooped, steps slow and unsteady, panting breaths rushing from its throat in haggard bursts. If he had any energy, John would remove the tack from the horse and let it go, but he knows this isn't a plausible idea for him if he wants to survive. He owes it to Maria to survive.

His conscience starts to slip, just as the sun comes to its highest point in the sky, heat and dry air lulling him into a false sense of security as he feels his control leaving him. Unable to keep a grip on it, he succumbs to the darkness rising up in his vision, falling into it gratefully, needing the reprieve.

Vaguely, John seems to recall a car pulling up beside him, the door slamming closed as someone shouts to him, hands taking the reins from his. Gravity seems to take control, and John falls from the horse, landing heavily in the dirt, but he doesn't lie there long. Whoever has taken hold of the horse is swift to come to his aid, pulling him into their arms as they try to drag him back to their car. They're struggling, and he wants to fight back, to tell whoever it is to get lost, but he finds he can't, his throat too raw to even force a sound past, so he can only stay limp as they manhandle him into their vehicle, murmuring gently to him the entire time. 

It's at that point that he finally loses consciousness.

*

Agony floods John's body as he comes to again, drawing a hoarse groan from his scratchy throat as he jerks upwards, his instincts still ready for action even after all these years. Blearily, he blinks, hands scrambling to identify his surroundings, dull surprise dripping into his conscience as he finds a soft duvet and pillows on top of a comfortable mattress, warmth encompassing him. Frowning, the veteran pushes himself upright, ignoring the pain in his body as he does so, his hand going up to cup his wound instinctively. Shocked to find a clean dressing plastered over the ragged injury, John blinks again and takes a look around.

He's in a small room, laying on a bed in the centre, the domicile unfamiliar to him. Idly he wonders if maybe he's died and found some kind of afterlife, but a sharp stab of agony from his side eliminates this idea from his head in seconds. The room is quite comfortably decorated, designed to be cosy and close, whilst remaining roomy enough to allow for decent living space. A few photographs line the wall, accompanied by posters of movies he's never bothered to go see, having never really managed to overcome the triggers they often set off when he's not expecting them. 

Just as he goes to climb out of the bed, the door swings open, and an unfamiliar figure steps in, a first aid kit held in one hand as they juggle a bowl of water in the other. Instantly, John's on his feet, instincts taking over as he ignores the flare of agony that springs up in him as he swiftly moves over to the newcomer. In seconds, they find themselves pinned to the wall, a hand wrapped around their throat. Yelping in fear, they let go of the bowl and first aid kit, smaller hands coming up to grip his larger arm, eyes wide as they stare at him in shock, wincing as warm water splashes the two of them. 

It takes all John has not to crush their windpipe, his rational mind taking over the militant instinct as he keeps them in a threatening hold, the youth unable to move at all. A wave of nausea washes over him, and he falters, vision spinning wildly as he drops back a step, losing his grip on the newcomer as quickly as he secured it, the sudden disorientation throwing him off as he falls to the floor again. Grunting in pain, he lands heavily, the impact jarring his bones and muscles roughly. Recovering quickly, the newcomer drops down beside him, eyes widened in concern now, rather than fear.

"Are you alright?" They ask him, voice soft with worry, searching his face for any serious problem.

It takes him a moment, but eventually, John manages a response, his usually rough voice coarse and gravelly now.

"'M fine." 

They just scoff, hesitantly reaching out to help him back up again, heaving his heavy body onto the bed again. 

"You are far from fine." They point out, "What happened, you fight a war or something?"

He almost laughs.

"Something like that." John murmurs bitterly, leaning his head back against the headboard.

Shooting him an odd look, the newcomer goes and fetches the spilt bowl of water, sighing at the mess before they hold it up for him to see.

"I'm just gonna get some more water, then I'll patch you up again, that alright?" They ask him, looking somewhat cautious.

Suspicious, John watches them for a sign of deception. Finding none, he simply nods, knowing he can easily take them out if he needs to. They smile, going to leave the room, only to stop in the doorway and turn around.

"My name is SR, by the way." They introduce themself.

"John." He grunts in way of reply, watching as they nod and leave the room.

*

Two months have passed and he's no longer bedridden, the veteran able to move freely around the house, even though there's still a little residual pain, and the mental horrors he faces every night leave him drained with no reprieve. With no medication to help him, it's no surprise that John has relapsed into a familiar state of sullen silence and brooding, finding himself reminded of the things he'd rather forget every day, in everything he does and everything he sees.

SR is no exception to this: he has warmed up to them, and he somewhat trusts them, the youth having shown him more kindness than he has experienced since Maria and Gabrielle. Their only downfall is that they remind him a lot of his murdered niece, the two having very similar traits that very quickly sussed out. Childhood trauma has led them to becoming very determinedly driven and friendly, ambitious and confident in some aspects of life, whilst also noticeably damaged in other aspects, that he realises very quickly. Somehow, however, they always keep themselves afloat, and choose not to show any of the weight bearing down on their mind, as he knows it is, though he is also very swift to realise that their way of dealing with this pain is very simple; they work to make life better for others. It's visible in everything they do: cooking for him every day, caring for him in any way they can, doing their best to let him know he can trust them. 

At first, he had been somewhat cold and closed off to them, but they swiftly worked to help warm him up again, reawakening the more personable version of himself he managed to cultivate in his time on the ranch. It was nice to become a little lighter again, but his guard stayed up, and still is, though not as much as it was before. Vividly, he can remember the time he found himself trusting them further: when their friends had come over to catch up. 

Naturally, they'd all been surprised to find some nearly hostile ex-soldier residing in their friend's home, living his life out with them. As soon as they'd said something, however, SR had leapt in to defend him, and had inadvertently shown their care for him on a much greater scale than before, reminding John of what his life was like with Maria and Gabrielle. When their friends had then left, an hour or so later, he had stepped up to them and told them how thankful he was, feeling more cared for than he ever thought he would. 

Now, after weeks of being taught how to cook, and being cooked for, plus hours and hours of talking with each other as they helped each other to overcome past grief, he can very honestly say he is immensely grateful to be with them. They know more about him than he told himself he'd ever tell anyone, SR often listening with rapt attention to his war stories, eyes wide as they hear all of the harrowing details. He feels comfortable telling these tales, and they seem content to listen, so he appreciates them in whole new ways. 

And when he finally opens himself back up to physical contact, the embrace he receives from his excitable carer is only too worth it, the first smile in months gracing his lips as he does so. Life feels like it's turning on its axis again - for the better this time.

The Princess and The Duke - Chapter Eight

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: As the   Princess of  Spain, you were always supposed to marry King James of   England to make  an alliance between Spain and England. When he marries a  woman at his  court for love, you are married off to his best friend, Sirius Black the  Duke of Bedford to keep the alliance. However, the court is riddled  with secrets and a rebel in the North starts to rise against the Throne. Royal AU.

Warnings: fluff, angst

Words: 2719

Disclaimer: These gifs doesn’t belong to me and I’m so sorry if this French is wrong!

Translation: apporter l’accord afin que nous puissions être fait avec ces envahisseurs anglais - bring the agreement so we can be done with these English invaders.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this part, please let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

Chapter Eight - A Tale of Two Countries

Sirius and Y/N had barely been in England for six months before they were sailing back across the channel to France. King James wanted the summit to take place in England but Francis was adamant that he wasn’t leaving French soil. Sirius expected the King to disagree with Francis but James graciously agreed. Perhaps, James wanted to put Francis in a good mood before beginning their agreement.  

However, Sirius wasn’t complaining, if it wasn’t for his love for the King then he imagined he would stay in France for the rest of his days. Sirius had missed the rolling green countryside of France, he had missed the way that the air smelled after the rain and he had missed the perfume of the blooms from the wild flowers that they found on their trek through the endless forest.

The Duke was worried about his wife though, he had hardly left her side for a second of the voyage, and he could tell that she was uncomfortable due to her pregnancy. He wanted to make sure that she didn’t want for anything, even if she wanted the stars in the sky, Sirius would plunder heaven for them. He had to make sure that he protected both his Duchess and his unborn child.

Though, Sirius had rarely seen Y/N this happy as she rode through the woods Sirius smiled as her giggle and exclamations of joy echoed through the trees. Y/N smiled at him as she reached over and took his hand; bringing it to her lips as her other hand was wrapped tightly in the reins. He flushed at her gentle touch.

“I’m so happy to be back, Sirius, if only for a short while. Spain was my first home but I always felt alone there. I never felt alone here, not for a second, not even when I was against you.”

An indescribable wave of love washed over him as he looked at Y/N and saw just how happy she was, “you’ll never have to feel alone Y/N, I promise,” he grinned and glanced at the winding road for a second. It was there, through the trees that he noticed the different coloured tents and he knew that they were close to the campsite where the summit would be taking place, “we’re almost there, my love,” Sirius heard Y/N release a deep nervous breath and they rode into the unknown together.

The campsite was vast and heavily populated, Sirius swallowed back his nerves as he dismounted before helping Y/N off her own mount and they walked behind James to meet King Francis.

“Your Majesty,” James spoke through clenched teeth as his household sank into deep bows and curtseys, “allow me to introduce my Queen, Lily,” Francis inclined his head as he kissed Lily’s hand, “allow me also to introduce Sirius Black, the Duke of Bedford and his Duchess, Lady Y/N of Spain.”

Francis’ eyes glittered jovially as he pressed a kiss to the inside of Y/N’s wrist and Sirius had to hold himself back. When Francis shook Sirius’ hand he noticed the mirth that encompassed Francis’ handsome face and Sirius raised an eyebrow in a silent question, “my dear Y/N, once the celebrated Princess of the Castile, before you had to settle for a Duke so beneath your station, you are most welcome here,” his accent was deep and rich, laced with mocking.

Sirius’ jaw clenched at his slight and he could feel the anger radiating from his wife. He gently pressed a hand against her lower back, he loved her fiery attitude but they had to stay on Francis’ good side. England would not survive an invasion from France, even with Spain at their backs. Y/N relaxed and Francis almost looked disappointed.

“Shall we get to business then?” he gestured to the inside of his tent, allowing his guests to enter first. Though James entered at the same time as Francis, like an equal.

Sirius noticed Y/N looking around the sickly sweet smelling tent with a mingled look of interest and fear, he wanted to hold her and tell her that everything would be okay. Unfortunately, there was work to be done and a bargain to be struck.

When everyone was seated and had been given a goblet of honeyed summer wine, James turned his attention to the man who called himself the King of France, “where do we start?”

Francis let a cocky smile grace his face as he slouched back in his chair, lazily running a hand through his hair. Such arrogance, “let’s make this easy, Bedford can keep control of his lands here in France,” he bowed his head graciously at Sirius. Sirius tried not to grimace, he concentrated on the warmth of his wife’s hand on his knee, “as long as you don’t use the men stationed there to bring an attack upon my beloved France.”

James cleared his throat as he leaned forward, folding his fingers together, “and how can we guarantee that you won’t bring an attack upon England?”

“A fair question,” Francis nodded, “I’ll send a moderate army of men, as I understand it, you’ve been at odds with Scotland for quite some time now and now this talk of rebels in Cumbria,” he tutted, shaking his head. Sirius wondered how the news got as far as France, “you need all the men you can get, and it’s not much good only having Spain to defend you. No offense meant, my Lady,” he bowed his head at Y/N.

Y/N’s lip curled and it looked like her eyes were on fire, it seemed as though Sirius’ Princess didn’t care much for the French King. The two Kings negotiated until the sun set and Sirius was getting a headache from all the incense that filled the room. It seemed to Sirius that Francis was holding something back; he wasn’t laying all of his cards on the table. It could not bode well.

“Before we sign the treaty, there is one more thing to be promised, words are not good enough and I think it would be beneficial to the both of us. I have a Prince and a Princess barely past infancy so I propose a marriage contract,” Lily stiffened at the mention of children and she exchanged a worried look with James, “but I am not a picky man, any child that comes from your Majesty’s union will only be half royal, if you’ll excuse my words. Would it not be simpler to have an arrangement where we know a child with royal blood is certainly coming?” his eyes flickered over to Y/N and his gaze dropped to the swell of her stomach.

Sirius fought back the urge to dive across the table and grab the French King by the collar; there was no way on heaven or earth that he’d be giving his child to France. For the first time that afternoon, anger disappeared from Y/N’s face and her eyes welled up with tears and an expression of desperation came over her face.

“You want my baby?” her bottom lip quivered as she gripped Sirius’ sleeve so hard that Sirius thought the material would tear, “Sirius,” she whispered beneath her breath as she glanced at him with desperate eyes.

Sirius kissed her forehead and wiped away her tears with his thumb, he couldn’t bear for anyone to hurt her. With a flash of red hot fury, Sirius glared over at Francis, “absolutely not, no! I refuse,” he growled, resting his hand on Y/N’s stomach, gazing down in wonder as he felt his baby kick against his hand for the first time.

“That’s out of the question!” Lily fired up at once, tossing her flaming red hair as she narrowed her eyes at Francis, “Lady Y/N is not the Queen! The burden to promise you a child does not rest on her, I’m not yet pregnant, it’s true but rest assured I will have a son.”

Francis considered the Queen with a ghost of a smirk on his face, “and you can be certain of this?”

“I swear upon the cross that there will be a son,” she said without flinching. A gasp travelled through the room and Sirius’ eyes widened, that was an enormous claim to make. Swearing upon the cross was no small thing.

Francis looked taken aback for a second before an ugly look came over his face and he pointed a finger at Y/N. Sirius’ blood ran hot and he was about to rise from his seat but Y/N stopped him with a gentle hand on his knee.

“Rest assured, if the Queen is lying, then I will have a royal child from England or there’s no deal,” he turned to the servant at his elbow, muttering rapidly in French. Sirius could understand it perfectly, “apporter l’accord afin que nous puissions être fait avec ces envahisseurs anglais.”

As soon as the treaty was brought and signed by both Kings, Francis clapped James on the shoulder, announcing their newfound friendship. It was something for James to be proud of; his father had never managed to sign a treaty with France. Francis was smiling so brightly that it was almost like the past ten minutes hadn’t happened, like he hadn’t launched an attack on Y/N.

As soon as the meeting was concluded, Y/N was the first one to depart from the incense infused tent with a swish of skirts, “Y/N,” Sirius called out hopelessly as he got to his feet.

Lily stopped him, “she needs some time, I’ll see to her,” Lily tried to smile as she squeezed his hand.

Sirius nodded and let the Queen go, even though his entire body was screaming at him to go after his wife. All he wanted to do was comfort her.

----------------------------------------

You didn’t know how long you had been wrapped up in Lily’s arms but you guessed that it had been a while. You had cried all the tears that you had in your body, soaking Lily’s silk dress and now your eyes felt red and sore. It must have been the pregnancy hormones because you had never been like this – not even when you had left Spain – you never wore your emotions on your sleeve like this.

In the past, if someone had dared threaten you or your family, then you would have fought back, you had the spirit of a stallion. Though, in the smirking and mocking glances of the French King, you turned into a withering flower. You had even run away from your husband, like a scared little girl.

A smile graced your lips as you felt your child kick against your hands, it was a funny feeling, it was like it was telling you that everything would be okay. It was then that you knew you had to stay strong for your child and your husband both. If anyone threatened them again then you would rage against the threat like a burning inferno. You sat up; rubbing your sore eyes, smiling when you felt Lily’s hands cupping your cheeks, the cool metal of her rings soothed your hot skin.

“I’m going to go to Sirius; I should have gone to him before. I’m sorry Your Majesty, I’m sorry for being a blubbering mess,” you grimaced, feeling a little embarrassed.

Lily shook her head, “there’s nothing to apologise for, and you comforted me after that awful witch lied about the fate of my future child. Are you sure that you want to leave?” she smiled kindly and you nodded, thinking of your poor husband.

“Whatever I’m feeling, he must be feeling it to, it’s his child too,” you rested your hands against your stomach, “I have to go to him, goodnight Your Majesty,” you kissed her cheek before you stood up and departed from Lily’s tent.

The campsite smelled of a hundred burning fires and the long grass was cool against your ankles as you made your way to your tent. Sirius had been sitting on the bed with his head in his hands and he looked up as soon as you walked in. His hair was tangled more than usual, his eyes were wild and there were crescent shaped marks in his palms where he had been digging his nails in.

You smiled gently as you sat beside him and cupped his beautiful face, his eyes watched you as you gently trailed your fingers down his skin and rested your thumb on his plump lower lip. You giggled softly as he pressed a kiss to your thumb.

You wanted to remember this beauty forever, you would love him till the day you died, “I’m sorry that I didn’t come to you before.”

He shook his head before he pressed his forehead against yours, “don’t apologise, my darling. I know how much that bastard hurt you.”

You giggled as you pressed a kiss to his lips, “promise me that when it comes time for our child to marry, they can marry who they choose. They can marry for love,” that was all you wanted for your child, to find a great love like you did.

Sirius nodded, his fingers tangling in your hair, “I promise,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “come with me,” he helped you up and you frowned at him as he led you into the night.

“Where are we going?” you asked as Sirius helped you onto his horse and he got behind you, wrapping his arms around you as he gripped the reins.

Sirius kissed the back of your neck and you felt him smile against your skin, “I want to cheer you up,” he said simply before riding through the forest.

Beneath the light of the silvery moon, the forest seemed like a whole new world. The moonlight streamed through the trees, casting everything in silver, it was magic. Sirius rode for about half an hour and you recognised the way he was going, you recognised the noise of the trickling stream and the smell of growing fruit.

Sirius beamed at you as he helped you from the horse, the moonlight shined around his head like a halo and you were certain that he couldn’t get any more beautiful than he looked right now. He kissed you passionately, leaning you against a tree, his hands travelling down your body, you giggled into his mouth as you pushed him back slightly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Did you bring me all the way out here just to have your wicked way with me?” you grinned, stroking your fingers across his smooth cheek.

Sirius laughed, smoothing a hand through your hair, “no, but that idea is certainly tempting,” he pressed a last kiss to your lips, “I wanted to bring you to the place where I knew that I loved you, even if I didn’t say it,” he kissed your hand and led you through the cherry blossom trees and you gasped in delight as you gazed at the beautiful hidden chapel, washed with silver light.

“This is where we got married. You knew that you loved me on our wedding day?” you smiled, wrapping your arms around him; it was so amazing that you had managed to find this man.

Sirius nodded as he cupped your cheek, his eyes searching your face, “I knew that I was done for when I saw you walk down the aisle, you looked so beautiful, you are so beautiful. I never thought that I could love anybody as much as I love you and I feel I don’t tell you often enough. I want our child to be as lucky as we are; I want them to find someone who would love them so desperately, just like I love you. I’ll love you till the day I die Y/N.”

You hadn’t realised that you were crying until the warm liquid ran over your lips and you smiled up at the beautiful man who was baring his soul to you, “and I’ll love you till the day I die, plus one day. You are everything to me Sirius, I love you.”

Sirius grinned as he pulled you closer and kissed you until your head spun, you never wanted to part from him. You had found the one person you had been waiting for, for your entire life.

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A Still Beating Heart. Yan Alucard x Reader [COMM]

warnings: isolation and mentions of blood word count: 2k

To free yourself from the clutches of your room means to explore this archaic mansion, in search of some form of solace. 

The hallways are long-winding, foreboding. Drawn curtains block out sunlight’s kiss, leaving naught but sinister shadows at the end of each hall, indecipherable to the naked eye. Wood in colors consisting of rich hickory are present at every turn, impeccably clean and detailed in their carvings. Atop antique sideboards sit various trinkets, surely a finding any archaeologist would die to examine. You’ve been told that what’s his is yours, to help yourself to any treasures that capture your eye. What use are the finest, exotic luxuries from centuries past in a prison like this? 

Candlelight guides you on your way, though you worry it’s damaging your eyesight. Squinting has become far too common for your liking, to make out where it is you’re going is a challenge when natural light is forbidden. Old floorboards creak underneath your tentative steps, leading you to inhale sharply. Does it even matter if you make a noise that could possibly alert him? Even now, your gut warns that there is another set of eyes set upon your figure. Watching as you weave in and out of rooms in search of entertainment, internally snuffing out sinister intentions that you draw out like water from a well. 

The fear of being watched, studied like an animal in a cage while remaining none the wiser to the horrors in the walls has faded with time. Birthed from a primitive drive centered around preservation of the self, to keep your sanity in a delicate balance. Every flicker of candlelight, that cast shadows upon its surroundings, used to frighten you. To the point any sign of movement, any sound without an immediately identifiable source, would render you inconsolable. Now, you choose to pay it little mind, having grown acquainted with the unknown. 

Your destination has been reached, lithe fingers wrapped around the silver candlestick placing it down on a nearby wooden console. The door is unlocked, opening easily at your prompting, candlestick back in hand to illuminate the seemingly unending maze of bookshelves. A sigh of relief makes its way past your lips, grateful for the reprieve before you. Entertainment is sparse, reading one of the few reliable sources of passing the time. How thoughtful of him to grant this sparse freedom, bitterness growing inside you like a thorn covered vine. 

Fingertips brush over the spines of numerous books, and you closely examine the detailings of each one. The languages you can recognize are few and far between, from Romanian to Turkish. Reading in a language you can’t understand will do you no good, so you settle upon one of the few English titles. The Castle of Otranto, a seemingly fitting read for the macabre atmosphere that surrounds. Making yourself comfortable on a nearby love seat, you once again place the candlestick down and open the book on your lap. The sensation of hardened paper against your skin brings with it, among other things, familiarity. Black ink captures you, sending you into a world far away from here. Some realities are too good to be true, and your little escape is spoiled before it ever truly begins.

“I never seem capable of guessing which one you will pick.” 

A natural reaction to a new sound, your head lifts in search of identifying the direction it reverberates from. The deep, rumbling voice has no single point of origin, instead encompassing you from every corner of the library. How many times has Alucard played this game with you, and how many times will you allow him to? It’s not entirely possible for you to control every aspect of human biology, you’re incapable of stopping how your pupils dilate and the goosebumps that dot your skin. He goes beyond any understanding, transcending into the throes of unnatural. An uncanny valley, where you can almost place your finger on it, but it remains far too murky to know for certain. 

In his presence, there will be no enjoying the pleasures of reading, so you shut the book. “Then you must not know me as well as you claim.” 

His laughter starts softly. An unholy sound that colors the depths of your soul with dread, like a single drop of dark ink into formally purified water. With every second that progresses at a sluggish pace, his amusement corrupts you further, until there’s nothing left to do but glare defiantly at the empty spaces around. If he wants to play coy, taunting you from a distance, then so be it. Exchanges like this that left you a nervous wreck have become commonplace. In the recesses of your mind, a temptation blooms to slander him as a coward. For not materializing into physical form, in fear of the onslaught of your scrutiny that would lash out. But you know the unpleasant truth, he has nothing to fear from the likes of you. 

It's for the sake of your fragile psyche he often chooses to remain out of sight. 

How belittling, you think. That he should place you on a pedestal high enough to consider your mental well being, but still sees fit to keep you under lock and key for himself. Lamenting about your predicament has never filled the void in your heart he tore out, so you push the thoughts as far down as you can. Your mouth is settled into a straight line, head resting atop your fist. If he’s going to poke and prod from afar, the least he can do is dignify you with eye contact. 

Looking at the last spot his voice resonated from, your eyebrows knit together with irritation. “Come out already. Stop playing these trifling games.” 

The loose strands of hair that frame your face are pushed back, by wind of no identifiable origin, chilling your body to the bone. You hug the sides of your bare arms, cursing yourself for picking a flimsy nightgown to wear, the temperature of the room dropping unnaturally. Flicks of ebony and crimson appear by your side, slowly but surely taking the silhouette of a man. The height difference between you two is always unsettling, no matter his claims of never harming you. Eyes that have seen centuries of conflict blink, pallid flesh becoming a physical reality and filling out into a face. This sight is one you’ve bore witness to many times, and each time you feel further from God, like you’re seeing something you shouldn’t be. A deeply forbidden and imposing evil. 

“I’ve done as you’ve asked, there’s no need to glare at the wall anymore.” 

Not seeing an advantage in offering a response, you choose to ignore the comment. “What is it you want, Alucard?” 

Your own tone is exasperated, words cutting straight to the heart of the issue. He takes note of this immediately, and you come to regret your uncharacteristic impatience. Eyelids fluttering shut for a moment to regain your composure, you see him staring down at you with an unreadable countenance once they reopen. There’s a pressing issue on his mind, you know as you’re the centerpiece of it. He must not intend on bringing it up just yet, instead paying heed to the book you picked out. 

“Do you find the selection agreeable?” 

A low hum leaves your lips at the question, and you consider it, before offering an honest opinion. “I can’t read most of the books here.” 

“Should I translate them for you? Or, perhaps, teach you the languages themselves?” Alucard offers after a moment’s deliberation, and you find it strange. The version of him that sits beside you now, consulting you like it’s a normal conversation. As if the hands that stay by his side haven’t been tainted with the blood of thousands, instead taking an almost considerate approach in speaking with you. You can’t claim to understand how a monster such as Alucard became so beguiled by your existence, and something tells you he doesn’t understand it himself.

“There’s no need.” 

Your voice lacks the force it normally exerts, body feeling as if it’s growing further from you. Subconsciously, your hand raises to the side of your head, grimacing at the pounding ache that’s growing stronger by the minute. Acting like nothing is wrong is a feeble effort anyways, he’s already caught onto your dilapidated state. It doesn’t matter how cautious you had been in disposing the blood set aside for your consumption, it was only a matter of time until it’d catch up with you. The hand that remains free goes to the cushion of the couch, fingers entrenching themselves into the fabric and ripping it in the process.

“How long have you gone without it?” He finally stops dancing around the sore subject, much to your chagrin. Alucard sounds exasperated, and if it weren’t for endangering predicament, you might feel a hint of pride. To procure any reaction from him that goes against his wishes is a victory, as far as you’re concerned. Petty as it may be, he himself is far worse. So you relish in the knowledge that you’ve made him miserable, even if it can never match the amount he has inflicted on you. 

The world as you know it is growing unsteady, even as you sit perfectly still. A taboo longing constricts your body, muscles taut and chest heaving. “I lost track.” 

It’s an honest admission. Your little sideshow of rejecting what keeps you alive -- if you can even call this state of being that -- has been ongoing for a while now. An act of defiance to spite Alucard further, that still doesn’t fill you with enough satisfaction. It’s a regret to know that nothing will ever fulfill you, nothing but the ambrosia of freedom, too sweet and out of reach for you to taste. The shadow of a life you now live has ensured that, a nightmare bestowed upon you by Alucard’s innate need. 

“This isn’t even the worst of it,” he lowers his voice, speaking with such delicacy it makes you sick to your stomach. “Should you choose to stay like this, you’ll feel misery beyond words. Give up this futile act of defiance.” 

He speaks right next to you, inches from your ear, but it doesn’t properly register. Emotions haunt you like a curse, a spectrum of despair to raw want. You want blood. You want the taste of iron to lavish itself upon your tongue, temporarily filling the hole of animalistic hunger that you can no longer push down. It’s a flame that’s lit within you, and there is no further hope in extinguishing it. Your own thoughts are replaced by a need to survive, your hands moving without your prompting. 

By your side, he has nicked his finger, liquid crimson falling like a waterfall from heaven. There are no signs of your own self, autonomy thrown to the side. Your soft, paling lips, latch onto the source of vitality. Alucard watches wordlessly, an emotion that can almost be defined as regret flashing through his eyes. This is the fate that he had inflicted upon you, a lifetime of being a vampire like himself. It isn’t what he wanted for you -- to burden you with the weight he has carried for centuries past -- but you left him no choice. Having seen you lying, seconds away from death’s door, he had to act. To preserve your life, to keep you with him. 

You pull away, mouth smeared deep vermillion, eyes growing glassy. There’s no point in holding onto the shreds of honor that left you a long time ago, and you collapse against his solid frame. Alucard has never been capable of comforting you, not beyond melancholic touches that seem to pain him more than you. Sniffling against his shoulder, your hand raises, threatening to strike, before losing strength and falling down. Humiliating as it may be, you don’t care, holding desperately to any form of consolation this world may offer you. 

Alucard, the one who clipped your wings in the name of love, can only watch as you curse and cry out to him. 

more thoughts on WOT S1E5

On a shallow note: this show is SO PRETTY. I gasped when Rand and Mat went out on that rise/cliff and we saw Dragonmount behind Tar Valon. So so pretty.

And Rand and Perrin both look very cute with their longer hair. I hope the show keeps that length on them.

Book spoilers below!

Loial does kinda look like a Next Gen-era Klingon but it works for me. The actor’s delivery was so perfect and I love how low-key amused he was by literally everything Rand was saying/doing.

The little Forsaken statuettes! So cute! lol Graendal is so hilariously obvious.

I definitely got overexcited about hearing that Siuan is coming back from Caemlyn despite KNOWING I will not be seeing my girl until S2 (...unless?).

The show did a good job setting up the Whitecloaks hating and fearing Perrin specifically. Because they know Aes Sedai, they know what to expect. But Perrin was this whole new potential danger that had Valda going ‘oh shit oh shit’. The Perrin and Egwene storyline needed the most settling for me, maybe because it was closer to the books than the others, but the more it settles, the more I liked it. Egwene is tough as fucking nails, y’all. Backbone of steel.

Bookworm!Rand has made his first appearance, bless. Everything with Rand in this episode was gold. Meeting Loial! Every conversation with Mat! Reuniting with Nynaeve! Ta’veren bullshit, lol, love it.

And everything with Rand has so much rewatchability, imo. Once show-only viewers are in on his Whole Deal, they will get an entirely new experience out of his scenes, I think. There was so much emotional depth and foreshadowing and character work going on. Joshua is doing an amazing job. So much subtlety! I really liked how they were able to use Thom’s warning about letting the Aes Sedai near Mat as a way to show us Rand’s fears about male channeling and what it would mean for one of them. Everything that Rand is going through is so incredibly relevant to his journey and that is something that will hopefully be clear to viewers after the reveal. All the big shiny red herrings being thrown around at the other characters are also things that are not actually relevant to being the Dragon, they are just Magical Interesting Things.

Hopefully, show viewers will also be able to put Rand’s earlier doubts about Moiraine into more context after seeing Nynaeve agreeing with him, as Nynaeve is already a fan-favorite (from what I’ve seen online). Because even though his doubts made complete sense at the time, since he was set up against Egwene’s sympathy for Moiraine plus Moiraine being more of the audience PoV character, it meant, I think, that audience sympathy would lean more towards Egwene than Rand in that scene. So, hopefully, seeing that Nynaeve agrees with him will balance those scales a bit.

The Stepin and Lan conversation casually further normalizing the polyam nature of Alanna-Maksim-Ivhon’s bond... yes, thank you, I will take this as a further sign that the big polyam quad to come is going to be actualized on-screen. *crosses fingers*

Though I don’t have a lot of in-depth things to say about Stepin’s plot, I did enjoy it for how it expanded and visualized a lot of things about how important and all-encompassing the Warder bond is, so that when that information becomes more centrally-relevant in later seasons, we won’t need an info-dump. And the entire White Tower plotline gave us so much character information about Nynaeve and the various Aes Sedai sisters, so I greatly enjoyed all that.

Someone Better

(Queen of Disaster Series)

pairings: Bucky Barnes x qod!reader, some Steve Rogers x reader and some Thor x reader

warnings: language, angst, fluff, insecure Bucky :(

notes: if you guys have any ideas/requests/hc’s you’d like to see played out in the series let me know! // a continuation of the queen of disaster series

summary: Bucky has finally accepted that he likes you. But does your heart already belong to someone else?

Bucky Barnes knows that he likes you.

But what he also knows is that he doesn’t stands a chance with you.

You’re complete opposites, first of all. The Winter Soldier and the Queen of Disaster are two names that should never be put together- unless, of course, you’re purposefully trying to create chaos. Bucky isn’t the kind of man you want. Stoic, closed off, struggling every day to pacify the demons that toil with his sanity. You want someone who can keep up with you, who can match the endless amount of energy you carry, someone who isn’t so uptight and stiff. You want someone who will hold you close and keep you safe at night, not someone who might choke you in your sleep as a result of their night terrors.

Maybe you deserve someone like Steve.

“Come on, Cap! Move your feet!” You encourage, your bright laughter causing the soldier to break out into an embarrassed grin. The speakers of the common room blast a song Bucky has never heard before played by a band the old timer is unfamiliar with.

“My moves aren’t exactly what they used to be, kid,” Steve chuckles bashfully. His big feet step on your toes for the tenth time that day and he cringes at his mistake, but if you notice it you don’t seem to mind his screw up.

The Winter Soldier walks in to see the couches have been pushed back in order to create a makeshift dance floor, and at the center stands a flustered Steve trying to keep up with your movements. Your face is flushed with modest droplets of sweat coating your forehead, stray hairs escaping your ponytail and sticking to the back of your neck. Steve dips you, blue eyes never leaving yours in fear that he may drop you if he isn’t careful, and by god if the laughter that escapes you at the act isn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. Bucky’s never heard you laugh like that before, and he’s never seen you so carefree and happy. Would you ever let him hold you like that?

“Oh, Bucky!” You exclaim, finally noting his presence. From your view he appears to be upside down, causing you to giggle further. “It’s a good thing you’re here! I’ve been introducing Steve to new songs and dances all day. You should join us!”

“I don’t really dance,” is Bucky’s half assed reply, and it earns him a mock pout from you.

“Nonsense! I can’t feel my toes anymore on account of how many time’s Steve has stepped on them but I’m still having a good time. Come on!” You try again.

“Loosen up a bit, Buck,” Steve agrees with a friendly smile, and Bucky had never wanted to punch his friend more in his entire life than he did now. But it wasn’t Steve’s fault, and it wasn’t yours either. You deserved a good man like Steve, he would treat you right, keep you safe when the monsters came out at night. Captain America stood a better chance at winning your heart than the Winter Soldier ever did.

“Maybe some other time,” Bucky counters dejectedly, quickly fleeing the scene before the two of you can argue further.

He finds out later that the song Steve had so frivolously dipped you to was a song performed by the Contours- Do You Love Me (Now That I Can Dance). How ironic.

Bucky spends the rest of his evening quietly listening to the song as he imagines what it would be like to dance with you.

Maybe you don’t end up with Steve, but Bucky knows he won’t be next in line to contend for your heart. Maybe you’ll succumb to Thor’s charm and strength.

“Here?” Thor asks. Your eyes raise slowly from your book and glance towards the ground from where you sit.

“Little more to the left,” you direct. It’s then that Bucky walks past your room, stopping in the open doorway flabbergasted at the sight before him. With only one arm is Thor lifting your sofa, and on top of it you sit reading your favorite book as if being carried on your couch by a brawny god is an everyday occurrence for you. The Asgardian does not so much as produce one single droplet of sweat nor does he show any signs of difficulty lifting your furniture. The sight is oddly domestic in a sense, and it makes Bucky’s stomach churn. Sure, he was a super soldier. But there was no comparison there when it came to Thor.

“Here you are, sweet y/n,” Thor announces with a smile, carefully setting you back down. The fondness in his eyes is clear as day as he gazes upon you, and it’s obvious there must be something there. Could there already be something there? “I hope it is to your liking.”

“Thank you Thor, I don’t know what I’d do without your help,” you reply gratefully. Thor was strong, his heart was big enough to encompass an undying love for you if it ever came to that point, and he literally could treat you like royalty. You don’t notice Bucky’s retreating form, and no one says a word about the extra hours he begins putting in at the gym after that.

Falling in love with someone could be complicated, but that was an understatement when it came to Bucky Barnes. Was the Winter Soldier even capable of having a love life? Could a monster who had created countless widows and orphaned thousands of children really be deserving of your love? Or was he doomed to continue his self inflicted penance until his very last breath?

James Barnes didn’t want to know.

~~~

Bucky is half asleep when you make your presence known in his bedroom at three in the morning, prodding his cheek with your index finger and urging him to scoot over. Annoyed but compliant, the soldier does as you wish and allows you the refuge you seek amongst his sheets; he’s too tired to argue with you and pretend that your late night visit bothers him.

“I had a bad dream,” you explain quietly, struggling to find a comfortable position to sleep in and kicking Bucky repeatedly in the process.

“Yeah?” He grunts in response, his metal arm weighing down on your torso to keep you still because god damnit, if your cold foot kicks him one more time.

“I was dreaming... and Tony was dead. Natasha too. And it was dark,” you whisper, not caring whether or not Bucky is listening to the words you so desperately need to get out. “I hate the dark.”

“I know,” Bucky murmurs softly. His warm breath hits the bare skin of your shoulder in a way that assuages the storm festering in the pit of your stomach.

You swallow softly. “It was my fault they were dead. No one told me it was but they didn’t have to. I just knew.”

“How did you know?”

“Because I always mess up. I make mistakes. Fury still thinks I’m just a little kid, and I know there are people who think I don’t belong here with you guys. Because I’ll just get someone killed.”

Silent tears slide down your warm cheeks but your breathing remains steady and calm. Cool metal brushes against your skin as Bucky delicately wipes your tears away.

“You deserve to be here,” Bucky affirms strongly. “You’ve proven yourself countless times before, you’ve held your own, and you’re a team player. You’re literally everyone’s favorite. Are you a little clumsy sometimes? Definitely. Stubborn? Oh, yeah. Immature?”

“Okay, I get it,” you laugh, wiping away the remaining tears. “Thank you.”

“Anytime brat,” Bucky grins fondly, his heart skipping a beat at the way you latch yourself to his body like a koala would to a tree.

You desperately wish that Bucky could realize that he doesn’t need to be the strongest man or the best dancer to win you over. Holding you in his arms, chasing the nightmares away, and making you feel seen and heard is enough for you.

You really like Bucky Barnes, and you hope that one day he’ll be able to realize just how much he means to you.

| tags: @rororo06 @bbyspiiice @tofeartheunknown @thefallenbibliophilequote @ahappylilybug2019 @iamaunicorn4704 @dumbbitch11 |

Adroit (#8) - FFXIV Write 2021

Length: 1,298 words

Warnings: Small mention of blood

Time Period: ??? (undetermined for now)

Character(s):

“A’venshi, are you sure we should be doing this?”

The Xaela girl followed extremely close behind her Seeker companion, her large dragon-like tail tucked between her legs as they walked. She nervously scanned the area, every step making her more and more anxious.

A’venshi turned a little, allowing Epheldene to see her hands. “It’s a simple mission, Epheldene,” she signed, her eyes sparkling with reassurance. “Besides, it’s the first mission Red has given to Primi. She wouldn’t put her or us in danger.”

Epheldene averted her gaze, looking out to the sea of the Bloodshore. They’d just recently stepped into the sand, walking along one of the many beaches of Eastern La Noscea. The sun was just beginning to set over the horizon, and the waves were gentle with barely more than a light breeze carrying them to shore. Even in such an atmosphere of relaxation, the Au Ra could hardly find it within herself to feel calm.

“C’mon, c’mon! I heard it was sighted just over this way!” The young blonde Miqo shouted from many yalms away as she’d excitedly run ahead, hoping to find their prey first.

“Shouldn’t we at least have a tank or something? Couldn’t we have invited Sylvian?” The Xaela sank further behind her friend as though she were trying to hide.

“I don’t think this is as scary as you think it is,” she signed with a sigh.

Before long, the group had made it more than halfway across the beach, and it was starting to become apparent that their quarry was missing. Primi began to lose the energy that a new adventure was giving her, and she eventually fell back enough to walk side-by-side with the other two. Epheldene quietly exhaled, relieved that their party may come to an end, hopeful that they won’t try again another day.

“Perhaps we should head back,” A’venshi was slow with her hand movements, showing some remorse as she gently let down the younger Miqo. “I’m sorry, Primi. But there’s always next time.”

The Keeper’s ears drooped, her normally swishing tail lying listless behind her. “Okay…” she didn’t even try to hide her disappointment. The group slowed to a stop, taking in the beach air before they would decide to turn around and head home.

As they stood there, silently enjoying the beach as the civilians who begged they’d take this quest would be doing if not for the supposed monster terrorizing them, the group heard a sudden, extraordinarily loud THUM, a misty shower of seawater falling upon them in the next moment. All three of them slowly turned around, each of their eyes being greeted by a massive, horrifying crab monster - and it appeared to be pissed. It instantly dropped an enormous claw down on the beach, Primi just barely getting out of the way and A’venshi having to jump onto Epheldene to get them both clear of the attack.

“There it is! There it is!” Primi ecstatically jumped up and down, clapping her hands as the monster known as Cancer slowly lifted its claw and drew it back, making its next move apparent.

“Primi, focus!” A’venshi signed urgently before grabbing her chakrams from her waist, Epheldene moaning in fear while still in the sand beside her.

“Don’t worry, I got this!” The Keeper Miqo swiftly took her Summoning book from her hip, flipping it open and calling forth Ifrit as her egi in one smooth motion. She crouched down, focusing on writing some longform spell on the pages as her summon began its assault. Cancer unleashed a horrifying swipe onto the egi, crashing its claw into the beach and sending a wave of sand into the air. Ifrit prevailed, keeping up its fiery onslaught with its talons as Primi finished her command. In a series of explosive attacks, Ifrit unleashed its full power onto the monster before it suddenly disappeared, and just as quickly an enormous creature the likes of which no one had ever seen appeared behind the egi’s conjurer.

An elated smile found its way to the youth’s face as she let loose an unrelenting flurry of attacks, each coming from the dragon-like being floating behind her. Explosive beams of light encompassed the monster, each fantastical burst of energy creating a deafening roar and blinding glow. The ruthless bombardment seemed never-ending and only intensified with each passing moment, the force of her attack blowing back the sea and knocking her friends further and further away. Many minutes of this assault passed before Primi finally lifted her book in front of her, placing her free hand over it and closing her eyes. A circle of light appeared beneath her, lifting her hair and clothing ever so slightly, and when she opened her eyes, they emitted a pure white light. “Hhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!” She began with a growl that evolved into a yell as the ground began ferociously trembling, unleashing a final, impossibly bright beam of light that released an echoing screech before a deep boom as it imploded her target from the inside out.

One last flash of white light, and afterwards all that remained to be seen was billowing smoke surrounding the entire area. Everyone was still as it dissipated, save for Primi who brought her hand to her mouth to cough.

Once it was possible to see again, it was apparent that nothing but a small slab of Cancer’s carapace, located in the center of a decently large crater, remained. A short while later, the water returned to the shore, the waves creating a pool in the rounded blemish in the sand.

A’venshi and Epheldene sat some yalms away, having been thrown to the ground from the beginning of the attack, initiated by the youth they were initially escorting.

“Huh,” The Seeker finally stopped holding her breath. She sat up and turned back towards Epheldene. “This mission was simpler than I thought,” her hands trembled as she signed.

The Xaela sat there, slack-jawed and completely frozen. She thought back to all the times her beloved Ura would pick a fight with that teenager standing victorious before them. She really thought the elder was going easy on her like a mentor, but now she believed it was possible they were equal rivals.

Primi carefully stepped down into the crater to retrieve the carapace as proof that the beach was now safe. She triumphantly lifted it into the air, shouting back to her friends, “See, I told you I had it!”

A’venshi pushed herself up, though her legs felt a bit like jelly. She dusted herself off before offering a hand to Epheldene, who used the help to get up but still appeared completely dumbfounded. The young Miqo’te ran over to them, proudly presenting what she’d earned. A’venshi smiled at her, though her concern still showed on her brow, and she rubbed the top of Primi’s head as a show of her pride in the youth.

The Keeper beamed up at the two of them, and suddenly Epheldene was snapped from her stupor. “Primi, your mouth…”

A’venshi looked from Epheldene back to the hero of the day, and she gasped lightly as they both watched her wipe the blood from her lips with the back of her hand, her expression not changing as she looked at it.

“It’s okay! C’mon, let’s go! I wanna show Red and Nylos what I got!” She turned and started running away from them, but the pair remained standing there still. They looked at each other for a moment, and then back to her as she got further away. The sound of the ocean’s waves became louder as the wind picked up, and they waited a few laps, quiet in contemplation before they resolved to follow her and head home.

It would make for quite the story, after all.

Playlist Update Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

Part 2! Here lies Endless War, Dystopian Fiction, and Filaments. EW hasn’t changed much, DF has a bit and it's all INFECTED's fault, and Filaments has more than three songs finally. My explanations for these aren't quite as fleshed out (partially bc there's less in my head to flesh out with and partially because these aren't nearly as set in playdough as the main playlist. more like set in syrup)

Part One

In chronological order:

Endless War

Dark Matter is here because it always is, twining through everything else.

(Don’t stop, don’t think, don’t look back/You’re a bolt of lightning in the sky now/Don’t stop, don’t think, don’t look back/I’ve pulled you in, nowhere to hide now)

I Am the One links into Eater of Worlds as sort of the aftermath, sort of during Apocalypse 1992. Our Fifth General has her realization about [REDACTED] far, far before Team Voltron does because she’s there in the thick of it during Through Apocalypse Skies.

(I am the one/I hold the dreams from fallen heroes)

(We are gods, we are monsters/We create to devour/Not for love but for power/What’s a life worth in the end?)

(From the caves beneath Dundee/Ancient hermit arrives/A messenger to the war in the stars/Korviliath is nigh!)

The Truth Beneath the Rose is from the perspective of our last (and first) Blade in the aftermath of Through Apocalypse Skies, as she realizes just what she helped create. Also… kinda connects to a song in the main playlist, but not very obviously.

(Blinded to see the cruelty of the beast/It is the darker side of me/The veil of my dreams deceived that I have seen/Forgive me for what I have been, forgive me my sins!)

Raise Your Banner is The Fifth General’s newfound resolve as she starts collecting allies against Zarkon’s empire.

(Wake up/I’m defying you, seeing right through you, once I believed in you/Wake up/Feel what’s coming deep within we all know)

Obey is a bit of a weird one. It’s in the same vein as You Keep What You Kill in the main playlist, but it’s more specifically about the creation of the first Druids and how Haggar uses them against the Fifth General and her team.

(Obey, we're gonna show you how to behave/Obey, it's nicer when you can't see the chains)

Silver Moonlight is cracks forming in The Fifth General’s new set of alliances and her desperate and occasionally rash attempts to get them to believe in her goal. Not just the main one to take down the empire, but the one that will allow them to do that.

(I’m impatient, but it’s colors that I need/Too many shades of grey, I cannot breathe/The dreams I have ain’t tainted, I need you to believe/The only way to make them real, oh)

Endless War is the title track, connected to Holy Ground and I’d Rather Burn as a specific event but also sort of encompassing the Fifth General’s motivations throughout the series. She’s “hunting a miracle” that is also those colors from Silver Moonlight, and then the end of Endless War kicks in with Holy Ground, and the Fifth General’s final stand in I’d Rather Burn.

('Cause you’re fighting an endless war/Hunting a miracle/And when you reach out for the stars/They just cut you down/…/Is it worth dying for?/Or are you blinded by, blinded by it all?)

(You got inside my head, I want you out/'Cause I’ve been betrayed on holy ground)

(Won’t let you take my soul away/I’d rather go to the stake/I’d rather burn)

Empty Eyes is [long spoiler beep]. (and yes! I found it on Spotify finally!)

(I don’t know where I’m going/In search for answers/I don’t know who I’m fighting/I stand with empty eyes/You’re like a ghost within me/Who’s draining my life/It’s like my soul is see-through/Right through my empty eyes)

Dystopian Fiction

Dark Matter is on here because title track, but also it does end up with effects. Especially by the end… and of course, the Thing that is Wrong With Earth.

(Don’t stop, don’t think/Move up, don’t blink now/On your knees pray for rain/Don’t breathe when you take your aim)

The Human Condition is the Éskhayklos manifesto. A warning of the end times. The condemnation of the parasites. The reveal of the only cure. The final extinction cycle. Also their new image song, as Cross the Line got moved.

(We have the cure for the disease/Locked down inside us/When all is dead, then we will see/We are the virus)

INFECTED is the Éskhayklos’s slow, well, infection of the Sol Federation, and their descent into full-blown terrorism. (And yes, I know the actual lyrics have ‘he’. Shhhhhh. It’s a STARSET song, it’s about a Shirogane, even if it’s sort of from Cascade’s POV)

(Here's a challenge for all mankind/The preacher man is warning of the end times/The weatherman agrees but she don't know/So she's got to go now)

Who Will Save You Now here is about Sam, and the aftermath of Here to Save You, in addition to its referenced role in the main playlist.

(Alone with this vision/Alone and blind/Go tell the world I’m still alive)

Codebreaker is Adam’s song! But here it’s also in conjunction with Cross the Line as the final Éskhayklos mission before...

(Codebreaker can’t you find/Can you read between the lines of code?/Tell me all that you know/How far down the hole does it all go)

(Cross the line, redefine, break away unbent, unafraid/Together we stand in the dark/Seeking the light and what is right, together we cross the line/Our journey will come to an end and then our human cause will be/Justified)

The Day the Earth Collapsed

(How much time has been elapsed/Since the day the earth collapsed?)

Dystopian Fiction is the title track for this part. With the events of The Day the Earth Collapsed, the Garrison and our heroes on Earth are at their lowest point. It really is a piece of dystopian fiction, between [spoiler] and [spoiler]. They’re fighting for something that, at that point, must seem like ‘superstition.’ And also: “Nobody can shoot me down, not just yet” is about Adam bc Fuck Canon. Even if he does, technically, get shot down.

(I’m a dead man/In the wasteland/I’m a soldier fighting for superstition/Under searchlights/In the long nights/We’ve been written like dystopian fiction)

World on Fire and The Reckoning are the two of their subset that make it over here because they’re the two that happen before the result of This is a Call can come to fruition, and are more focused on our Earth heroes anyway.

(Sent by forces beyond salvation/There can be not one sensation)

(We’re all alone, walking in twilight/The night has been long and so many have fallen/Feel no remorse, light will be breaking/Our freedom is worth it all)

Filaments

Filaments is still in flux but does have way more solid than it did. Like, you know, most of an ending. I just don’t really know how they get from A to B yet.

Dark Matter is here because, well. A) Title track, B) yes, it still has effects. It’s the overarching theme, after all. Filaments sort of has a subtitle itself, which is ‘The Undoing,’ after the other part of the lyric that the subtitle of the main playlist comes from. It’s about undoing a past mistake (that wasn’t obviously a mistake until much later) and reconciling the events of Your World Will Fail.

(I am the keeper/I am the secret/I am the answer/I am the end)

Filaments is the title track of this part. It’s… a little hard to explain without giving away the entire plot but it’s about the connections between different parts of the universe, and some fall-out of Cosmic Vertigo and Louder Than Words.

(These glowing filaments/Conducting this enchanting/Sarcophagus that’s holding us)

Starlight is, again, Adashi song, and this time the happy part

(Don’t leave me lost here forever/I need your starlight and pull me through/Bring me back to you)

Carry Me Home is its eponymous fic.

(Carry me home to the morning light/carry me home before you wave me goodbye/Oh, carry me home…)

And then we get to the new part. Know that stuff in Carry Me Home about “The record skip that only [Keith and Krolia] can remember”? Yeah, Prognosis is a huge step to figuring that out.

(How long is the body beholden?/How long 'til we run out of road?/Deep down in the black of the ocean/Fading from the glow)

The timey-wimey ball gets tossed around more in Blackstar. Partially due to [REDACTED] and a certain terrorist’s reemergence, but also due to Prognosis-related stuff

(They'll let you try/To reverse everything/Don't waste your time/Sing Hallelujah 'cause you can't change anything)

Eon straight-up plays Calvinball with the timey-wimey ball and gets the Paladins stuck in a groundhog-day situation, and the only way out? Isn’t good.

(If time's a song, I won't wait for its reprise/I am done wishing farewells and goodbyes)

The Art of War and Centigrade are the beginning of the end. The Art of War is Cascade finally showing his true colors, and the Sol Federation not having a good time. Centigrade is the other side of it, Team Voltron having a realization of just what they’re going to need to do.

(I can remember all the days of violence/I can remember all the days they fought for rights/When men united all by fear and interest/I mustered them with hopeful promises I've broken)

(What did you hope to find adrift and lost in time?/Is this the end ready to begin?/It's time to escape the fate of destruction, excavating within until salvation/No longer pretend the future's a lie from a past you cannot hide)

The Future is Now and A Theater of Dimensions are. Well. You’ll see. It’s a little hard to pick a lyric from AToD, I'll say that much.

(They said there was no way/But they forgot the black hole in the sky/Yesterday is nothing/I have half a life to rewrite)

(I’ve seen our freedom in the mist of time/The old signs I’ll follow and the day of relief will be yours and mine)

And then there’s Afterlife. Fitting to end on a UtA song, after everything, especially since The Immortal has repeatedly throughout DM been a metaphor for Voltron. Also fitting that it’s this one, considering the parallels between the end of The Immortal’s story and Filaments

(But with such power, think how you could rule/Hold to your promise to watch over those in despair/Why would you choose to serve when you could be master of all?/Be true to your honour and fight for a world that is fair!/Out of shadow, out of darkness, welcome to the light/As the day shines boldly over night/Follow me to finally be who you are inside/Open wide, embrace the afterlife)

You’ve Changed ( 13th Doctor X Reader )

Prompt:  I’ve always had the like idea of dating the doctor since 9, what if you and the doctor got separated towards the end of 12 and then finding the doctor again and reuniting with 13 and being so shocked but so happy to see the love of your life? Me, soft? Yeah. - Requested by @hazydespair​

A/N holy shit did I have a nice time writing this. Thanks for the request! hope you enjoy. Slight missy x reader / master x reader because I couldn’t help myself.

Words: 2.3k (AHHHH) 

Warnings: Violence, the Master being a dick in general, etc. Brief POV change? Wonky writing probably

    You walked with the two Masters, keeping an eye out for the cyber men. With the exception of the Masters boasting about their recent conquests (Missy making the interesting decision to leave out her time in the vault,) it was silent; too silent. You desperately needed to know where the Doctor was, and if he was okay. He’d spent so long trying to get Missy to change, and here she was in front of you pretending like the past 70-something years of progress didn’t happen. You knew that alone had to be an emotional blow, not counting her earlier incarnations arrival and - you winced - what had happened to Bill. 

   You liked Bill. You liked all the humans the Doctor traveled with, becoming good friends with all of them; it hurt you just as much when they left. The pain welled back up within you as if it’d all happened seconds ago, making you pause.

“Keep up,” The Master demanded. The lift in the middle of the clearing opened, waiting for the three of you to head down to the Master's TARDIS. 

“Come here,” Missy told him, before you could come up with a snarky response. You felt your stomach churn as she embraced him, whispering something in his ear. All those years wasted. 

But they weren’t.. You watched her shove a small blade into his stomach with a move so graceful you almost didn’t notice it. You stepped backward out of shock, hand flying to cover your mouth as the Master coughed up blood, complimenting his future self. 

“He said keep up,” Missy shifted the Masters weight onto her shoulder, letting him lean into her for support. You couldn’t take your eyes off the blood dripping onto the grass. Missy rolled her eyes. “Well don’t just stand there.” 

   You nervously stepped forward and helped her carry him into the lift. They began discussing the quickly approaching regeneration, and you stepped back once he could lean against the wall. You felt a tug on your heart strings as the Master asked Missy Why? Enemy or not, it was hard to see anyone slowly bleed out. 

“Because it’s time to stand with the Doctor” Your head whipped to meet her eyes, gasping. She had changed. The Doctor had actually managed to help her. A flicker of hope decimated the fear and hurt as you thought of how proud and happy the Doctor would be if he could see her now. Your adrenaline spiked. Somehow, this horrible adventure could end happily. 

But it didn’t. 

   You tried to shield Missy from the Master’s laser sonic blast, but it happened too quickly. You helped her to the ground as he escaped, panicking.

“No, no no no!” You shouted. She lightly gasped for breath, unable to draw in enough air. You scanned the area, trying to find anything that could help; Part of you knew it was foolish. Nothing could help her. But you couldn’t let her die… the Doctor needed to know, not just through you but with his own eyes, that she’d done the right thing- that she’d stood with him. Her eyes were glazing over; she didn’t have much time at all. 

   You cursed, your mind urgently trying to comb through hundreds of outcomes to come to a decision on what to do. You threw them all aside in favor of instinct. You gently cupped her face, her eyes widening as she realized what you were doing. The regeneration energy burned painfully as you directed it through your hands. Every molecule in your body knew that you probably shouldn’t do this. 

   For a moment, it seemed Missy was having the same thoughts. She tugged at your hands, as if she were about to stop you. Eventually, she began to change and her own pain forced her to stop trying and curl up, howling as the regeneration progress tore through her. You fell back after you were sure it was going to work, unable to stay standing. Giving an entire life understandably put a strain on your consciousness and you found yourself laying there, staring up at the sky. It seemed like hours before Missy- or rather, the Master once again, stared down at you blankly. He silently picked you up and carried you away from the clearing. You wanted to tell him to stop so you could find the Doctor, but you weren’t able to find the words.

    The escape from the colony ship was a bit hazy, but it must’ve been easy because it wasn’t long before you and the master were somewhere different. Unbeknownst to you, the Doctor’s escape was considerably worse. You had no idea how hard he looked for you, holding off his regeneration until he’d looked through nearly every floor of the ship in search of you and then longer, desperate to see you one last time before he changed. You weren’t there to help him accept the regeneration that he was trying so hard to stop. You weren’t there, and he didn’t know where you were. You were just… gone. 

    This was the case for both of you for a long time. The Doctor crashed to Earth and found her new companions, showing them the universe and trying to return back to normal without you. You traveled with the Master, which was only fun for a little while. Every adventure he would show small signs of returning to who he was before the Vault, and the reversion was only exacerbated by what he’d found on Gallifrey. He wouldn’t tell you what it was, or what had happened. All you needed to see was the madness returning to the back of his eyes to know that it was bad, even by the Masters standards. It scared you. 

   After that, he’d changed the TARDIS controls. You couldn’t leave, nor could you control the machine. You’d fought with him for years over it as he left you trapped, gallivanting across the universe to stir up trouble once more. Eventually you’d given up. You let the days blur and bend around you, filling your time with whatever entertainment his TARDIS could conjure up for you. It barely worked; even having everything you could ever need at your disposal, you couldn’t cure the pain of being stuck and without the Doctor. 

   When the Master mentioned your fellow timelord, your ears perked up immediately. He’d been planning something for the last few days and you suspected it had to do with getting the Doctors attention, but you didn’t get as excited as you were when he actually confirmed it. You nearly leaped out of the chair you’d spent the last two days reading in. The Master took note of your excitement and chuckled darkly. 

“You won’t be there, of course.” He crossed the console room, lifting your chin up so you could meet his eyes. “As much as i’d love to see her try and get you back, it might take too much of her attention away from what’s really important.” 

    You didn’t say anything, not wanting to give into his obvious attempt to try and get you riled up. You tore your eyes from his and he laughed again, brushing his fingers against your temple. The psychic link he established allowed you to peek at his intentions and you tried to fight his sudden tug on your consciousness. The element of surprise gave him the upper hand, however, and you cursed at him as many times as you could before your vision gave out. 

    It was a dreamless sleep, but you were vaguely aware of the sounds around you- or rather... above you? You couldn’t tell. It seemed like there was yelling at one point. There was an unpleasant feeling encompassing you as it went on, like you were sensing some unseen but immense danger. There was also a small tinge of warmth that you couldn’t come up with a reason for.

   When you finally came to, you felt the pain in your wrist first. Your left arm was chained to the short ceiling, bearing your entire weight. You tugged at it, cursing your stupidity as pain shot through your arm. Wires ran along the wall and down into a hole in the floor, their source humming above you. You deduced that you were being kept underneath the console, probably in an effort to stop you from trying to alert the Doctor. It was frustrating, but you weren’t exactly surprised. 

“Hello?” You cried out. When no response came, you kicked at one of the wires on the floor. A light flickered above your head and you heard the familiar sound of the Master grumbling. Part of the ceiling opened up, his angry expression peering down at you. He threw a key onto the floor, not bothering to unlock the chains himself. 

   You crawled out of the small space, stretching. You raised a brow as you took in the new interior of the TARDIS. It wasn’t Gallifreyan in any aspect. In fact, it had a great resemblance to a house. A messy one, too. The Master busied himself with something at the console you’d just crawled out of, but threw out an explanation. 

“Just a little cover. I’ve been too busy celebrating my victory” 

“Your victory?” You scoffed, peering around at the trash and clutter that covered the floor. It was almost funny to see someone as uptight and dramatic as the Master in such a… human space. The humor faded when you saw the giddy expression on the Masters face. 

“You should’ve seen me, Y/N. I was great” You became more and more uncomfortable. The Master wasn’t ever this happy- even when he burned whole cities.

“What did you do?!?” You whispered. You tried to stop your trembling as you ran back to the console, taking in everything that was on the screens. He laughed as you shoved him aside, piecing together what he’d exactly he’d accomplished on his latest mission. You fell to the floor, clutching at your hearts. Not the Doctor. She has to get out of this one. Him- her and the Master had fought for lifetimes but the Doctor always ended up okay. You needed her to be okay. How else were you going to see her again? 

________________________________________

The Doctor was okay. At least, she thought she was. She was 70% sure she was. If she wasn’t, she could always deal with it later. For now, she had a world to save. She rubbed at her neck, still sore from being choked by the Master. She tried to push the pain aside, convincing herself that if anything, it helped boost her adrenaline. 

She rushed to the Master's TARDIS, Ada Lovelace and Noor Inayat Khan in tow. She threw open the doors, unaware of what (or whom, more accurately) she was about to find. 

___________________________________________________________

   You didn’t think much of the door opening, sure it was just the Master coming to complain again. He was beyond annoying when he threw his tantrums, but you were thankful for the last one as it’d reassured you that the Doctor was, at the very least, still alive. You leaned against the bookshelf, turning the page without looking up. 

“Back so soon?” You teased. “Guessing it didn’t go well? Again?”

“y/n?” You tensed at the unfamiliar voice. You nearly dropped the book when your gaze landed on the Doctor, frozen in the doorway of her enemy’s TARDIS.

   Her eyes were wide, looking over you frantically as if trying to figure out if it was actually you standing there. You actually did drop the book, running towards her. The two women with her stepped back in surprise as you hugged her tightly, lifting her off the floor. Her arms flailed for a moment before squeezing you back just as tightly, her voice rambling in your ear. 

“I found you” she was whispering. You wanted to hold her tighter, but it wasn’t physically possible. You tried to wrap your head around the reality that it was really her in your arms, after all this time. The love of your life, who you’d lost so suddenly, here with you once again. The Doctor moved away first, but only so she could look you in the eye. 

“I found you,” She repeated. Her face became blurry as tears swarmed your eyes, and she wiped them away as they fell. She pressed a kiss to your forehead before pulling you back into her arms. You let everything else fall away as you sobbed into her shoulder, letting your mind do the work of showing her just how much you’d missed her, and why you’d been gone. You held each other for a long while, neither of you wanting to let go in case the other disappeared again.

   Eventually, the two other women spoke up, and the Doctor helped you sit on your reading chair so she could take them home. When she finished and landed you wherever she was parked, she took a seat next to you. She placed her hand in yours, lacing your fingers together.

“You’ve changed,” You commented, stroking the back of her new hand with your thumb. She nodded, lifting the joined hands to kiss the back of yours. 

“Bit of an accident on the colony ship. Had to let go.” She whispered sadly. You tucked her hair behind her ear, not moving back afterwards. Instead, you placed a soft kiss on her lips, squeezing her hand. 

“I like it.” You assured her. You didn’t want to ruin the moment by discussing the events that tore you apart. She smiled, pushing the thought of them aside as well. There would be time to reflect on them after you were done catching up. 

“I think I do, too.” She sat up, pulling you with her. “Let’s get you out of here. “ 

   You took your first steps outside of the Master's TARDIS after years of being stuck inside, trying not to break down again at the sight of the blue police box.

“I’ve got some friends I’d like you to meet,” The Doctor said excitedly once you reached the doors. She snapped her fingers and they flew open, giving you a glimpse of the new console room. You gasped, eyes dancing over everything. 

“You’ve even redecorated!” You exclaimed. The Doctor grinned from ear to ear, nodding. 

“Come, y/n. We’ve got loads to do.” 

   After everything that had happened, you were free. You and the Doctor had found each other once more, and the Master was nowhere to be found- presumably sulking somewhere. You didn’t care, frankly. There was only one time lord you wanted to think about right now. You followed her into the blue box, just as you always had and always would.

A Ryvius Advent

Advent, the time of year in which Christians commemorate Christmas by looking forward to it in anticipation, as well as to Christ’s return, is upon us. We hope that we can help you participate and get into the “Christmas spirit” through our blog as we do our traditional Christmas posts. Consider signing up for our newsletter as we gear up for the season, and following along here on the blog as well with posts like today’s, which kicks off the season is a most appropriate way.

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Infinite Ryvius (Mugen no Ryvius), Goro Taniguchi´s Lord of the Flies meets Lost in Space, is without doubt one of my favorite shows. Yet, I must warn you: It is not an easy one to watch. Its slow burn starts with the focus on the people-pleaser protagonist, Kouji Aiba—a guy who finds it uncool to hang out with anyone who has known him for a long time, his estranged brother Yuki, and their bossy childhood friend Aoi. But soon it expands its scope to perhaps twenty or so very interesting youngsters aboard the Liebe Delta, a starship academy for future space cadets, left without adults after a strange accident (or is it?), and through them, encompasses an entire teen society which grows, fights, suffers, and evolves with every episode, always waiting for rescue.

That is the starting point of a journey that will take its protagonists through hard decisions about survival and violence, war, lies, fears and betrayal, the collapse of social norms, emotional and mental breakdown, and repeated moral failure in what I found to be a very atypical, honest story full of quasi Eva-like angst and misfortune.

What’s worse is that you do not even have a Gendo to blame here, either for how frustratingly Kouji acts nor for anything else. There are adults and dangers outside, but they are not the focus. Instead, it’s on the kids. From the kindhearted teen hero to the bright model student, from the Vulcanian-like brainy to the loud representative, from the weak-willed fat boy to the “bad girl,” from the silent gang leader to the space princess (sort of), they are as flawed as they are relatable, and truly dangerous to each other in their own ways. And the consequences of their sins and errors are not small, not here. What follows has been aptly described as an ascent/descent into hell.

Why watch it, then? Why suffer? For one, its characters are (in my view) fascinating, and their occasional ugliness, and that of the situation, is how we gradually come to see something genuine and hopeful about them. They may start as archetypes, but they suffer, evolve, interact, struggle, and surprise me, for better and for worse. No matter how minor their roles, they all have something to say, and quite frequently they are things I hadn’t heard before from characters like these. The story does not whitewash their flaws, but neither does it give up on them when they fail (and boy, do they fail). The comparison with The Lord of the Flies may be the first thing that comes to mind, but if you go along, you will receive, one after another, signs that things may go differently here. It is not only the primal they confront, but also the supernatural; not only the evil in them, but the good. And I have come to understand enough about myself to know that I´m pretty much like Hikki Hachiman: I thirst to know the human heart, of others and mine, and I often find hope in it.

More than that, Mugen no Ryvius is a show firmly interested in what is good and evil, right and wrong, just and unjust, much like Bokurano or Serial Experiments Lain. It takes its premise seriously, and it makes every effort to show us that everyone is connected. This principle is personified in the character of the Girl in Pink, the soul of the starship, an observer who wanders around learning about its inhabitants, sometimes talking with them, sometimes helping them, sometimes unveiling what is beneath the surface, she herself connected to the deeper mysteries of the ship. And, as I have loved reading about the evolution of fictional societies and regimes since I first read Plato´s terrific (in both senses of the word) Republic in Philosophy class, the self-contained nature of the community which is described, the elegant way in which everything is presented and the 26 episodes that give us plenty of time to know everything about everyone make this a very enjoyable story, even if sometimes you have to just endure it.

There is even more. Ryvius is not only a psychological thriller or a social experiment. It is a tale of discernment and heroism, but not only that either. Much as in Taniguchi´s Planetes, its themes and symbology go all the way to the philosophical and the spiritual, in this case with the salvation of all humanity literally at stake. The characters are largely unaware of this larger plot—they are busy enough as it is—except for some weird encounters they experience here and there, but we get to see it through the Girl in Pink. The story has something to say about who we are to each other, and about sacrifice, sin and delusion, and also about the meaning of hope and love in this fallen world. Thus, it connects with the themes of Advent, the time when we remember the long wait for Christ during the long ages of Israel, the longing of the human heart for Him in the reign of sin, the promises of the prophets and the difficult and specific, strange, miraculous yet discreet circumstances in which the fulfillment of that hope was prepared when the time came.

But, God being the Lord of the Living, this period is not only one of remembrance. It is also the time when we try to better dispose our hearts so that His coming here and now can touch us more deeply. It’s becoming a challenging, tiring Advent for me, both professionally and personally, so these days I am fasting a bit, trying to bring to mind the hope of Christmas and of the future and meditating on the readings of Isaiah and John the Baptist, Joseph, and Mary. Because Advent is also the time when we look to the future from the hardships of this world and renew our hope that He will come back, that rescue is coming. That there is a second, hidden story in my life too, and it encompasses and explains the one I see. It is something of a funny coincidence that the hardest part of the Ryvius story comes also at December, a December in space.

I think that is as far as I can go speaking only in general, so spoilers ahead. Ryvius is full of twists and turns, so you have been warned.

Episode 23 is probably the show at is bleakest. Just an episode or two before, the violence, the egoism, the anarchy, the malevolence, the ill will, the disorder and the laziness have reached its peak, and a friend has been scarred. The sins of the little society—unbeknownst to them, a literally chosen people, because the Ryvius is the only hope for humanity to escape the Second Solar Flare, and no crew has ever been able to make it react—are just too many, and they are punished. It is the logical consequence, and even I was hoping for it. Our heroes experience a mutual emotional breakdown, unable to comfort each other. And hurt and bitter, the courageous and kind Ikumi turns into a tyrant by threats and sheer force, threatening to destroy entire sections of the starship if he is not immediately given unconditional obedience. Like the Leviathan of Hobbes, he demands absolute power to prevent the kids to becoming wolves for each other. With Yuki and the rest of the mecha aces on his side, those aboard are forced to comply.

His first decision is to reinstate the gang of Airs Blue, that other interesting tyrant, back from prison as the police force, a role than they clearly enjoy. Shortly after, order is restored, but in such a way the ship starts to feel like an occupied country. Violence is not as overt as it was, but it is there. And maybe all that would be at least an improvement on the previous anarchy, were not that his main advisor is the ultimate schemer of the Zwei group, Heiger, who has been given free hands to engage in his social engineering projects and protect this Pax Romana until the number of violent incidents is zero.

Shortly after, people are sorted by ability and separated (well, either that, or if Heiger thinks you a subversive element, sent straight to Class F, which includes pretty much every important character who is not part of the regime). Juli Bahana, the voice of empathy and reason, is expelled from the bridge for objecting (more specifically, for objecting without providing a feasible alternative), and sent to Class F. So is her ever-jealous friend Ran, who has undermined her in every way she could. His crime is violently protesting that the little kid aboard, Pat, has been sent to Class F too (well, says Heiger, naturally, he is not useful by any objective standard). Fina S. Shinozaki, the beautiful pagan priestess/cult leader who preaches the false Gospel of making yourself a new you of your own design, is leading the course of the ship, which now points toward her planet.

When all the new residents of Class F are in their area, a new surprise comes. Unbeknownst to Ikumi, Heiger, who is losing it a bit, blocks the area and switches the lights off. They are left without food or a way out. In his reasoning, these people are not useful, the lowest of the low, and everything that is given to them is a waste. Many of them, conscious of their crimes or their lack of ability, even recognize it is only natural that they would end up at Class F. So there they are, our most pathetic characters, in the darkness. Jealous Ran, indecisive Juli, feeble and treacherous Charlie (sorry, I mean Good Turtleland the Third), femme fatale Criff, bratty Nicks, people-pleaser Kouji, messy and bossy Aoi, loud Lucson, spoiled Pat, the lazy couple who stole points, even the creepy psycho who “protects” Charlotte—all there.

When someone lights a lantern, and it turns out that Lucson was stealing food, so he decides to share it, not without boasting about his “keen foresight.” The last, the not useful, the dispossessed, the guilty thus share the little they have, and sit around the light. Somehow, a curious joy starts to permeate them, and someone asks out of the blue, “It is almost Christmas, isn’t it?”

What it is is December 13rd, the birthday of the youngest member of the crew, Pat Campbell. His father and mother figure are beside him. Lucson may be an incompetent, a liar, and a vain leader, but he has taken good care of Pat, to the point of showing that he is willing to take a beating in his place, and has tried to set example for him in his own clumsy way. Juli may be indecisive and her renouncing as captain of the ship may have played a part in the present state of things, but she has cared for the kid from the first moment. The Girl of Pink is attracted towards that light they share, not towards the bridge, and it´s no wonder. The bleakness of Ryvius disappears for a couple of minutes, and there is a warm light instead. This is the moment in which she speaks to Kouji and stops being an observer, providing hope, a way out. Literally, there is a path.

The darkness will strike twice again in this very episode and the hardest part of this journey of purification is still ahead, but we have seen a glimpse of where it leads. As viewers, we can have hope. Kouji still has to carry his own Cross, his own Gethsemane, and beyond. Aoi will share it all with him. We will still suffer before we reach the end. But for now, there is light. There is a sign of something beyond the madness the Ryvius has fallen into, something that reaches these broken sinners suffering the consequences of their own errors and makes them one, even so.

While darkness and poverty have united Class F, the powerful, the strong and the wise in the terms of the ship are not so lucky. Ikumi cannot participate in the feast. After all, he is locked in his palace—the officials bedroom—with his own thoughts, increasing his own power, worried, navigating his inner traumas, working to stop even the littlest of crimes aboard while the tyrannical system he has created causes others he does not detect. He wants his Pax Romana no matter the means, and even if he is not mistaken about what is right, he is wrong about placing all hope in his own hands, and about the darkness of his own heart. Like Herod (though younger, more desperate and driven by fear and trauma), he may resort even to murder. Neither can Kozue, who has made the conscious decision to play into Ikumi´s trauma to have someone who will provide her affection, and literally shut the door to everything and everyone else.

Neither can Yuki, our punk Pharisee, who never loses an opportunity to point how weak-willed, despicable, low and inauthentic his elder brother is, usually with a punch or two to show him.  Even if he is Kouji´s younger brother, he is no doubt like the older brother of the parable, only substituting obedience to the father to doing what he pleases without external influence. He also wants acknowledgement for his achievements. Nor Heiger, who is busy with the census of his new empire, sending every member of the Ryvius community to the place where he belongs to, in his opinion, and worshiping efficiency like he always wanted to. Heiger´s terrified reaction to the unknown, in the form of the Lovecraftian/Ghiblian space beasts, shows us how self-enclosed in the works of his own hands he is at this point of the story: His own cleverness has blinded him to this hope.

But if Ikumi is traumatized, Heiger is a materialist, and Yuki is just doing what he feels vaguely good about, someone is searching for a spiritual meaning in the circumstances. And the meaning she finds is evil. That is Fina S, Shinozaki, the young cult leader/priestess of Mother Arne, a pagan deity who considers letting your past behind and rebuilding yourself from zero as the first moral imperative, adapts to every situation quickly and cleverly, considers Ikumi to be a war god, and believes the Universe will help you if you desire things strongly enough. Behind the bizarre elements of this space cult (you know, those pesky Uranians), there is a very familiar philosophy: Be the center of everything, project a perfect illusion, become powerful no matter the situation, delete from your life those people and parts of yourself you don´t like, always be determined, and get what you want.

Villainous as Fina is, I cannot but feel compassion for her, as she is farther away from hope than the rest, and suffers without it. When hurt, she tries to kill the same person whose love she longs for: she wants to prevent him from applying her own philosophy to her and letting her in his past. When heartbroken, she tries to force her smile like a mask. When her acts get her scarred, she wonders if she is not as virtuous as she should be. The philosophy of becoming your own creator not only destroy you, but also tells you that it´s your fault, for not wanting to be free and happy strongly enough. So I truly pity her, and this broken age of ours, too. In a silent alliance with the Girl in Pink, Kouji will risk everything to confront all four, like John the Baptist, and call them to repent.

So at this time of the year, we should also prepare for what is to come—the fights as well as the rescue, the present as well as the future. The joy of the feast and the time of waiting. In the midst of our daily struggles and sufferings, of the problems of the world, we may take a step back to reflect and pray, try to hear the call, think about the meaning of what is happening, share the little we have, remove the obstacles, acknowledge who we are, repent. Take perspective on the things of the world. Give others the comfort and hope they need. Be brave. And help those who are not useful for us, even those who have hurt us, for we are connected, aboard the same ship. And those far from Class F, locked anywhere, need Christmas too, and dearly: Their hearts thirst just like ours.

And miraculously, there is a path.

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Mugen no Ryvius can be acquired at Amazon.

Broken Ties

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Part of the Morning Fears universe | Charlotte and Luke go tell her parents that she’s pregnant. This is their reaction to the news. (You don’t have to have read MF to follow the plot. Although, it may help and if you’d like to read MF, please do!) | Mentions of disownment, implied past abuse, age gap (I don’t know if that’s a warning I need to add but, yeah.)

Word Count: 1.9k (.....this was supposed to be less than 1k)

As Luke focused on the road ahead, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on Charlotte’s knee, he became all too aware of his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He was doing the best that he could to mask the outward signs of his anxiety, keeping his breathing regular and his face void of emotion, but he knew that Charlotte could read him and breathed a sigh of relief as she removed his hand from her knee and held it with her own. He could feel every pinprick of emotion shooting down his spine as they traveled closer and closer to Charlotte’s hometown and with every mile they drove, his nerves only grew stronger. 

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he was so anxious. He had been on a high of joy and elation for weeks after he’d gotten over the initial nerves that nearly paralyzed him when Charlotte first told him that she was pregnant. She was more afraid than him, petrified to become a first time mother, and they’d been walking through the nerves together. They sat down and talked about their fears and anxieties and worked hard to assure one another that they were either unfounded or being addressed to the best of their ability. However, the anxiety that encompassed him now was unlike any other he’d faced.

The only time he could recall feeling something similar was nearly twenty-five years earlier.

When Luke and Anna had told their parents that they were expecting a child, they were both terrified twenty-somethings. They weren’t married, they weren’t living together, they weren’t sure where they’d be after graduation. Luke didn’t have a job, neither did Anna, and they weren’t prepared in the slightest. Things couldn’t have been more different with him and Charlotte.

Luke and Charlotte had been married for nearly six months, had lived together for two years, and were both settled into good careers. They had a home of their own, one with plenty of room for a child, and more than enough money to adequately care for a child. They were in love, completely and wholly, and were both happy to be welcoming a child into the world.

So, why did he suddenly feel like a scared college student headed to face his doom?

Luke imagined that it was because of Charlotte’s family. They had a way of making everyone feel inferior, of making them feel like they’d made a mistake even if they hadn’t, and he knew that the conversation was not going to go well. Charlotte herself was terrified, shaking like a leaf in the passenger seat with her free hand absentmindedly brushing the barely there bump, and Luke knew that his nerves weren’t for himself, they were for her.

Charlotte’s parents hadn’t attended the wedding. They’d been told almost immediately after Luke proposed, one of the first sets of people to know, and had received an in-person invitation as well as one in the mail. However, they hadn’t showed and Charlotte had her mentor walk her down the aisle. Since they’d made their relationship known to her family, they hadn’t spoken to her much (though, both were willing to admit that wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary for Charlotte’s parents) and had essentially cut her out of their lives. Charlotte was worried that this would be the final straw, that telling them about their new grandchild would be the thing that finally made them disown her, and it scared the hell out of her.

Charlotte hated how much she wanted her parents’ approval. She hated how much she wanted their love and affection. She hated how much it hurt to know that they could so easily shut the door on her. She just wanted to be part of her own family, to be loved and love them in return, but she didn’t see that happening any time soon.

She was happy that she and Luke were starting their own family. It wasn’t planned but it was a happy accident, nonetheless. She’d initially sworn off having children, too afraid to end up like her parents, but as she got older, she yearned for a family of her own. She swore that she would be a good mother, one who loved her child wholeheartedly and would do anything to make them happy, and Luke could already tell that she was going to be brilliant. She already cared for their son more than words could express and he was overjoyed to share the experience with her, however, he knew that them having a family of their own would never replace the love that she was denied.

Luke hoped, desperately, that Charlotte’s parents would be thrilled with the news. Even if they hated him, even if they hated their relationship and never wanted to see him again, as long as they were willing to see Charlotte and their son, Luke would happily make himself scarce. He just wanted his girl happy, she deserved that.

Her parents hadn’t sounded thrilled when she called to ask if they could come for a visit but they’d given their blessing, anyway. Charlotte used the excuse that she had gifts for her nieces and nephews, she’d been too sick to travel around Christmas, and she didn’t want to ship them. She hadn’t told them Luke was coming with her and he wondered if he should just wait in the car.

However, when they pulled into the driveway of Charlotte’s childhood home, Luke carried the gifts and  followed her dutifully up the steps to the front door.

Charlotte needed his support and he wanted to give it. He just hoped that he’d have the patience not to snap at them, regardless of how much they deserved it.

Luke was willing to admit that the dynamic was somewhat awkward. He was only a few years younger than Charlotte’s parents and, in another life, might’ve even been friends with them. They went to the same university and had been cordial when Charlotte and Dylan brought them together. But the longer he stayed with Charlotte, the more he learned about her childhood, the more he hated them. How anyone could make someone so kind and selfless feel so worthless was beyond him. How anyone could do that to their own child, that was the part that pissed him off.

He tried his best to keep his calm as Charlotte’s mother answered the door. She didn’t look pleased to see him, not that he’d imagined she would, but said nothing to him as she moved aside to let them in. “You didn’t have to drive these up,” she told Charlotte, pointedly looking only at her as she placed the bag in the corner of the living room, “shipping would’ve been fine.”

“There’s a snow globe in there,” Charlotte explained as she took a seat on the couch after her mother had sat, “I didn’t want it to get broken in transit. Anyway, I had some news and thought it was the kind I should tell you in person.”

“Well, we’re meeting some friends for lunch soon so…” her mother said, glancing from Charlotte to Charlotte’s step-father.

Charlotte seemed frozen, unsure of how to broach the subject, and Luke didn’t want to overstep but when she glanced up at him, her eyes pleading, he breathed a sigh and said, “Charlotte’s pregnant. We’re having a baby.”

Charlotte’s parents were silent for a moment, both blinking in surprise, before her mother said, “Oh, I thought you were just getting fat.”

“Shut up,” Charlotte’s step-father snapped, glaring in her mother’s direction for a moment before he turned his attention to Luke and Charlotte. “Are you serious? What the hell were you thinking? Look, we played along when you wanted to date him and we made our feelings very clear about the wedding but you just don’t get it. You’ve got, what, five years, max, before he trades you in for a younger model. You’re going to be left alone with some little brat or, worse, he’ll take the kid and you’ll never see it again. But, then again, maybe that’d be for the best. You can barely take care of yourself. How are you going to raise a child?”

“Hey, Charlotte’s incredibly responsible and did quite well for herself without the two of you. She’s been taking care of herself for most of her life. She’s more than capable of raising a child. And, honestly, I think she’s going to be a fantastic mother, despite your best efforts at destroying her ability to be compassionate. She thought you should know, that’s the only reason we’re here,” Luke interjected, his jaw clenched as he stared at Charlotte’s parents.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” her step-father retorted, his voice low and his eyes narrowed, “look at this, can’t even answer for yourself.” When he glanced at Charlotte, her eyes glistening with tears and her bottom lip trembling, he rolled his eyes. “Go ahead, cry. We can’t even ask you simple questions without you turning into a mess. Look, we don’t want anything to do with the kid. Have it, don’t, whatever; it’s your life. If you’re as independent as you say he says you are, the kid doesn’t need grandparents.”

“What are you saying?” Charlotte asked, finally able to speak as she took in the gravity of his words.

“He’s saying that this child is not our grandchild. You are not our child. If you can’t see how stupid this little fantasy world of yours is, we clearly didn’t raise you well enough. I think you should go and I don’t think you should come back,” her mother clarified, her tone sharp and her eyes locked on Charlotte the entire time she spoke.

Charlotte sat frozen for a moment, unable to process her parents’ words, and only moved when Luke gently pulled her from the couch. “Come on, pretty girl,” he sighed, his hand on the small of her back as he began to lead her out of the living room, “let’s get back home. It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

Charlotte kept her tears at bay until they’d pulled out of her parents’ driveway. She didn’t start crying until they made it to the highway and she brushed off Luke’s touch until he stopped at a gas station and reached out to cup her cheek. “I know it hurts, pretty girl,” he sighed as he brushed the tears from her cheek, “but there are so many people in our lives who already love this kid more than anything. And you’re going to be a fantastic mother, I know that. We’ll get through this, I promise.”

Charlotte shook her head. Although she knew rationally that Luke was right, her heart hurt. She felt sick and only wanted the day to be over. “I just want to go home,” Charlotte choked out, her voice thick with tears.

“Sure,” Luke nodded, visibly disappointed and upset for her, before he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Let’s get you home and into bed.”

Luke was angry. He hated her parents, he hated how they treated her and how they made her feel. He hated that they were so against the child he and Charlotte were bringing into the world. All he wanted was to make her feel better and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this would take a toll on her. He only hoped that he’d be able to pick up the pieces and help her put it all together again.

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Author’s Note: I write way too much for them, I know, but what can I say? I love Luke and Lottie.