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[ofthclight]

MONARCH: LEGACY OF MONSTERS | 1.09 "Axis Mundi"

[ofthclight]

Lia where have you been, it’s been months?! Oh my god that’s so embarrassing, I’m so sorry, I’ve been crying over Star Wars.

[ofthclight]

Wyatt Russell in Night Swim (2024)

[ofthclight]

Anyone But You (2023) dir. Will Gluck

[ofthclight]

ANYONE BUT YOU (2023) dir. Will Gluck

[ofthclight]

[ofthclight]

no one would ever call him a romantic. he's not even sure anyone would dare suggest that he's good with words. but sometimes, when he looks at her, he wishes that he were. maybe then he'd be able to explain that the tightness in his chest doesn't feel so suffocating when she looks at him like that. or that when she smiles, he feels like he might actually be able to breathe for the first time in what feels like months. the last time they went to a dance together... fuck, he wishes he remembers which part she was referring to, because he only remembers sweaty palms and a too-tight suit and trying to calculate how low he was allowed to place a palm on her back so that it remained decent but also sent a clear message to everyone else that stared at her that she was ( at least momentarily ) off the market.

❝ when it comes to you spellman, i'm always up to the task. ❞ he can't offer her more than that, he'd be selfish if he even considered it. but he can pretend. he can flirt and charm and sweep her off her feet a bit, but he knows it'll always have to end there. ❝ eight o'clock. ❞ he confirms, swinging his legs off the chair and standing tall, taking a step closer to reach up and pick a stray strand of hay out of her hair. ❝ i'll pick you up. ❞ leaning down, jake brushes a kiss over her cheek, pausing when his mouth just barely ghosts over the shell of her ear, ❝ missed you, 'brina. ❞ ( @awalkoflife )

continued from ( x ) with @ofthclight / sab + jake.

❝ the alternative being? ❞ she asks, raising her brow in playful curiosity because she already knows what's being suggested here. it doesn't take a single ounce of magic to read between the lines. sab hasn't forgotten the way he used to take up literal pages of lines in her diary. there were memories from so many summers past, stories of their life that somehow, felt like fiction instead of reality. they weren't kids anymore and maybe that fact alone was enough to explain it. she had to take into account the distance between them too, the years that passed due to his career. the separation that forced them to lose touch until every once in a while, he appeared again, much like now, looking every inch the heroic homegrown hero. and god, she missed him. no matter how many times he left, or for how long, the countless occasions she'd tell herself to move on.... she came to find that she never could.

what is time though, she considers, when he's looking at her with those eyes and that grin. it's enough to convince her that maybe, there's a world that still exists where they're seventeen again and staring up at the stars, wondering where they'll be at this precise moment. his question makes her heart momentarily skip a beat. it's not what she's expecting and the answer she has for him is one she spins into a question of her own. ❝ you remember the last time we went to a dance together, jake seresin? ❞ perhaps it wasn't imprinted on his mind quite as strongly, but she never did forget that night. for all of the right reasons, of course. she would have promised him the world and she almost did. ❝ i don't know if you're still up to the task these days. ❞ she smirks, taking the flyer and pinning it back up. it's almost time to pack up, so she makes a new suggestion. one that will allow him to see her out of her overalls, with freshly washed hair, wearing clothes that aren't covered in kernels. ❝ why don't we take you out for a test drive tonight? that way we can grab a beer and you can show me some of those mighty fine moves of yours. how's eight o'clock? ❞

[ofthclight]

the first practice they had together, he remembers stomping into his manager's office, slamming the door, and insisting that there was no way in hell he was doing this. the girl was frigid. uptight. a control freak in the worst possible way and --- worse --- she never smiled. and for someone who had taken every possible excuse to stay on the ice, that was the part that teddy couldn't warp his mind around. he loved the ice. he loved skating. so much so that he'd gone from a little kid clumsily practicing slapshots and speed skates on the iced over pond in his backyard, to professional hockey player, to whatever the hell he was now --- just so he could stay here. in the place that he loved most. after that first practice though, he'd grown a begrudging respect for anya. she was gorgeous in her technique, flawless in her execution, and all that coldness about her was shielding a passion that was unmatched.

she was a challenge. but she was his challenge. and as time went on, teddy could see her start to thaw. and he'd be damned if he did anything to set that back. teddy rests his hand atop hers, thumb stroking twice over the back of her hand as he nods. slipping his hand around hers, he guides her back out to the middle of the rink. it's muscle memory then, going through the routine, the motions, by now he pays more attention to her bodily cues more than he does to his own. he can see the barest hint of anxiety as they build closer and closer to the lift.

if he could hold his breath when it happens, he would. but breathing is the only thing that keeps his head on straight through this whole routine, and she needs him to have his head on straight. in the end though, it's effortless. his hands circle her waist, lifting her easily. gracefully. she's light and elegant and she very nearly steals the breath right from his lungs for how effortless she makes this all look. the end of the lift is a slow release, allowing her to slide slowly back down to the ice as the music starts to fade. it allows him a glorious few moments where his nose is practically buried in her hair, and he takes the time to exhale in relief and smile. ❝ brilliant. ❞ he murmurs just as her skates touch back to the ice, his hands loosening their grip around her waist but not moving away. ❝ you're gorgeous, ayn. ❞

anya’s always been fascinated by figure skating from her youth, even as a little girl she would find the shapes and draw them with chalk into the sidewalk and try to glide on solid ground, as much as a little girl could. she’s grown an understanding of how the literal form of figure skating became the art that it is today, she grew up watching the grace on eyes on dancers male and female alike and fell in love with their swan songs. she wonders how a man like teddy became a figure skater, with what seems like so little regard to the sport’s history, even though he was good, not that she’d ever admit that out loud. something about the ruggedness in the way he moves paints her a picture of who he is, and it’s certainly not the smug joker before her, cracking limericks at any chance he gets. though she’s usually annoyed enough by him that curiosity never forges through the thick veil of her ire, he’s quiet impressive on that front as well.

all that is pushed aside when the routine starts, but anya’s resolve crumbles when the worry flurries through her and leaves her as raw as a livewire. teddy stays close, almost in step with her as he always is, while she leans over the railing and draws in sharp, curt cold air into her lungs. she taps the ice with her inhales, but even the taps are staggered as her breath is, it leaves her lightheaded, gripping the siderail of the rink even harsher, almost sure the edge of the rail will leave red welts into her cold palms. it’s not his touch on her waist that pulls her back, but his voice, low and careful, as he shortens her name into an unfamiliar nickname, and she blinks owlishly ahead, air stilling in her chest as her head turns only briefly, not fully towards him.

his hand moves between her shoulders, coaxes the icy air to thaw her chest and escape in a shudder from her glossed lips as her eyes finally peer up at him, properly, not out of her periphery. he’s so good that it cajoles a half-hearted eye roll from her, not quiet packed with vitriol so much as it’s laden in a wary tut at his promise. fifteen minutes. anya’s eyes close when his thumb pushes into the chords of her neck, swallowing down the lump in her throat as she plants her blade into the ice and blinks away that cloying feeling that keeps her earth-bound, rather than a soaring grace in his arms. she doesn’t think much of the touches, touch is simply how they communicate. if anything she preferred it better when they talked with their bodies, rather than banter and unending tit for tat.

i’m not gonna drop you. her lids drag over her eyes as she slow blinks up at him, everything in his language, both audible and visible, steeps in the sincerity of his words. not a promise, but an oath. this partnership is never going to work if she doesn’t trust him, and anya would be damned if she’s the hurdle that stops her from achieving the goal she so desperately craves. ❝ alright. ❞ she finally whispers, even her own voice sounds foreign to her in this moment. she doesn’t recognize it, but she clears her throat as she releases one hand from the railing and instead presses her palm flat against the center of his chest, bracing herself against his. ❝ alright. let’s start from the top. ❞

[ofthclight]

she could be home right now . lola curled at her feet , glass of iced wine in her hand , television on . but instead she's here , with him trying to use her for prescription meds . nancy exhales , mostly to keep her irritation in check as she sets her pad down and levels him with a look . ❝ i'm not your doctor . ❞ not technically . she's just a doctor , who happens to try and get him in and out as quickly as possible whenever he ends up here . still , the boundary is blurry enough that it has her wanting to distance as much as possible . as a rule , she doesn't get too involved in patients lives . she can't get too invested , otherwise it'll break her . ❝ i'm your friend . or as close of one as you have right now , and i'm not giving you anything else you're gonna use to numb it . ❞ the words are pointed and maybe even a little harsh , but maybe he needs people to stop tip-toeing around him so much . ❝ i can get you a referral for a treatment center though? or take you to get a decent meal? or you can sit here and be a whiny man-child. your choice. ❞

continued from ( x ) with @ofthclight / nancy + kevin.

❝ typically not advisable ? ❞ he recites back to her, as though it's the last thing he's expecting to hear her say. she's a professional though, she's also team sophie, which she makes abundantly clear, even now when his ex-wife has nothing to do with any of this. ❝ since when have you known me to do what's advisable ? ❞ nancy's been around long enough to witness a few of those fuck-ups. although they weren't on the friendliest of terms, she was a voice of reason, someone he could trust. despite her hard-ass, blonde bombshell exterior, she wasn't a vulture. she didn't prey on his weakness or use him for his success. ❝ with all due respect nance, you're my doctor, not my therapist. how about you let me decide what it is that i need outside of this hospital ward ? ❞ he answers, ignoring the gut instinct that's telling him she's right; more alcohol isn't going to solve one single problem, let alone cure his pain. ❝ the least you could do is prescribe me something that'll get me back on set by the end of the week. you think you could do that ? ❞

[ofthclight]

the wood has practically worn beneath her feet from how long she's spent pacing . they felt it . they all felt the shift , they all acted in their own ways . for her , it was tearing herself from the cesspool she'd never consider home and winnowing here . where she'd knew he'd come first . if he came at all . but no , no they would have known that now too . she would have known , the entire court would have felt it if their high lord had fallen . still , the worry nearly suffocated her . helpless was something mor refused to feel . not ever again . but the last fifty years had been spent bound to that feeling . bound here . worrying every day , trusting azriel's scraps of knowledge and intelligence to know what was happening there .

mor paces , and somewhere between her tenth and hundredth turn about the room , she feels it . the gentle tug in the atmosphere , the charge in the air , the very night itself seeming to shift before he stumbles out of it . stumbles . nearly collapses . frantic and frenzied and nearly , nearly broken . her arms catch him before he can collapse to the floor . her lips part to say something , but he speaks first . his mate . shock freezes her limbs for merely a second before her grasp tightens and mor curls her arms around him in as much comfort as she can manage . ❝ explain . ❞ he looks... bad . and the look in his eyes is one she recognizes too well , one that fills her with nausea and panic and rage . so much rage that if the bitch hadn't been dead already , she'd do it herself and enjoy every second . and yet none of that is what seems to be absolutely shattering him in this moment . his mate . / @polymusepotion :)

[ofthclight]

she doesn't so much as flinch when the blade goes soaring past her , but it ruffles the strands of her hair that have come loose from her braid and she narrows her eyes . ❝ you had an unfair advantage . ❞ kieran , for one . and poppy drops her gaze to give a pointed glance to the two blades at his disposal . although they both know she wouldn't trade her dagger for one of them .

kieran draws her focus then and her attention pulls to the wolven at her side , her hand automatically going to stroke through his fur as she shakes her head . you couldn't have slowed him down ? eyes narrow , even as the corner of her mouth tilts upwards . she hates losing , that much is no surprise . ❝ is anyone hurt ? ❞ her gaze flicks over him first , noting blood and a few torn pieces of cloth , but no discernable injuries .

killing craven has never been this much fun. but when it comes to fighting alongside his queen, cas never fails to enjoy himself. with delano near her and kieran watching her back, he relaxes a little. even though there's always that pinch of concern for her well-being. she doesn't need his protection, but he'd stand in front of any blade, any foe, to keep her from knowing another moment of pain. she's had enough of that.

he sneaks a glance her direction, flips a lock of hair off his forehead, and winks. his right dimple pops as the corner of his mouth tugs into a smile. he throws a dagger to the left of her head, a move she would be proud of, and spears another between the eyes. "sixteen, princess. you're fallin' behind."

kieran steps closer to poppy, nudging her free hand with his forehead. are you hurt meyaah liessa?

[ofthclight]

DOES HE NOTICE? The pounding of her heart ? The moment's hesitation before she dutifully wraps her arms around his neck when his go around her waist ? She used to take a bit of comfort in his size , his steadiness . But now it feels like exactly what it is : a threat . Over his shoulder , Quincy catches the sight of a few of the other officers glancing their way . Some even smile quietly , shaking their heads in that way that's become all too familiar now . Something terrible happened , but at least something good came from it . Her fingers curl and for a moment , her nails are digging into his shirt and nausea is churning up her throat and she thinks she might throw up . His thumb comes away from her jaw streaked in blood , but she's not sure if it's hers or Tina's . She's just sure that the blood is there because of him . Silently , Quincy nods . And for some reason , some long-ingrained and deeply rooted instinct , she doesn't draw away from him entirely . She still clings a little bit . To Coop . Coop , who sat with her in that hospital , who picked up every call , who never looked at her like she was insane , who orchestrated this whole thing to break her --- ❝ Please . ❞

HE FEELS A STRANGE SENSE OF PRIDE WHEN HE LOOKS AT HER. There she is, his creation. His final girl. It’s an accomplishment, the way he’d created her, taken her for himself in a way that no one would ever be able to claim. Reaching up, he ghosts his thumb against her jaw lightly as a faint hum sounds in the back of his throat. “Of course we can, Quincy,” he hums, hands going to her waist to lift her from the back of the ambulance, bringing her closer. He can feel a few eyes on them, and it brings a lopsided smirk to his face - a few of the other cops have already mentioned that this is the second time he’s “saved” her now, that he should get something for it, and all he’d said in response was, “Why do you think I’m here?” No, as far as they’re concerned, he’s been seeing her for the past few weeks, that that’s why he’s always making the trip to see her when she calls, and this was the natural progression of the hero cop saving his danger magnet new girlfriend. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, yeah?” / @ofthclight

[ofthclight]

he's spent the better part of the last several years distancing himself from the guy he was in high school . hot headed , not a care in the world , the kind of asshole that goes around punching his friends . so he's going to be the bigger person . he'll rise above and he'll talk it through and he won't be that hothead that the media wants to paint him as , he won't show up to practice with a busted eye and busted knuckles and --- actually , fuck it . his fist swings before he even has the chance to talk himself out of it , and his knuckles hit with a satisfying sound against harrison's jaw . ❝ fucking talk about her like that again and i'll end you , morgan . ❞ and --- no , saying it only makes him think about the comment again and tyler moves to land a second punch . and then he rams his forearm against harrison's throat and heaves him back against the wall , where at least the fucker is cornered --- at least until the coke lets him catch up to what's happening . ❝ you're a fucking mess , you know that ? you gotta figure your shit out man otherwise you're gonna lose everything . ❞ he has no room to speak , but he's been down this road before . and hey , if this is what he gets for trying to be the bigger person and actually communicate shit for once , then he'll mark it down as a lesson fucking learned . tyler figures he has about a second until harrison fights back so he lifts his palm to shove it against the side of his friend's head before backing off and exhaling a rough breath . ❝ it was a mistake , you fucking dick . i was drunk and she was lonely and it was a mistake . jesus fuckin' christ , man , you're losing it . ❞

harrison is flighty and furious and fucking coked out of his mind, applying punch after punch to his best friend's face. he's not even sure why he's so angry. there are no feelings that still linger for his ex-wife. even before their divorce was finalised, he'd long since fallen out of love with her. still, his wired, erratic brain reminds him that it's the principle of it all and while they continue to throw blows, he snarls at the nfl player. ❝ doesn't actually matter when it happened, you're a dirty fuckin' cunt. ❞ harrison decides, falling to the floorboards with a thud when tyler throws him off. his cheek is beginning to swell and he's got cuts on his forehead from the jabs he received during tyler's retaliation. all he can see is red and as he stands, he looks over at the table where his gun is. ❝ you know how easy it would be for me to blow your fuckin' brains out and make all of this look like i was the one defending myself? ❞ his eyes are black, rage and hatred and disgust present in the dark hues looking over at the younger male. he's got no intention of ever stepping foot in this apartment after tonight, so what the fuck would it matter if there was a little bloodshed? the intellectual part of his brain shakes him from the insanity though, separating him from the dark passenger he's carried with him since he was a teenager. ❝ talk it through? ❞ harrison laughs, it's sinister and forced, threatening almost. ❝ talk what through? how you're a piece of shit who's too afraid to fuck sabrina? so you go after your best friend's ex? ❞ picking up tyler's cell phone, he throws it off the wall opposite the two of them, watching it collide, crack and smash before reaching the floor. ❝ maybe i should pay sab a visit, hell i could invite caroline too --- watch them take their clothes off for me, eat each other out before i fuck both of their pretty pussies. ❞ he's only saying it to to hurt him, to draw a reaction. he's got no desire to sleep with sabrina, but tyler doesn't need to know that. right now, the cop is beyond talking anything through. his trust for him is gone. decimated. eradicated. perhaps for good this time.

[ofthclight]

nancy leans her head back against the rest in the car, closing her eyes for a moment. maybe, if she's lucky, she'll wake from a dream. she'll roll over and find him stretched out beside her, and then he'll stir and try his best to mask his accent in the morning husk of his voice, and they'll make breakfast. they'll banter. they'll continue their little game of sharing enough details that they know one another, but not enough that they know one another.

the words don't quite come through the thickness in her throat. nancy adams is not a crier, and she never has been. on her mother's deathbed, a few rogue, stubborn, traitorous tears slipped from her eyes as she held a broken and sobbing chloe. during the funeral, she was the only one composed enough to give the eulogy. on the rock, at the nameless beach in mexico, the tears never came. there were sobs, but they were raw and dry and scraping. and now --- now she feels the prickle behind her eyes, the burn in her sinuses, feels the ripping agony in her chest at the knowledge that they'll never again deal with nosy neighbors and invasive questions about their made-up sex life.

a tear streaks down her cheek and sometime around the time that the car's phone rings, nancy pushes out a slow, controlled stream of air. she recites what she knows from therapy and support groups and seminars about trauma responses in the body. about dysregulation and fight or flight and detachment. she runs through a mental checklist of explaining the numbness creeping through her. dissociative reaction brought upon by acute trauma. name five things you can see. her husband. his grip on the steering wheel. a tendril of limp, dirty blonde hair falling over her shoulder. chipped nail polish. a tree. four things you can hear. the drawl of a voice coming through a speaker. seb's accent, in full force. basher. what sounds like witty banter between friends.

she doesn't get to her other senses. her therapist --- a wiry old man whose closet had to consist of 98% sweater vests --- would have pinched the bridge of his nose and knocked his glasses somewhat askew if she told him this. but there are other things that pull focus in the moment.

❝ what will he do to you? ❞ most people would ask even though they don't want the answer. but not her. information is how she guards herself, it's what keeps her alive and sane and grounded. she needs to prepare for the worst, needs to create her own plan of how to navigate it. how to get out. twice now, she's been in a position where she was caught off guard and unprepared. once on a beach in mexico, and once when she landed in this fucking mess. she won't do it a third time. ❝ i need to know. ❞ there's a plea somewhere in the words, and she hopes that he catches it in her eyes.

she'll call her family. she'll spout bullshit about a wedding that she wants ( she's always wanted more of a marriage than a wedding, and even then, she's barely ever wanted someone long enough to want a marriage ). she'll play dumb and meek and terrified and she'll do what he says and allow him to go through hell without intervening --- but she needs to at least know that she's going into it prepared.

[ofthclight]

❝ back to my place then. ❞ fuck him sideways, he has no idea what he's doing. the urge to reach up and rip his hands through his hair is powerful, but he resists. they spend enough time studying one another that he knows anya will spot the nervous tell. and right now more than ever, teddy knows that he can't afford to look unsure about this. if he does --- even for a second --- she'll pull back. close off. throw up those walls that she keeps permanently around her like a fortress.

but christ, having her in his place? surrounded by his things? probably bulldozed over by his dog? eating his food, showering in his shower, sleeping in his bed ---- he's in over his head and he knows it. he could just argue her other point, give himself something else to distract them both. but he can't trust himself to be level headed and relaxed about her claims that her coach is looking out for her. because she's not. there's a difference between looking out for an athlete and pushing them, and then over-extending them to the point of breaking. anya is a certified badass, hell on blades and dynamite on the ice, but she's not unbreakable.

teddy leans down to scoop up her bag, hoisting it over his shoulder as he watches her hobble on the crutches. his jaw clenches and he has half a mind to just lift her by the waist and carry her all the way out to his car, but he needs to choose his battles carefully, and he's just won a major one. ❝ i should warn you, ❞ he clears his throat, attempts for some semblance of his usual casualness, ❝ puck --- my dog --- his bark's a lot worse than his bites and if he gets in your way, just give him a little nudge. he can get a little... underfoot. ❞ maybe he should warn her about the heap of laundry in his closet that he still hasn't done. or the haphazard pile of hockey equipment still taking up space in the corner of his living room, or the fact that he's pretty sure he never cleaned up the kitchen from last night. fucking hell, this was a bad idea. ❝ you uh... you got anything we should grab before we head over there? ❞

over the months of training, teddy had become someone anya's knows like the back of her hand. so well that she can see his tension flow freely in the way he regards her unsurely. she's never quiet minded throwing off people in her company, sometimes she even enjoyed it, but at this moment she didn't enjoy the way teddy's looking through her, as if hoping to find something, uncertainty rippling across his features in throes. he knows her just as well, then.

so she lets him get closer that they're sharing air, her eyes watch his as his hair brushes her skin, and her hand squeezes his as her other one lands against his waist, tugging lightly at the fabric of his shirt. caution abandoned, it's not like their relationship is a secret, and even though her coach didn't seem too pleased by the fact, she didn't object because it fed directly into her performances. which is what anya's counting on. though she can't help but wonder, now, if the choice came down to it, would she choose teddy? she hopes she never has to find out.

anya lets the weight of her head press into his hand as she looks up at him, shoulders fallen and relaxed when he finally relent, and he does, on one condition that is not made better received by the soft motion of his fingers moving through her hair. anya huffs at loud, head shaking, and holds the profanities instead as she shoots teddy a silent, really ? is that necessary ? well rounded, stern eyes. he's onto her, clearly, she didn't suspect it but now she's sure.

❝ she looks out for me, okay ? you don't need to be so harsh about her. ❞ anya's defense is weak, as she slips her arms through the supports of the crutches and pulls herself up. it takes a minute to find the right balance, keeping her foot off the ground so not to trigger any pains, as she peers up at teddy finally, ❝ back to your place then ? ❞ anya arches a brow to show she's game, she's not resisting at all. there are worse places to be, after all.

[ofthclight]

meggie folchart is nothing if not good with details. she has to be. she wouldn't have survived without them. and as strange as it seems, this isn't her first time being thrust into foreign lands with folklore and mythos and magic. but in the inkworld, she had the advantage. mo knew every corner like the back of his hand, dustfinger had lived there, her mother had survived there. in this place... well, she's not even sure what this place is. so she sets herself firmly at square one and reverts to the basics. details. information. soak it up like a sponge and sort it out later.

courts. kings. magic. handsome man with temperamental powers flashing her the kind of grin that makes her chest flutter and her mind blank. it's a danger signal if there ever was one, but he's the only ally she's got. she's just hoping that whatever story they're in, whatever portal he slipped through and whatever pages she disappeared into --- this isn't one of those stories where she ends up the fool who fell victim to the pretty face.

then again, he is her husband now, isn't he? technically? no matter what world or realm or story exists, usually the presence of some high ranking official and two people stood across from one another in formal dress and vows being said only ever means one thing. so she's going to trust him. rhys-like-reece. whoever he turns out to be. and she'll just... hope to god or deity or author that he's not a betrayer. ❝ so between your portal and my magic, we have no idea where we are. ❞ meggie states it as calmly as she can, but her voice wavers slightly.

a hand lifts and her fingers brush through her hair. worn long and elegant and she's pretty sure one of the women getting her dressed wove flowers into it. his plan is simple and probably their best chance, but her stomach twists at the thought of it. she's not --- well, she's not heroine material. meek and quiet and usually quite shy, she used up her quota of heroics when she was twelve and since then life has been... quiet. she studies. she reads. sometimes she contemplates writing but she gets so stuck staring at a pen and contemplating the danger of the written word that inevitably, she gives up. she dates quiet men. soft bookworms with glasses and occasional stutters. rhys is out of her comfort zone. out of her league. faking it through the rest of the day is a much bigger feat than she's prepared for.

❝ i can do it. ❞ she will do it, because it's the best plan they have and it'll give her the best chance at gathering more information. information that can help them both. meggie lifts her gaze and nods seriously, resists the urge to swallow when she catches him looking at her. ❝ and i can help you find your... harp. ❞ that alone inspires at least several dozen questions. truthfully, she's pretty sure she could hand him any number of relics if he gives her a pen and paper. it's just dangerous. and unpredictable.

he said centuries. his people. courts --- as in multiple. he's right in saying that it's not her responsibility, but she's here, isn't she? and she might be able to help, at least in the capacity that it'll take to help him find whatever relics he's looking for. besides, she could very well just write something for him and read it out then and there, easy as that. but these things are never quite as easy as that. ❝ is there anything else i should know? curses? creatures? armies of people after you for one reason or another? i mean we are married now, so... what's yours is mine. enemies included. ❞

[ofthclight]

jonah rests a heavy hand on mal's shoulder as the cracked words leave lara's lips . it's a silent request that's really more of a command , and thankfully mal doesn't fight him . carefully , and oh so gently , mal untangles himself from lara , shifting her so that jonah can bear more of her weight . it's something that he'll never understand , and jonah doesn't wish for a second that mal would . for lara , this was meant to be the end . somewhere inside of him , he knows that . he felt it , even when he tried to fight against it . for all the times that he fought to bring her back , the battles they faced together , the bodies they buried , the sleepless nights they weathered together --- lara never thought she would survive , and he's always known that . the look in her eyes now , it defies explanation , but jonah understands it completely . there's a part of her that just seems tired . it's the part of her he imagines went down with the endurance . that chipped away more and more with every person she buried .

she is weakened and exhausted . her thoughts lightly more chaotic than the ruins around them , but jonah holds her gaze as he delicately picks her up . her feet rest on the ground , but he holds her weight . he always will , if she'll let him . dipping his head forward slightly , jonah's voice is soft when it comes out . ❝ ua ola loko i ke aloha . ❞ they're his grandmother's words . love gives life within . there's more he'd like to say . wisdom to impart . a smaller part of him would like to yell at her for being reckless again , for taking the brunt of it on her own again . but instead he just exhales and lets her find her own footing .

it takes what feels like an eternity for mal to regain his breath . to calm the racing of his heart , his thoughts , his entire world . panic eases a bit as he watches her . jonah's larger frame practically dwarfing her , the other man steadying her in a way that mal will never begin to understand but will always respect . his boots scrape against the ground as mal bends his knees , draping one forearm over each as he drops his head between his shoulders where he sits . he breathes , or at least he tries . calling on the same strategies that he used to use when the nightmares were worse , back before he found her again . back when he first saw the articles about the endurance and thought of the horrors she'd faced when he wasn't there . but even here , even now , he almost lost her . he wasn't enough .

jonah's gaze meets his and he nods , pulling himself up and steeling himself over . this moment isn't his , it's lara's . when her footing still feels unsure and unsteady , he steps in closer and curls an arm around her waist , turning his head to the side to kiss her temple . ❝ let me carry you . ❞ it's more plea than command , and when he's certain she won't fight him on it too badly , mal dips his weight and picks her up . some not-yet-examined injury in his leg screams at him , his muscles feel sore from fighting and running and the crash of adrenaline , but he feels steadier now that she's in his arms . licking his lips , he follows jonah as they begin to make their way out . ❝ i don't know about you guys , but i could really use a drink . ❞

mal's words cut deep, i can't let her go again, like she's given him a choice in the matter. like she hadn't shirked him off on the precipice of her first big adventure, and claimed that that had been what they both wanted all along. lara slipped out of his hands like water that day, mal could have clutch as hard as he could have and she would have evaded. but no more, no more, for once she doesn't want to be let go. she doesn't want to be alone. the truth is that lara never wants to be alone.

you did it, little bird. the little face flashes before her eyes, the little boy calling for his mother, hanging off that church. she did it, she stopped more little ones from calling out for their mothers in fear before falling into the abyss of lara's shortcomings. the words and their meaning pull her heart apart, and lara who's so expertly mastered the art of wallowing in solitude, had no more of that resolution to hold back the tears that burned her bleary eyes. she's alive, that little boy isn't, but she's alive and she stopped the cleansing. maybe now she can let the self pity swallow her whole, feel the weight without denying herself. it's over now, it's all over.

she doesn't hear that inner critic chastise her for the relief that washes over her, maybe she's not woken from slumber yet, the reaches of the divine source hadn't awakened her yet. instead, lara clutches at jonah's hand under mal's arm, warm and overbearing in its security. she couldn't have done it without him. at every turn she overshot there was jonah, swinging her right back. to save him. to protect him. the only family she had left.

her attention returns to the crushing embrace she's molded into, her torso still feels limp even as tone returns to her body. but it's as if she's had the worst case of post-training soreness, her muscles could be strings of rubber right now, whining at every squeeze. but it didn't matter, as mal's hand moves over her face like a blind man sees, the disbelief and laughter and anguish all mixed up into his handsome features.

and it filters down to an accusation that she's guilty of, she had left, she could have chosen to leave permanently. part of her clings to that vision of her parents still, she'd thought giving them up, the ultimate sacrifice, would be enough. she's seen enough of belief to wonder if she deserved a place in any kind of afterlife, and if she had, would she find her parents, would they be a family again ? would she finally have what she's yearned for all, these years ?

foolish girl, the inner critic chastised when lara let the crimson fire lay her on the altar and forced images of jonah, of mal, of sam, of kaz, to the front of her mind. plans and temples and worlds to discover. things lara wanted to live for. and the terrible, striking, selfish grief that she was never going to. but here she is now, with a second chance she's not sure she's worth, but would make count with every single breath she takes.

his tears and hers warm her cold, cold cheeks, as she lets herself be reprimanded while soaking up all the heat he had to offer. lara's eyes flicker to his in the infinitesimal space between them as her hand moves from his elbow to take hold of the collar of his shirt, tugging and pulling and crumpling the fabric in as tight a grip she could muster. ❝ i had something to come back to this time. ❞ she manages a labored confession, her cheek leans further into the curve of his palm. it seems, coming back to life is a draining ordeal, she barely feels like she can hold her own head up, let alone conjure up a truth she's only realised as she took her literal dying breath.

there are hushed voices between etzli and his vanguard. disbelief buzzes and swarms the masses but it's etzli who quickly beckons their ascent back into the village, ' we must return now. ' his voice carries loud enough and in english to infiltrate the moment between lara, mal, and jonah. the young king says no more even though he wants to, is desperate to even. lara wonders for a brief moment if he thinks it unfair lara's evaded the destiny of the serpent queen despite taking her place, when unuratu would not have had such fortune.

the critic stirs but again, lara's too weak to bare her any mind. her ankles and knees retaliate furiously to any attempt at pushing against the ground, but gratefully her arms comply. she lets go of jonah's hand and her arm manages to loop around mal's neck as the impassioned grip on his shirt pulls for support, ❝ help me up. ❞ the slight movement feels like a threat, like her sternum had been hastily put back together and any forced huff of effort would split her chest in half, and for a second lara believes it, her arm loosens as she sags back into mal's arms, taking in a few experimental breaths to make sure the burst of life isn't just that. lara's temple presses into mal's shoulder, peering over his collar at jonah as she gives a subtle slow blink, her shoulders suddenly rattle as a shiver runs the length of her spine. i don't think i can get up yet ...