#Blackthorn will protest

[oldfarmerbillswife]

[lightstairs1902]

WHY IS EVERYONE IN TLH FANDOM ACTING LIKE WHATS HAPPENING IN IRAN DOESNT EXIST?

Like guys we have literally Iranian family in Chain of Gold/Iron and we love them more than anything. My dumbass learns Persian for almost a year bc of them. And I found Iranian friends.

WE NEED TO BE THEIR VOICE BC THE GOVERNMENT TRIES TO SHUT THEM.

Please share. Please be their voice. My beautiful friend Melody maybe won't respond me today and I need people to know about MAHSA AMINI.

So for those who don't know Mahsa Amini was brutally killed by morality police in Iran for not wearing hijab properly. Women in Iran are protesting. They are fighting for their freedom. For their choice. Government is killing them. Even minors. 10 yo girl was killed due to protests. But they are still fighting and nobody talks about this. We need to spread awareness bc their government tries to act like its not happening and they're trying to stop this by muting people. Its brutal and unfair.

Please spread awareness. Thank you from me and Melody. She would be grateful. Stay safe.

[lafiametta]

Like many Shōgun viewers, I wondered about Blackthorne's action in Episode 9, when he draws a line in the sand of the garden, marring its perfectly cultivated harmony. Was he taking some stand against Japan and its culture of socially-permissible suicide? Was he silently protesting against the action Mariko was about to undertake?

gif by @yocalio

If we go back to the first episode, though, we realize that this is not the first time that Blackthorne has encountered someone who wishes to take their own life. His Dutch captain, clearly suffering under the effects of scurvy and the futility of remaining at sea for months with dwindling supplies, tells Blackthorne that he no longer holds out any hope of reaching Japan, much less returning to Europe a rich man. Then he glances down at Blackthorne's pistol.

“At my age,” he says, “you draw your line.”

(Like he does with Mariko, Blackthorne argues with the captain, telling him that suicide would be the act of a coward. Interestingly enough, the captain's words — “Pilot, there's nothing to fear. It's a blessed release. It's like only a soft wind in your face. Can you feel it? That is the breath of the Almighty. He's calling us. Listen. He's calling us home” — seem to do as little to convince Blackthorne as Mariko's rationale does. Still, he leaves the captain with his pistol.)

What if Blackthorne's act is not meant as an act of protest, but as a way to honor the sacrifice that Mariko is about to make, even if he vehemently disagrees with her choice? (He honors it even more when he volunteers to serve as her second, an act of love and duty that he agrees to perform even if it will destroy him to do so.) Ever since he came to understand her desire to die, he has argued with her, rejecting what he sees as her fatalism. Even her continued loyalty to Toranaga is branded as “senseless,” as he sees it as leading to her death. But by Episode 9, he has realized that he will never convince her, and perhaps — despite his anguished plea that she consider living, if only for him — he finally sees the purpose of her action and accepts her choice.

That is why he makes the mark in the garden. It is her, standing against her enemies, fulfilling her purpose.

And in the end, he understands: she must draw her line.

[signalburst]

“Hell’s no place I haven’t seen before. Let it from your mind."

Gif: @yocalio

'Shogun showrunner Rachel Kondo revealed that the idea to have Blackthorne step up as Mariko’s second was initially “a shock” to her.

“It was one of those things that felt both surprising to us, but also inevitable. Like, naturally, this is the woman he loves. He doesn’t want her to writhe in eternal hell that he knows she believes in, right? I don’t even know if he believes in it, but he, this was his moment to look at her and to see her and to do something,” Kondo said.

“The one thing he does not want to do — he most doesn’t want to do — and he does it because of her, for her.”

Blackthorne’s poetic “last words” to Mariko during the seppuku scene were a suggestion from Cosmo Jarvis: “Hell’s no place I haven’t seen before. Let it from your mind,” to help him grapple with Blackthorne’s out of character decision to volunteer to kill the woman he loves.

“It was quite a challenge to find the motivation for a man to do that,” Jarvis said. “A man who hates unnecessary violence. Blackthorne hates unnecessary violence. And this would be the pinnacle of unnecessary violence and it’s somebody that he cares deeply for.”

“But, you know, that’s the joy of the work. You have to find motivations for these things and you have to do them and commit to them,” he said, explaining the genesis of the line, applauding the showrunners' collaborative nature for keeping it in.

According to Anna Sawai, Blackthorne’s decision to step up and second Mariko’s seppuku was “the biggest gesture of love that she feels from him.”

Gifs: @yocalio

“It’s when she realizes how much she means to him. Because he is a Protestant and he’s going against his religion and he’s taking her over himself. He’s allowing her to die a loyal Catholic and a samurai,” Sawai said during an interview earlier this week. “It’s a very romantic thing for her and she’s in a way kind of seeing him in different eyes because of what this means."

“He’s taking her over his own religion and beliefs,” Sawai explains of the powerful moment. “A couple scenes before that he’s asking her to keep living for him. And so I think that it just shows that he really, really cares, and that is the most romantic thing that you could ever do for someone that you love.”

Mariko is spared, for a night. A night that Mariko and Blackthorne get to share together. Although Yabushige’s treachery would result in Mariko’s death later that night, the two lovers get to spend one last evening in each other’s arms.

“It was just a moment of like, ‘I deserve this. We deserve this. We accept each other, we see each other and we can share this moment together,'” Sawai said, giving Mariko’s story a bittersweet, tragically romantic ending.'

Full interviews:

Anna Sawai Reveals the Moment Mariko Fell in Love With Blackthorne

Anna Sawai Details How Mariko’s Seppuku Attempt in Episode 9 Binds Her and Blackthorne Forever: “It’s a Very Romantic Thing for Her”

[redsamuraiii]

Shogun (2024)

Based on James Clavell’s novel, FX’s Shōgun is set in Japan in the year 1600 at the dawn of a century-defining civil war. Lord Yoshii Toranaga (Hiroyuki Sanada) is fighting for his life as his enemies on the Council of Regents unite against him.

Caught in between, is John Blackthorne (Cosmo Jarvis), an English sailor who finds himself marooned on the land of the rising sun. And how his fateful encounter with Lord Toranaga and Lady Mariko (Anna Sawai) would change his destiny.

While the characters are fictional, they are based on actual historical characters. Take for example, the three main leads:

Yoshi Toranaga is inspired by Tokugawa Ieyasu.

John Blackthorne is inspired by William Adams.

Toda Mariko is inspired by Hosokawa Gracia.

I enjoyed the 1980s film of the same name which is based on the same book and would very much look forward to watch this.

A tumultuous time where a rising Shogun attempts to unify Japan while Europe is at war between Catholics and Protestants.

[drabblesandimagines]

Commitment

Clive Rosfield x female reader, fluff Once again, thank you to the commissioner for this piece, and also for allowing me to share with you all x

“There,” Jill smiles, pinning the flower garland upon your crown. She’d crafted it from flowers from the backyard that very morning, wanting it to be fresh and vibrant in colour as possible.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing yourself in such finery. Jill has braided sections of your hair across your crown, incorporating the garland seamlessly. The gown is a fine white fabric, embroidered with dainty flowers across the waistline, sleeves and hem, and you dread to think of how many nights Hortense has worked over it by candlelight.

You had meant for it to be an extremely low-key affair – you, Clive, Joshua, Jill, Torgal, of course, and Tomes to officiate in Clive’s chambers one evening, but Gav, the excellent scout that he is, had clocked something was afoot and soon enough the entire Hideaway was abuzz with the news that you and Clive planned to wed, and all wanted to be involved.

It had started with Maeve asking what your favourite cake was – you can’t get married without a cake, she’d stressed, and the two of you had agreed, only because you knew it would be a welcome treat to the residents of the Hideaway. Then Hortense had appeared at the door, reams of fabric in hand, wanting your measurements and what you thought of this or that fabric, if you were a fan of long or short sleeves. You’d insisted that she shouldn’t waste the Hideaway’s supplies of something so frivolous as a wedding gown, something you’d only wear once, but she wouldn’t hear of it.

A procession soon followed – Charon had some simple rings in stock that Blackthorne was going to adjust to fit, the bard had asked if there was any particular tunes you were fond of, Byron then arriving after Gav had sent word, his boat filled up with the finest wine from his stores, as well as sundries towards what had soon turned into a wedding feast.

--

There’s a knock at the door and Jill hurries over to answer, opening it only a little to check who it was, before pulling them apart fully to permit them entry.

“Perfect timing, Joshua. I do believe we are ready.”

The Phoenix strides in, Jill quickly sliding the door shut behind him. He is dressed in his usual blacks but with what appears to be a new red cowl. Hortense had let no-one in the so-called wedding party escape without some sort of new garb for the day.

Joshua stares at you and you hoist up your skirt delicately as you get to your feet, feeling a little embarrassed from the attention.

“Is it too much?”

He shakes his head. “You are going to take Clive’s breath away.”

“Told you,” Jill grins, passing you the simple bouquet the botanists of the Backyard had put together, containing yours and Clive’s favourite flowers, wrapped with a white ribbon. “I best go take my place.”

“Thank you, Jill.” You stop her, pulling her into a hug. “For everything.”

“Oh, stop it,” she protests, her voice a little tight, but she leans into your embrace all the same for a moment. As she pulls away, she fixes your garland once more with a kind smile and it is then you see tears brimming her eyes. “I am so happy for you – both of you. I shall let the bard know you’re ready for your entrance.”

You find yourself swallowing down your own tears as Jill leaves the chambers, a hum of conversation floating through the doors as they open and close.

Joshua offers you his arm. “Are you ready, my lady?”

You loop your arm through his and take a deep breath. “More than ever.”

--

Clive stands at the top of the stairs to the shelves, the doors wide open, besides Tomes. Everyone is stood in the Ale Hall below, leaving a makeshift aisle between the two sides for his future wife to walk down.

He’d never considered marriage, truthfully. After years enslaved, it never seemed even a possibility until he had met you – sweet, beautiful, wonderful you, who he fell deeper in love with each and every day.

He knew life with him was hard, having to be parted often as his duty took him across Valisthea, his work to fulfil Cid’s legacy, never quite knowing when he could give you his undivided attention back at the Hideaway… But this, his vow to be your husband was something he could give you, and he did so gladly.

He is donned in a new white shirt at Hortense’s insistence, though still in his leathers, and Torgal sits by his heels, panting and as fluffy as he was a pup - the children had given him a thorough wash the day before and this morning tied a bright red bow around his neck, insisting he had to look his best for the festivities.

“Are you nervous, Clive?” Tomes asks, softly.

Clive takes a steadying breath, knowing he could never lie. “A little, but only because of the audience.”

“Understandable. You’ll forget all about them once you see your bride, I am sure of it.”

He’d seen Joshua enter the chambers a few moments ago and then Jill hurrying out, looking beautiful in her new teal and white dress, now whispering in the bard’s ear before taking her place at the bottom of the staircase.

The bard strums a chord in a flourish, getting the crowd to settle, before he begins to pick the strings in a simple but beautiful melody, and the doors to the chambers open once more, the entire Hideaway turning their head to catch a glimpse.

Clive forgets to breathe for a moment.

Tomes is right – as soon as you emerge, always beautiful to his eyes but today especially so, a vision so wonderful he doesn’t see anyone else. You’re blushing as you meet his gaze and hold it, trying to ignore the fact of so many eyes upon you, and Clive can’t help but wish Joshua would walk a little faster.

It feels an age before you reach the bottom of the stairs, when Clive can finally descend them. You pass your bouquet to Jill, and Joshua then passes your hand to Clive. It takes all that’s in him not to kiss you right that at that very moment, but he knows he must wait. Tears prick at his eyes and at that moment you don’t need to hear anything from him – the love and adoration on his face tells you more than words ever could.

You can barely take in what Tomes is saying as you stare into your love’s eyes, somehow managing to recite the affirmations at the right times, to slip the ring onto Clive’s finger as he does to yours and then, finally, Tomes wraps the ribbon around your clasped hands, binding you as together one at last.

“It is my great honour to present to you the new Lord and Lady Rosfield.” The historian proclaims, cheers and applause echoing around the Ale Hall in response – including a loud sob that is so unmistakenly Gav.

Clive cups your cheek then, tilting your head up as you place a hand upon his chest, meeting his lips with yours in a short, sweet but chaste kiss.

“I love you,” you whisper, before kissing him once again.

“I love you more - my light, my love, my life.”

“You can do far better than that, my boy!” Byron’s voice booms from below, interrupting your moment of tranquility.

Clive looks a little bashful from his uncle’s comment, though moves his head down to murmur a request in your ear.

“Shall we give them a show, my darling?”

“I think we should, my husband.” You grin in return. Clive wastes no time then, moving his hand to the back of your head, another to the small of your back and dips you in a smooth notion, tongue only swiping your lip for a moment before he presses you into a passionate, almost bruising kiss that makes your heart pound, and all to another raucous cheer from below.

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

[spacehero-23]

TSC as The Tortured Poets Departament 🪶📜🤍

Ngl, some of them were really hard and some clicked right away. But i’m pretty proud of it. Let me know what you think! 

Fortnite - Matthew Fairchild - I love you, it’s ruining my life

The Tortured Poets Departament - James and Cordelia  

My boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys - Charles and Alastair

Down Bad - Kit and Ty

So Long, London - Robert and Maryse

But Daddy I Love Him - Annabel - "Stay away from her" The saboteurs protested too much

Fresh Out the Slammer - James Herondale - Fresh out the slammer, I know who my first call will be to

Florida!!! - Matthew Fairchild - Love left me like this and I don't want to exist. So take me to Florida

Guilty as Sin? - Julian and Emma - What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind?

Who’s Afraid Of Little Old Me? - Annabel Blackthorn - Then say they didn't do it to hurt me. But what if they did?

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) - Valentine and Jocelyn

loml - Amatis Greymark 

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart - Izzy Lightwood - The lights refract sequin stars off her silhouette every night" I can show you

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived - James Herondale - And I don't even want you back, I just want to know If rusting my sparkling summer was the goal

The Alchemy - Thomas and Alastair - 'Cause the sign on your heart Said it's still reserved for me. Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?

Clara Bow - Kit Herondale - “What kind of Herondale will you be? William or Tobias? Stephen or Jace? Beautiful, bitter, or both?”

The burden of being a Herondale. All those names you have to live up to.  Live up to the legend of Jace Herondale, the boy with the angel blood. Live up to James Herondale, the son your mother lost. See all the ways you’re similar, and all the ways you're not. Live up to the expectation of being the Lost Heir and live the burden that comes with that. And remember that one day another Herondale will come and they might feel the same way about you.

This was really fun! And i am planning on making part with The Anthology 🤍

[avelera]

Historical Meta: Blackthorne and Mariko's Prayer in Shogun 1.6

So there's a moment in Shogun 1.6 "Ladies of the Willow World" where (spoilers) Mariko and Blackthorne are both praying, specifically they're speaking the Lord's Prayer.

Mariko recites the Lord's Prayer in Latin.

Blackthorne recognizes this and joins in, reciting it in English.

So far, I've seen all reactions to this scene focusing on the intense yearning it depicts between them and this moment of shared connection.

While I definitely do believe that emotion of connection and yearning is there, I think one thing many people in a modern audience wouldn't grasp is that there's an added shade of meaning to Blackthorne joining in English.

Specifically, it's a bit of a "fuck you" to Catholicism. Yes, even in this moment of shared connection and yearning with Mariko. Let me explain.

One of the points of contention between English Protestants and European Catholics was on the language that mass would be given in. The English Protestants believed (to vastly simplify an incredibly complex period in history) that the Bible and Mass and prayers should all be in the vernacular, because people should have an individual right to commune directly with God and save their own souls, so to speak, without priests as a favored intermediary.

Latin as a separate language that largely obscured the holy word from believers, was seen as emblematic to English Protestants of this sort of Church monopoly on access to God that Catholic priests were imposing on believers.

Mariko is a Catholic because she was converted to Christianity through Portuguese Catholic missionaries. The people Blackthorne hates. And Blackthorne hasn't been above insulting Mariko's Catholic faith to her face, let's be clear, so it's not out of the question for this scene that he continues in that vein even in a private moment.

But I don't see it entirely as a "fuck you" to Mariko's beliefs.

Rather, I see it as him in his usual, in-your-face way, trying to show her a better faith, his faith, a faith where prayer is said in a language the believer understands.

To Blackthorne's beliefs, Mariko should be saying the Lord's Prayer in Japanese. She should have a right to her own personal relationship with God that isn't dictated by Catholic priests represented by the prayer being in a separate language she doesn't speak.

So it's a bit of a "fuck you" as he tries to drown out her Catholic Latin prayers with his Protestant English ones but I think to some extent to, there's a sort of missionary desperation to his prayer, trying to show her an alternative, better (in his mind, I'm not impart a value judgement here just trying to explain a historical viewpoint) form of Christianity.

And just to be clear, the Catholic Church didn't allow mass to be in the local language until the Second Vatican Council in 1960.

And yes, in fact as part of the lead up to Protestants splitting away from Catholics, one of the major points of contention was the right to hear mass in the local language and leaders who called for this were often persecuted as heretics by the Church. I only mention this to explain some of the buildup of vitriol that Protestants like Blackthorne would have felt towards Catholic priests as these events would be much more recent history to them (along with Bloody Mary's persecution of Protestants in England in living memory, which is a whole other story).

[sannes-reincarnation-saga]

Chapter two: Ivar.

CW: Slaves in a medieval society,  abuse, 

The only thing keeping Ivar alive in this hellhole was his desperate desire to kill Katherine Blackthorne.

It was a freezing November night and Ivar knew he was supposed to die here, trapped in this narrow kennel in the middle of the castle's courtyard.

During the day, he was on perfect display, stripped of his clothes and dignity for the English to gawk at. But now, the night engulfed him in darkness as thick as the northern sea during a night dive.

Pain pulsed through Ivar’s legs. They twitched, unable to straighten in the cramped space.

The kennel's icy bars warmed as they pressed into his shins and he leaned his clammy forehead against them. They felt almost good against the burn of his fever.

His back must have gotten infected after the last whipping. The soiled hay in his kennel stuck to the dried blood on his back, irritating the crisscross of partly crusted wounds. Every twitch pulled his skin painfully, and he trembled violently in the frigid air.

Somewhere to his right, a heavy metal door slammed shut. The servants’'s entrance? It was too loud for a wooden door and not loud enough for a castle gate. But this late at night?

A pair of heavy steps rushed towards the courtyard, joined by a couple lighter ones. Nervous whispers echoed through the cloister walk as they drew near.

“Does Lady Blackthorne know of this?” asked an older maid. Ivar strained to listen. Nothing ever happened in Blackthorn castle without the bitch’tes knowledge. And explicit permission.

“Not yet,” came the gruff reply.

“But- you can’t bring a stranger inside! Who even is this girl? Oh gods, what if she's a witch?”

“Doubtful. Found her out in the woods, totally out of it.”

“But- The woods? At this time? A girl shouldn’t be in the woods at night. And why- why is she naked?” The woman's voice pitched high within discomfort on the last question.

“Dunno. Should I have left her to freeze to death?”

“No! But- but I have nothing to do with this, you hear. Nothing.”

A lone lantern flame cast their long shadows onto the courtyard as they rounded a corner. Hissing, Ivar shifted onto his side to see them set foot on the wet cobblestones. They glittered in the light.

The head of housemaids hurried ahead, head turning hectic on her long neck to spot any possible witnesses lurking in the dark. Her bonnet sat askew on graying brown hair, thrown on in a rush no doubt, but her black servants dress fell straight down to her ankles, the dark linen pristine and bar any wrinkles.  In stark contrast to the bulky, mud smeared appearance of the huntsman following her. 

His boots and leather trousers were crusted in late autumn slush. A thick scarf and hat obscured half his face. Only his frostbitten red nose and grim eyes were visible, looking down at the person he carried bundled in his coat. 

“By the gods, did you hear that?”  Ivar could see the woman's face now, her sharp features drawn tight in displeasure. Her thin lips pursed as she spat out:  “I think that Norse pig is awake.”

The huntsman didn’t answer. Instead he wrapped his brown leather coat tighter around the unconscious girl in his arms. Pale, dangling legs and a shock of blond hair stuck out of it.

“How can you be this calm?” The woman spat, black skirt swishing as she faced him. “What if he rats us out for some extra food?”

The huntsman's bushy brows furrowed.  “The Norse are too proud to bargain for food scraps.”

Ivars dry lips cracked in a smile, when a sudden burst of wind whipped across the courtyard, its howl drowning out the servants' protests and extinguishing the lantern flame. When it hit him, his black salt-sweaty hair blew into his gray eyes, hay flying everywhere.

“A bad omen,” hissed the maid. Cloth rustled and a match scraped against a matchbox’s striking strip. Once. Twice. “I tell you all this is a bad omen.” It lit with a crackling sizzle.

The wind carried a smell that sent goosebumps down Ivar’s back.

The stench of angels.

The sweet decay of death hit him like a battering ram, catapulting his thoughts to abandoned battlefields full of angels sprouting from the ground, decomposing the corpses of his comrades.

Why would the huntsman haul an angel touched corpse from the woods? Ivar wondered, swallowing down bile.

After some fumbling the maid’s lantern flickered back to life and Ivar noticed the small puffs of warm breath escaping from the unconscious girl. So she wasn’t dead?

A draugr perhaps? No, Ivar doubted it. Never would the huntsman make such a mistake.

But angels only took the living. And never let go of the dead.

Whatever this girl was, a living corpse or a human, Ivar knew at least one thing for sure:

She was an unplanned disturbance in Katherine’s meticulously run machinery of a castle.

And during war, disturbances meant chances. 

Ivar curled up in his frigid kennel, back burning at the stretch. For the first time since his capture, he smiled. 

Taglist:

@ashintheairlikesnow @vickytokio @newbornwhumperfly @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @studyofwhump @dragyouthroughthewhump @studyofwhump @secretwhumplair @whump-queen @whump-captain

[mercurygray]

Omg thoughts on Shogun? I’ve been seeing ads and trailers for it everywhere and I want to watch it but I also don’t want to be disappointed lol. Historically accurate? Badass characters? Overall compelling and fun to watch?

I might not be the *best* person to comment on the historical accuracy of period dramas set in 17th century Japan, but so far it's doing a very good job of keeping me convinced that that's exactly where we are!

Shogun follows John Blackthorne, an English pilot (a sailor specially trained in all forms of navigation) who is currently working on a Dutch merchant ship trying to find a route to the then-extremely mysterious island of Japan. The Portuguese (who we will all remember are Catholic, which is an important detail at this period in history) have a trade monopoly with Japan which is making them fabulously rich. Blackthorne has illegally acquired a rutter, a document with tides and currents and maps that will make the voyage to 'the Japans' easier.

Sadly, his ship and crew arrive nearly helpless - after a voyage of nearly a year, they are without food and without hope, and are taken captive by a local lord. The whole crew is English and Dutch - and therefore Protestant, putting them very much at the mercy of the Portuguese Jesuits who are serving as their primary translators.

Blackthorne attracts the attention of Toranaga, a high-ranking lord who is currently serving on the council of regents for the underage ruler, the Taiko. Toranaga sees in Blackthorne a chance to change the balance of power away from the Portuguese and their allies.

Shenanigans ensue. It is extremely compelling television, if only to watch Blackthorne marvel at the depth of the spirit of bushido that he sees demonstrated by many characters.

I would be very remiss if I did not mention that there is a love interest - the lady Mariko, a member of Toranaga's retinue who serves as translator and has (by episode 3, anyway) killed a man with a naginata, the traditional weapon for samurai women. She is amazing. The tension between these two is incredible. You should watch this show.

[cammie-morgan-goode]

On the deleted scenes, Ally said that instead of Cam seeing Mr. mosckowitz working out, Zach is also an option. But she still wrote Mosckowitz on the deleted scene. Can you fulfill my (& I know most of us, ahem) fantasy of it being Zach??? Thanks!!!

There's something weird about having boys go to your all-girls school. For one, it's an all-girls school which means no boys. For two, it's a whole different thing when said boys are trained better than you are.

Cammie hadn't realized that with the arrival of these boys, a ton of drama would ensue. She felt like she was drowning. And for the first time in her life, she was starting to feel like she just wasn't good enough.

There was a time when she was one of the best in her class. There was a time when people would see her train and think "I aspire to be that".

But now she was being overshadowed.

And for being the Chameleon? She didn't like it at all.

"One of a girl's greatest assets are her feet. If you cannot balance on the balls of your feet and anticipate where your opponent's feet are moving, you will not make it away from a fight." Ms. Hancock tells them, making her way along the mats on the ground. "Pay attention to your partner's feet. Pay attention to their movements. Do they lean on their left foot before they move? Do they suck in a breath before they punch? Do they pay more attention to your feet or your hands? Anything can give away your next move, ladies,"

Cammie stared at Bex across from her, watching her best friend smirk. She'd been sparring with Bex since the sixth grade. She knew that Bex favored her left leg. She knew that Bex's weakness were her knees and her hair. (Which could be anyone's weakness, but Bex made it personal!)

And without hesitation, Cammie's arm shot out, aiming for Bex's head. Bex dodged it easily, leaning onto her right hip. She ducked and swung her leg out, aiming for Cammie's left knee. But, Cammie sidestepped, making Bex fall to the mat.

Ms. Hancock called time and Cammie helped Bex up off the mats. The two girls grabbed their water bottles, drinking from them eagerly. They started following each other out, chattering on and on about nonsense. Cammie didn't even turn as the group of boys entered the P&E barn, faces already red from doing runs outside.

Bex was the one who stopped her though, hand flying out in front of Cammie's chest before she even made it off the mats. Cammie almost yelled at her in protest until she followed Bex's gaze.

The group of boys, some with their shirts off, were already shoving and pushing each other. They were loud and energetic, hyped up with excitement for their workout. Cammie had never seen anything like it.

Her gaze snags on a certain boy with dark hair, separated from the rest. His shirt is slowly getting drenched in sweat as he lags behind. Most would think he's slow and a weak link but, Cammie knew better. And she hated that the boy in question was making his way over to her.

Or so she thought.

Zach stopped a few feet behind the girls, lifting his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. He lifted his arms up above his head, his shirt lifting again. The Blackthorne boy shifted on the balls of his feet. Cammie couldn’t stop the image of Zach’s toned calves from entering her mind.

Cammie could feel her cheeks turning red which had nothing to do with the sweat already on her body. She wasn't staring of course but, she could see Zach out of the corner of her eye.

The boys were split away from each other. Some were down on the ground, doing pushups, their legs out straight and their chests a mere inch from the floor. Others had taken it upon themselves to throw punches at each other. But not Zach.

Zach was working out alone, no partner. No spotter. He preferred it that way.

Cammie tried not to notice Zach in the corner of the barn. She tried to focus on her own training or even moving her feet forward. But that was nearly impossible when the Blackthorne Boy in question was doing pull ups.

Zach's face was scrunched up with concentration as he pulled himself up over the bar. He alternated his legs, bringing them to his stomach and then letting them fall, never breaking stride.

Cammie could see the muscles straining beneath his shirt, see the tightening of the skin on his biceps. She could only imagine the smooth skin of his abs glistening with sweat. She knew he had lost count but, Cammie hadn't. 12... 13... 14...

Cammie hit the mat with a thunderous smack.

Her head hit the floor hard, her body crumbling beneath her. The fall left her gasping for air, chest heaving. And all she could see was Bex's snickering expression above her.

"Distracting, huh, Cammie dear," Bex said in her perfect accent.

Cammie coughed, trying to get air back into her lungs. She glared at Bex. Her eyes wide with anger. Until a tall figure entered her cloudy vision.

"Need a hand, Morgan?" Zach said, his eyes glistening with pride. He held out his hand again, this time in her line of sight.

Cammie cleared her throat and grabbed his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. Cammie couldn't look him in the face. She knew her face was redder than Liz when she fell asleep by the pool in Alabama.

"Do you find me distracting, Gallagher Girl?" Zach asked, smirking so wide. He was practically grinning from ear to ear. And Cammie hated it.

"In your dreams, Zachary." Cammie said quickly, before turning on her heel and nearly running out of the barn.

She didn't think she ever felt heat like that when she was training before.

And she wouldn't mind if she felt it again.

(Written by: @cammie-morgan-goode)

[coolasstransgay]

Shogun Episode 9 spoilers under the cut

I can’t believe Mariko-sama is gone, and she died in a very gruesome way. Her body was literally blown into pieces as a way to protect the people she loved. I was really hoping she was going to survive and get out there with Blackthorne, but sadly it’s just him now. Why did they choose to cut off the only female main character in the series like what the fuck?! Like I get that it’s based off the books but did you really need to kill off the best character out of the whole line??? I literally started tearing up when I saw that she stood in front of the doorway as an act of protest. She was brave, but I didn’t want her to go out like this. Not in such a violent manner. I just hope that this season ends on a high note, cuz that shit just broke my heart 💔 I just want Ishido dead and his hostages liberated from him, that’s all I want. If that’s how the next episode ends, I’ll be happy.

[lafiametta]

Like the way the theme of myth and story wove itself through the previous episode, this week's episode features the idea of loyalty, what it means, and what it costs.

John Blackthorne's loyalty is split between the men of the Erasmus, long held in Edo, and Toranaga, the lord who has made him his vassal and bannerman. Both still bind him at the beginning of the episode — he accompanies Toranaga's limping army to Edo, despite his bitter proclamation at the end of the previous episode that they're "all dead" — but by the mid-point those ties have begun to fray. Toranaga keeps him at arm's length, not offering him residence inside the castle, and his men, so long sought-after, have spent the past months drinking and whoring, and despise him for his ambition in sailing them to Japan. (Here Blackthorne claims loyalty once more; "we had orders" to cross the ocean, he tells his crewmate, although with less conviction than he normally offers.) With both recipients of his loyalty indicating that they care little for it, his sense of duty turns inward, as he thinks about how he might best serve himself.

That attempt leads him to Yabushige, who at times during their audience seems tempted by Blackthorne's offer of alliance. But the presence of Omi and Mariko are sufficient to remind him that to agree would be a betrayal of his oath to Toranaga. Mariko is offended enough to censure Blackthorne. "You see, once loyalty begins, it does not have an end. Otherwise it would not be loyalty," she tells him. "But loyal turns senseless very quickly when the order is suicide," he replies, which she takes as a personal rebuke.

In a way, he's right. Mariko's loyalty is blind; she will follow Toranaga's will, even if it means her own death. Perhaps maintaining that loyalty is easier for her, given that she already wants to die. (That desire, of course, comes from a sense of loyalty to her own father, a self-sacrificial duty she has carried for nearly fourteen years.) But her uncompromising loyalty does not extend universally: she is dutiful to Buntaro as a husband, keeping away from Blackthorne's bed and remaining silent when he asks if she is "still under the Anjin's spell," but disdainful of him as a man, rejecting his plan for the two of them to die together. Once broken, some ties can never be remade.

Other examples of loyalty appear throughout the episode. Ishido asks for Lady Ochiba's hand in marriage, but she hesitates, knowing that loyalty to him as a husband would mean something far weightier than loyalty to him as a political ally. Out of lordly duty, Toranaga keeps his promises to Gin and Father Alvito, granting them both land in his city of Edo. (Although, with a dash of brilliant irony, the plots are adjoining, putting the brothel next door to the church.)

But undoubtedly the greatest act of loyalty — one that is neither blind nor opportunistic — belongs to Hiromatsu. The only one who Toranaga trusts with the outline of his plan, Hiromatsu must playact at protest in front of the assembled retainers, but the sacrifice he makes to convince them of Toranaga's determination to surrender is viscerally real. The words they volley back and forth speak of loyalty and duty ("Lord! Your vassal dies in vain!"), but it is the last thing Hiromatsu says to his friend — "Then this is farewell" — that is spoken without a hint of artifice. The retainers' initial frustration — how do you remain loyal to someone who has seemingly abandoned their responsibility to you and to themselves? — soon turns to horror in the face of what is being acted out in front of them, all part of Toranaga's larger plan. And Toranaga can only watch as Hiromatsu disembowels himself, even as he understands the necessity of the act. As he tells Mariko later, "Hiromatsu, my old friend, knew his duty well."

As for Toranaga, his true loyalties — like his secret, third heart — have not always been easy to discern. But by the end of this episode, it is clear that he remains loyal to the memories of his son and his friend. Their sacrifices, like their continued belief in him, will not have been in vain.

[thevagabondexpress]

tonechka: chapter 8 of progress marches on

this episode: Vampires! Robots! Exhausted Women! Transgender Faerie Kings! word count: appx. 5k worth of chapter smut warning for this one, it fades to black but even so once it starts getting heated you can just skip down to the first ampersand break if that bugs you. where's waldo: secrets of blackthorn hall reference also: i use the term darkling, an old one CC used sometimes in early tmi and tid installments, instead of subjugate, purely because i hate trying to spell that and don't wanna if i don't have to

Wynne shrugged. "Before you ask, the money went to a tin cart full of books for Terrence, and I bought Jiao a new hat—you know how she adores hats. I'd consider it well spent."

Jiao elbowed Wynne in the ribcage. "And the rest of it went into chocolate liquors and we both know it. I found the boxes."

"There were only two boxes!" Wynne protested.

@caterpillarinacave @tleeaves @4uru @chaosandtwo @remylong @quantummeep @oursoulstheyplay @faithfromanewperspective

(caterpillar there's also pov hattie)

[purplebass]

Five - Chain of Thorns What If? Fic

This is my what if? scenario of what would have happened in Chain of Thorns chapter 26 if somebody else had chased after Tatiana. Can't say much here in case somebody hasn't read the book. This one shot is told from three POVs (Lucie, Grace, Jesse). Warning: Light descriptions of wounds/blood. Thanks to @stabbydragon because your post inspired this fic :) Words: 1,419

Read on A03 ✨

Lucie didn’t know how much she could still hold on. Her legs already gave out, the hard stone of the stairs behind her the only thing keeping her back upright. 

“You are nothing to me,” Rupert’s ghost said, and Tatiana screamed in despair. That urged the Watchers to leave the scene, leaving the woman all by herself. 

Tatiana looked behind her with displeasure and Lucie realized she wanted to flee. “Close the gate,” she said to Rupert’s ghost, and he obliged, moving in front of the gate as if he were a statue and not a ghost. She didn’t know if it would work, but she tried. “Sorry,” she told him, but he didn’t answer. 

“You won’t keep me here, girl,” Tatiana hissed at Lucie. “You will pay today. You and your friends. You ruined my revenge plan!” she cried, and tried to open the gates, but Rupert didn’t move an inch. “You ruined my relationship with my husband and with my son, you ruined me!”

“No one ruined you but yourself,” Rupert said solemnly. Tatiana turned to him, and Lucie could only see her back now. Grace was at the end of the stairs, looking awestruck to do anything. “You began ruining yourself when you chose revenge, Tatiana.”

“I chose revenge for you!” Tatiana raised her voice. Jesse had advanced until the Blackthorn sword was grazing her neck, but she didn’t seem to mind. Didn’t seem to believe her son could ever hurt her. She offered him a glance laced with scorn. “I chose revenge for our family! So that we could be together again.”

“You didn’t just use and ruin my son, you also manipulated an innocent girl to do your bidding. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, Tatiana?” Rupert asked coldly. Lucie felt her grip on him weaken, but tried to hold on. It wasn’t over yet. “You claim you did it for our sake, but you did it because you are selfish.”

Lucie was too focused on Rupert to catch Grace, her light dress billowing behind her, getting close to the three of them by the gate. She brandished a knife, her hand unsteady and trembling even from her position on the stairs, until just a few steps separated the weapon from her face. Lucie didn’t know if it was because of the bitter cold or because she was scared or both. She wasn’t sure where she found the weapon. She wanted to say something, to call her back where she was safe, but she couldn’t. She felt too strained, too weak. 

“Grace,” she said in a sob, “Jesse,” and then her world went black. 

*

Tatiana opened her mouth to protest, but a bitter laugh came out of it. “I can’t believe this is how you are thanking me, Grace,” the woman said. “This is what I get for giving you all. Money, clothes, jewelry,” she laughed deviously, mocking her. “You would have been a beggar if it wasn’t for me, silly girl. You shouldn’t threaten me with a knife, you should bow at my feet.” Tatiana also glanced at her son when she said that, but he ignored her, his sword still pointing at her chest.

Grace tried not to tremble too much, the cold biting at her cheeks and her bare feet. She was stronger than this. She was stronger than the cold. She was stronger than her mother. “Better a beggar than a puppet,” she said firmly. “I should threaten you with more than a knife, I should threaten you with the sword you said was yours by right.”

“It doesn’t matter what you threaten me with, Grace,” she said her name as if it was a curse.  “If the blow doesn’t land.”

Tatiana’s laugh filled the air and chilled Grace to the bone. She would not be afraid, not again. 

Not – One. “This is for Jesse.”. 

Two. “This is for me.” 

Three. “This is for the Lightwood family.” 

Four. “This is for the Herondale family.”

Five. “This is for –”

“Grace,” Jesse said, alarmed, finding his voice amidst the shock, unable to move a hand to stop his sister. Unwilling to stop his sister. He glanced at the ghost who used to be his father, who was still his father, somehow, but Rupert stayed silent, his eyes trained on Tatiana, his mouth a thin line. If he had spoken, he would’ve probably said she deserved it. And she did. Even Jesse knew.

Grace looked at her left hand, the hand where her voyance rune stood out on her pale skin, and where her shaking fingers still held the knife. The knife she had twisted into Tatiana’s chest the same way that woman had fed poison in her heart for all those years. This time, she wouldn’t be the one bleeding as that woman watched her writhe in pain because of the things she forced her to do. She would be the one watching her suffer.

She blinked and tried to register what she had done. She tried to cover the sound of her heart hammering in her chest and ears. She felt as if somebody had cracked an egg open on her head, or worse. She couldn’t describe it. She just blinked at her hand. Her hand now glittered with blood. Tatiana’s blood. A monster’s blood. The knife clattered to the ground, but it didn’t make much noise, the sound muffled by Grace’s heartbeats thundering in her ears.

“A dagger to my heart,” Tatiana coughed, bringing Grace’s attention back to her. She was clutching her chest, her body slumped to the floor, Jesse still keeping the Blackthorn sword close to his mother’s throat. “I never thought you would do it,” she was finding it hard to breathe. “My –” she hissed. Another cough. More blood. “You will have to live with this,” she said lastly, her eyes moving from Grace to Jesse, astonishment making her look even older than she was. 

Until she wasn’t anymore. Dead. Gone.

Grace exhaled a sigh of relief, and let her tears wash away the blood from her dirty hands.

*

When Jesse realized that Grace aimed to strike, he didn’t think. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop. The knife was already in Tatiana’s chest when he registered that Rupert was gone, and disappeared in front of the gate. Didn’t see when Grace twisted it in the flesh as if trying to make a hole where Tatiana’s heart was supposed to be. Didn’t witness when Tatiana’s blood stained her old and worn dress a second time, a third, a fourth, a fifth. Didn’t see her face was pale. 

Tatiana met his eyes before she exhaled her dying breath, and it reminded him of the night he died. He had tossed in his bed, as Grace held his hand and dried the sweat from his forehead. Perhaps it was childish to want his mother by his bed at his age, but he felt helpless. As he felt life abandoning his limbs, not once did his mother cross the threshold of his room to check on him. To tell him words of comfort. To say goodbye. After he returned, he thought maybe Tatiana had felt too broken to witness another person she loved dying before her eyes, but when he understood it was all meant to be a plan, that they were all pawns she was moving on the board for the sake of revenge, he saw the situation from what it was. 

His mother did not care about him, nor Grace. She only cared about them as a means to her stupid revenge. 

And now she was dead. 

Jesse didn’t know how to feel. He didn’t know what he should feel. He wasn’t sure he would feel anything aside from rage. Displeasure. Hatred. Relief.

He put his hands gently around Grace’s shoulders as life went out of Tatiana’s eyes and her head lolled forward and her body sank to the ground. Lifeless, like a puppet. 

Grace’s hands shook along with her frame. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She was still in shock. She let Jesse engulf her in an embrace, and buried her head and her hands in his chest, marking his white shirt with blood. “It’s over,” she muttered quietly, almost as if she didn’t want to say out loud, as if she wasn’t sure it was real.

Her brother caressed the back of her head, but he didn’t weep. “Yes,” he answered, even though he knew it wasn’t really. “Yes,” he echoed, still unable to believe it. 

*

Footnotes: When I decided to write this quick fic, I debated about this and I honestly thought about different options (in reverse lmao).

Option 4 was Rupert asking Lucie to command him to kill Tatiana, even though this would've ensued tough conversations between Lucie and Jesse because after Rupert disappears, she even wonders if she did right calling him there because she is afraid Jesse might be upset. If Rupert had killed Tati, it would've been satisfying but Lucie giving the command would've been unsettling, maybe? And I didn't want to delve into that but who knows, I may also do that someday. After all, it's fan fiction and not canon. XD

Option 3 was Lucie herself, but ofc Rupert had to disappear because we know that Lucie stayed rooted to the spot where she was because keeping Rupert there drained her energy, thus she couldn't go after Tatiana after she fled. Still a worth option, though, it would've also opened a lot of conversations with Jesse but anyway --

Before CoT came out, I thought that the only people who HAD to kill Tatiana were Grace or Jesse. I quickly brushed off Jesse (Option 2) because, as I already wrote in my other fic "For the ghost that I used to be", I believe he would want Tatiana to rot in jail until the rest of her days. Grace was my Option 1. She seemed the best option and I would've loved to see this, that's why I ended up choosing her. It makes more sense and it satisfies me more seeing her kill her manipulator and abuser.

Last, but not last: I decided to have Lucie faint at the end of her POV because I suppose that's what would've happened if Rupert didn't disappear. She is fine, don't you worry! I was planning to write a bonus scene to insert later, after Jesse and Grace realize Lucie collapsed (because my ghostwriter heart begs me to write it lol). Tell me if you would be interested in reading :)

[hahahax30]

A Son Dressed in White

@ the anon who pushed me to write this. I'm also going to post this on ao3 but it's almost 2am here in Spain and I'm tired. So I'll do that tomorrow

Cecily and Gabriel find out Christopher is dead. A fic

Cecily Lightwood hadn't been to any trials in her life; neither before her life embodied her shadowhunting heritage, nor after she'd taken runes to her skin, forever sealing her fate. She found she was rather glad about that fact, for trials were very, very, very boring.

Her older brother Will stood on a dais with as somber an expression as she had ever seen him don. Left and right and before him and behind him were shadowhunters gazing intently at Will, yet he was only looking at one person: Maurice Bridgestock.

"Did you confabulate with Belial, your father-in-law?" the Inquisitor spat.

"When was a madman elected Inquisitor?" Cecily's husband wondered through gritted teeth.

Cecily squeezed his knee to let him know she agreed with him: this was ridiculous. Inquisitor Bridgestock was ridiculous.

The Mortal Sword lay balanced on Will's outstretched hands. Under its Raziel-born influence, he would be compelled to tell nothing but the truth. "I never confabulated with Belial," Will said.

"So you never cooperated with him to let Leviathan ravage the London Institute?" the Inquisitor pressed.

"By the Angel, my brother helped fight off Leviathan," Cecily protested. Her voice came out higher than it should have, which made little Alexander squirm on her lap. She could've left him in the care of his favorite maid, but after Tatiana Blackthorn had kidnapped him, she wasn't ready to leave her youngest out of her sight.

"Mummy?" Alex asked.

"Nothing. It's nothing, Alex bach."

Cecily turned her attention back to Will.

"I never cooperated with Belial."

"Are you saying that–"

Whatever it was that Inquisitor Bridgestock had wanted to say got cut off by a dozen shadowhunters swarming into the meeting room. Gabriel stood up promptly, and so did his brother –Gideon– and her wife and daughter. Soon everyone was standing up, thus blinding Cecily, still on her seat due to Alexander, to the new arrivals.

"Gabriel," she called out "Who is there?"

"Martin Wentworth," her husband said, a hand on her shoulder "Thoby Baybrook. I think I see Charles, too. He's talking to the Inquisitor– no, he's pushing Bridgestock away. It was about time he stopped being Bridgestock's lapdog, I say."

"What else can you see?" before Gabriel could reply, Cecily gently ushered Alexander down from her lap, took one of his tiny hands –from the corner of her eye she saw Gabriel taking the other one immediately thereafter– and stood up.

Charles had indeed seemed to push Inquisitor Bridgestock: Maurice was on the floor with a half-disgusted Flora Bridgestock fretting at his side. The petty part of Cecily, which had shrunken with age but not entirely been driven to extinction, wished he would break a knee or a rib or whichever other bone would keep him confined to a bed in the Silent City. Inquisitor Bridgestock ought to pay for having questioned her family's goodness.

In any case, the Inquisitor was on the floor, but Charles was nowhere near him. Instead, Cecily found him making a beeline towards her, Alexander and Gabriel.

"Order! Order!" Charles thundered as he elbowed people out of the way "Let there be order!" he reached Cecily's side "Gabriel. Cecily. May we talk?"

Cecily exchanged puzzled looks with her husband. This close, Charles had a certain panic to himself. His skin had a ghastly undertone to it; he clearly hadn't brushed his hair in over a day.

"What is the matter?"

Later on, Cecily would remember her husband's voice as impossibly faraway. Odd, she knew, for he'd been standing next to her. Always. He hadn't detached himself from her side.

Charles led them through a narrow corridor into a small room whose entrance was guarded by Piers Wentworth and Catherine Townsend. The young shadowhunters nodded once before scrambling off Raziel knew where. As did Charles. "I'm sorry," he murmured right before striding back to the ocean of shadowhunters they'd left.

Those two words reached Cecily's ears, but she didn't register them until much later. Until she found herself inside the small room and had contemplated the corpse of her son and understood she'd lost him forever.

Time halted to a stop.

Christopher lay on a bier. A white cloth covered his whole body but for his neck and face. An equally-white blindfold rested over his eyes.

Cecily began shaking. As if from afar, always as if from afar, she heard and felt herself emitting a low, guttural sound. She had to fight to keep on her feet. Cecily Lightwood couldn't break apart like every piece of her body was screaming at her to do: she had to go to her baby.

Her son's brown hair had lost its smoothness. It had become dry and brittle –just like his skin had grown cold and inhumanly pale. Cecily put her hands at either side of Christopher's face and massaged his temples. "My love," she murmured, frantically; her voice didn't sound like it belonged to her "My love, my baby, wake up. We'll fetch a Silent Brother. Jem, we'll get Jem to you," she turned to Gabriel "Ask for Brother Zachariah."

Gabriel looked at a loss of words. He'd frozen before the bier little Christopher lay on; his eyes were fixed on a particular spot. Cecily knew it to be Kit's chest.

Her hands shaking, she pressed a palm to her son's left pectoral. Cecily knew how this went.

When Anna and Christopher and Alexander and even Gabriel slept, she always felt compelled to stare at their chests. She needed to make sure they rose and fell steadily, for Cecily had lived in a family in which Death had ripped her older sister away in the blink of an eye. Ella had been asleep when she died, and Cecily had grown paranoid that those who were the most dear to her would also die in her sleep. That's why she needed to check that her children's lungs still worked, that their hearts still beat.

"They always breathe. Their hearts always beat," she told herself. She repeated those two sentences as a mantra as she first posed her hand lightly against Kit's chest and then pushed with a bruising force against that spot where his heart out to be.

Christopher's chest didn't rise; it didn't fall either. Cecily couldn't feel his heart beating.

"No," she whispered. Then, louder "NO."

She screamed her throat raw. She screamed so much, with so much pain and devastation and fury and sorrow and loss that Gabriel shook out of his stupor and finally went to her. Alexander began crying.

Gabriel's arms wrapped around her back. Her husband sat up on the floor and drew her to himself. He rocked them back and forth as Cecily sobbed loudly against the crook of his neck. Her tears were soon in communion with his own. Gabriel was shaking, and though he wasn't making the noise that Cecily was making, his pain was palpable, acute, there.

Tatiana. Tatiana is responsible for this, Cecily thought. That madwoman had taken Barbara from Gideon and Sophie, she'd captured Alexander, and now she'd murdered Christopher.

Cecily gripped Gabriel's arms. She took a deep breath. Two. Three. A small body crashed against her: Alexander. Through her tears, he looked like a black-haired Christopher when he was only three. It only made Cecily break down further.

Oh, the riches she would give to have her baby Christopher back with her. Now she could never see one of his experiments succeeding and the whole of the Clave praising him. Now she could never collect him late at night from the Fairchild's house. Now she could never see him at the breakfast table while he talked about elements and mechanisms and all those things Cecily didn't understand. Now she could never kiss him goodnight or chastise him from ruining yet another piece of furniture or wonder at how beautiful his lavender eyes were.

Now she could never see her son smile again, for Christopher Lightwood was gone forever.

"Cecy?"

Someone had opened the door, and now Will and Tessa, Gideon and Sophie, Henry and Charlotte were streaming into the room. Cecily heard one of them draw in a sharp breath.

"Who is that?" Henry asked. Of course, the bier was too high for him to see Christopher correctly.

Cecily didn't know how she did it, but she stood up, left Alexander with his father and faced the rest of her family. "It's Christopher," her words were directed at Henry, yet she was looking straight at Gideon "Tatiana will pay for this."