#but is it noble to sacrifice yourself and place yourself below your own well being?

[dahkis]

i wonder where asha is after sephiroth burned down...i doubt she's dead but i hope we get to see her in the grandis storyline

[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part I

Ahh I can’t believe it’s finally done! After a year of working on this beast, it’s finally ready for me to share. This is something I started way back last summer, and I decided to finish it as my project for this year’s @geraskierbigbang. It will be ten parts in total, and I will post one part per day until it is complete! There are several art pieces that were created by the wonderful @herostag​ and Miranda.draws for this story, which I will link when the appropriate section is posted. For a summary and further links, please see the masterpost.

Next | Ao3 | Masterpost

“Alright,” Geralt said. “Don’t laugh at me.”

Yennefer looked up at him with bright eyes, curious and already mirthful. She was sitting across from him in his quarters, reading through a tome she’d found in Kaer Morhen’s disheveled library. Geralt had just come from a bath after hours spent training Ciri in the yard, and the room was filled with the warm evening light, supplemented by the fire crackling in the hearth. Yennefer had insisted on carting dozens of tapestries and drapes to hang around the drafty keep, and the room was nearly stuffy with their bulk keeping the heat in.

Yennefer gave him an amused smirk. “I will make no such promises before I even know what you’re going to say.” The gentle teasing brought a fond smile to Geralt’s face. After the events of the mountain all those years ago, things had been understandably tense. Yennefer had been reluctant to join them when she had finally met up with Geralt after Sodden, but had eventually agreed to seek refuge in the witchers’ keep and teach Ciri to control her magic. Once she’d met the girl it had all been a wash; it was clear as soon as their eyes met across the room that Yennefer was as much a part of Ciri’s destiny as Geralt was.

Geralt had expected that to either mend the rift between them enough for things to go back to the way things were, or make things even more awkward. Instead, they found themselves in a sort of in-between. Over the years his affection for Yennefer had only grown, but he found himself looking to her more and more as a friend—maybe his best friend. After Jaskier, of course.

Speaking of. “I was thinking about Jaskier.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes obviously. “As you are so frequently wont to do. The thaw will come soon enough, dear, and you can run off in search of your bard.”

Geralt felt his ears grow warm. Witchers couldn’t blush, not truly, but he still felt the tingle of it as he fidgeted with embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, absently tracing a finger against the grain of the wooden table. There were two goblets of wine sitting between them, but so far neither of them had begun to drink. “Do you know how many winters it’s been since I found Ciri?”

If she was confused by the odd turn in subject matter, Yennefer didn’t show it. Instead she looked thoughtful. “Two, perhaps three? You know I don’t follow the seasons with diligence.”

“Neither do I,” Geralt agreed. “I was thinking the same though, two or three years since the fall of Cintra. Which means Jaskier is…” He paused, trying to do the math. “He was a few years past forty, during the dragon hunt, I think. He must be closer to fifty now than not.”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow at him. “I recall mentioning something about his crows feet. What of it? Humans age. Are you only just discovering this?”

Geralt forced himself not to grumble. In a way, he was only discovering it. He’d known humans across the years, of course, and knew that many that he’d once been acquainted with were no longer alive or were in their twilight years. For decades Geralt had wandered through the world, changing no more than a ghost would, touching the lives of regular mortals for a brief instance, maybe a few times if they were particularly unlucky. No one had stayed by his side, dedicated themselves to a relationship with him, the way that the bard had. The amount of devotion that Jaskier showed to him had made Geralt antsy, in earlier years, and then confused and angry by turn. He had hated the idea of someone needing him, had hated needing someone in return. The way his chest felt heavy when he and Jaskier parted ways had left him furious with himself and the bard.

And then Ciri came into his life, and everything had changed so quickly.

With Ciri, it didn’t matter whether Geralt felt like he should care for her, or if he wanted to. He needed to. Without him, the girl would die, or be kidnapped by Nilfgaard for who knows what purpose. He had to feed her, and clothe her, and teach her, and he had to love her for her to thrive.

She made it very easy. It was only afterwards that he realized how much of an idiot he’d been to Jaskier, and the thought of how he’d treated the bard over the years had plagued him. It had been months before he could find him to apologize, but Jaskier forgave him almost immediately—which Geralt found both relieving and infuriating at the same time. This was the first winter they’d spent apart since. Geralt left the keep more rarely now, heading out on the Path only when the months grew truly warm and returning at the first hint of falling leaves. Ciri was safe on her own, he knew, but he missed her when he was away. And he could admit now that one of the forces driving him back into the world over the last few years had been the itching desire to find Jaskier again and settle the yearning in his chest for another year. He was less inclined to venture forth when his bard, his daughter, Yennefer and his brothers were all in one place.

This winter Jaskier had begged off, saying that he had “work in the south,” which could mean anything from spending a decadent winter in the court of some noble or sludging through the front lines as a Redanian spy. Geralt had learned not to pry too deeply into Jaskier’s business when he wasn’t around. It was often either too explicit for him to stomach or too confidential for Jaskier to share freely.

It worried him, being away from the bard for so long. He could get hurt, or captured by Nilfgaard, or worse. But what really terrified Geralt was the idea that he would find Jaskier in a tavern along the Path and realize that the bard had grown old, to find silver in his hair and wrinkles beside his eyes. “He’s getting too old,” Geralt said to Yennefer, who looked at him with sympathetic eyes.

“You must have known when you started travelling with him that he would eventually leave you,” Yennefer said, not unkindly. “Humans are so short lived.”

“I didn’t exactly get a choice about becoming his muse,” Geralt said with a huff. Despite his improved relationship with Jaskier over the past few years, he still found it difficult to admit that he had always been more than willing to let the bard tag along. If he’d wanted to travel alone, he would have. But he never had. “I just didn’t realize…”

“It always comes sooner than you think it will,” Yennefer sighed. She set her book aside and picked up her goblet of wine, turning to look out the large window their table sat in front of. It faced west out of the keep wall, towards the mountains and the forest beyond. The sun had set below the craggy peaks, throwing the snow covered valley below into darkness. Geralt could just make out the ruins of the old tower, its stones dark against the white landscape. “You can’t cure his mortality, Geralt.”

“We did.”

The look that Yennefer gave him was sharp, almost angry. The firelight in the room turned her violet eyes darker, like mulberry wine. “At great cost,” she snapped. “I can’t imagine you would put him through the Trials.”

A stab of panic shot through his gut at the thought. “No. Of course not. He wouldn’t survive it anyways. Only children stand a chance at all.”

Yennefer nodded, apparently satisfied that Geralt hadn’t completely lost his mind. “The boy hasn’t got an ounce of Chaos in him, in spite of his rather chaotic nature, so I highly doubt they’ll accept him as a late trainee at Ban Ard.”

“There must be other ways,” Geralt said, feeling petulant. “Less conventional.”

“I cannot believe we are actually discussing this,” Yennefer said, rising to her feet. She picked up her book from the table as well as her glass. “There is no way to achieve immortality, especially not without sacrifice. You know that, Geralt. Drop this foolish line of thought.”

Geralt rose after her, reaching out to catch her retreating wrist. A grasp loose enough that she could break it, if she wanted, but Yennefer paused. “Please, Yen. Just… look into it for me? I can’t—the thought of—” He cut himself off, dropping his hand away from her arm. The look she gave him was more pitying than he would have liked.

“I’ll do some research, but nothing more. Don’t get your hopes up, Geralt. There’s a reason there are so few of us,” she said. Her face softened slightly, as much as it ever did. Despite Ciri, Yennefer was still made of more glass and fire than anything else. “I know you love him, even if you can’t admit it to yourself. I promise, I will do my best.”

Geralt nodded wordlessly as she left and wondered if Jaskier's eyes would be as bright next time he saw him.

*

For weeks Yennefer said nothing about his request, and Geralt refocused on spending time with Ciri and preparing to depart for the spring. Lambert and Eskel had already left a month before, as soon as the road down the mountain began to thaw, but Geralt had hung back. The roof needed repairs, a difficult job to do in the midst of winter, and it was a hard task to leave for Vesemir alone. It was always like this, now—him looking for odd jobs to keep him at Kaer Morhen, with Ciri, making excuses until Jaskier’s jitteriness or Vesemir’s raised eyebrows forced them on the road again. Some of that was mitigated this season by the silence he heard when he found himself listening for the sounds of lute strings strumming gently in the background, and Geralt’s increasing anxiety about Jaskier’s wellbeing. Even so, it was hard to leave Ciri behind.

The girl was progressing rapidly as she entered her teen years, the chubbiness of her youth morphing into lean if awkward muscle as she continued to work on her swordsmanship. When Geralt and his brothers weren’t pushing her through drills, she was studying monsters and alchemy with Vesemir, or practicing her magic with Yen. She never seemed to tire, eagerly absorbing any lessons passed on to her and desperate to prove her worth. The only person she seemed to let her guard down around was Geralt, who found himself often goading her into mock wrestling matches (which he refused to throw on principle) and humoring her when she became restless and wanted to explore beyond the keep. Kaer Morhen was dangerous in the winter, but as spring approached and the deep snows on the surrounding mountains began to thaw, the duo spent more and more time trekking through old ruins and sleeping beneath the stars.

He could put off his journey south no longer.

“I’m going to be fine, Geralt,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. He wondered if he’d been this petulant as a teenager. Certainly Lambert had. “I can take care of myself, and Yen will be with me.”

Geralt tapped her wooden training sword with his own, indicating that she should prepare to go again. When he was a boy he’d trained against the other foundlings, stumbling around like pups through drills and sparring matches. Ciri trained against full witchers, and only Eskel ever faked a misstep here or there to allow her to get in a good hit. When she won a fight for the first time, it would be on her own merit.

The girl raised her sword into a decent fighting stance, and Geralt moved to correct her footwork. Her sword work was exceptional above the belt, but she consistently forgot her stances, throwing herself off balance. They’d begun putting her on the pendulums to force her to focus, dancing between posts to attack the dummies. Geralt had spent many a night rubbing salve into her bruised shoulders, gained from taking fall after fall from the low poles. No one forced her, but if there was one thing Ciri hated, it was admitting to weakness in herself. “Sword up,” Geralt said, and launched into his attack.

He stayed on the offense, forcing her to practice the defensive drills they’d started going over recently. “I know you’ll be fine,” he said, continuing their conversation. His breathing was relaxed, almost meditative through the slow exchange of blows. “Just seems cruel to leave you with only the old man and Yennefer for company.”

Ciri giggled despite herself, and Geralt found himself grinning back before he smacked her lightly in the ribs with the training sword. She swore—Lambert, Geralt thought with chagrin—and danced back a few paces. “Gotta focus,” he said, still smirking at her.

She poked her tongue out at him childishly and reposted off of one of his blocked attacks. He easily swayed out of the way, but the movement was fluid and smooth, which meant someday it would be fast, faster than he could dodge. He gave an encouraging nod.

They continued to spar for another half an hour or so before breaking, heading to the well to fill their water pouches. Geralt sat on the short ring of stones and Ciri slumped on the ground beside him, leaning against his leg. The simple trust and familiarity she exhibited around him still took him by surprise, sometimes. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said, rubbing a hand over the top of her head. Her hair was almost as white as his.

She sighed, wiping dripping water from her chin as she tossed her water pouch down. “I figured,” she said. “Say hello to Jaskier for me, when you find him? I missed his songs this time.”

Geralt’s caress turned into a playful ruffle. “I will. Any requests for books?”

“Ones about Elves,” she said immediately, “and Skelligan alchemy. It’s different from ours, did you know? The Druids—”

Geralt chuckled. “I know. You’ve said half a dozen times. No fairytales this time?”

The girl hummed, reminding him for a brief and touching moment of himself. “Just bring Jaskier back. He tells about your adventures so much better than you do.”

“He’s certainly made a career out of it,” Geralt grumbled, feigning annoyance. “I’ll do my best. You know how he is.”

“You missed him too,” she said, hitting his knee with one closed fist. “I know you did. You get all…Well, more grumbly and mopey than usual, when he’s not around.” She wrinkled her nose up at him in exaggerated disgust. “It’s gross. But I do want you to be happy.”

Geralt knocked back against her gently with his knee, swallowing around the feelings that rose in his throat. “You just think I’m a boring old man who won’t help you put toads in Eskel’s bed. But you never even ask. I’m the expert, not Jaskier.”

Ciri laughed, bright and crisp in the morning air, and Geralt felt warm despite the fading winter chill. Tomorrow he would leave, and he would find Jaskier, and next winter he would tell Jaskier that he had to stay at Kaer Morhen. For Ciri, if nothing else. And if it was more for Geralt’s sake than anything, well, no one had to know.

*

Yennefer found him before he left, saddling Roach in the stables.

“Go to Triss,” she said by way of a greeting. Geralt knew what she meant by the gravity in her tone and the tension sitting in the corners of her mouth. “Ask after Ida. I don’t know where she is or if she’ll speak with you, but a Sage is the only one that might be able to give you anything.”

Geralt reached out to grasp her hand firmly in his own. “Thank you, Yen,” he said honestly.

The sorceress sniffed. “Well, you owe me one, I suppose. I hope you find what you're looking for. But be careful.”

“I won’t do anything that might put him in harm’s way,” he promised. “I swear it.”

“Good.” She gave him a slight smile before leaning in to brush a kiss over his rough cheek. The simple touch warmed him from inside out. “Say hello to the bard for me. Tell him I heard about that disastrous competition in Vizima. Ought to have him stewing for a good long while.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I’ll give him your love as always.”

“Goodbye, Geralt,” she said, patting his arm lightly. “Be safe. You know how to reach me, if you have need.”

“I do,” he said. “I will. Take care of Ciri.”

“It’s more the other way around, I’m afraid,” she said with a soft smile, and Geralt understood exactly what she meant. Ciri had saved them both, in more ways than one. Every time he left her was more painful than the last. Someday, he knew, they might travel the Path together, a witcher, a sorceress and their daughter. Maybe even a bard, if he was extremely lucky.

Geralt hoped he would be.

[ecrivant]

a castle and the devil within | reiner braun

(reiner braun x reader)

the night of the ambush on utgard castle; the air, pregnant with the impeding deaths of his comrades.  reiner, plagued by guilt, ruminates on the idea of loss and culpability, and with you shares a moment that will undoubtedly come to haunt him.

a.n. – canon divergent in assuming the warriors knew of zeke’s plan to attack the castle.  

word count: 3.5k

The group moved in the swathe of night like some serpentine unity towards an unknown.  The moon, incandescent and looming high above the earth, enfolded the terrain in a ghostly haze which of all it touched made apparitions. In the air, a disconcerting quietude, silent all but for Equus footfalls dampened by sogged pasture and sniveling muzzles and the cracks and pops of low-burning torches.  The topography, undulating, and from it emerged towering palisades of spruce which sectioned the land and curtailed the interminable and verdant hills.  Clouds, by lunar glow illuminated and resembling exhalations in cold air arrested, roved the sky and overhung land so primeval Nyx herself present for its creation. Nocturne was refuge from the diurnal beasts who within them harbored a taste for humanity, but the cerement of pitch did little to lessen the unrest among the riders—in this world, serenity, erroneous.  

At the horizonal marge of sky and land laid twin towers seemingly erected from the earth itself. Spires traced in moonlight.  As the group rode forward, exhausted and pace lagging, drawing with their path the outline of the sloping land and leaving a trail of muddled footmarks in their wake, the castle entire materialized. Surrounding the towers, a crumbling stone bulwark, at once a product of precise masonry now by worldly destruction ruined—the fortress’ impotent aegis.  This manmade edifice so alien in its surroundings, as if a misplaced afterthought meant for another milieu but forgotten and left for this bucolic landscape.

The group, looking strange and scarcely manlike, finally was before this decrepit palace—its courtyard, barricaded on three sides, was rife with debris, and vegetation grew over and between the laid stones which once formed the yard’s floor.  The horses staggered on the unevenness.  Each rider, form sore and tender, dismounted and tied their horses to what he or she could find and uncomfortably shifted between feet, readapting to bipedalism all but forgotten in the wake of such journeying.  In this momentary recuperation, his eyes drifted to you—in no worse shape than the rest of the group, situated towards the back of their shapeless unit.  Your back to him, slouched as if incurring an immense weight, and shoulders rolling beneath clothes.  

Within the castle, a campfire, amber alight.  Pitch dispelled as if a demon exorcised.  Deep shadows in visages’ creases, casted in the fiery glow.  The group here indistinguishable from fatigued miscreants of past and future.

He knew outside Zeke haunted the landscape, both specter and wraith, poised to strike.  He knew this verily, just as he knew you rested, a stride away, in wary repose.  His guilt, corrosive.  You may die tonight, and he, delirious and consumed by misguided pathos, could only wait for this terrible inevitability.  And perhaps one day he would make peace with his complicity in it and see your death as one of many needed to secure Eldian posterity, but he at this moment knew better. He knew your death would in fact eviscerate him, and he knew he would never be absolved, and for it he knew, upon his own final moments, he would be driven to perdition under the weight of his transgressions against you.

Your face, with delicacy, painted in light and complexion made orange by fire’s illumination.  Aura beguiling, no less so than the first encounter. If, in your voice, the proposition to forsake his life’s purpose was made to him, he would fain relinquish it.  And he would invariably sacrifice his life in exchange for yours, though perhaps not in the noble light the act was so habitually painted—it was not a gesture of loving sacrifice but rather the embodiment of an abject selfishness by which he was possessed.  He knew he would not be able to bear the burden of your death, regardless of whether or not by his hand delivered, and would rather himself meet this inevitable and fatal eternity than ever live to see your end.

These terrible and penetrative thoughts of demise—a ghastly, mental seepage—were debilitating.  He, as a warrior, as a member of the Survey Corps, was so well-acquainted with death yet had never acclimated to it and knew the last death to which he would bear witness would be no less harrowing than the first.  And as he uncomfortably ruminated on these thoughts, he came to realize he, his presence, his mission, was the scent of death which hung over his comrades, the one which they so desperately tried to evade.  Perhaps it was some unarticulated curse which followed inheritors of the titans. As misfortune and pain had fallen on his predecessors—the same who now inhabited him as ghostly memories and feelings—these miseries now fell on him, as if he was not a blank slate but rather a prewritten history destined to recount and repeat itself.  Did he have any choice in what he had done or come to be?  Or was the first inheritor as culpable as he in the terrible fates he wrote for those around him?

Even with his stoic form, highly controlled and for years constructed, he could not assuage the tremor in his hands or the accumulating bile which at once burned his stomach and throat.

He thought at one point he had distanced himself from you—an act of self-preservation—but you, aura infectious and penetrative, always remained.  There in presence and in spirit, beside him always as if a phantasmal servant.  

Beside him you rose and waited for a moment then moved to ascend the stairs of the tower in which the group found shelter.  Someone called out for you, voice indistinguishable in the muted silence; a call less words articulated and more akin to a spectral exhalation of a once-present form.  Your voice in response, a quiet assurance of your safety—you simply needed a moment alone. Yet against your wishes, he erected himself and moved to accompany you, informing you of his presence rather than asking permission.  

“My knight in shining armor.”  

Voice coy.  A slight smile.  

Yet, over him, horror settled, and he, overcome by unspeakable sickness, fought against the bile which threatened to spill forth.  His knees trembled, and the stairs swayed and moved below him, and within him burgeoned a caustic remorse which eroded his conscience, creating from once plane morality a chasmic and unnavigable wasteland.  In this moment, he wished he had returned to Marley after Marcel’s death. For his titan, and his responsibility and mission and resolve, would have been inherited by another—his entire being reduced to pitiable memories in the mind of his successor.  And he would never have come to know you, or your strong resolve, or your aching concern, or your voice, velveteen, the sumptuous way you articulated his name.  Or your laugh which swept past him with airy carelessness and within him bred a distant and warm and melancholic feeling, like a far-removed recollection, a memory of déjà vu.  Or your quiet and unassuming history once marked by genial tranquility which was so violently uprooted by his own actions.  

He stumbled as his body anticipated a stair which was not there.  Your grip on his arm, strong, steadying.  His eyes met yours, and in your gaze, that stupidly sincere concern, and in his, unspoken gratitude.  At the top of the tower, contained in the interstice between the outside overlook and the end of the staircase, you seated yourself against the wall and he, beside you. He tried not to think of Annie or Bertolt or Zeke or Marley or his mother who within him placed her hope entire, and instead focused on the way you smelled of campfire and cold air, and the way, among the silence, the sound of your breathing stilled his heart. With a vacant mind, he simply sat and tried to match his breath to yours.

Still trembling, he inched his hand along the stone floor until he found your touch, and he twined his fingers with yours, and aside from a slight and barely-there hesitation, you did not react.  Your hand cold and his clammy, and in teenage and involuntary reaction, he felt embarrassed.

The last time he desired you so blatantly came in ambush.  He could not recall the situation, or even the moment before or after, but you were together, and in movement you had drifted past him, and as his eyes followed your hallowed form, the idea of kissing you abruptly and wholly engulfed him. He often yearned for you under the shroud of night or in the aurora of dawn, in response to a smile or a laugh, in the wake of a day spent together or a moment exchanged, but never after such inaction.  He had supposed it made sense: for a space, moment, to become consecrated, you merely had to occupy it, and perhaps the moments where he did not crave you, though few in number, did not truly exist and were instead simply obfuscated by your very presence.  

He rued each and every time previous he had not set aside his fear and held you.  This touch, for the first time, in such a chaste and quiet way, and perhaps on the eve of your demise, felt vile.  Your shared intimacy, perverse.  

But the constricting grip of your hand on his, tightened and loosened as a tide ebbs and flows in conjoined action, brought him back from his negative ruminations.  As if you sensed his need to be grounded.

And the look of your face in the barely-there starlight was enough for him to press his lips to yours, a loving movement made shy by hesitance.  The kiss, ephemeral and dissolving in the night as suddenly as it came to be.  He pulled away, face hot at your nonreaction, but you followed his mouth as if now linked and did not let him go.  Is this what it felt like to be wanted, needed?  In a second, you returned to your seated position and he to his, resting in silence as if previous exchange forgotten.  Or, perhaps, never having existed.  He suddenly saw your mutilated corpse before him and could no longer luxuriate in the aftermath of this intimacy exchanged, the grip on his hand and the closeness of your shoulder and his own breathlessness and palpitations now feeling like heresy.  

He felt in the air your hesitation, the quietude preceding the break of a storm, before you spoke, words uttered in tone eerie as if invoked then manifested from the night itself:

“Do you trust me, Reiner?”

In few moments was he struck as speechless as this.  His implicit answer was one of affirmation—he knew amply of how you so presently and continually heeded him—yet he, dazed and aphonic, spoke not.  Perhaps fearful of a forthcoming dialogue in which you would state your misplaced trust on him conferred.  He preemptively contemned you for saying such things, though it was scorn quickly and rightly turned on himself.  You trusted him under the same pretenses he did you, and no reassurances, no matter how constant, could convince him he did not for you experience true and attested concern.  It was not a matter of you falling for his acutely maintained artifice but rather one where he had, simply and unequivocally, fallen for you.  

Your gaze bore into him. Patiently waiting for his answer and seemingly unfazed by his hesitance.  He swallowed and shook his head yes and spoke to substantiate this claim:

“Of course I do.”

You nodded your head as if satisfied and looked up to the ceiling in musing and spoke again after a shared and pregnant pause:

“I trust you.  More than anything.”

You began another phrase, but it trailed off, lost in the night’s permeant sombre.  

And he did not hear it, instead intent on edifice around him crumbling, and conscience, crushing and destructive, under which he collapsed, and ire which burned him like flame, and dread which gored him and spilled forth his viscera, black and befouled from deceit.  Intent on his blood now bile, and complexion now rotted flesh.  And the eldritch bawl, suffused with ruefulness and agony and lamentation unmatched by even the most repentous sinners, which nigh spewed from his gut but instead caught in his throat in a choked sob.  And intent on the manner in which he violently ripped away from you, suddenly and acutely aware of the way his hand twined in yours was the quintessence of sinful hypocrisy—what one should be made to embrace the sadistic numen who in its hands held his or her ultimate fate?  And intent on the countless bodies of victims, past and future, coalescing in a single, fleshed mass of sanguine gore and tortured and malformed faces whose expressions more resembled demons than humans, each and all prostrate before him, supine in some perverted reverence like an agonous congregation in worship.  

“I feel you bear my burdens for me.”

Spoken with a quiet and slumberous quality, as if your first words after waking.  His mind prayed for your silence, a wish, unarticulated, as he could only hold his head in his hands and rock forward and back with mouth open in a wordless scream.  And the emotions with which he was suddenly inundated did not result in tears, and instead he sat beside you, breathing hard and in shock and doing nothing, as if struck dumb.  Your hand on his shoulder, a touch which in it held such comfort and concern, which he cowered under and tore away from as if beast threatened and made prey.  And upon this reaction, the space seemed too small and your presence, repugnant.  The crucifix proffered before the devil.  

He himself, cursed, and now he cursed you.

The trapdoor above, wood weathered and water-logged and laying heavy and flush against the stone ceiling, burst open with a tempest gale’s force, and one of the veterans plummeted from the tower’s crown towards the floor and paid no mind to your pair and instead rushed down the stairs and called for the rest of the group.  And just as suddenly as he had fallen under the yoke of his own fervor, he repressed all thought and set his jaw and ascended the final steps of the tower to emerge in the night.  You beside him.  

From above, the terrain a banished landscape.  The trees which once towered towards firmament’s ceiling now sat in small and sparse clusters littered over the land’s spanning hummocks.  And the moon, now at arc’s crest, bewashed the purgatory below in that same haze from before, the one which made all things wraithlike and seemingly ephemeral.  And within that courtyard on three sides barricaded by the crumbling bulwark and rife with lapidarius debris and vegetation made bluish by the night which encroached upon the yard’s stone foundation posed dozens of those unclad leviathans, climbing over architectural remains or coming forth from arboreal cells or clawing at the tower’s base with hands all but human and much more vehement. Monstrous and aberrant pilgrims converging on their infernal holy land.  

Knowledge of Zeke’s intentions made the sight no less grim.  

In the moments before the veterans descended upon the beasts below in instinctual response, they were struck still, shock and fear in their eyes clear.  And for some reason wholly unknown to him, the reaction, so involuntary and raw and basally human, impressed upon his mind and burrowed deep within him. His body shuddering.  The nightmarish air, pregnant with the threat of impending carnage, and in it, unspoken fear.  

Under blade the brutes fell silently and with their impacts shook the earth.  Even with the dexterous hands with which the veterans fought, the tower’s entrance—a large and wooden and rotting door—was breached.  Authoritative calls, tinged with desperation and fear and sounding more like cries, ordered the group’s remainder to secure the edifice.  To fight to their final breath.  

He could not bring himself to look at you, yet he still felt your presence, the air around you leaden and viscous and suffused with dread.  

As he ran down the stairs, leading the charge to secure the entrance breached, he pondered his intentions. Atypical of his carefully crafted persona, and perhaps his true self, to waver in the face of danger and at the chance to protect his friends, or rather those who he had acutely deceived and convinced of his friendship, he resolved that his actions were integral to the role of Reiner—the protective and stoic hero who, out of fraternal love, laid down his life for those around him.  A role with which he had no qualms assuming.  Even if it was one through Paradisian Eldian’s eyes seen—he cared more about the perception than those who perceived him.  But as he heard your voice with unprecedented fear call out, his name from your mouth a desperate invocation, all notions preconceived wiped away.  He did not fight for the longevity of his own ego, nor even for Marley, or Bertolt or Annie or his mother, home in Liberio.  In this moment, he fought for you.

Upon reaching the staircase’s base, and beyond the open door, he found himself before a titan with stretched grin and ravenous gaze, all humanity absent.  In torchlight, the beast’s grimace, devilish.  And he slammed the door and threw against it his weight entire and called out an indecipherable—perhaps an order, perhaps a cry for help—to the ones descending the stairs behind him.  A sudden plosion of splintering wood beside his head, and through the hole created shot a fleshy and steaming appendage, furiously and blindly reaching for him.  He felt shame as he realized he had already consigned to dying, and in the seconds before this infernal arm enveloped him, he thought of Marcel.  And of Marcel’s scream—his final and desperate expression of abject fear—halted at its climax and then punctuated by the ferric and sour smell of fresh blood and the sound of bone crushed and brains liquified.  

No, he was not to die here.

His movements, automated—his body, propelled away from the door and brushing against the arm which all but had him; Bertolt beside him and pushing a spear into the goliath; his form responding to a warning call, diving out of the path of the unloaded canon which flew down the stairs and as a bludgeon crushed the titan.  

His consciousness divorced from corporeal form, only united again as the agony of teeth sinking into his arm suffused him with an unknowable pain.  He was made sick thinking this was the feeling which marked Marcel’s final moments.

—

Trembling hands struggling with makeshift gauze.  Punctuating, shaky breaths.  Though you tried to hide it, eyes focused on dressing his wounds in silence, he could see you were thoroughly harrowed by the moments prior.  While he was plagued by thoughts of your death, were you by his? As much as it would cause you great suffering, he would still rather die before you—in his selfishness, he would rather have you alive and obliterated by grief than he.  He was reluctant to believe true love was this selfish. Though, when one says they would die for their lover, is it a product of selflessness or self-preservation in the face of grief?  Perhaps in a world different from this one, selflessness possible.  

You finished your work on his arm and sat back.  He looked at you for the first time since you last spoke and found he could barely hold your gaze.

“I promise that if I die, I will be with you. Always. Just look for me.”

Were these his words or yours?  There was no distinction in this place, voices and bodies and human and beast all made one primeval unity in this cold dark.

He wished for you to hold him.  

And when this wish remained unanswered, and the group was called to the towers peak again, and he quickly and silently ascended the stairs next to you, he became aware of a painful and agonous truth: he would never know your touch again, nor he did not deserve it, for the hours and days that followed held admittance of his duplicity; a look in your eyes which so clearly reflected how he violated you; between you, an establishment of mistrust and enmity.  And he would perhaps know your touch again, but it was touch imbued with lethal intent, hateful, your vitriol unspoken but not absent, as you, with all your resolve, tried to wholly annihilate him.  

And yet, in an ironic turn where you, in your hands, suddenly held his fate in a way not dissimilar to the way he did yours, he still wished for his own death to come first, for he would not and could not resolve to live a life devoid of you.

—

ah hi there!  was this one week’s worth of work?  perhaps no.  but i hope everyone enjoyed it regardless!  thank you so much for reading and thank you to the anon who sent in a request for this fic!  i loved your idea, and i hope you enjoyed the piece!  

all the recent support means the world, and feedback and all that is always so appreciated.  have many requests on the way, so look forward to more stuff coming soon!  

request: ok so there's this scenario that's been itching my brain in the wrong place 😭😭 reiner and reader in the castle ruins? before the armored titan reveal? possibly the reader "confesses" to reiner by saying that out of everyone in the corps they trust him the most. and later on he just... does that. spare me some angst please

masterlist

taglist: @flam3bird, @sakusas-whore

[wedreamedlove]

MLQC Men Headcanon Notes

Now that I’ve spent more time with these men (it’s getting close to 2 years!) I wanted to share the general thoughts, themes, motifs, etc. that I keep in mind when I’m writing their character.

This is 1000% headcanon territory, so feel free to take what’s useful and ignore what’s not LOL but I’d also love to see people add in their own “character reference cheat sheet” to this!

(I’m especially curious because, due to being of Asian diaspora, I write best in English but my understanding of the characters come from CN/JP text). Incidentally, if anyone feels ANY of this when reading my fics, then that’s all I could ever ask for LOL.

LI ZEYAN

He is Capricorn² and, while the game doesn’t make explicit mentions to this, I associate the element earth with him because of this. He’s described with attributes like being steady, calm, and always in control. He is the epitome of an immovable boulder and things revolve around him, not the other way around. I like to draw on imagery of unbending steel and/or the stable ground.

Meanwhile, like the goat of his astrological sign, every step he takes to climb to his goal is assured. He doesn’t do anything spontaneous or without thought, so if he does lose control and act without thinking then it has to be a momentuous occasion. Basically, it’s really important to me that if I write a loss of control, then it’s likely to be the centerpiece.

Keeping in mind that his Evol is time control, I also like to try and subtly weave an atmosphere of how everything happens at his pace. Winter being his season only adds onto this because the world stills when it’s covered in snow; everything becomes muted, hushed, and slowed in this season.

The chemistry in his romance arc is how his pace and control gets disturbed, but he adapts quickly and learns to go along with these moments of whimsy. Or more like that’s his character development and how love changes him.

His canon (spirit) animal is the cat and lion. Felines go along very well with the emperor or noble archetypes he has in all his AU cards, because cats are stereotyped as being independent and haughty animals. He’s not big on PDA or excessive skinship, but he’s not disagreeable to them either. Too much stimulation and, like a cat, he’ll probably show exasperation. Ignore him for too long though and he’ll come to share his presence with you.

For me, his love is shown through quiet acts of service that don’t have any attention drawn to them. Him just being in the same room or giving his attention is how he emotes his love.

He’s quite low-key in his normal life so he doesn’t seem like someone who gets confused over commoner things, but there are also moments where he spends an enormous amount of money without blinking. If life can be made easier with money then why not, right?

Keywords: Calm. Steady. Earth. Immovable. Control. Exasperated Affection. Time. Cats. Literal Capricorn. Winter. Mature.

ZHOU QILUO

First thing that comes to mind is the sun and heat. Fire is his element and so I go for stereotypical imagery like flares of passion and burning bright. He switches expressions and moods at the drop of a hat and he’s a mood maker to the extreme, but there’s no hiding the way he shines with his love for his love.

However, because he’s also Helios, it’s really important for me to play around with dualities and explore the other side of this positive imagery. So, just like how the sun can bring warmth and life, it’s also a deadly laser something that can hurt people by blinding them or setting fires. It’s also fun to remember that the moon only has light from the sun’s reflection.

Game-wise, I believe Helios has been described with cold and ice imagery but, because I try to keep that imagery for Li Zeyan, what I like to consider instead is that extremely cold things can “burn” you too. Frostbite can also be called ice burn.

The sky is repeated imagery for Luoluo too, because of his eyes, but I’ll admit I’m still uncertain about how to interpret this for his character. Generally, the sky represents freedom but...? How I approach this is that the sky doesn’t discriminate and protects everyone below it (echoing his quote about how he protects the light in the dark).

On this note about the sky being welcoming, I view Luoluo’s love as one that accepts his love no matter what they’re like and he grows together with them (unlike the two adults, Li Zeyan and Xu Mo).

However, again, it’s super important to remember his duality and just because he’s a playful mood maker doesn’t mean he’s not able to switch into a serious and mature mode. He keeps his innocence and warm heart despite the darkness he’s seen and understands.

His canon animal is the bear which also makes me tilt my head. I can only see this as how bears are seen as both cuddly and cute, but also fierce and protective. He was also given a stag but... no one uses that LOL.

Keywords: Fire. Passion. Playful. Innocent. Little Sun! But Moon. Spring. Sacrifice. Darkness. Sky. Mischievous. Mood Maker.

BAI QI

Every single cell in his body is attuned to his love. You ever lose your phone and then, for the rest of the day, you feel as if you’re missing an important piece of yourself and you have intrusive thoughts wondering where it is? That’s him. You ever see something so cute you experience cute aggression and don’t know what to do with yourself? That’s him. You know those dogs that strain at their leashes on the streets because they want to go and greet you? That’s him.

It’s all about the yearning.

I know, I know, I wrote essays about how he can survive without his love and how he’s someone who carries both love and a greater justice BUT let’s not kid ourselves that he doesn’t revolve around his love like Jupiter around the sun.

Anyway, so the game shoves wind descriptions down our throats. It’s literally another vehicle for him to emote his love and, to be honest, I don’t do much with it other than use it for that. I talked about it extensively in my character essays, but I suppose I play with the irony of how he’s only free because he has a home can return to. [Loneliness SR Wind and Care Call] “Because I have a place for my heart, I can fly anywhere.”

I don’t believe the game emphasizes this any more than it does with the other men, but I try to always have a point of contact between Bai Qi and his love because, again, the yearning and vibrating with All That Love. He’s such a physical character (military archetype) that I also want to emphasize that in writing.

In addition, I’m all about him being the most feral of the men. Heck, his canon animal is the wolf which is great for both its stereotypical and non-stereotypical meanings, such as being a lone wolf and ferocious animal but also a pack animal that can’t survive on its own and needs a pack. Meanwhile, NW717 is described in-game as a monster.

Look, one of his signature descriptions in the game is resting his chin on or against his love’s head and nuzzling them. I’m not baselessly trying to push my kink I swear.

So, like how Bai Qi said in [Light Bath SSR: Tenderness Call] that maybe he only shows his gentleness towards select people (his love and mother), he’ll give the person he loves all the warmth of his being but, oh boy, I see him as being a beast who will remember his true nature upon being chained; the “chain” of love gives him the reassurance he needs to be truly free... in all its meanings.

Keywords: Ginkgo. Summer. Primal. Wind. Love is love is love. 3-Point Contact. Wolf. Yearning. Vitality. Justice. Freedom. Physical. Restraint.

XU MO

First, given how vocal I am about Elex’s changes, this is probably going to be the most drastically different section out of everyone vs. their English version.

Soft. Light. Gentle. Kind. Gossamery. Feathery. Ethereal. Faint. Whenever I write him, do I literally open up a thesaurus to find synonyms for gentle, light, and soft? Yup! LOL.

Fun fact, in CN and JP the word for “smile” and “laugh” is the same character and so sometimes there is ambiguity when translating if there’s no clear markers. The writers definitely had a word in mind when they wrote the scene, but unfortunately we don’t have the ability to check with them at every use and so sometimes it does come to subjective interpretation.

For me, Xu Mo is characterized by a lot of quietness. Game-wise, there are enormous usages of silence and descriptions of emotional fluctuations in his eyes so Significant Silences and Looks are a major thing with him and in my writing for him, which is why I always choose “smile” over “laugh” if there is any ambiguity in the line (I believe Elex leans towards chuckles).

On a similar note, the game also gives him a gigantic serving of descriptions that only ever use the word for “light, slight, faint, soft, gentle” in JP and CN. It gives him a very floaty and dreamy feeling, even if he’s doing something physical. So, it’s important for me to keep a similar atmosphere when writing and make everything feel as if it has to be shared in a whisper.

A bonus here is that it doesn’t require much to turn this ethereal feeling into a melancholic one, so you get that dash of angst that layers over everything. Leave a few things unknown here and there, incomplete actions, eyes that get averted and Boom. Angst.

Shifting gears, but if my imagery of Bai Qi’s love is like a tense, vibrating, and restrained chain of yearning then Xu Mo’s love is like a flood barely being held back by a dam. Knowledge of the quantity and weight behind the dam is terrifying, but it’s safe to be submerged inside it. Much like Luoluo and Helios, Xu Mo also has a dangerous duality in Ares and so I also like to play with this imagery.

So, on this point, I like to preserve an underlying sense of darkness (all-consuming possessiveness, etc.) and envision that he also wishes to stain his love in his colors, like a drop of ink on white paper and how it seeps into every fiber of the paper until the whole thing is saturated with him.

Incidentally, I’m reminded that—whenever possible and natural—I want to exclusively use water imagery with Xu Mo. The game supports this too! He is described with extensive water imagery and so I try to use water metaphors, analogies, and similes.

I try to make sure every sense is present, but I feel like the game emphasizes (especially with the red thread of fate imagery) that Xu Mo and his love are connected at a soul-deep level and so I always keep in mind a mental, emotional, and spiritual aspect.

Lastly, his canon animal is the fox (we ignore the black goat LOL) so contrasting his elegant, scholarly, and gentleman’s air with a black belly, teasing, and mischievous air is also important! Sexual but with, you know, class.

Keywords: Butterflies. Monochrome. Artist. Red Thread. Autumn. Melancholy. Water. Soft. Gentle. Light. Faint. Dreams. Spiritual. Fox.

LING XIAO

I’m getting more comfortable with him, but he’s still shrouded in so much mystery. If every one of the other men treat their loves with gentleness though Ling Xiao is definitely one who isn’t afraid of roughhousing. He’ll act first and then ask for forgiveness afterward, if needed.

But I like to keep in mind that, for all his roughness, he’s still a good kid at heart and when he saw MC’s skirt rising up when he tried to pull her over the fence he immediately stopped. So, a bit of a bully but without any humiliation.

Intelligent, strong, and dangerous but hiding all of that beneath a devil-may-care attitude and someone who does things on a whim. I don’t know what to do much with his canon animal being the shark except to attach it vaguely to this point and think that, as an apex predator of the sea, it does things at its own pace (somehow, it gives me the image that he likes to bite... but, uh, that’s probably just me LOL).

Keywords: Mercurial. Lightning. Sarcasm. Physical.

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #59: Jeanne d’Arc

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re finally finishing up the original roster of servants with The Maiden of Orleans, Jeanne d’Arc! As you might expect from the holy maiden, Jeanne is 100% a Cleric, protecting her soldiers as she leads the charge.

Check out the level-by-level breakdown below the cut, or the build summary over here!

I’d also like to thank everyone who likes or reblogs these posts; I thought this would be a really niche topic, but this blog now has more followers than my main! We’ve still got plenty of servants to go after this, so I hope you’ll continue to enjoy them.

Race and Background

Like most servants, Jeanne’s a Human. Rather, she’s a bundle of magical energy roughly based on the impact a human made on history, but that’s a mouthful, and also not a race, so we’ll stick with Human. This gives her +1 to all stats.

Jeanne’s your typical Folk Hero; came from humble beginnings, achieved great things through sheer determination, and died a fiery death at the hands of those she saved. That last part’s not typical, but it’s also not part of a person’s background. Being a folk hero gives you proficiency with Animal Handling and Survival. You grew up on a farm, so that’s not too wild.

Stats

You receive visions from a higher power, and know other servants’ True Names on sight. That’s pretty wise, so your Wisdom has to be pretty high. Despite having zero formal education, you can argue theology with the best of them through sheer conviction- that’s Charisma. Third is Constitution; you have a martyr complex, so it helps to have some health in the first place before you go throwing it away to save others. Fourth is Dexterity, because it’s just more helpful here. Your Strength isn’t great. I know canon Jeanne can fold street lamps like pretzels, but sacrifices had to be made somewhere. Finally, dump Intelligence. Remember that “zero formal education” thing from earlier? Yeah.

Class Levels

1. Being a Cleric is a given, but being a catholic complicated our choice of domain a bit. Since you’re a monotheist, God falls under every domain, but your personal power set fits best in the Protection domain from an Unearthed Arcana. First level clerics get Spells, which they cast and prepare using their Wisdom. Protection clerics also get a Shield of the Faithful, letting them react to stick a shield or arm between an attacking creature and their target within 5′ of you. This makes the target harder to hit, imposing disadvantage on the attack.

You also have proficiency in Wisdom and Charisma saves, as well as two cleric skills. You’re a part of History, and I’m sure God’ll fill in any blanks you need to know. Religion is an option, but you’re not educated, just really persistent. That’s Persuasion. 

For cantrips, Light will help your dumb human eyes see in the dark and make your flag all glowy for your noble phantasms. Mending will help keep the soldiers’ uniforms in one piece while on campaign, and Spare the Dying will help keep the soldiers in one piece while on campaign.

Clerics prepare their spells, so your exact spell list isn’t a part of character creation, but I’ll still go over some to keep in mind. Compelled Duel and Protection from Evil and Good are part of your domain spell list, so you get them for free. The former can keep your squishier teammates safe by forcing an enemy to target you, while the latter can keep a key member safe from aberrations, celestials, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead. Given the number of golems you end up fighting most events, this is a good spell to keep on hand. Some other spells to keep in mind are Bless and Shield of Faith for combat support, and Healing Word to keep everyone on their feet.

Finally, the question of what weapons to use. The closest thing to a flagpole on the simple weapon list would probably be a Spear, used two-handed. However, your strength isn’t going to be great; you’ll mostly be using this to wave your banner around. You should also keep a Dagger on hand as well. I’d prefer a shortsword, but a dagger’s is the only simple finesse weapon, so it’s what we have to put up with.

2. At second level you can Channel Divinity once per short rest. As a protection cleric, you have two options to pick from.

Turn Undead forces a wisdom save on undead within 30′ of you or they have to run away for a minute or until it takes damage.

Radiant Defense channels holy energy into an ally within 30′ of you as an action. The first time they take damage in the next minute, that energy is released on the attacker, dealing 2d10+your level in radiant damage.

3. Third level clerics get second level spells, including your domain spells Aid and Protection from Poison. The former increases three creatures’ HP totals by five for eight hours, while the latter does exactly what the name describes. Some other spells to look at include Prayer of Healing for when you can’t quite take a short rest, Lesser Restoration for disease and conditions, and Augury to start getting some divine visions.

4. Use your first ASI to become a Heavy Armor Master. This reduces all nonmagical slashing, bludgeoning, and piercing damage by 3 while wearing heavy armor.  Calling what you wear “heavy” armor is a bit generous, but you’re throwing yourself in front of the enemy with d8s for hit dice, you can be a bit generous with yourself.

You also get another cantrip this level. Resistance adds a d4 to an ally’s saving throw, for when you need to be sure Spartacus doesn’t get charmed.

5. At fifth level, your Turn Undead transforms into Destroy Undead. Now when undead of CR 1/2 or lower fail the save, they just die instantly. 

You also get third level spells, including domain spells Protection from Energy and Slow. Sometimes an idiot lizard is throwing fire all over the place and you just don’t want to deal with it, and sometimes the DM gives you a maralith with seven extra attacks. These spells help protect the party from those situations. Some other spells to check out are Aura of Vitality for health regeneration, Beacon of Hope to give your party something to rally around, Daylight for the aesthetic, and Mass Healing Word for when your whole party plays barbarians.

6. You can now Channel Divinity twice between rests, and you are a Blessed Healer. Rather than just healing Brian Blessed, this means that whenever you cast a spell to heal someone else, you also gain life; 2+ the spell’s level, to be exact.

7. Seventh level clerics get fourth level spells. Your domain spells are Guardian of Faith and Otiluke’s Resilient Sphere. The former isn’t that in-character for you, but the latter gives a creature Invincibility at the cost of trapping them inside a hamster ball. Another spell to look over is Divination to ask the big man a question that burning you up inside.

8. Use your next ASI to become an Inspiring Leader. Give the party a 10 minute speech to give them temporary hit points equal to your level + your charisma modifier. You may not know anything about tactics, military history, who you’re fighting, or why you’re fighting, but you’ve got heart, dammit! And that counts for something! 

Also, your Destroy Undead kills at CR 1, and you gain a Divine Strike. Once per turn, you can add 1d8 Radiant damage to an attack for some extra holy favor.

9. Ninth level clerics get fifth level spells, including your final domain spells Antilife Shell and Wall of Force. The former can protect you from other creatures, so long as they aren’t forced through the barrier. The latter creates a solid wall between your party and danger, and is likely the closest you’ll get to invincibility at this level. For other spells, Dawn creates a cylinder of radiant damage you can move around the battlefield, and Mass Cure Wounds cures massive amounts of wounds.

10. You learn to call upon Divine Intervention. You use your action to beg the DM for a literal Deus Ex Machina, and roll percentile dice. If you roll lower than your level, you get some help. You can use this feature once per long rest, but if you succeed you have to wait a week before you use it again.

You also get another cantrip. Guidance lets you back seat game with the help of God, giving a creature a d4 it can add to one ability check.

11. Your Destroy Undead cranks up to killing anything CR 2 or lower, and you can prepare 6th level spells. Find the Path is another form of your Revelation skill, letting you find the most direct route to a chosen location, as long as that location stays in one place on the same plane. You could also check out Heal for, you guessed it, more healing.

12. Use your next ASI to become a leader on the battlefield with Tandem Tactician. Now you can Help as a bonus action with a range of 10 feet, and you can help on two attacks if they’re aimed at the same enemy. You’re not that accurate, so why not help out the who are?

13. Thirteenth level clerics get a Divine Strike Improvement, adding an extra d8 of radiant damage when you use it. You also learn seventh level spells! Divine Word can cripple weakened enemies, and more importantly it forces extraplanar creatures back to their own world for 24 hours. Regenerate is even more healing that you won’t have to pay attention to.

14. Your Destroy Undead increases to affect CR 3 undead. Now Mummies and Wights will tremble before your might! ...Isn’t it weird how the other Channel Divinity option doesn’t get any stronger?

15. Fifteenth level clerics get eighth level spells. Holy Aura will protect your party from anything Wall of Force won’t, Antimagic Field will give you a command spell to counteract most of the nonsense the other servants might be using.

16. Use your ASI to bump up your Wisdom for stronger spell saves.

17. Your Destroy Undead now destroys undead of CR 4 or lower, letting you instantly banish any ghost that comes your way. You also gain an Indomitable Defense. At the end of short or long rests, you can resist two types of damage from the following: Bludgeoning, Necrotic, Piercing, Radiant, and Slashing. You can also use your action to pass these resistances to another creature, who’ll hold onto them until your next rest or until you spend a bonus action to take them back.

Finally, you get 9th level spells! Mass Heal and Power Word: Heal will maximize your healing powers to help the rest of your party stay not dead.

18. You can now Channel Divinity three times per short rest.

19. Use your last ASI to round up your Dexterity for more accuracy and better saves and Charisma for more rousing speeches.

20. At your capstone level, your Divine Intervention Improvement means your calls for some holy help are always successful.

Pros:

You can set up a very strong Defense, shutting down and blocking out enemy attacks and spells. You can impose disadvantage, physically block their advance, counter any magic within 30′ of you, or make their attacks blow up in their face with some Radiant Defense.

Whatever damage does go through won’t be a problem thanks to all your Healing, keeping the rest of the party on their feet until the battle’s won.

Intelligence might be your dump stat, but you’ve got a hotline to the one who knows all, so it’s not a big deal. Spells like Divination and Find the Path will help keep the party pointed in the right direction.

Cons: 

You can’t really do all that much on your own, offensively speaking. Your highest attacking stat is a 14, and that will only help you swing a dagger around.

Your physical stats aren’t that good in general. 143 HP isn’t bad for a caster, but you want to be on the front lines, so it could be an issue. Aid is a great way to cover this weakness, but that does mean you’ll be spending spells to do so. Your low strength also means you’re stuck with the weakest heavy armor available, so your AC isn’t amazing.

You don’t need to worry about getting hit if the enemy has to shoot through a wall though, so stay on the defensive and pray your allies will take up arms with you.

Next up: Animal Abuse!

[marshmallow-phd]

Colored Blue

Genre: Royalty!AU, somewhat enemies to lovers

Pairing: Sehun x Fem!reader

A/N: I’m not sure if there’s much to the enemies to lovers part.... also, i don’t normal put the word count, but so everyone’s aware, this is about 6k... enjoy! (hopefully!)

**

The carriage ride was far from smooth. Each small pebble or rock or crack in the ground jolted the wheels which in turn shook the coach. Each bump churned your stomach that was already jostled with nerves. 

“Why do we have to do this?” you asked, your eyes closed to try and calm the nauseated feeling. 

Your governess, Edna, tsked from the bench across from you. 

Although you were too old now to need a governess, Edna continued to stay on as a companion, someone to keep you company on trips like this where your parents were unable (or simply chose not to) to attend. That was quite alright with you since you much preferred her presence to anyone else’s. She was like an eccentric aunt to you, somehow both responsible and adventurous. Sort of. 

Edna would never approve of sneaking out late at night or being alone with someone who was not your betrothed (which you were lucky enough not to have one of those – yet). However, she wasn’t against your archery lessons or horseback riding that went a little faster than a leisurely trot. She was practically a walking contradiction and you weren’t entirely sure of what she would and would not approve of. It was always a guessing game; one that you liked playing to keep yourself entertained. 

“Are you really wanting me to go over it again with you or are you simply wanting to cure your own boredom?” Edna asked, not even glancing up from her needlework. How she could do that without pricking her finger every bump was astounding. 

“Oh, I know why,” you huffed. “At least, on the surface. But it sounds like a pathetic excuse, if you ask me.”

“I don’t believe anyone did,” Edna smirk. Head still bent over her needlework, she looked at you through her eyelashes. Both of you started to laugh. 

Your laugh, however, soon faded to a light chuckle before dying out completely. It wasn’t fair. That was practically the slogan of your life. “Unfair”. Each aspect of your life - from how you dressed to how you ate to who’s company you kept - was dictated by both decorum and your parents. Being a lady of noble birth may have sounded like a glamorous life in the fairytales Edna had read to you as a child, but it didn’t take you long to find that it was nothing but a cage made of manners and tradition. While the bars had always remained steadfast, a new lock was about to be put on the door. One that was much stronger - and possibly unbreakable. 

Running away always sounded like a wonderful, spur-of-the-moment idea. Unfortunately, your mind would instantly remind you that you had no clue as to how to survive outside the castle walls. You didn’t know how to cook or hunt or work with your hands beyond the theory of it. You wouldn’t last more than maybe two days on your own and that fear kept you put.

The carriage slowed to a stop. After a short succession of knocks, one of your knights poked his head in through the small door. 

“Mi’lady, I wanted to let you know that we’re just outside the city walls. Once through, it should only be a few minutes more to the castle itself.”

“Thank you, Sir Markl.”

With a last nod, he closed the door before shouting to continue on. 

You were already here. Sure, you’d really been traveling for two days, but it still felt so sudden. How would your presence be received? 

Since your grandfather was a young duke, your two families had feuded. Sometimes it was simply high tension, while there were times where it was fought on the battlefield. The last skirmish was nearly two decades ago, forced to a fragile truce by the king. And now the old man was hoping to strengthen that truce by marrying you off to the son of the rival duke. Oh, of course. It was merely a suggestion. As if it could be ignored. 

How were you supposed to be happy with someone who surely hated you? 

You were certain that this boy grew up with the same kind of dirt spewed out about you from his parents that you heard from yours about them. Except, it wasn’t just your parents that didn’t have the most flattering view of this future duke. 

Other barons and knights didn’t seem to have the highest view of him either. Standoffish, uninterested, rude, and loose-lipped were a few of the adjectives you’d heard used to describe him. 

Wonderful. 

All too soon, the coach came to another stop and you could hear Sir Markl loudly announce your arrival. After a few seconds, you heard the gate being raised and the carriage lurched forward to go the forty feet or so to the real front door of the castle. You knew it was too late to run, but the image of you bolting out of the carriage and into the woods to get away seemed very satisfying in your head. 

When the door swung open, Edna motioned for you to exit first. In a very unladylike way, you blew air out through your lips before morphing your face into a neutral expression. In a fashion much more expected of your station, you stepped out into the sunshine. With the help of Sir Markl, you managed not to trip your way down to the ground.

Staring up at the large wooden double doors, you took a deep breath. You felt like you were at the mouth of the dragon’s cave, the sacrifice left to die for the good of the village.

“Come, mi’lady,” Edna urged with a wave of her hand. You nodded once, picking up your skirt and making your way up the steps as the doors were opened for you. 

The steward was waiting for you inside the front hall. He bowed and introduced himself, although your brain didn’t quite catch his name. Your mind was a little occupied at the moment. 

He led you through the halls of the grand castle where drapes and paintings that depicted scenes of hunts and parties covered up the less welcoming-looking gray stone. Your eyes wandered among the art but never lingered too long. There would be plenty of time to memorize their threads and brushstrokes in the future. 

The steward finally came to a stop outside another pair of double doors that could only lead into the Great Hall. The place where the Duke would conduct his meetings with citizens and dignitaries and where the festive parties would be held. You didn’t want to go in there, but what choice did you have?

With both hands, the steward pushed open the doors and announced your arrival. 

Sitting in a large wooden chair painted in a flashy gold sat the Duke, his wife - beautiful and smiling, nothing at all like the wicked witch you’d pictured as a child - sat to his left. 

“Welcome!” the Duke greeted. “It’s wonderful to see that you’ve arrived safely.” While there was certainly a small strain in his voice, the words out of the Duke’s mouth seemed genuine. 

You curtsied as custom. “Thank you for your hospitality, my lord.”

“I’m sorry that our son is not here as well,” the Duchess said with apologetic eyes. “He is in the middle of training at the moment and we didn’t want to make you wait for him to clean up. You must be exhausted from your journey. Sohee will show you to your room. Please, take your time settling in. We will reconvene at dinner.”

Relief flowed over you as the young maid walked up from her spot off to the side, curtsied in front of you, and turned to leave the room. Finally, you’d be allowed to rest and you didn’t have to meet your possible future husband quite yet. In fact, the more you were able to put it off, the happier you would be. 

In a very un-ladylike manner, you flopped down on the bed as soon as the maid Sohee was gone and the door was closed. Staring up at the ceiling, you blew air out from between your lips. Should you start counting down the days until you were allowed to go back home now?

“Oh, it isn’t even that bad,” Edna scolded you. “The Duke and Duchess were friendly enough.”

“For now,” you mumbled. It was true that their greeting was warm and they seemed genuine in wanting you here. But the childhood fears and scene of imagination that you’d grown up with weren’t easily tossed away.

Edna sat down next to you on the bed and coaxed you into a sitting position. “I know you’re tired of hearing it all, but this is truly for the good of your people and your own future.”

“I don’t exactly remember consenting to any of this.”

Shaking her head, Edna fixed a strand of your hair that had fallen onto your face. “That’s the sacrifice to be made in order to live a comfortable life.”

“Comfortable is not the word I would use,” you argued. How could a life dictated by marriages and land and being in the King’s favor be comfortable? You’d much rather be free, allowed to fall in love with whoever you desired and to go places when you wished – and avoid the ones you wanted. 

“You have much more than most,” Enda reminded you. 

You bit back your tongue out at her back as she stood up, knowing any further argument was useless. Like you weren’t reminded of that on a daily basis. Did their struggles suddenly make your own invalid?

The muffled sound of clashing metal interrupted your thoughts. Curious, you went over to the slim window that let in the sunlight into your new room. Just outside on the ground below you were a group of four or five men all attacking one central character. Even from here you could tell that he was tired, but he didn’t give up. He kept swinging his sword, blocking blows and delivering attacks of his own. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop one of the other men from getting the better of him. He caught the lone fighter around the ankle, pulling his leg until he fell backwards. You flinched at how much that must have hurt. 

As if he’d sensed you watching, the man looked up at you. You only allowed for a brief moment of eye contact before you quickly turned around, your heart pounding in your chest from being caught. 

“What has you all excited?” Edna teased as she started to unpack your trunk. 

“I am not excited.”

She chuckled at you, straightening up and placing a hand against your cheek. “The warmth of your face says otherwise.” Peeking over your shoulder she chuckled again. “It looks like his grace is still busy practicing his swordsmanship.”

Your eyes widened as you flipped back over to look out the window again. “That’s the Duke’s son?”

He was… scrawnier than you imagined. More lean than the barrel chested nobles you’d met in the past. Granted, they were built that way in order to wear heavy armor day in and day out.

Over the sight, you went back to your bed, hoping to get some true rest in before you were forced to meet him face to face. He may have been physically different than what you’d thought, you were sure you would be more correct on his personality. After all, rumors had to have some basis of truth, right?

**

A few hours later you were summoned for dinner. Edna was allowed to come with you and she took the seat to your right at the long banquet table. 

To be honest, you were a little surprised to see only the Duke and Duchess sitting at the table ready to eat and converse. You were starting to get the feeling that you weren’t the only one dreading this meeting. If he was going to avoid you as much as he could then you wouldn’t complain. Perhaps if the two of you never met, you would be allowed to go home with no commitments and no hostility. After all, it wouldn’t be your fault there was no marriage. 

However, those hopes were dashed when the doors across the dining hall opened and the man from the earlier scrimmage strolled in. He barely nodded to his parents before settling into the chair across from you. It was as if you were completely invisible and you couldn’t help but feel slightly offended. Sure, the avoidance and tardiness you could accept and deal with, but being blatantly ignored was… well, it was hurting your feelings for lack of a better description. 

“Thank you for joining us, Sehun,” the Duchess said in a voice that was simultaneously sweet and scolding. 

“Training ran late,” he said in a low tone. He made eye contact with no one, keeping his concentration on the food in front of him and filling his plate. 

“At least you cleaned up,” the Duchess murmured. 

“I’m sorry for my son’s rudeness,” the Duke said to you. “He should take a moment to introduce himself since he did not greet you earlier.”

Sehun paused, looking at his father questionably. When the Duke did not relent on the stern glare he was sending his son, Sehun sighed and fell back into his chair before finally standing up and bowing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady (y/n).”

You were surprised to the point of almost forgetting to nod back in acknowledgement. The fact that he knew your name…. Surely he’d just heard it from his parents enough that it sunk in beyond his control. But he kept staring at you with those dark brown eyes that were almost black. They were nearly unreadable, blank and impenetrable. You argued with yourself whether or not there were actually thoughts behind them and he was simply that good at masking it or if his mind was as truly empty as he was making it seem. If you were to be stuck with him the rest of your life, you really hoped it wasn’t the latter. 

Dinner went about in a more uninteresting manner. The Duchess would occasionally ask you about your upbringing, what you liked to do in your spare time. Once in a while, the Duke would comment as well or insert a question of his own in regards to your father’s dealings. Sehun, however, had gone to his previous mindset of pretending no one else was there. Part of you wished that he would open up, saying something, anything. 

“If you’ll excuse me, your Grace,” you said quietly. “I’m still a bit tired from my journey. Would you please allow me to return to my room?”

“Of course,” the Duke nodded. “We’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well.”

You gave them each a curtsied (although the energy felt wasted upon Sehun) and headed off to your room with Edna in tow. 

“You didn’t have to come with me,” you told her back in your room. 

“If I hadn’t I might have given that Sehun boy a tongue lashing for how he acted,” she grumbled. 

You smiled at her. “Yes, it was quite rude, wasn’t it? But what can you do? I’m not going to force him into conversation. Not today, at least.”

“Not today?” Edna raised an eyebrow at you. 

You tried to keep your face innocent, but it was useless. “You know me too well. The odds of me getting out of this marriage are slim. Might as well see if the rumors of his manners are true.”

Edna narrowed her eyes at you cheekily. “You think he’s handsome, don’t you?”

That got a scoff out of you. “I do not. He’s thin and his chin is pointy and you know I prefer lighter eyes.”

But your argument fell flat. “That’s a strong chin he has. And he isn’t sickly. From the way he was swinging that sword… he isn’t weak either.”

“That hardly means anything.” You were coming up empty on any meaningful fight back. 

“Keep telling yourself that. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was muscle underneath that tunic,” she said as she helped you out of your dress. “But I think getting to know him is a wonderful idea. You might like what you find.”

Rolling your eyes, you crawled in between the sheets and shoved your face into the pillow. It was a useless effort, but you wanted to stop yourself from thinking of Sehun before drifting off to sleep. 

**

The next day after breakfast, you thought you were to get to know your future family. However, the Duke had duties out in the fields and the Duchess was meeting with the wives of the lower nobles. Sehun… you weren’t sure where he was exactly, only that he disappeared soon after finishing his meal. 

So, you gave Edna the morning off and took to exploring the castle grounds on your own.

The garden was beautiful. Hedges twice your height nearly blocked out the sky. They were trimmed to perfect rectangles, little buds blooming spontaneously among the leaves. Flowers – both domestic and exotic – grew everywhere along the paths that twisted and turned within the walls of the garden. 

A smile grew on your face as you came across a bush of white roses. Taking the small knife out from your boot (Edna insisted on carrying protection at all times), you cute off three fully bloomed roses and headed back inside. After convincing one of the maids to fetch you vases and dyed cloth, you went to the library. In a corner near the window, you took the roses and put them in the vases freshly filled with water. Cutting the dark blue fabric, you placed the pieces in the water near the bottom of the vase. 

“Are you trying to poison the flower?”

The sudden visitor made you jump in surprise, nearly knocking the vase on the table over. You turned to simply explain what you were doing, but your lips formed a pout when you realized it was Sehun. 

“No,” you snapped. “I’m dyeing the petals.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

You shrugged. “Because I like strange colored flowers. Blue and purple roses aren’t exactly found in nature.”

“Isn’t it a bit wasteful?” he asked. You thought for a moment that he would sit down and join you at the table, but he remained standing, hands folded behind his back.

“Wasteful?” you echoed. 

“Blue and purple fabrics are the most expensive and yet you’re putting them in water. To dye flowers.”

“So beauty should only be allowed upon a person’s body?” Standing up, you took one of the vases and pushed it towards Sehun’s chest who barely caught the poor flower in time for it to not crash down to the floor. “Watch that over the next few days. You might be surprised at what grows before your eyes.” You turned and picked up the remaining flowers and scraps of cloth. 

“Is that supposed to be a metaphor for our own relationship?” he asked out of nowhere. 

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “I wasn’t aware that we had one.” And with that, you left the study, a triumphant smirk on your lips. 

**

Your last quip to Sehun must have put a chink in his cold armor. For the rest of the day, you didn’t see him, even at meal times. A worried look refused to leave the Duchess’ face all throughout the evening. Her eyes flickered to the chair that Sehun had occupied the day before.

The Duke was the first to excuse himself from the table, leaving you and Edna alone with the Duchess. 

“Lady (y/n)?”

You reluctantly raised your gaze from the plate in front of you to your gracious host. “Yes?”

“I would like to speak with you alone.” It was not a request that gave room for refusal. Even if you were able to say no, was there really any reason to?

“I’ll see you in your room,” Edna said as she stood up from her seat. Before exiting through the door, she gave you a last glance over her shoulder. 

The Duchess stood up and took over Edna’s seat, picking up your hand in hers. “I understand that this must be a confusing time for you.”

Confusing? No, not really. You knew what was expected of this “visit”. Trying? Frustrating? Irritating? Those descriptors would be much more accurate. But you didn’t correct her out loud. 

“We didn’t fully prepare Sehun for this possibility,” the Duchess confessed to you. “He was only aware of you coming here a few days ago. When it was explained what the hopeful outcome would be… well, he’s always been a free spirit. A bit of cliche way to describe one’s child, but it’s true. He’s always followed his own way. So, being told what would be expected of him - especially when marriage has never been an idea he was fond of - its taken its toll on him.”

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked bravely when she’d taken a moment to pause. 

“Because I want you to put more effort on your end to get to know him,” the Duchess said with a smile. “He won’t come to you, not if left alone. The King wants this union, but Sehun doesn’t care about that. I see a light in you that might attract him, if given the time.”

You couldn’t quite find it in you to return the smile. “So, you want to force myself upon him?”

“Not in any sort of obvious way, but, essentially… yes. For the sake of both of our territories.”

With that, she patted your head and left the dining hall. 

You didn’t really want to get to know the man. You were quite alright with the idea of him not liking the idea of marriage. Perhaps your previous hope of this not coming to fruition could still come together. 

But what you didn’t know was that Sehun was not as uninterested as you’d previously suspected or as the Duchess had spoken about.

From a shadowed corner of the hall, Sehun watched you get up from the table and leave the room. Something along the lines of curiosity was brewing inside. He’d never cared for the ladies that hung around the castle in the past. 

Before the King had passed down this “wish”, daughters of lesser nobles and rich merchants in town tried their hardest to capture his attention. They always failed. Perhaps it was because you were something new that he was more intrigued than he should have been. Someone he hadn’t seen grow up through the many balls and dinners his parents had hosted through the years. 

Or maybe it was because you didn’t seem on board for this marriage either. Earlier in the library, you didn’t bat your eyes at him or use flirty lines. You seemed more annoyed than anything that he'd interrupted you and questioned what you were doing. The flower you’d given him was still starking white, causing him to think that you might have been making up what you were doing. 

Sighing to himself, Sehun waltzed up to the table and made himself a plate of food while trying to stay out of the way of the servants who were cleaning up. 

“Feel free to take whatever leftovers you want,” he said softly to the younger ones. They were only children, twelve years old or so. Smiles shined on their faces as they bowed their heads to him. 

“Thank you, my lord!” they cheered. He returned the gesture with a small grin of his own, ruffling the youngest boy’s hair before heading to his room for the night. 

**

You were cringing inside as you slowly made your way to the practice field outside near the stables. One of the kitchen boys had told you that Sehun was out here with his bow perfecting his aim. The information seemed to be correct as you grew closer to the archery lanes. It didn’t stop you from questioning why you were bothering with this. 

All by himself, Sehun drew back arrow after arrow, hitting the center circle nearly every time. 

“You’re rather good at that,” you complimented just in time to surprise him and throw off his aim. You couldn’t help but giggle at his exasperated state when the arrow hit the outermost ring. 

“Is there something I can help you with, Lady (y/n)?” he asked, obviously frustrated. The tightness of his eyebrows and the downturn of his lips told you that he might prefer if you went away, but you’d told the Duchess that you would try. Somewhat. Besides, Edna was right. While he wasn’t anything like the knights and barons you were used to, he was a bit handsome. Or… maybe more than a bit….

You shrugged. “I was simply bored and thought I would join you and get some practice of my own in.”

“Do you know how to use one of these?” Sehun challenged.

You scoffed at the insult. “I am more than adequate at archery.”

“Really?” He raised that stupid eyebrow at you again. Then he held his bow out for you. “Let’s see then.”

Confident in your abilities, you snatched the bow out of his grasp and plucked an arrow out of the quiver sitting on the ground. Adjusting your stance, you held up the bow and docked the arrow. It took a bit more strength that you were used to in order to pull back on the string, but you managed to hold it long enough to set up your sight. However, when you let go, you were a little disappointed in the landing of the arrow, hitting the round straw target in one of the middle rings. 

“Not… terrible,” Sehun said. You could hear the amusement in his voice. “Better than most ladies, I’m sure.” Well, at least that was sort of a compliment. “Let me show you how to improve.” He stepped towards you, which in turn made you step back. 

“What are you doing?” you snapped. 

He sighed. “I’m trying to show you how to do it better. Or do you not want to ever hit the bullseye?”

He was challenging you again. Let him get close or run away. Well, you certainly weren’t going to take the second choice. 

This time you stayed put when he stepped closer. You even allowed him to turn you back towards the target with his hands on your hips. His back was nearly against your shoulder blades. You were a little too aware of him, his breath on your neck and his fingers on top of yours as he helped you lift the bow and pull back on the arrow. 

“Lower your elbow,” he whispered in your ear. It was much lower and huskier than it ever needed to be, letting you know that he was very aware of what he was doing. The only question: was he doing this to see how much he could play with you? A small part of you truly hoped that he wasn’t. “Don’t pull too tight or your arm will start shaking. The tension in the string is enough to send it flying without too much work on your end. And don’t aim for the dot. Instead, aim just above it. The farther you are away, the higher you need to aim as the arrow will drop as it flies.”

You were barely acknowledging what he was saying. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t concentrate on anything other than him. This probably wasn’t what the Duchess had in mind when she asked you to get to know her son. 

“Are you listening?” Sehun asked, apparently noticing the way your mind was wondering. 

“Huh? Yes, of course.” No, of course not. 

“Okay. Good. Then let go when you’re ready.”

You tried to recall what he’d said previously, aiming above the bullseye. Letting go, you watched the arrow fly, hitting just to the left of the large red dot. 

“Better,” Sehun nodded behind you. He didn’t seem to be aware that he was still so close. 

Looking back at him, you studied his face. The conflicting way his eyes and nose seemed so soft, but his chin and mouth sharpened out his features, putting him halfway between boy and man. Almost subconsciously, he placed a hand on your shoulder, causing your heart to jump into a frenzy. You hardly knew this person. Why were you acting this way? 

“How’s my flower?” you asked in order to distract yourself. 

“Hm?” He looked to you, still not moving to create space. “Your flower? Oh, right. It’s still white.”

“Well, of course it is,” you laughed. “It takes time for it to turn colors. Perhaps this is meant to teach you patience.”

“Or you’re simply playing with me.”

You shook your head. “I don’t play games.”

“Good,” was his reply. It seemed forever went by as the two of you just stared at each other, unsure of where to go from there but neither willing to walk away. 

“Lady (y/n)!”

You jumped back at the sound of your name, not as relieved as you should have been by the interruption. 

Edna hurried up to you, a twitch giving away her position on what she’d stumbled upon. “It’s time to get ready for dinner,” she told you. 

Nodding a little too eagerly, you curtsied a goodbye to Sehun, handing him back his bow and quickly following Edna back to the castle. 

“Don’t,” you told her once the two of you were far enough away. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Edna chuckled. 

“Yes, you do,” you growled through clenched teeth. “So, don’t even think about it.”

Her response was a smirk.

**

Something happened after that day in the field. Over the next two weeks, you and Sehun spent more and more time together. 

It was never on purpose. Neither of you sought out the other, but when you did run into him, you ended up spending several hours talking. The more you learned about him, the more your anxiety on the possible marriage faded away. While he occasionally had some childish tendencies, you saw his kindness towards the servants, particularly the younger ones. He was only slightly spoiled, but not to the point where it turned you away from him. In fact, there were times you found it enduring. An odd response, you were aware, but you couldn’t help it.

The two of you were walking through the gardens when the steward arrived. 

“What is it?” Sehun asked. 

“The Duke is requesting your presence,” the steward replied. 

Sehun nodded and then turned to you to bow. “I’ll find you again later.”

“Actually, he is wanting to see you both.”

Your heart leapt into your throat. Was this it? Were you expected to agree to a wedding this soon? As much as you’ve enjoyed getting to know Sehun, your feelings for him growing every day, you weren’t sure if you were ready for that step. 

The two of you followed the steward back inside and through the hallways until you arrived in the Great Hall. Sitting in their regal seats were the Duke and Duchess. Edna stood off to the side, a pale envelope in her hand. 

“What’s going on?” Sehun inquired. 

“A letter has arrived from Lady (y/n)’s parents,” the Duke answered. On queue, Edna stepped forward and handed you the envelope. A knowing smile played at her lips, but she kept quiet. 

With shaking hands, you opened the letter and began to read. But where you had been expecting an urge to get married, you received terrible news instead. It must have been written all over your face. 

Sehun came closer to you, his hand on your elbow. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The Baron of Haeju has attacked our city,” you said quietly in a trembling voice. “My father’s knights are holding him back, but they’re asking for help.” You looked up at the Duke pleadingly. “They might not be able to win this on their own.”

“The Baron of Haeju?” the Duke echoed. He glanced over his wife before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Lady (y/n), but I can’t send my men to assist your father.”

You gaped at him. “Wasn’t the point of me coming here to unite our lands? To heal the wounds between our families? My parents are asking for help, but you’re turning your back on them already?”

“My duty is to put my own people first,” the Duke argued. 

“Father, certainly we can spare a few men,” Sehun urged.

The Duke shook his head. “No. Our relationship with the Baron has been strained far worse recently despite the amount of trade we do with his merchants. I can’t risk cutting those ties and starving our people.”

“So, you would go against the King?” you challenged. 

“I’m sure he would understand.”

“Then there’s no reason for me to stay any longer.” Turning on your feet, you stormed out of the hall with Edna. 

“(y/n)! Wait!” Sehun blocked your path to your room, desperation on his face. He grasped your shoulders in an effort to hold you down. “Please, don’t go!”

“There’s no point in my staying here,” you told him. “My people need me and your father isn’t willing to help. I came here because of an alliance, but your father isn’t holding up his end of the bargain.” Your heart was breaking. You wanted to stay with him. You were falling for him. But your own sense of duty and pride was too overwhelming to ignore. Kissing his cheek, you settled into your decision. “I’ve enjoyed every second with you and I won’t forget you. Ever. Please be happy.” Before you could let the slightest seed of doubt start to grow, you ran past him. 

Not even half an hour later, you were in a carriage and headed home. Your father needed the few knights that had accompanied you here. Behind you, what was once a promising future was fading in the distance. 

**

“How could you let her go?!” Sehun yelled as his parents stared at him indifferently. 

“Decisions like this occur all the time,” his father sighed. “When you are the protector of this land, you will understand.”

“I thought you didn’t care for this marriage?” his mother asked. 

The question made Sehun step back. “Well, I- I mean-” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Father’s made his decision.” He ran out of the Great Hall before his parents could question him further. 

In his room, he sat on the floor, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. His morning had started out so well. He’d enjoyed talking to you in the garden, the one place that seemed to make you truly happy here. Even though you were listening to him, you would stop and feel the petals of the plants between your fingers, holding the flowers gently in your palm. 

And now you were gone. 

On the mantle above the fireplace, the rose you’d given him stared at him. The edges had turned blue, just as you predicted.

Standing up, he went over to the mantle and took hold of the flower. Already, it was starting to die, to wither away. Soon, he would have to toss it. But he didn’t want to let it go. He didn’t want to let you go. 

His mind was made up. Surely, you hadn’t gone too far yet. 

Bursting out of his room, he ran to find his most trusted men. They would follow him to help save your people, he was sure of it. In the stables, he was busy saddling his horse as Jongin, Tao, and Luhan did the same around him. Others waited to join them outside. 

“You’re going after her, aren’t you?”

He didn’t look to his mother as he nodded. “I have to. I can’t let her walk into a fight. Not when I can protect her.”

“Good. You love her, I can tell. I couldn’t ask for a better outcome.”

Peeking over his shoulder, he frowned. “Did you know that would happen?”

“Of course not,” she said. “But I hoped you would open your heart to her. It tends to make these arrangements easier.”

Shaking his head, he kissed his mother’s cheek and then mounted his horse. “Let’s go!”

The group took off, galloping full speed down the road that would lead him back to you. With a lighter load, they had the advantage in catching up to you, but it would still take too long for Sehun’s liking. 

It seemed like hours had gone by and he could feel his horse growing tired. 

“Maybe we should rest,” Jongin yelled over the heavy beating of hooves against the dirt road.

As much as Sehun wanted to argue, he knew they couldn’t keep going like this. But he was granted one last miracle. Just as he was beginning to pull back on his reigns, a carriage came into view, prompting him to go faster. He recognized the coachman and the knights surrounding the carriage. It really was you. 

He pulled up alongside the carriage before overtaking it, forcing it to a stop or be responsible for a terrible collision.

“What’s going on?” Your companion, Edna, stuck her head out the window, eyes widening when she caught sight of Sehun. “Lady (y/n)!”

“What is it?” You, too, looked out the window and gasped. Pushing the door open, you jumped out while at the same time Sehun dismounted, running to you. He took you in his arms, holding you tight against his chest. “What are you doing here?” you demanded when you pushed back.

“I’m not letting you leave like this,” he declared. Then, he bent his head, connecting his lips to yours.When he pulled back, the corners of your mouth were pulling up. It made his heart warm to see you like that. “First, my men and I are going to help defend your home. And then, I’m going to marry you as promised.”

Tears pooled in your eyes that sparkled at him. “Why?”

“Because I’ve fallen for you like a petal falls from a flower.” From his tunic, he pulled out the now somewhat squished blue rose. 

“It turned blue,” you smiled. 

“Just like you said.” He swooped in for another kiss, happy to have you in his arms. He wasn’t sure if his plan to join your father’s men would work, but that was a risk he was willing to take to be with you. Only a month ago, you were the daughter of his father’s enemy. Now, you were his blue rose; unique, different, and forever close to his heart.

[everardogreen]

Setting Boundaries: The Hidden Costs of Avoiding Conflict.

Meta: Conflict can be a good thing. Right here's why setting limits can aid you secure on your own, even if it implies challenging others without battle. Key phrases: setting boundaries, healthy limits. Your coworkers assume you're reasonable. Your family and friends know you're always there for them. These things appear to make you appear generous, encourage individuals to trust you, as well as gain you honors. But in truth, you just could not be competent in establishing limits. Check out below Some individuals put on altruism like a badge of honor, constantly caring for others and also putting their very own needs and wants last. It's a noble gesture, sure, yet it can likewise take a serious toll on your physical, psychological, and also emotional health. Not being able to set limits can cause handling more than you can easily handle. It extends you slim, burglarizes you of your emphasis as well as peace of mind, as well as can trigger you to second-guess on your own.

What's even more, it can likewise open the doors for others to capitalize on your compassion and also determination to help. Allowing this to happen can make you frown at the people around you for depending upon you so much. Coming under this cycle is simple: getting yourself out of it, nevertheless, takes some practice as well as consistency. The very first step to regaining your sense of self is finding out just how to set healthy and balanced boundaries. The High Costs of Setting Low Boundaries. Necessarily, setting boundaries refers to producing limitations that decide how you allow people treat you, the actions you approve, and also what others can get out of you. This is why setting limits can look so different from one person to another: we're not just the same, nor are our expectations of individuals around us the same. Not setting borders is not a choice: without healthy borders, you're allowing others decide just how you assume, act, and also really feel, to a degree. Others will affect how you spend your time, cash, as well as energy, typically to the point where you're not able to accomplish your own desires because you're satisfying their needs. What's more, not setting limits can additionally influence the people around you. For example, if you're constantly allowing your employer to call you throughout non-business hrs, you may be taking time as well as focus away from your spouse or youngsters. Household suppers as well as getaways might be frequently cut off. Keeping up late to service a task reveals that it's all right to sacrifice your health. Children. find out by seeing your habits, and also you basically pass on the exact same harmful habits to them. You need to be your own champion when it involves setting boundaries in your life: nobody else can do it for you. Setting limits enables you to recover your satisfaction and reclaim control of your emotions and also decisions. It shows people that you value on your own sufficient to shield your best interests and also desires-- and urges them to do the exact same. What Healthy Boundaries Look as well as Function Like. There's no question that defending yourself includes obstacles, which is one reason why many individuals struggle to set healthy and balanced boundaries. They are afraid coming off as disrespectful or mean. They don't want to argue or have to protect their decisions. Nonetheless, while it appears counterintuitive, setting healthy and balanced borders can enhance your connections with others. For instance, a healthy boundary could be telling your manager to please not call you after job hours unless it is urgent. Tell them what you indicate by urgent, as this can be subjective. Being specific leaves no space for miscommunication, plus it enhances the need for a clear work/life equilibrium. You're revealing them just how you anticipate them to respect your time. Boundaries aren't always shown others beforehand. As an example, if you're having a discussion or argument with somebody, you may tell the person you feel unpleasant with their tone. You could ask them to lower their voice or you will certainly leave. This kind of border is a demonstration of how you expect others to treat you. To be clear, neither of these circumstances are terrible, threatening, or discourteous. They're merely. possibilities for you to establish your assumptions. Consider these as portals that permit excellent. things to travel through as well as keep tensions, action, as well as habits out. Effective boundaries should be adhered to by some sort of action for enforcement. In my Boundaries Crash Course, I teach participants just how to interact efficiently, resolve conflict without fight, demonstrate great time administration, and also endure their very own life assumptions. How to Set Healthy Boundaries as well as Stick to Them. Establishing healthy borders will certainly differ from one person to another. My free (and short) border guide on how to claim "no" can supply added understandings. Likewise, these tips give a good beginning point:. Do not Overpromise. Be aware of your own limits and what you will and will not do. Overpromising can make you prone to going beyond your limitations and also fails to provide credibility to the limits you've established. Share Your Boundaries. It isn't reasonable to on your own or others to keep your boundaries bottled up. Sharing them with others is what provides life. Or else, individuals around you will not understand when they've crossed the line. Stabilize having discussions with others regarding your limitations, feelings, and also assumptions. This can take some method, but technique likewise suggests it obtains less complicated. Know It's Never Too Late. Possibly the very same individual remains to obtain cash and not pay it back. Or maybe the same person that continues to require a lot more from you, whether it's your manager asking you to work late or a pal constantly requiring you to babysit her kids. Whatever the situation, recognize that it's never too late to establish healthy boundaries. Let them know just how it's influencing you and that you're no longer able to offer as much as you have in the past. Don't Fall Into a Guilt Trap. You must never ever really feel guilty regarding placing your own demands first. We need to each deal with ourselves prior to we are absolutely able to aid others. Improving your very own well-being allows you to be the very best variation of yourself as well as repay to others in such a way that doesn't sacrifice your own health and wellness. Read more

[deliciousdetectivestranger]

Sons of Sita (2012), Ashok K. Banker

“I intend to beg my wife’s forgiveness and take her and our sons home, if she will agree to come,” he said. 

Sita’s knees buckled. Both her sons looked up in alarm as they felt her weight shift, and they caught her arms tightly, holding her up. She regained control of herself and nodded to them. Still, they remained alert in case she should lurch again. 

Maharishi Valmiki looked at Sita. “What say you, Lady Vedavati? Do you think Lord Rama Chandra deserves forgiveness?” 

She looked at the guru, avoiding Rama’s gaze for the moment. “I cannot say if he does or does not deserve it. I will not judge him. I cannot judge him. I can only speak for myself.”

“Then will you or will you not forgive him?” the maharishi asked gently. 

Sita was silent a long moment. Everyone gathered around waited as well. Luv and Kush looked up at her face, holding her hands tightly. 

“I will,” she said at last. 

A great cheering rose from the ranks of the Ayodhyan army. Word had spread through the army of all that had transpired that day and everyone knew that Rama had found his long-exiled wife and sons. To the masses, it meant that Ayodhya had found her queen. After the threat of war hanging over their heads and the likelihood of war against their neighboring kingdom of Videha no less, it was a treat to see their liege’s martial obsession diverted into a more gentle preoccupation. Kings who loved were easier to love than kings who warred. 

The expression on Rama’s face as well as Sita’s showed nothing but love. 

A white-cloaked figure strode forward with a stern face. Pradhan Mantri Jabali gestured at his king. “Samrat Rama Chandra, you cannot simply take her back.”

Rama shot Jabali a cursory glance. “I can do as I please. She is still my wife.”

“She is an exile. And she was exiled for good reason. Her secret kinship to Ravana, lord of Lanka, and the fact that it was kept hidden from us for so long, endangering not just our kingdom but all mortalkind, is partly the reason. But there is also the matter of her purity.”

“Purity?” spat Nakhudi, stepping forward angrily. “You speak of purity? How pure are you? How pure is any man? Why do men only speak of purity when it comes to their women!”

Jabali gestured dismissively at Nakhudi, ignoring her outburst. “As a husband, you may do as you please. But as king of Ayodhya, you must also uphold dharma. And dharma demands that any woman you choose to instate as Queen of Kosala should prove herself worthy of that position and respect. You cannot expect your people to respect you if they do not respect your wife.”

“Why should they not respect her?” Rama asked, forehead creased but his tone not angry, not yet. 

“For the same reason that any husband hesitates to respect his wife if she stays for even one night under another man’s roof.” Jabali pointed accusingly at Sita. Luv and Kush glared angrily back at him. “Your wife was abducted by Ravana and stayed for months under his control.”

“Yes,” Rama admitted, “but we learned later that he was her father by birth.”

“That is irrelevant to the question of purity. Who knew what transpired with her during the time she was incarcerated in Lanka? A den of demons, lair of rakshasas and all manner of vile asuras.”

Rama’s face hardened. “She underwent the agni-pariksha as was required by our customs. She passed the test of fire successfully.”

Jabali shook his head. “The error you made, if I may call it that, was in holding the agni-parikhsha without any witnesses present.”

“There were witnesses by the millions,” Lakshman countered, stepping forward. He gestured at Hanuman, standing to one side quietly, watching the debate with his arms folded over his greying chest. “Our friend Hanuman was there. As were the entire vanar nations and rksaa nations.”

Jabali’s face twitched in a half-smile. “I meant civilized witnesses. Aryas. The noble folk. Not monkeys and bears!”

Hanuman bristled at the tone of derision but made no comment or move. After a decade spent with mortals he had probably become inured to their racist epithets although it was evident that he did not appreciate them. 

“Then take my word for it,” Rama said. “And my brother’s. We were there. We witnessed her succeed in the agni-pariksha.”

“And what of the past ten years?” Jabali asked slyly. “Once again she has been away from your house, who knows where or with whom?”

Rama had no answer to that. Even Lakshman was silent. Bharat and Shatrugan looked on angrily but said nothing because they could not offer anything worthwhile in such a matter. It was Maharishi Valmiki who spoke up then. 

“I will vouch personally for the reputation of Lady Vedavati whom you know as Queen Sita,” Valmiki said. “Her honor is spotless.”

Jabali laughed harshly. “We cannot take your word for it, Maharishi. The people must be appeased. And the people are not easily appeased. They have been betrayed too often. The conniving late Queen Kaikeyi, the scheming asura-worshipping Daiimaa Manthara, the intrusions into Ayodhya, the near-invasion by Ravana’s son Atikiya. Jabali spread his arms, affecting a guileless expression. “It is not I who questions the authenticity, Samrat Rama. It is the people. They would need to see it with their own eyes in order to be certain.”

“See it?” Lakshman asked angrily. “Do you mean we should hold another agni-parikhsa just to appease the people’s doubts?”

Jabali shrugged. “If she is truly innocent of wrongdoing and pure as you claim, there is nothing to fear. Besides, it is not I who demands this test, it is dharma.”

“Dharma!” shouted Nakhudi scornfully. “You change your interpretation of dharma to suit your own interests!”

Jabali wagged a finger of warning at the oversized woman warrior. “Mind your tongue, woman. Otherwise you may well be compelled to undergo an agni-pariksha as well.”

“Enough!” Rama said angrily. “If this is the only way, then it must be done.”

He looked at Sita. “I know you are spotless and beyond reproach but what Pradhan Mantri Jabali says is true, a king serves his people and the people will talk. We set very high standards of morality in Ayodhya and in order to enforce those standards I must prove that my family and I abide by them as well. Nobody must have the right to raise a finger and say a single word about you or anyone else in our house once you return home. Therefore I ask you to do this, not for my sake or even for your own sake, but for the sake of the people we serve. For the sake of dharma. Do this one last thing and we shall be together again, forever.”

Sita looked at him sadly. “I thought you might have changed after all. I thought you genuinely meant it when you begged my forgiveness, that you sincerely wished to undo your mistakes and do the right thing at last. I kept my love preserved like an acorn in a bushel for ten long years, in the hope that someday perhaps we might be reunited, that someday you would see the light of reason. But today I realize that it is not possible. You never truly desired forgiveness. You were never sincere in your proffer. You did not ask with genuine intention. All you desired was a queen, not a wife. A figurehead to place on the throne beside you, like the stone statue of me your army carries before it. A pure, perfect idol of a woman. Not a woman herself.”

“Sitey,” Rama said, “you misunderstand me entirely. I came here to ask you to come back. But I live in the service of my station. A king serves the people. Yatha raja tatha praja.”

“‘As does the king, so do the people,’” Sita translated. “So do it. Show the people that you believe in my fealty. That you do not need a fire sacrifice to prove my…purity! Do this and prove to them that to doubt an honest woman is itself a stain on her reputation. To point a finger is itself a sullying of honor. To gossip and speak about someone without their being found guilty of any wrongdoing is itself a crime. Deny this unfair demand and prove to your people that dharma comes from conviction not compromise. Dharma breaks but does not bend. Dharma is the same for men as well as women. Do this and show the praja that you are truly a raja of dharma. Not merely a servant but a king of dharma. Do this, Rama. Do this for the sake of all mortalkind for you are as close to a god as it is possible for a man to be. Do this one thing and you shall be pure yourself, unsullied, and undoubted by history for all time to come. The eyes of countless generations watch you now. You are the one being judged, not I. Do this and prove to all humanity forever that Rama, King of Dharma, can pass this final agni-pariksha. The test of trust. Prove that you believe without question in my so-called purity and need no superstitious ritual to confirm it for the naysayers and doubters of the world.”

Rama was silent a long moment. Even the birds in the forest seemed to have fallen silent as if listening and waiting now for Rama’s response. The entire army, arrayed out for yojanas behind Rama’s royal chariot, waited silently as well, word of mouth having passed on the urgency and import of what was being discussed here. The world itself waited. 

Finally, with head bowed, Rama sobbed a single sob and said two simple words, “I cannot.”

Sita was silent for a long moment, even longer than the time Rama had taken to respond. Finally, she raised her head, lifting her hands from the shoulders of her two sons who looked anxiously up at her. And she said in a voice that cracked like thunder: “Then be a broken god forever!”

The earth heaved and cracked beneath Sita’s feet. Luv and Kush cried out and stumbled, reaching out for their mother, not asking for her help but in order to help her. To their surprise, Maatr pushed them away with a firm but not unkind gesture. They staggered back even as the entire section of ground on which Sita stood broke free of the surrounding earth and rose up high into the earth, as if shoved by an invisible fist from below. Everybody around her fell back, staggering and stumbling away from the rising fist of ground. Debris and stones fell, and packed dirt crumbled and spilled over as the ground split. Everybody moved back, away from the heaving earth. A great gaping hole opened in the ground, cracking in a rough circle over three yards wide that forced everybody to move back. Then the cremation pyres heaved and lurched, and fell into the gaping hole! At once, fire leaped up, huge gouts of flame blazing up, as if the smoldering pyres had ignited some underground fuel. The fire roared over a dozen yards high, rising steadily. 

Luv and Kush went berserk with panic. “Maatr!” they cried out together, scrambling to their feet. They ran forward, halting at the crumbling edge of the rough circle that had appeared and which separated them from the fist of risen earth upon which Sita still stood. Flames roared upward from the circular gash in the earth and dirt and pebbles crumbled and fell away from beneath their scrambling feet. Nakhudi saw the danger and leaped forward, grasping hold of one of them with each meaty arm. She held them tight, pulling them back. Great archers they were and gifted with the power of brahman, but when it came to simple muscular strength, they were no match for Nakhudi’s wrestler bulk. 

Still, they struggled mightily. “MAATR!” they cried, young boyish voices almost girlish in their panic. 

Sita turned and raised a hand, palm outwards, to comfort them. “Do not fear for me, my sons,” she said affectionately, “I am safe in my mother’s arms.” 

As the other ashramites moved back out of the way, guided by Dumma and the other rishis, Rama and his brothers came forward to try to help. Bejoo and Somasra came forward as well. But the distance was too far to leap, the flames too ferocious and each time anyone came close to the edge, the flames seemed to leap higher, almost as if forbidding anyone from trying to save Sita. 

“Stay back, my friends,” she said, her voice clearly audible to all in the ashram clearing. Word of what was transpiring was constantly being passed on from soldier to soldier through the long lines of Ayodhya’s army. Those who were within viewing were gawking with amazement, unable to comprehend what was happening. “Prithvi-maa, the earth herself is my birth mother. It was she who was seeded by Ravana resulting in my birth. That is why Maharaja Janak of Mithila found me while ploughing his field. I was literally born of the earth in a furrow. And now, to that same earth I shall return.”

“MAATR!” cried her sons. Nakhudi’s powerful arms strained to hold them back as they fought and kicked and struggled to break free. Had she let go, there was no doubt they would have tried to leap across the cleft to rescue their Maatr—and would surely have died trying.

“Sitey,” said Rama from beside them. “Sitey, forgive me! I know I have transgressed against you. I came here today to try to make amends.”

“And you failed, Rama,” she said sorrowfully. “You failed utterly. That is why you will always be a broken god. Revered and worshipped, honored and admired, but also doubted and despised. Each time someone speaks of your great works and exploits, another will remind them of your banishment of your wife and ask what god would do such a thing and question your divinity? Today you had a chance to answer them once and for all, to silence those doubters, and you failed yet again. Now, for as long as your memory shall live, you shall be adored as a deva yet doubted as a man.”

“I am a man,” he said, dropping to his knees before the fiery pit. “Just a man. Know me as a man. Understand me as a man. Not as a god.”

She shook her head sadly. “That is the eternal dilemma of heroes and those who worship them. How can greatness have flaws? How can perfection contain a blemish? How can a deva do wrong? And eternally, in answer to those questions, people shall answer a single name: Rama. They shall offer you prayers, yes. But they shall do so knowing that they are prayers offered to a broken god.”

“Come to me, Janaki,” he said, tears rolling from his eyes. “Join with me again. Make me whole.”

“Don’t you want your agni-pariksha?” she asked bitterly. And the flames roared up, engulfing her. 

“Maatr,” her sons cried. 

“Cry not for me, my sons,” her voice said from within the flames. “These fires shall not burn me, nor the earth suffocate. The heat of the sun will not blacken my skin, nor the cold of winter freeze my blood. My bones will not turn to dust with the passing of time nor will my hair shrivel and come undone. I shall return to the earth and shall be eternally present in her every aspect. Think of me every time you see a flower bloom, a tree offer you shade, or the ground provide you with sustenance. I go home to my mother’s bosom. For that is our sanskriti. When a woman is not accepted at her husband’s home, she must go back to her mother’s house. And this is home to me. From whence I came, thither I return. Before I go, witness my agni-pariksha, tell all in Ayodhya of me, for even in parting, I remain Rama’s wife, and lest a single finger be raised in accusation or a single gossiping tongue speak with doubt, let all see and bear testimony that the sacred agni did not singe a hair on my head or harm me. Pure, did you say, Pradhan Mantri Jabali? Is this pure enough for you? Or do you need to ladle ghee upon my body to satisfy yourself further? Perhaps what men like you truly desire is to cremate women alive rather than accept that they are flesh and blood and human as you are. If Rama is a broken god it is because of this one flaw: he could not accept his own wife without questioning her purity!”

[bluepenguinstories]

Happiness Overload Chapter Fifty-Five

“Let’s see…” I pulled out a notepad from out of my pocket. It wasn’t there just a second ago. Never mind that detail. “Two down. Now who’s next?” I crossed out the two names that were on the notepad. Don’t worry, it wasn’t a death note. Well, it could’ve been, but that wouldn’t have made those two names very happy.

The first name on the notepad was pretty easy to take care of. All I had to do was tell them (well, him, sometimes her) that Conrad was proud of them. The second person was a bit harder. It was still worth it, I think, but damn, I sure had to pull some strings here and there to make it work. Exhausted, I made little mouths out of my hands. No, not literally (though was that possible?), just the kind of hand mouths you do when you do hand puppets.

“Who knew making people happy could be such work?” One hand asked.

“Yes! But so rewarding!” The other hand replied. On one hand, I could see that hand’s point, but on the other hand…

“It’s just exhausting, y’know? I’m human, after all.” I almost said ‘only human’, but I wasn’t only human.

“Yes! Happy Blanc is good Blanc! Happy friends even better!”

“Mm-hmm…yeah, I care about my friends. Though the first one we helped give a happy ending, Kelly Roger, I never really knew that well.” Conrad knew them better. I never really got to know Conrad that well. Not as well as a previous me, anyhow.

“Know or not, happy is good!”

“Can’t argue with that. Well, I can, but I don’t really care to.”

All the hand conversations didn’t get me anywhere. I was still wandering through those halls, passing by displays of odd little inventions. In a sense, I too was an invention. Well, in more senses than one. Would I want to be called an invention? To be honest, I’ve been called worse.

You could call me whatever you wanted to: guardian angel? Sure. Santa? In a sense, except I existed every day of the year. Hungry Hungry Hippo? I don’t see why you would call me that, but you could. Mostly, I was just a euphoric ball of energy. Well, if that ball was human shaped and that energy was concentrated in sending good vibes. The downside of the whole thing was that in the process, I sacrificed all my smarts.

All for the sake of good vibes! Also, fruit snacks. Yes, a necessary sacrifice if there ever was one. However, that too had been sacrificed. No fruit snacks. No gummy worms.

But these were not sad times! No! Given the circumstances, I should’ve been at least a bit sad, but I wasn’t. How could I be so happy considering I was aboard the ship of an all-powerful evil organization that I happened to be wandering around in because why not? It sure beat the alternative, which would’ve been hanging out on a dying planet. So, how then, could I be so happy considering I just left a dying planet with most of the people in it dead and I may never see home again? Wasn’t that sad, even just a little bit?

The answer was easy: I was happy because I was happy.

There I was, with a hop and a skip, and happy as a clam...chowder. Oh yeah. I forgot. Hunger was still a thing.

“Ugh, I need, like...what’s the term for food that makes you happy?” I pondered. “Junk food, right? Wait. No. It can’t be junk if it makes you happy.” Comfort came to mind, but that didn’t seem right, either.

I continued to brainstorm, but then I remembered that thinking didn’t make me happy, so I stopped and moved on. The nice thing about being so aimless was I couldn’t fail any goal if I didn’t have any goals to begin with. For the moment, all that I was concerned about was my growling stomach and finding something interesting. Okay, you could call that a goal.

Eventually, that aimlessness grew boring. Eventually as in within a few minutes. So I settled on the next room I came across and see what would happen. It was a long stretch before the next room, but when it finally presented itself, I lit up with joy. It was a lit room with the words on the door “Movie Study Room”.

With a name like that, how could I get bored?

Two of us against a horde of guards, soldiers, corporate security, whatever they may have been, one thing was for certain: we would be lucky to make it out unscathed.

Coriander had gotten her little laser backpack thing to work just before we had caused such a distraction. Bless that spice girl.

“They get knocked down, but they get up again!” Coriander seethed as she looked behind her. I did the same. Yikes.

“Wrong band. You’re supposed to tell me what you want. What you really, really want.”

“What?! This isn’t the time for jokes!”

Yeah. She was right. Especially because I didn’t have any means to defend myself. Though I will say it was rather refreshing to rely on someone else. Refreshing? More like depressing. What if she got hurt or killed or something?

“Hey!” I stopped. “I’m getting short of breath!”

“That’s your own fault! I didn’t choose to eat all that junk food before coming here!”

I turned my head. There were more coming. They were already within our sights and ready to shoot.

Through grit teeth, I uttered one word to Coriander.

“Fire.”

Multiple shots from the lasers hit the guards. Coriander, triumphant, turned to me with a smirk.

“How bold of you to give me commands.”

It was too late to think of a clever remark. I’d have to let her have that one. By the time she spoke those words, I was already running toward the fallen enemies, unsure if they were dead or alive, but taking a gamble all the same.

“What the hell are you doing?!” She balked.

“Being reckless!” I yelled my reply as I pried a large gun out from one of the guard’s hands. “I couldn’t let you do everything yourself, could I? That wouldn’t be any fun!”

More of those armored figures piled in. My hands shook as I pointed the heavy weapon toward them.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you. I bet I could fire this thing faster than you guys could lift a finger.”

Coriander cupped her hands “Bet!”

Oh, come on! You’re on my side! You’re not supposed to call my bluff!

“Prepare for ambush,” one of them spoke into their helmets, which I presumed had a built-in headset.

“Really? Come on, guys! I know you all got family and stuff and complex lives I’ll never know, but you’re mooks and I’m supposed to be the hero! Can’t you just play along?!”

They raised their weapons and I heard the sound of boots stampeding across the floor behind Coriander and I.

Ugh. I really don’t want to die like this. I mean, I know death was all but certain, but that doesn’t mean I want to get shot.

Coriander got behind me. Maybe she figured if she was going to get shot, she may as well let me be a human shield, first. How noble. I would’ve liked to believe I’d have done the same. In a loving way, y’know?

Still, that wasn’t about to happen. Not just “not on my watch”, but also because just as I said, death by gunfire wasn’t on my bucket list. So, in a last ditch attempt, I shot below us.

We both fell into total darkness.

Inside the room at a group of folks in lab coats staring at one of those old box TVs. Each of them looked my way.

“Hi guys,” I waved.

They all waved back. I walked past them and noticed an empty chair, so I decided to take a seat. Where I ended up sitting was a spot sandwiched between one Flashbulb member and what I had to assume was another one. Well, of course! But couldn’t I be more descriptive? Hmm…

The one to the left of me had a slicked-back hairstyle and star shaped sunglasses. Coincidentally, he also looked quite glum. To the left of me was a lady with auburn hair in one of those bob cuts. Or maybe it was in a bun. Actually, it may have been both. She had a clipboard in her hands and appeared equal measures friendly and abrasive. Just a first impression.

“How goes it?” She asked me.

“Oh!” I grinned. I wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome. “I was just passing by. Thought this place looked neat, decided to check it out.”

“What department are you in?” Was the next question in the interrogation as she tapped a pen against the clipboard.

“None, really. Well...when I first showed up here, I once told someone I was Dr. David Blaine and with the trash department. It was really just a lie, though.”

“So you’re someone who shouldn’t be here?”

I gave a hearty laugh with a sprinkle of a giggle.

“You could say that! I’m just visiting!”

The tapping grew more intense, but she didn’t look ready to break skulls, far from it. Her gentle, yet volatile demeanor reminded me of a certain someone who went back to her own home not too long ago. Ah, but I knew this person was different, of course! She wasn’t even wearing glasses!

“Well, while you should probably be dealt with, it just so happens that I’m not in any department who deals with intruders. So while you’re in here, I’d say you’re welcome to stay.”

“Cool. Say, you remind me of someone,” I pointed out.

“I get that all the time,” she waved her hand away and laughed.

“I bet! I’d get that all the time, too, if I were in your shoes. Though I doubt we wear the same size.”

We shared a laugh once again.

“Ahem,” one of the members in the room interjected. “Aren’t you going to evaluate our performances and tell us how we can improve?”

“That’s right,” she nodded.

“Oh? So that’s what you guys are up to?”

“Indeed. I’m Dr. Hepburn of the HR Department. These fine scientists were recently defeated by the inhabitants of the version of Earth they were tasked to improve. So I’m here to tell them where they went wrong and help place them in a new department where their skills may be better put to use.”

“That’s neat! But what’s that gotta do with watching movies?”

“So glad you asked! Wanna watch it with us?”

“Sure. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

One of the members of the defeated department got up and put a DVD in the TV’s built-in DVD player. As she went to sit back down, she held out her hand. I shook it. She may have been my friends’ enemies, but I wasn’t about to be rude!

“I’m Dr. Sodapop, by the way.”

“Oh! I’m...um...Dr. Pepper?”

There was no reason to say that since they already knew I wasn’t one of them.

“Well, I’m Blanc, but all my friends call me Dr. Pepper,” I backtracked. Note: none of my friends have ever called me that.

As the DVD booted up and the menu screen came up, it soon became clear what we were about to watch: Grease. Some musical movie with John Travolta that I never paid much mind. But hey, gotta appreciate the classics, I guess?

Dr. Hepburn grabbed the remote and pressed play.

The opening scene was one where a guardian angel visits one of the characters. I thought it was quite cute, and highly relatable, that was, until the guardian angel calls her a beauty school dropout. The next thing that played after a musical number was another musical number where two characters declare “you’re the one that I want”.

“See, this is where you guys went wrong,” Dr. Hepburn pointed out to them. “You thought you could turn people into zombies with ‘greased lightning’, but you forgot the power of ‘you’re the one that I want’. Rookie mistake.”

“Can someone explain this to me?” I stared at the screen and felt like I just took shrooms after thinking they were gummy bears. Just as I spoke, the credits rolled.

“Wait.” I blinked. “Is the movie over?”

Nope. Partway through the credits, there was a new scene.

“Oh, is this like one of those post-credit scenes in movies?” “Shh!” They all shushed me. All but Dr. Hepburn. She looked delighted to answer my question.

“Not at all, the movie’s just playing out of order, and we have no idea what the next scene’s gonna be.”

“It’s really the only way to watch movies,” added one of the other members. “I’m Dr. Rizzo, by the way.”

“Really? How do you figure that?”

“Well, by changing things around, it changes the whole movie and changes the meaning! We can discover new things we didn’t know before that way!” Dr. Hepburn once again answered, ever eager.

“I don’t know. I’m just confused.”

“That’s how it is at first; you watch one of these special editions and you’re a little lost, but then it starts to click and you’re like ‘this is the best movie ever!’ Ever since, I’ve grown to think that way about every movie I’ve seen,” another member added. That one, I learned, was Dr. Danny Zuko.

“I love this part!” One exclaimed. The part in question was Rizzo singing a song to what I believed was likely her love interest, someone named Sandra Dee.

“Wait. Is she Sandra Dee? I thought she was Rizzo.” I shook my head in confusion.

“You got it all wrong! She’s making fun of Sandy! They’re rivals!” One of the flashbulb members corrected me. Then another shushed me.

“Why would they be rivals? They’re in love, aren’t they?”

“No, no, no. Sandy and Danny are in love.”

“Can’t all three of them be in love, and y’know…?”

“Love triangle?”

“Ew, no. I mean, they could all be in a poly ship, y’know?”

“It’s set in the 50s.”

“So? It’s a movie.” One of them looked about ready to get up and deck me, but Dr. Rizzo stopped them. “Let them finish,” Dr. Rizzo told the other member. “They might be onto something.”

That’s when it occurred to me that some of these scientists were named after Grease characters.

“Actually, no, that was all I had. Sorry to let you all down.” I wasn’t really sorry. There was nothing to be sorry for. “By the way, you guys got popcorn?”

“HOLY FUCK!” Dr. Danny Zuko cried out, shocked. After a few heavy sighs, returned to a normal, room temperature voice. “We forgot the popcorn.”

Dr. Hepburn paused the movie, then turned to Dr. Sodapop. “Will you make us all some popcorn with your popcorn materializer?”

“You mean a microwave?”

She smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll grab a bag. One sec.”

After approximately two minutes and forty-five seconds (approximately. No one was counting), Dr. Sodapop returned with popcorn. I grabbed a handful and shoved it in my mouth. Crunch was the sound it made, though it came off as more of a “cronch”.

“We good to continue?” I asked, my voice muffled by the buttery goodness of microwaved popcorn.

“Mm-hmm,” everyone hummed in unison, then Dr. Hepburn pressed play. That I had no idea what was going to happen next was exciting in a dumb way.

But more than that, it was nice to have company.

Up above, there was a faint light. Such a light was already faint when we were closer to it, but down below, we were like a speck. I reached out and felt flesh. Now, if you’ve known me by now, you’d known I could be somewhat of a gambler. So when I reached out to hug the flesh that I felt, there was a likely chance that I was about to hug a corpse.

“Ugh! Get off of me! I can’t see a thing!” Came the lurid voice of one spice that could have tasted like dish soap depending on who was doing the tasting. To me, she tasted just fine, though.

“It’s good to see you! I thought we were both goners!” I squeezed her.

“Well, I can’t see you, so maybe we’re both dead right now.”

“No, no!” I pointed up, a gesture that was rather pointless when we couldn’t really see each other. “Look up! There’s a light! We fell! We might be...in the void of space...or...the void of the space between spaces!”

“So what you’re saying is, we’re dead? Wait. You said ‘til death do us part’. If we’re both dead, does that mean I can just walk away?”

“Nu-uh!”

She got up, pulling me up with her.

“I’m teasing. It’s clear we’re still on the ship.”

She flicked a switch on her little laser backpack thing and lights lit up. Once she did, I could see her cute face with that blue hair I loved to rustle and behind that head of hair was a wall. I went up to the wall and knocked on it. Yep. We were still on the ship.

“Turns out there’s multiple floors. That’s one mystery solved!” I snapped my fingers.

“Ever the optimist,” she groaned. “So what’s the plan now, smart one?”

“Wanna cuddle?” I suggested.

She shook her head. “Those armed guards will probably show up down here any minute. Though I don’t know why they haven’t already. If anything, what we should be doing is getting a move on.”

Aw. But she was right. I knew that going in. It may take a while before we even got a chance to catch our breaths, let alone eat or sleep.

We walked down the halls until we heard someone’s voice nearby.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

Instead of a person, what we found instead was a spare radio. Coriander picked it up.

“Yes. Those two intruders were shot dead. All clear,” she held her hand over the radio and turned to me. “We have to play along.”

“Oh. Uh. Good job? Shit. Um. Wrong number? Jeez. Okay, get it together. You can do this.”

“Is there anything you need to tell us?”

“Us? There’s more than one person there? Fuck. I stepped into this one, didn’t I? Good going, Juniper.”

My eyes widened. I just about let out a gasp.

“No, never mind me, you guys,” she continued. “You guys are probably all busy, what with your intruder killing and all.”

I snatched the radio out of Coriander’s hands.

“Hey Juniper! It’s us! Red and blue!” I yelled into the radio, unable to contain my excitement.

“Red and blue? Wait. That voice! Hey guys! I missed you!”

Coriander grabbed the radio and pulled it out of my grasp, then stuck her tongue out at me.

“Yeah, we missed you too. ‘Sup?”

“Oh, um, I’ve been fine!”

I leaned over Coriander’s shoulder and yelled. “ARE YOU OKAY? YOU’RE NOT HURT, ARE YOU?”

“Ow,” Coriander hissed. “You’re leaning too hard.”

“Oof. Sorry,” I backed away.

“Well...there was that part earlier where this guy tried to kill me with a metal bar and apparently put my brain into a computer…” she laughed. “Oh, but I’m fine now!”

“That’s not something you should laugh off, you know,” Coriander scolded. Well, hard to call it a “scold” as I could tell there was a hint of worry in her voice.

“But I’m fine, really. No need to worry. Verse came and saved the day.”

“Right, I think she mentioned something like that when we talked over the radio. Wonder what happened to her.”

“She went home. It’s all good now, I think. Well, I’m not sure. It seems like she’s got a lot to work through, but I’m glad for her.”

I felt like drawing a sigh of relief that she said ‘glad’ and not ‘happy’, for Coriander’s sake. Although she seemed fine, it may have still been a sensitive word for her.

“Yeah, us too. If nothing else comes from this suicide mission, at least we managed to help one person.”

“Nonsense! I’m not counting you guys out!”

“Okay, thanks. Just for that, let’s disregard our odds for now. You are safe now, right?”

“Well, I am in a bit of danger, actually…”

Oh shit. My mind and my heart raced together to see which one was faster.

“What’s going on?”

“Well, you see...I got roped in with the Medical Department and apparently I’m now a sub for this head nurse called Dr. Nightingale and she’s like really tough and kind of domineering.”

“She hasn’t hurt you, has she?”

“No,” then her voice got quieter, though I could still hear her. “But I kind of want her to…”

Coriander slammed her palm into her face and shook her head. After a few seconds of silence, she spoke once again into the radio. “Juniper,” she groaned.

“Yes?”

“Don’t call again unless you’re actually in trouble.”

She hung up before Juniper could so much as make a sound. Once she shoved the radio into her pocket, she began walking again.

“What? What was that all about!” I threw my hands up as I tried to keep pace with her.

“That woman’s beyond saving,” she grumbled.

“That was still rude! I think...I’m not really sure? Anyway, if she picks up again, you should apologize.”

“Sure. I ought to just accept that everyone we meet ends up being ridiculous in some way.”

“That’s right!” I snapped my fingers. “But we should still try to help them anyway!”

Right on cue, static came in from the radio. Coriander picked it up.

“Look, I’m sor--”

“Hey guys, it’s me, Casablanca.”

In other words, it was Blanc.

“Now, technically I shouldn’t be able to speak with you guys right now. I don’t have one of these things, and I’m in a room with other Flashbulb members. Also, I’m not moving my mouth right now. But if you disregard all those things, we can have a nice chat.”

Coriander handed me the radio. “It’s your ridiculous friend.”

“You mean ‘our’ ridiculous friend,” I corrected her.

“I don’t remember getting custody of them when we got together.”

Together. To + get + her = I got her. Wow. I was speechless.

“I just wanted to let you two know that technically, all the other guards should be able to hear you.”

“What?!” Both Coriander and I were in shock.

“Well, I say technically, because they didn’t. I pulled a few strings here and there to make things easier for you. Anyway, best of luck out there!”

“How’d you do that?” I asked.

“Oh you could call me an ‘Angelus Ex Machina’. Because if you think about it, this ship is one big machine. Anyway, peace!”

“Uh...okay...bye?”

I handed the radio back to the one I was together with. “Okay,” I relented. “That part was ridiculous, I’ll admit.”

With that little distraction behind us, we moved on.

So here’s when things got weird:

Rizzo had a pregnancy scare. That was the scene we were on. I had even more questions.

“So let me get this straight: Sandy, Danny, and Rizzo, are all in a relationship. But then Rizzo is also in a relationship with Kenickie, but then Danny is also in a relationship with Kenickie.”

“You got it all wrong,” Dr. Frenchie corrected me. “Rizzo is in a relationship with Kenickie and Danny is not in a relationship with Kenickie.”

“That can’t be right,” I shook my head. “You saw the way Kenickie and Danny acted toward each other. I don’t even act that way with my best of friends. They’re totally seeing each other.”

Later, as the film went on in its own way, Frenchy (the character) appeared, and was alongside one of the other T-birds. It seemed like all the T-birds went with the women in the Pink Ladies group because they felt pressured to by society. In every other scene, they acted more intimate than each other than the ones the movie insisted they were paired with. That got me thinking…

“Fellas,” I asked the male Flashbulb members in the room. “Is it gay to form a group of all guys and call yourselves the ‘T-Birds’?”

“Hmm…” They put their hands on their chins and wondered. “Yeah, a little bit,” one of them spoke up.

“Ladies,” I turned my attention to the female members. “Is it gay to form a group of all girls and call yourselves the ‘Pink Ladies’?”

“Hmm…” They also put their hands on their chins. Then, Dr. Hepburn raised her hand up and smiled a triumphant smile.

“Maybe they are all bisexual?”

“Bisexual and poly,” I agreed. “Yes, that seems to be implied with the way Kenickie is seeing Danny and Rizzo, and Rizzo is seeing Kenickie and Sandy. Then Sandy is seeing Rizzo and Danny. It’s all connected.”

Upon drawing my conclusion, the rest of the credits rolled as if to signify that my hypothesis was correct. Everyone clapped, me included. It felt like we had all cracked the secret code of the movie.

“Well, that was a fun movie, you guys. Thanks for the popcorn, too!”

“Don’t mention it,” Dr. Hepburn waved her hand away. “It was our pleasure.”

“By the way, while I’m here, what is it your guys’ department did?” I looked around.

They all shuffled their feet. “Ehh…”

“I can answer that,” Dr. Hepburn, always so reliable, spoke up. “They were part of the Population Department.”

“Oh yeah!” I perked up. “I think I recall them when I last infiltrated here!”

“Ohoho, how notorious! Well, those fine folks thought they had a population problem. Or rather, another department thought there was a population problem in the far future in one of the many timelines. First, they thought there were too few people. So they cloned everyone, and named all the clones Katherine. The naming was actually my idea,” she put her hand over her chest. “I’m named after Katharine Hepburn. With an ‘a’, but those ones with with an ‘e’. Go figure.”

“Oh, so you helped!”

“I gave them a little inspiration with the naming. You see, whenever others would see the name ‘Hepburn’, they would think of that other actress. Like, hello? Audrey who?”

“I know, right! I don’t know anyone with that name!”

“Bless your heart for that! So anyway, later on in the further future, I think it was the year 8008135? They had a different problem: too many of the people were clones of each other and there was too many people in general.”

“Wait. How do you define ‘too many people’?”

“That’s a good question!” She jotted that down in her notepad. “Well, they thought there were too many people. It’s rather odd speaking in past-tense, since here we are, in the past, but to these fine folks, those events were their past. But to the Katherine-verse, that’s a very long time from now. Well, there is no ‘now’ or ‘later’ considering where we are.”

“Yeah, I never did have a good sense of time in the first place.”

“That’s okay. Most of us here don’t. Anyway, they came up with the idea of turning all the Katherines into zombies to lower the population back down, and they’d turn them into zombies by triggering a transformation via a rendition of ‘Greased Lightning’. In the end, they were defeated by a rendition of ‘You’re the One That I Want’ and all the zombies were turned back human. But before the rendition, they did manage to reduce the population by ten percent.”

“So not a total loss,” Dr. Sodapop added.

“Basically you committed genocide,” I spoke up. “Eugenics and genocide.”

“Well, it sounds bad when you put it that way.”

“And again, how many people are too many? Who gets to decide? For that matter, why did you think that there were too many people? Just seemed like a big number, and you wanted a smaller one?”

“Well, first it was too small…” One of them began. I didn’t bother naming or knowing who.

“Okay. How much is too small? Who are you to decide what the right amount is?”

“We’re scientists! We have seen the past and the far future!”

“Hmm...yeah, I getcha,” I nodded. “But have you considered those were human lives? Also, ten percent is no small number.” “Indeed! That’s why it wasn’t a total loss!”

“Also,” another added. “They were all clones of each other meant to repopulate the earth after the numbers were too small, so technically they weren’t even that important in the grand scheme of things.”

“But try explaining that to one of them. Were any of them consulted? Did they agree to forcibly turning into a zombie to kill each other just to reduce their own population? Like, on an individual level, personally, I don’t think I’d want to turn into a zombie. Stardust, maybe. An angel, sure. But a zombie? Hmm...no.”

“What is a human life, anyway?” “We’re more concerned with the population as a whole than the life of one person, given that we are, or were, the Population Department,” further explained Dr. Sodapop.

“Now, now,” Dr. Hepburn stopped me before I could rant any further. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure why I was so worked up. Maybe it was some kind of personal kinship with clones, seeing as I was one, myself. “You shouldn’t expect too much from them. They’re not from the Ethics Department.”

“What? There’s an Ethics Department?”

“Indeed,” Dr. Rizzo spoke up. “They’re the only team of ethical scientists The Flashbulb has. Though the problem is, they’re only concerned about the ethics of their own department.”

“Mm-hmm. It seems to be a problem with micromanagement as a whole. I may have to put a comment in the suggestion box the next time I’m in the area. Though that suggestion box is about 500 kilometers away from here. So it may take me a while,” Dr. Hepburn muttered as she wrote more notes in her notepad.

“Well, you guys, it was nice to hang out with you all, even if most of you are mass murderers, but I’m bored, so I must go.”

“It was a pleasure to have some company,” Dr. Hepburn bid me farewell. That’s when I remembered.

“Oh yeah, company! Just so you guys know, I’ve got some friends here who are looking to take you guys down.”

“Interesting...which department?”

“All of them!”

I decided to stay seated. If I was going to dump more exposition, I may as well. Much to my (lack of) surprise, everyone in the room laughed.

“I wish your friends best of luck, but if they really wanted to secure their chances at some kind of victory, I’d suggest they focus their efforts on one department and call it a day.”

Each of the members chatted among themselves and seemed to agree with that notion.

“Yeah, I agree that would probably be the best course of action, but that wouldn’t really do my friends any good. The department that wronged their Earth is already gone.”

“Oh? What department was that?”

“The Morale Department! It was really quite fun, too! But then something happened and I guess you could say it all...overloaded...eh? Eh?”

“Ah, yes. Such a shame, that department. It seemed to be a success story, too.”

I can attest to that. I was both a success and a failure. A mistake. A happy accident.

“Now everyone’s gone crazed and the world’s destroying itself. Sound familiar?” I asked around.

Everyone looked at each other and shuffled their feet. Nervous glances were shared.

“Sorry about your Earth,” Dr. Hepburn waved her hand. “But about your friends, such a feat would take them a lifetime, if not several lifetimes. I have trouble just getting to my office most of the time. Besides, there’s all the logistics to consider. What will they do once they defeat us?”

“Beats me. Don’t know, don’t care. It’s their story, not mine. I’m just here to cheer them on.”

“What a good friend you are,” Dr. Hepburn did her little pen tap. “Just a little bit of advice for your friends: however they end up going about it, they should avoid the Arts and Crafts Room at all costs.”

“Room? Not department?” I was confused as all hell, but what else was new?

“Hm. Was it Arts and Crafts or the A/V Club? Sorry, I’m a little fuzzy on the details,” Dr. Hepburn bowed her head and I shook mine in turn.

“Don’t worry about it!”

“Rest assured, I won’t. Though I do wonder how it may happen some day. We’ve made great strides towards bettering humanity and give us another five, no, ten universes, and I’m sure we’ll get it right. Then, everyone will live in the ideal world, whatever that may look like.”

“Sure, but no matter how you look at it, you guys are the villains.”

“It’s all a matter of perspective. From our perspective, we’re the heroes, and those who try to stop us are the villains.”

“I’m sure I could see things that way, if not for the fact that such things like genocide and enslavement are pretty villainous if you ask me.”

“Maybe so. Nobody’s perfect, after all. But we’ll be perfect eventually.”

“Unless you guys are defeated, that is.”

She smiled and nodded.

For what it was worth, I really did appreciate the time spent with all of them, even if I admit I got a little heated there. Oh well, what could I say? I still cared about some things. Probably.

I got up out of my seat. It seemed like the right decision. There was only so much sitting and chatting I could do before I started to grow restless. I imagined the same thing applied to Euphoria, although she/they had the luxury of both being able to sit and chat and be everywhere at the same time. Me, I had to take the stairs.

“Well, at least your friends aren’t relying on any supernatural stuff, like we had to deal with,” Dr. Danny Zuko lamented. “The ones who defeated our department somehow contacted their alternate universe selves, with NO EXPLANATION AS TO HOW and then their alternate universe selves came over to our Earth and both versions ended up defeating our horde of zombies through SONG. Ridiculous, I know.”

“For sure,” I was stunned in my tracks. Every inch of me filled with goosebumps. “I thought there was a rule that if an alternate self goes to a different universe, the self in the other universe ceases to exist. Either through dying or by never having existed in that universe in the first place.”

Dr. Hepburn tapped her pen against her cheek. “Yes, indeed. That’s a universal rule that most departments in the company agree upon. However, maybe it didn’t apply to the Katherineverse?”

Sure. We were just going to call it that, huh?

“How does that make any sense?”

“Well, it may be a universal rule, but that doesn’t mean it’s an all-encompassing one.”

“That or there’s some serious inconsistencies going on and I’d like to speak with the manager.”

Everyone looked at each other.

“But everyone in The Flashbulb is the manager, technically,” Dr. Hepburn explained. Then, her eyes widened and she held her pen up. “Oh! Maybe you mean Grandmaster Flash!”

“Grandmaster Flash...I wonder if I’ve heard that one before somewhere?”

“Oh yeah. Everyone wants to be Grandmaster Flash, but so far the only Grandmaster Flash is the Grandmaster Flash and no one has met Grandmaster Flash.”

“But haven’t you spoken with the Grandmaster Flash before? Surely, you, being in HR, must mean that you’re pretty high up on the corporate ladder.”

“Erm...no. Not at all! I’m more of a glorified advisor, but even then, all I do is give advice. Most of that advice gets written down and put in a suggestion box and then none of the suggestions are implemented! But we can all learn something from our mistakes, can’t we? Like, maybe we should know why none of the suggestions never get implemented? Or maybe we should have a better means to give feedback. All things to consider.”

“So if you’re not one of the higher ups, who’s higher than you?”

“Everyone! But then again, is anyone lower than me, either? Hm...all things to consider now, isn’t it? I give advice and people listen, but my suggestions are never implemented.”

All trying to figure out how The Flashbulb worked did was make my head hurt, which also did not make me very happy. What would have made me happier was if I wasn’t so confused. Thus, I understood everything. But then I discarded all that understanding because I didn’t really care. Also my stomach growled.

“Right!” I snapped my fingers. “I forgot! I’m still hungry! That popcorn wasn’t enough! Can any of you tell me where I can get some food?”

“There’s the cafeteria,” Dr. Rizzo pointed out.

“Or, if you have a prescription, you can get something from one of the vending machines. But you’d have to go all the way to the medical department for that.”

I turned my head and smiled. “I’ll just see where I end up and go from there! Thanks guys!”

“Take care!” They all waved to me as I left the room.

As I departed, I wondered how Velvet and the spice of her life was doing. Not that I had to wonder, as if I was happy enough to know, I’d already know, but it also made me happy to wonder, so that was just as important.

What a predicament we were in. I began to laugh, which since my raiding partner couldn’t hear my thoughts, she probably thought I was laughing at nothing.

“When are we not in a predicament?” I mused in the midst of cackling laughter. “If what Blanc said was true, what’s even the use of these radios? And then, if we can’t communicate with each other if we get separated, what do we do? How are we supposed to protect Juniper if we can’t even reach her? For something so technologically advanced, I’ve noticed no cameras, no computer terminals to hack into. I feel really out of my element here.”

“Of course you would be. I tried to warn you before. Pretty sure others did too. This is uncharted territory for you and you figured you could just go in blind.”

“Yeah, well considering where we are at the moment, we’re quite literally in the dark.” There were other things to consider as well. Like where the path we were on would lead to, or if there were multiple paths we could take. Why those guards decided not to go down or shoot at us?

“I’m glad you can still find humor in spite of our situation,” Coriander retorted.

“Of course! You know me! I find ways to lighten up even the darkest of times.”

Coriander stopped. She turned around. “I know you alright,” she pointed up at me. “You use humor to deflect from whatever’s on your mind that you don’t want to deal with. So what is it that’s bothering you?”

“What isn’t?” I laughed again, but then sighed. “Everything’s coming to an end, isn’t it? I thought that there’d be a chance we’d have everything more figured out. Or that someone else would figure it out. I never really considered myself the ‘hero’ type or even a good person for that matter, but here we are, flailing about and saving the world just for the sake of it.”

“It really has been a long time coming, hasn’t it?” Coriander seemed to agree. “I mean, it doesn’t feel that long ago that a version of you and I were trying to kill each other, and now we’re here. Really, we had a lot of time to prepare, but the more dire things got, the more everything seemed to happen so much faster.”

“Aw, sweetie,” I patted her head. She swiped my arm away.

“I didn’t say you could do that!” She barked. “I’m just trying not to put you in a goddamn slump. Jeez.”

“Still, what if Verse was right?” I could already feel the slump coming. Please let me pat you more. “What if the best ending had already passed us by and now the only options left are imperfect ones?”

“What, that tired ‘you can’t save everyone’ rhetoric?”

“We already didn’t save everyone. Lots of people died. Most people, in fact,” I started to sigh once more. “When I look back, it’s like, have I ever really saved anyone?”

She stood on her tiptoes and held the hair over my forehead up, then kissed my forehead.

“Hey! How come I couldn’t pat your head but you get to do that?”

“Because the situation called for it. Anyway, you’re an idiot. First, I’m alive. Second, so is Verse. Also, there’s that alternate Blanc, but I don’t think you had a hand in that one, plus they kinda weird me out, not gonna lie. But also, even if you hadn’t saved anyone, that’s not really the point. Most people don’t save others. It’s, like, just not a thing. So just the fact that you managed to save a couple people is pretty impressive.”

“Gee, what would I do without you?”

“You’re plenty capable. Not sure why I need to remind you that.”

“Please remind me. Whenever I’m in doubt.”

“That may either be a lot of reminding or none at all, depending on how things go. But for now, let’s try to focus on what’s ahead.” I nodded.

On the subject of what was ahead, I spied some scrap metal on the floor. I thought of picking some up, but it looked far too heavy. Shame, too, as there could have been some use for them. Maybe it was for the best. More than anything, I needed my mobility.

As we were about to turn left through the hallway, we both spied a sign on the wall.

“Dead End – Turn back now,” we read aloud in unison. Coriander shone her light through the hall. It seemed to extend. I nudged her.

“It might be a dead end, but then again, it might not. We should at least keep going just to make sure.”

She nodded. We continued forward and saw another sign. That one read ‘You’re still here? Why?’ That same philosophical question had plagued my mind throughout my life.

Even still, we kept going.

That was, until we came across a wall. On the wall, the words ‘Told you so’ were written.

“I hate to say it, but –” “Then don’t,” she stopped me dead in my tracks. Well, what really stopped me was the wall, but I wasn’t about to turn back, either. No, because I noticed something off about the wall. Little chips against the corner of the wall. I took the gun I had stolen off of one of the guards and slammed it into the wall with full force. Chunks of the wall fell off and then both Coriander and I saw it: a keypad.

“What the hell? How’d you know there was a thing like that?”

I shrugged and gave a smug grin. “Didn’t, but part of that wall seemed off.”

She examined it and I leaned in close as well.

“There could be a safe behind this wall or maybe a screen will appear and a recording will play. Then again, the most likely scenario is that whatever purpose it may have once served, it no longer does anything now. What with how dark this place is, I doubt anything down here has power.”

No. That didn’t seem right. Considering how advanced and powerful The Flashbulb had been made itself out to be, seeing something so powerless and abandoned didn’t seem like them at all.

“There has to be something. We just have to find the right combination.”

“Good luck with that. Not like you can tell what the combo is just by looking at it.”

“Uhh...I’ll get a number seven, hold the fries,” I joked.

“I regret to inform you that this isn’t a fast food joint.”

I shook my head. Our banter wouldn’t get us anywhere. Though with a bit of luck, the number seven could have one of the numbers for the combination. Then again, it was so hard to tell. There were no indications as to which buttons were the correct ones, let alone, how many digits the combination was. Really, it wasn’t so much of a combination as it was a permutation, but potato pah-tah-toe. No one calls their locker codes ‘locker permutations’, do they?

“Come on, clock’s a tickin’,” Coriander’s voice invaded my mind. She was right behind me. Or beside me. There was no clock, not literally, but there was her foot, and it was tapped against the floor. Then it seemed like she began to tap her hand against the wall beside her. From my peripheral, she seemed to bob her head to and fro, as if listening to some music. Perhaps the music in her head?

Argh! This isn’t working!

But...but...I had to think of something, right? Right?

My thoughts drifted to biting my own fingers off. You know, for those times when the nails just won’t cut it.

Instead, I ran my fingers across the keypad and noticed some indentations. Sure enough, the indentations were made on four of the keys: 2, 4, 6, 8.

2...4...6...8...who do we appreciate? Hell if I know.

If my assumption was correct and the four indentations meant that it was a four-digit permutation, then while it sure narrowed things down considerably, that also left room for it to be something like 2,2,2,2 or 4,6,6,6. Which meant there were still 3024 possible permutations.

“I don’t want to be standing around here forever, you know,” I could smell her irritation even if she had been standing on a whole other planet.

“Fine! It’s...I’ve got this!”

I caught a glance of her behind me. She stood with her arms spread out to their sides.

“What are you doing?!”

“I’m exerting pressure. Are you feeling it?”

“Yes!” I grit my teeth. It wasn’t the time to be frustrated. Just as she said, “clock’s a ticking”. Oh. That was it.

I entered the code, then stood back.

After a single beep, the wall slid out and in its place was a door.

“How’d you know the right combo?” She asked.

“I went clockwise,” I explained.

“That tells me nothing!”

Upon the door was a series of text. Before we went through, we examined what it said. “Arts and Crafts Room and the A/V Club. Authorized personnel only. Abandon all hope.”

“Wasn’t that last bit a little melodramatic?” I scratched my chin.

“Yeah, I’ve abandoned all hope every since I was born, so that’s whatever to me.”

I laughed. “Abandoning all hope should be a prerequisite to arriving at The Flashbulb’s headquarters.”

We both shared a good laugh, and then went through the door. All we had to do was push it open a little and bam! We were in.

Into what, we had no clue. All around us was total darkness.

“We should hold hands just in case something bad happens,” I suggested.

“What’s wrong? Are you afraid of the dark?”

Something dropped onto the floor in front of us.

“What was that?!” She freaked out and grasped for my hand.

Spotlights began to shine down on us. Then, we could see a little better. First, what dropped on the floor? A popsicle stick. Near the dropped popsicle stick? An entire pillar, made out of popsicle sticks.

“For the record, I’m not scared! I used to sit and play video games in the dark all the time!” She let go of her hand and pointed at me.

“I mean, yeah, kinda same.”

Then, a voice from a megaphone came in.

“Hey guys! What are you two doing down here?”

We looked around to see that the voice in question came from above the popsicle pillar, where a lady with black hair in a bun (the key feature being a couple of popsicle sticks holding her hair bun together) was laying down on her stomach, her legs folded up and kicking in the wind. She looked to be painting on a piece of wood.

“Keep on your guard. She’s with them, so she’s probably really dangerous,” I whispered to Coriander.

“No shit,” she replied.

“Are you two new members or something? If so, please leave me alone! I would rather like to be focusing on my art right now!”

“Uhhh…” I didn’t know what to say to that.

“Actually,” Coriander jumped in. “We’re here to overthrow The Flashbulb and put an end to their bullshit!”

Oh no. Why’d you have to go...well, better her than me, I suppose.

“What a relief! I’m tired of those guys!” She kicked her feet and laughed. “Still, if you’re going to hurt me, please make it quick. Us interns are known to be cannon fodder.”

“Wait. You’re...an intern?” I was taken aback.

“Yeah! For sure! Well, I was. Kind of still am. You can call me Dr. Bob Ross! That’s to separate me from Dr. Ross, because if I went by that name, then people would associate me with Dr. Chandler and Dr. Phoebe. Wouldn’t want that? Or, when I’m making films, I’m Dr. Lynch! So...uh...take your pick!”

“I’m severely confused right now.”

“So you’re not our enemy?” Coriander seemed confused as well.

“Not unless you want me to be! Which would be quite the role to take...anyway, you’re in luck! Because I can help you two!”

“Really?”

Coriander and I both looked at each other.

“Maybe this Flashbulb member isn’t that bad.”

“Indeed!” She heard us. “They keep me locked away and everyone’s afraid of me, but that’s only because they’re afraid to get in touch with their artistic side! I only ever get food sent to me and art supplies, but that’s it. It’s quite the tragic tale, really. Especially how everyone thinks I’m evil.”

“If The Flashbulb is evil...and they think you’re evil...wouldn’t that make you good?” I pondered.

“Exactly! Art is the ultimate good!”

I started to smile. Maybe this Dr. Bob Ross, or this Dr. Lynch was just the lucky break Coriander and I needed.

[litsavantbookclub]

Regretting You Book Review

Hello fellow readers!

A few weeks ago I finished Lit Savant’s March book club pick, Regretting You by Colleen Hoover. I knew when I started this book that this was a romance story. But it is so much more than that. I have decided to try something new and will use three cards from my rider-waite smith tarot card deck for this review. If you have never read this story I suggest you stop reading right now. Spoiler Warning!

It’s a story about a mother and daughter, family, loss, grief, and the journey of moving away from the past and into the future. It’s about trying to pick up the pieces. Hoover’s novel is like a tarot spread: The tower, the hermit, and the fool. Destruction, loneliness, and new beginnings. All these stages are prevalent in the book.

The first character readers are introduced to is Morgan. She is just graduated high school and is having a night out with her younger sister, Jenny, boyfriend Chris, and her friend sister’s boyfriend, Jonah. It’s clear from the beginning that there is chemistry between Jonah and Morgan. They relate to each other on a deeper level than they do with their significant others. For instance: “sometimes when we’re alone, he looks at me in a way that makes me feel empty when he looks away. It’s a feeling I’ve never gotten when Chris looks at me” (11). Jonah makes Morgan feel like no one ever has including her boyfriend. It’s a feeling that is powerful and Morgan realizes she misses it when it’s gone. However, at the same time Morgan knows that ideally those are feelings that Chris should be inspiring. 

Morgan, willfully blind or not, will not act on this revelation because she will not go behind her sister’s back. Morgan states the following about her upbringing: ...I’ve always felt a sense of responsibility for her since I’m older and our mother doesn’t regulate our activities in any way” (3). Morgan is like another mother to her sister. This is a position she naturally assumed because their actual mother wasn’t around. Morgan is wants Jenny to have someone to be the voice of reason even though they aren’t supervised. 

But Morgan doesn’t just feel that way about Jenny but Chris as well. During the party, Chris gets drunk and Morgan reeling from the news that she’s pregnant is not feeling festive at all. Jonah finds her and they talk. Then Morgan mentions the following: “It’s like my chest has been on a constant search for it’s missing piece, and Jonah is holding it in his fist” (11).  Feeling such intensity scares Morgan and she decides she needs space from Jonah. 

Chris comes back and eventually apologizes and shares the reason he loves Morgan: ...you do things you don’t want to do to make life better for the people around you.” (12). Chris says that the fact doesn’t make Morgan boring but a hero” (12). Hoover’s addition of this is foreshadowing at its finest. Morgan is a hero albeit a traditional idealized version. She does sacrifice and does so wholeheartedly for most of her marriage to Chris. She fills in all the cracks in their home and lives.

Clara during present-day adds to Chris’s comment years later when she says that the first word she thinks of when thinking about her mother is predicable: “predicable is not something I wanted to hear. Because it’s everything I know I am and everything I feared I would grow up to be” (51). Morgan isn’t happy with the way things are. She makes mention of this many times in the second chapter. It’s her birthday and she feels isolated and rudderless. In her eyes, everyone has something going for them except her. During those two instances Hoover points out something that many mothers can all relate to. While we may not be the most exciting roles in the world we are reliable because of this predictability. We sacrifice because that is what mothers do but many times it is something that is taken for granted. Every time we give to others we put our wants and even needs on the back-burner for the good of everyone else. It is noble but draining.

When Morgan found out she was pregnant all those years ago  she decided that everything she did from that moment forward was to focus on her baby and Chris. For example: “...I became someone else. I guess that happens when you become a mother though. Your focus is no longer on yourself” (48).  But now that Clara is months away from graduating high school one of Morgan’s longest stages is at the end. And since Chris has died, she finally has to focus on herself. 

The Tower card is apparent as soon as the car accident takes place in the story. This accident turns Morgan, Clara, and Jonah’s lives upside down. The Tower card is all about upheaval. The card is pictured as a tower’s roof being struck by lighting, flames engulfing the structure, people falling down to the depths below. In a metaphorical sense all of these characters are in free fall, everything that they’ve known family, loyalty, and stability is gone. Both Chris and Jenny’s deaths and their adultery break any illusions Morgan had about Chris as a husband and all the years she dedicated herself to their marriage and her “predictable” role. After the accident Morgan says: “since the moment of the wreck, everything in my life has felt edged in sharp corners, and I’ve been tiptoeing around this world in the dark for the past month, trying not to injure myself” (139). The quotation sets the mood and tone of story Morgan is fragile and vulnerable. She is emotionally bruised and battered unable to pick up the pieces. The tower’s effect can have someone completely stripped and bared psychologically. Yet, The tower is also a card that signals a transition coming. This transition is painful and can be harrowing but it is necessary. 

The Hermit is all about thinking and solitude. It’s about finding answers within yourself. However, it isn’t that straight forward. This requires time and it can be isolating. As with every card in the Major Arcana there are two sides. For a good chunk of the story it’s a rough and lonely experience. These are things that every character is experiencing by the second part of the book. Clara is trying to reconcile losing her beloved father and trying to cope with each passing day while also not seeing eye to eye with her mother, Morgan. Morgan is no stranger to feeling alone and being stuck in her head but the loss of Chris helps her eventually see that stopped caring about herself. Jonah having come back to his hometown is left reeling when he discovers that Elijah is not his biological son. This moment of solitude and thinking takes him down a dark path and he almost ends up leaving town without Elijah. Clara in her own suffering helps him see that even though things aren’t ideal he needs to be there for his son. Even though Clara isn’t aware of everything this helps Jonah put things in perspective. This card is about finding answers inside yourself. Being open to the all the possibilities and not being willfully blind.It’s about having the answers but needing to open up yourself to the act of seeing them and finally making the decisions you need. 

The card is pictured as a graying man with a staff and lantern looking down thoughtfully alone. This speaks to the idea that sometimes we need to be alone with our thoughts. The man has the light with him he just needs to realize it. 

Morgan is guilty of being willfully blind. She, just like Jonah, is observant and has been aware of her unhappiness for a while but has gone with the flow for most of her life. This is apparent ever since chapter one. She knows that Jonah makes her feel much more than Chris ever did. But she shuts it out. Until she can’t anymore. Morgan says the following: “I know if I obsess over the past, that obsession will only serve to anchor me in a place I am more than ready to move on from” (336). And at this point all Morgan can do is try to move on and let the past go. Same for Clara and Jonah. 

The last card in the spread is The Fool. The fool upright represents a free spirit and beginnings. This card depicts a carefree man walking towards a cliff, sun in his face, flower, in his hand, dog yapping at his legs, heading off on a journey unfazed by what lays ahead. This easily describes all three characters by the book’s end. Clara has learned the whole truth and has accepted that her father isn’t without blame but was a good father to her. She is heading off to prom with Miller. She and Morgan are no longer feuding and understand each other better. Morgan has made her peace with Chris’s unfaithfulness and has embraced her unrequited love for Jonah. They are both giving their love a try. Jonah loves Elijah and will not abandon him again. He decides to stay and moves on with his life with Morgan and Clara as his new family. All characters are embracing the unknown and unfazed by the risk this may bring. This is the fool in full effect. The act of starting a journey. The fool is innocent and just wants to experience the good in the world. They want to gain experience and are not afraid of what lies ahead. It’s a wonderful outlook that we all must have had in at least once in our lives. 

Overall, it was an emotional read. Our book club agreed that it wasn’t about what we initially believed. This book has layers. We understood the decisions Morgan made even though we didn’t completely agree with them. 

What did you think about the book?

Did you the usage of tarot cards in this review?

Feel free to share your thoughts and comments below.

My rating: 3.75 

Keywords: Emotional, grief, romantic

[fadingcoast]

Death Of The Lie  ||  Chapter 19: Sabotage

AUTHORS: @fandom-and-feminism​​ & @fadingcoast​

Summary: Odin and his daughter Hela are the perfect conquerors of the universe. The nine realms fall one after the other into their clutch. After Odin takes a second wife and has a son with her, he doesn’t need Hela anymore. Hela abandons her father and ends up marrying Laufey, a sworn enemy of the Aesir people. Not long after, she becomes pregnant with Laufey’s child. Odin cannot let that son be born, but against all odds, the boy survives. Odin is forced to bring him back to Asgard to be raised as his own until he could make further use of him. The half-Jotun-half-Aesir boy grows up to look and act a lot like his mother, which disturbs Odin, and makes him treat the boy horribly. Odin’s lies are deep and complex, but one day the boy will find out the truth about everything he is.

PAIRING: None RATING: Teen

MASTERLIST

Feedback is always appreciated and reblogs are encouraged!!

.-

Chapter 19: Sabotage

The day had finally come. Nobles gathered in the throne room, a grand feast had been prepared, and the entire castle polished down to every last mural on the ceiling until it gleamed in the light. It was time for Thor to take his place as King. But the Allfather could not shake the uncertainty in his bones.

Odin stood at his balcony and watched as more people were escorted into the castle. His thoughts turned to his elder son yet again.

“Do you think he’s ready?”

Frigga looked at Odin’s reflection in her mirror. He was weary, and tired. There was no time to test Thor’s readiness for the crown, this much they both knew. She shook her head.

“Does it matter? He thinks he is.” The Queen went back to adjusting pieces of jewelry in her hair and offered her husband a smile. “He certainly has his father’s confidence.”

“He’ll need more than that,” Odin said, walking heavily to his armchair. “He is but a boy still.”

“He won’t be alone,” Frigga assured him. “Loki will be at his side to give him counsel.”  Odin interrupted with a growl and she gave him a hard look. “Loki is much more capable than you give him credit for. He has proven that much since he came home from Alfheim.”

Whatever Odin was going to say was stopped by the slight shaking of his hand. A reminder that his time was short, his strength fleeting. All fight in him drained and his shoulders slumped. When he spoke it was barely above a whisper.

“If we only had more time.”

“For once, our sons need something we cannot provide.” Frigga walked close to the King and stroked his cheek. “You’ve put it off too long. It’s time.”

With a dejected sigh, Odin had no other choice but to agree. The kingdom would have to do with the King he was giving them. He could only hope that the mantle of King and Allfather would give Thor no choice but to grow up.

.-

Still quite annoyed about being snubbed by Thor so he could make his own grand entrance, Loki was only half paying attention to what was going on in the throne room when the sound of a horn rang out, announcing Odin’s arrival and the beginning of the ceremony. Frigga joined Loki at his side and greeted him with a warm smile tinged with anxiety that prompted him to look out among the crowd for his brother. Thor was nowhere to be seen, of course.

Since Loki was standing just to the right of the throne, Odin’s gaze bore down onto him as though Loki were expected to produce Thor out of thin air. He swallowed thickly and shrugged his shoulders. He and Thor had rehearsed the ceremony just the previous day, with the two of them coming in together, so Odin was clearly less than pleased at this sudden change in plans. Slowly the crowd began to mutter to each other in hushed whispers, the scandal of the prince being late to his own coronation too much to keep silent about.

Volstagg, who stood at the bottom of the throne steps with Fandral, Hogun, and Sif, took the few steps up to where Loki was standing and leaned in, facing away from the crowd. “Where is he?” he snapped.

Loki frowned at Volstagg’s insolent tone. “He said he’d be along.” Sif clearly heard him and rolled her eyes.

“If he doesn’t show up soon, he shouldn’t bother,” Fandral said. “Odin looks like he’s ready to feed him to his ravens.”

Loki was no fool; he knew Fandral had been right in his observation but he knew just as well that Thor would not be punished, regardless of how long he made everyone wait. “I wouldn’t worry,” he assured Thor’s friends with barely concealed contempt. “Father will forgive him. He always does.”

As if on cue, a strong gust of air burst through the front doors to the throne room and Mjolnir came flying through the divide in the crowd, Thor close behind it. He spun around and caught the hammer behind his back and earned himself a deafening round of applause. Loki clenched his jaw to keep from commenting on this garish display - it was no less than he expected from his brother, getting everyone all worked up and worried about him only to make a scene and show off his strength. The day was already about him, but to Thor it must not have been enough.

Even more infuriating was that all anger had faded from Odin’s expression. Thor approached the throne and knelt before it, and even the Queen was not immune to the wink and smile he gave her by way of an apology.

Some King, Loki thought, his mind wandering as soon as Odin silenced the room with the sound of his spear hitting the ground. Do what you want now, charm your way out of it later.

“Gungnir,” Odin’s voice boomed across the throne room, commanding everyone’s attention. It was time for the ceremony to start. “Its aim is true, its power strong. With it I have defended Asgard and the lives of the innocent…”

If only Gungnir’s wielder was half as innocent as the people it protects, Loki thought. The blood on the hands of each King impregnates its very core.

“…Thor Odinson, my heir. My firstborn.” The sentiment in Odin’s voice made Loki clench his fists.

Firstborn. First trained. First loved. First spoiled. Look at this golden-haired fool, thinking he can rule the nine realms with his muscles and a smile. He wouldn’t last a day.

“...Only one may lift it. Only one is worthy. Who wields this hammer commands the lightning and the storm…”

Worthy. Who even knows what that means anymore? If Thor is worthy of the throne, I’ll eat my helmet.

“I have sacrificed much to achieve peace,” Odin proclaimed, staring down at Thor with a much more serious expression. “So, too, must a new generation sacrifice to maintain the peace. Responsibility. Duty. Honor. These are not merely virtues to which we must aspire. They are essential to every soldier, and to every king.”

That disqualifies this arrogant oaf, Loki mused to himself. Odin’s speech was nearing its end, so he extended his senses to the weapons vault below the throne room so he would know when it was time to act. They’ll thank me when their King ascends in a time when he is mature enough to handle the position. They’ll all thank me.

There was a slight shift in the air, a chill growing in the hall, and Loki felt it even before the crowd itself started to shiver and rub their limbs for warmth. But no one paid any more attention to it. Thor was looking at his father’s proud face with a smile.

Odin began the oaths, his grasp on the spear so tightly that his hand shook. “Thor Odinson, do you swear to guard the Nine Realms?”

If it were possible, the smile on Thor’s face grew wider. “I swear.

“Do you swear to preserve the peace?"

“I swear.”

“Do you swear to cast aside all selfish ambition and pledge yourself only to the good of all the Realms?

“I swear!"

“Then on this day, I, Odin Allfather, proclaim you…”

The king stopped his speech, finally noticing the frost floating in the air, making the banners glisten in the light with small drops of frozen dew. Odin cast a wary look at Frigga, and then at Loki, but he looked as confused as everyone else.

No, Odin realized - this wasn’t Loki’s doing. This was more powerful, angrier, yet still familiar…

“Frost giants…” Odin muttered, rising to his feet. A powerful shockwave emanated from the base of his spear as he pounded it on the floor a single time - a command to unleash the Destroyer from his prison and take out the intruders.

The far-off sounds of a struggle echoed in the depths of the palace. Thor, gripping his hammer, raced down the corridor, and he tracked the sound right to the vaults. Loki followed close behind, melting ice and the burnt bodies of two frost giants lying on the floor greeting them when they arrived. The two guards who had been tasked with protecting the vault lay dead at their feet. On the far end stood the Destroyer, with the Casket of Ancient Winters in its massive metal hands. Odin stepped in as the Destroyer set the Casket back on its pedestal and moved to the back wall, which seemed to swallow him as it deactivated.

Loki stared around the room, surveying the destruction, the tension growing palpable. He could practically feel the heat of anger rolling off of Thor in waves, and the air was thick with a strange type of magic that was making him feel uneasy.

Finally Thor broke the silence, his hand squeezing the handle of his hammer until his knuckles turned white. “The Jotuns must pay for what they’ve done!”

Odin remained calm and shook his head. “They have paid with their lives. The Destroyer did its job, and the Casket is safe. All is well.”

“All is well?!” Thor looked at his father in disbelief, then at Loki as if asking for backup. “They broke into the weapons vault! If the Frost Giants had stolen even one of these relics--"

“But they didn’t."

“I want to know why they--” Thor insisted, but Odin promptly cut him off.

“The Casket of Ancient Winters belonged to the Jotuns. They believe it’s their birthright.”

Growing ever angrier by the second, Thor raised his voice, clearly frustrated that Odin didn’t feed into his desire for violence. Loki suspected any minute now his brother would throw the hammer into a wall. He knew better than to get in the middle of an argument between the two of them so he resolved to remain silent.

“And if you hadn’t taken it from them they would have laid waste to all the Nine Realms!”

“I have a truce with Laufey, the Jotun King.” Odin’s resolve to maintain peace was steadfast, and Loki wondered how far Thor would push against it before giving in.

Thor pointed to the Casket with disdain. “He just broke your truce! We must act!"

“And what action would you take?” Odin asked Thor, eyeing him up and down. This was a test; Loki could read that in his one eye.

Thor, however, didn’t take the hint.

“I would march into Jotunheim as you once did, teach them a lesson, break their spirits so they’ll never dare try to cross our borders again!”

It was clear to Loki at this point that Thor had lost the argument. Odin accused Thor of single-mindedness, thinking only as a warrior, while Thor insisted the intrusion was, in fact, an act of war worthy of retaliation, and if the Jotuns got in one time they could get in again. But no matter how much Loki silently projected to Thor to shut up, he wouldn’t.

“As King of Asgard, I would--”

“You are not King!” Odin shouted, his voice loud enough to echo across the vault. “Not yet.”

At a loss for words, Thor turned away and stomped out of the Vault, the doors slamming hard behind him.

.-

Thor’s tantrum continued upstairs, in the banquet hall, after the guests were long gone. Loki had followed him to try to placate him, to no avail. He had tried to avoid provoking his brother even further but Thor decided to upend one of the long tables - covered end to end with an astounding array of food and dinnerware - and shout out his anger with a roar. The noise attracted the Warriors and they ran inside to see what caused the calamity, only to find Thor standing in the middle of the room with food strewn everywhere, panting like a dog. Volstagg immediately began mourning for all the wasted food, shoveling what he could into his arms to eat.

Unimpressed, Sif put her hands on her hips. “Redecorating, are we?” she teased, one eyebrow raised. Thor cast her an indignant glance and strode over to the steps leading up to the balcony, taking a seat with a huff. Loki knew the wheels were turning in his brother’s head, and when Thor got a thirst for vengeance it was hard to put the brakes on his focus. He joined Thor on the steps and sat next to him as quietly as he could, waiting for him to talk. It took only a moment for Thor to cut his eyes at him and sigh angrily.

“It’s unwise to be in my company right now, brother."

Loki half-smiled and folded his hands in his lap. “Who said I was wise?”

Thor deflated, but the fire in his demeanor remained. His fists clenched, nostrils flared, foot tapping against the stairs. “This was to be my day of triumph,” he said quietly, but no less bitter.

Choosing his words carefully, Loki shook his head and tried to insert an air of authority into his voice without provoking Thor even further. “There’s nothing we can do without defying Father,” he said with finality, hoping Thor would take the hint.

Thor sighed, and for a moment he seemed to accept that Loki was right. But Loki watched with horror as he read resignation, defiance, and finally glee in Thor’s expression as he rose to his feet. Rebellion wasn’t in the plan, and quickly Loki tried to stop it before it started.

“No… stop there! I know that look!”

Thor smiled, as though he meant to charm his way into yet another ridiculous plan. “It’s the only way to ensure the safety of our borders.”

“It’s madness!”

Loki’s shouting caught the attention of the Warriors, and Fandral spoke up. “Madness? What sort of madness?”

If Thor’s friends got involved, there would be no convincing him to stay. Desperate to keep the situation contained Loki tried to speak over his brother. “Nothing! Thor was making a jest!”

Thor stepped in front of Loki to silence him. “The safety of our Realm is no jest,” he insisted. “We’re going to Jotunheim.”

This is getting too far out of hand, Loki thought, searching his brain for a new plan. If he’s going, I can’t stop him, but I’ll have to do damage control. As always. Thor looked around the room with a bright smile, and Loki knew exactly what his brother was thinking. A few well spoken phrases, a tiny amount of sucking up, and Thor had his friends in the palm of his hand, as usual. And they call me the silvertongue. Loyalty comes not without a tiny amount of stupidity it seems.

“My friends, trust me now. We must do this,” Thor finished his case. “Come on. You’re not going to let my brother and me take all the glory, are you?”

“What?!” Loki tried to looked startled. He knew this was probably coming - Thor would never take blame for something like this on his own.

“You are coming with me, right?"

In a split second, Loki had to make up his mind. He returned Thor’s smile with as much authenticity as he could. “Yes, of course! I won’t let my brother march into Jotunheim alone. I will be at his side.”

The Warriors Three voiced their agreeing. Sif took a little longer to answer.

“I fear we’ll live to regret this,” she said solemnly.

.-

As Loki had predicted - and warned Thor and the Warriors - Heimdall was not fooled for a moment by anything any of them said, but still Thor convinced him to open the Bifrost for the five of them to travel to Jotunheim. The Gatekeeper let them pass, but not without a warning; if bringing them back to Asgard threatened the safety of the realm, there they would stay, and there they would die.

All Loki could think about as they stepped into the portal to Jotunheim was the guard he had sent, using an illusion of himself while Thor and the Warriors weren’t watching him, to alert Odin of their excursion. His original plan to simply delay the coronation had been derailed to a point where he wasn’t sure how to get it back on track, or if he could. If they weren’t intercepted in time, if Thor discovered who had let the Jotuns in, all would be lost.

The Bifrost burned and melted the ice on its landing spot, baring the black rock of Jotunheim’s foundations. But the snow and the wind covered it back up in mere seconds as the Bifrost vanished and the group were left on their own.

The realm seemed to be a massive platform of ice that reached as far as the eye could see. Deep crevices and canyons showed the thickness of the glaciers and the black rock it covered.  Nothing grew here, not even the sturdy shrubs Loki had seen near the tops of some mountains, not even the lichen that usually clung to permafrost. It was as if Jotunheim repelled the very idea of life aside from the Frost Giants, the only creatures able to endure the cold.

Drawing his comfortable leather coat a bit higher up his neck, Loki realized that he was adjusting much faster than his traveling companions to the endless winter this realm was known for. Thor and the Warriors were shivering violently within seconds, particularly Sif, whose skirt did nothing to protect her from the biting cold and wind.

“We shouldn’t be here.” Hogun stated the obvious, his voice shaking from the chill, and Loki rolled his eyes.

“Too late now,” Thor growled, and started to walk. “We have to move or we will freeze. Let’s go.”

The ice spires of a ruined city, the only signs of life, were clear in the horizon, and Thor was already making his way there. Reluctantly the Warriors started behind him, tightening their robes and furs around themselves to keep the biting cold from affecting them. Loki followed close behind Thor, his every instinct screaming at him that something was wrong. He noticed the shadows moving around the icy structures that, upon closer inspection, looked like the remains of what was once a castle. He wanted to think it was the light playing tricks on him, but he knew better: those shadows were soldiers. They were being watched.

A Jotun sentry, impossibly tall and twice as broad as Thor, stepped out from the darkness and approached them. Thor and the Warriors immediately reached for their weapons as they waited for the Frost Giant to speak.

“What is your business here, Asgardians?” The sentry’s voice shook the ice beneath their feet but they stood their ground.

“I would speak only to your King. Not to his foot soldiers,” Thor spat with contempt.

“Then speak,” another voice spoke from high up on a throne of ice. Deep and cold, it seemed to reverberate in the icy structures around them. Loki could swear it even calmed the storm. “I am Laufey, King of this Realm.”

“And I am--”

“We know who you are, Odinson. Why have you brought the stench of your blood into my kingdom?”

“I demand answers.” Thor stated simply, not in the mood to mince words. “How did your people get into Asgard?”

The corner of Laufey’s mouth pulled up in what could be called a smile. “The house of Odin is full of traitors,” he said cryptically. There was a veiled pleasure in the way the words dragged. Loki’s stomach clenched but he allowed no fear to change his expression,

Thor gripped his hammer and brought it closer to his body in warning. “Do not dishonor my father’s name with your lies.”

“Your father is a murderer and a thief,” Laufey spat. “He stole what was ours, and left our world in ruins. We have the right to reclaim the Casket.”

“Not when you’d use it to make war against other Realms."

“And why have you come here? To make peace?” Laufey’s laugh held no joy. It was freezing cold, and sent a shiver through the very bones of the intruders in front of him. “I see you for what you are, Thor Odinson. Nothing but a boy, trying to prove himself a man.”

“This boy has grown tired of your mockery.” Thor took a step towards Laufey, raising his hammer. Two Jotun sentries stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

Loki moved forward and grabbed Thor’s arm, pulling him back. If Thor attacked unprovoked, it could trigger a war. Silently he prayed to himself that their father would show up before it escalated any further. “Thor, stop and think,” he pleaded. “Look around you. We are outnumbered.”

“Know your place, brother.” Thor bit the words, snatching his arm from Loki’s grasp.

“You should listen to his counsel. You know not what your actions would unleash.” Laufey straightened on his throne, the blue light finally revealing the sharp edges of his face. “But I do. Go now, while I still allow it.

Loki gulped silently and bowed his head slightly. “We will accept your most gracious offer.”

Thor stared at Laufey for half a second that dragged like an eternity before he finally turned to leave. Loki held back his sigh of relief but he knew it wouldn’t be over even when they got home.

“Run back home, little princess,” one of Laufey’s sentinels mocked.

Thor stopped in his tracks, and Loki closed his eyes. “Damn.”

In one quick move, Thor turned around and knocked the offender, sending him across the plaza with one hard swing of his hammer. Everyone froze.

“Silly hammer!” Volstagg joked, his prominent belly jiggling with the forced laugh. “Has a mind of its own!”

But the Jotuns were not having it. Ice formed a frozen armor around their bodies, and extended off the ends of their arms like swords, their sharp edges gleaming in the blue light. Thor stepped forward and swung his hammer at another Jotun, his half smile too evident. “Next!” Thor shouted with glee.

All Hel broke loose. The frost giants attacked them in waves, demanding the Asgardians to be on top of their games. Loki had no time to worry about what everyone else was doing, and quickly summoned as many daggers as he could, throwing them at the giants closing in on him. Trying to not get cornered, he ran to the crumbling edges of the castle and summoned a few of his illusions, confusing the soldiers that were chasing him.

In the distance he could hear the battle cries of Thor and his friends, trying to fend off the attacks.

“Come on! At least make it a challenge for me!” Thor’s mocking tone could be heard in all corners of the ice palace, and Loki wished he would put Mjolnir in his mouth instead.

The battle raged on. Loki knew they had to leave the castle and head on to open ground if they wanted the slight chance for Heimdall to be able to open the Bifrost for them. The Jotnar, on the other hand, were determined not to let them leave the castle grounds. Their ice magic, Loki could see, not only worked on themselves, but on the terrain around them. Large spires and ice walls grew where the exits were, and Loki had to be quick on his feet as the giants tried to freeze him to the floor.

Hogun wasn’t as fast, and was already waist deep in ice when Sif and Vostagg reached him to help him out, not without problems. A Jotun slammed Volstagg to the ground, making the floor shake. The warrior recovered quickly, and tried to fight back as the Jotun grabbed his bare arm. The warrior watched in horror as his skin went blue and black with frostbite. He shouted in pain, and reflexively headbutted the giant, making him stumble and release his arm. But the pain didn’t relent.

“Don’t let them grab hold of you!” Volstagg shouted.

Loki ran past him, throwing him a small cordial of potion which Volstagg downed in one gulp. His arm was still smoking, but the pain dimmed down enough for him to go back to battle.

Across the opening, Fandral was preoccupied fighting a group of Jotun sentries, completely oblivious to the one stalking him from behind. Loki’s warning died in his throat, as the sentry reached down and sent a spray of ice stalagmites that impaled Fandral.

Loki raced towards Fandral, throwing daggers at the Frost Giants as he went. Fandral was nearly unconscious, and more Jotuns were closing in Loki, blocking his path. He tried to summon a mist, but it was doing little more than to obstruct his own view. Daggers flew from his hands, but even his agility wasn’t enough to keep the Jotuns at bay. One got too close, and Loki had to plunge two daggers into its chest. The giant grabbed Loki’s gloved wrist, freezing the leather piece, making it crack and fall away. Loki tried to pull away but the giant tightened his grip on his arm, the cold spreading on his skin. Loki looked at his arm, prepared for the worst. But instead of the blackness of frostbitten flesh, his arm began to turn blue, markings etched on the skin spreading upwards until his forearm and hand looked exactly like the frost giant holding on to him.

“My prince?” The Jotun muttered, as confused and thrown off as Loki himself.

Shaking out of his stupor, Loki summoned a dagger and thrust it in the giant’s neck, only then noticing its black gleam. He focused on his arm then, and watched the deep blue color fading back to his pale skin, the markings disappearing and leaving no trace.

It can’t be-

Loki shook his head. This was not the time. There was a battle around him. He could hear Thor shouting and cackling in the blizzard, drunk with bloodlust. Never mind that his companions weren’t in great shape, or that the Jotnar King decided to join the battle, summoning an enormous beast, cracking the ice with a deafening sound.

“Thor, we must go!” he shouted, hoping Thor could still hear him over the blasting winds.

“Then go!” Thor roared.

In his desperate attempt to stop Laufey’s beast, Thor was not exactly being careful about his power and strength. Each blow and each lightning cracked the ice beneath their feet, as Loki, Sif and the Warriors Three ran to open grounds. Heimdall’s warning resonated in Loki’s mind. If your return threatens the safety of Asgard, the Bifrost will remain closed to you. He looked back: there was no way to get far enough from the Jotnar to summon the Bifrost safely.

Loki briefly closed his eyes, and summoned a thick mist, trying to cover their escape. It worked, and the only thing he could see were the cracks of lightning summoned by Thor. The group made it to a small clearing, and waited. The lighting had stopped, and the mist around them seemed to dampen all sound.

“Where is he?” Sif asked.

As soon as the words had left her mouth, Thor landed beside them, staggering. He looked at his companions, as if making a head count, and then faced the mist.

“Loki, we have to see.”

Loki took a deep breath and raised his arms, concentrating to make the mist dissipate. But the sight that greeted them was not what they expected: hundreds of Jotnar were surrounding them.

“Actually, could you bring the mists back, please?” Volstagg said in a little voice.

Loki gave Volstagg a hard look before turning to Thor, realization dawning on his face that he and his friends were as good as dead. That he, the invincible Thor, wasn’t as invincible as he thought. Loki looked up to the sky as if waiting for something.

A bright light opened in the darkness, and Loki let out a small sigh of relief when he saw Odin himself mounted on Sleipnir. The Giants stopped their advance and opened a path for their own king. Laufey slammed his hands on the ground, willing the ice to lift him up so he could look into Odin’s eyes.

The two monarchs facing each other were a terrifying sight, as they were discussing the fate not only of their own worlds, but the Nine Realms as a whole.

“Laufey. End this.”

Laufey sneered at Odin with disdain. “We are beyond diplomacy now, Allfather. He’ll get what he came for -- war and death.”

Without warning, Laufey swung his ice blade at Odin, but the Allfather was already bringing Gungnir to the ground. The explosion knocked Jotuns and Asgardians alike to the ground, and Laufey ordered his soldiers to retreat.

“Now! We’ll finish them together!” Thor shouted with a smile, quickly getting on his feet and swinging his hammer.

“Silence!” Odin barked. He summoned the Bifrost and when they all came back out of the portal in the Observatory he dismissed the Warriors, sending Fandral to the Healers’ wing.

Still incensed, Thor turned his focus from his friend to his father. “Why did you bring us back!?” he demanded. In his shock Loki retreated from the inevitable argument so he wouldn’t get dragged into it. This had already gone more wrong than he could have ever predicted and he didn’t want to make it worse.

Odin rounded on Thor in disbelief. “Do you realize what you’ve done? What you’ve started?”

“I was protecting my home,” Thor insisted. “Whatever the cost, the world must know that the new King of Asgard will not be trifled with!”

“Your pride and vanity nearly cost you your friends; if you can’t protect them, how can you expect to be able to protect a kingdom?” Odin shook his head, disappointment beginning to leak into his voice. “Have you forgotten everything I’ve taught you? There is more to being King than war, boy! What of a King’s patience, his cunning, his wisdom?”

Thor had nothing to say, no biting retort, not a charming word to weasel his way out of another scrape. He could only stand there before his father, searching for the forgiveness he was convinced would come. This time he had gone too far, though, and finally Odin was seeing his eldest son for who he was. There was a charge in the air as Odin lowered his voice and cast his gaze to the gilded floor.

“I was a fool to think you were ready.”

Loki could sense Odin was about to do something rash, but he wasn’t sure what his father would do to Thor to teach him a lesson. Without much time to think, he opened his mouth to speak in Thor’s defense, but he couldn’t come up with anything to say that could possibly help and decided to keep silent. His heart was pounding, the sense of impending and inevitable retaliation making it hard to control the residual cold that was creeping up his arm. He clasped his hands behind his back and took a few more steps away from Odin, just in case.

Odin strode over to Thor with great purpose and began to tear at his metal armor, casting it to the floor as he spoke. “Thor Odinson…” he hesitated before he continued, relieving Thor of his crests, “you have disobeyed the express command of your King. Through your arrogance you have opened these peaceful Realms and innocent lives to the horrors of war. You are unworthy of your title, unworthy of the loved ones you have betrayed, and unworthy of your weapon and strength.”

Odin then plunged Gungnir into the Bifrost control panel, activating the spire. Loki watched in silent horror as their father ripped Thor’s cloak from his back, and summoned Mjolnir from Thor’s shaking fist.

“In the name of my father… and of his father before… I cast you out!”

Odin thrust Mjolnir towards Thor, the electricity coming from the weapon disintegrating the rest of Thor’s armor and pushing him backward to the swirling lights of the Bifrost.

This is all my fault. It wasn’t supposed to get this far!

Loki’s mouth hung open in disbelief as he stared at the vortex that had swallowed Thor, barely registering when Odin hurled Mjolnir in, sending it and Thor to a place only he knew. Suddenly it felt as though Loki’s chest was caving in, and the world was spiraling around him.

What have I done?

.-

<< Chapter 18  –  Chapter 20 >>

.-

@nikkalia @igotloki @xalgaliareptx  @christy-winchester @silverhart93 @claiming-loyalty-to-loki @honeybournehippy @unseelie1963 @mischievousbellerina @manager-of-mischief @angryowlet @thelittlestlittlecutiepie @moonlightprime

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Blacksmith’s Daughter Pt 4

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - 

Tags – Requested by lilith15000

All –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim, @jotink78

X Thranduil - @evyiione, @sweetlytenacious25, @tigereyesf

…

The first course melted into music playing signaling Thorin’s approach to claim his own dance, with Elrond claiming you after in Maglor’s place. Blindly your hand was claimed by Thranduil when Elrond bowed to you again for the first of your dances for the evening. Music and meals blurred until alone again nearing the fifth hour in when a number of guests had started to trickle off to bed you followed tradition and slipped away quietly. Hand in hand you joined the similarly exhausted King on the walk back to your new apartment.

The double doors opened and you walked through pausing for him to close them behind you, alone in the hall he offered you his hand again wishing he’d drank more wine in hopes of hiding the trembling hand he offered to you. Steadily yours rested in his and he led the way to the dining room with another supply of food, desserts and wine for the pair of you. At the table you stood accepting the wine glass he poured for you and gave him an anxious smile. Steadily he stated claiming another square of cake in his fingers from one of the trays, “Again, you do not have to share a bed with me tonight, or any night for the next three months.”

You nodded then stated, “I just,”

As he ate the square of cake he gave you a soft, “Hmm?”

“There is a tradition, I have another gift you are supposed to find tonight.”

His brows inched up when he claimed the last of the icing off his thumb, “Just where am I meant to be searching?”

You sighed and wet your lips and peered up at him unable to keep from blushing while you timidly squeaked out in a whisper, “Under my dress.”

His brows twitched up then down again after he stated, “Oh.” He let out a quick breath, “That gift.” He shifted on his feet, “Yes, Queen Niro did mention something of that sort to me earlier.” Inhaling again his hand moved to your side flatly at your hip, “I am guessing, below the waist?” You nodded and he nodded in return, “Is your gown uncomfortable?”

Your head tilted slightly to the side, “I could wear it a bit longer.”

Turning his head he spotted an empty chair he moved to and carried it back to you, grinning as he watched you ease down onto the edge of it, crouching before you he asked, “Left leg?” Your head shook and he nodded again resting his hands on your knee, “Now, with your permission, I will fold your gown up around this leg, ensuring you are covered as much as I can alright?”

You nodded again and he eased up the side of your gown to your knee, ensuring the top of your legs were covered. Inch by inch he raised it higher until the lower buckle was found, uncovered and unbuckled before he inched it up until the second was found and the entire holster was removed. Once done he laid the gown down over your legs again and helped you to your feet thanking you for the dagger with the required peck on your cheek.

Steadily he asked, “Would you require help out of your gown? The bindings appear a bit intricate for the wearer to handle alone.”

“Please.” You asked softly and pulled your braid over your shoulder for him to eye the bindings and give one a curious tug earning a squeak from you when it tightened, “Other way.”

“Oh, I apologize!” Steadily he found the right binding, undoing the hidden knot to loosen the long strap and undo the buttons down your back while you held the gown against your chest. When you turned to thank him he asked, “Would you mind if I removed my robe?”

You shook your head and you stated, “Wear what makes you comfortable.” After he nodded he joined you on the walk to your room to open and close the door for you and then head to his. While you wiggled out of the gown and hung it up again he eased out of his robe and did the same before bending to remove his boots then his crown.

In your turn you eyed your clothes and chose a comfortable pale blue night gown and pulled it on after removing and setting aside your crown. Stealing a glimpse of yourself in your tall mirror you lowered to remove your flats and stockings you set aside before walking barefoot back to the dining room. There in the flickering light of the fireplace you eyed the tall broad frame of your Husband with the golden flashes dancing across his white hair and loose shirt and silver pants underneath while you crossed the room.

In a loosing battle against an impending yawn you claimed a square of cake and ate it while he lowered his glass through a massive yawn he turned his head away for. Right after his hand rose to rub the back of his neck and you asked, “Did you want to sleep?”

“I probably should.”

“You have a meeting in the morning?”

He shook his head, “No, part of my steps to the union, I prepare a breakfast for the pair of us and you remain in bed until noon.”

Anxiously you wet your lips and asked in another glance up at him, “Did you not, wish to begin our month now?”

His lips parted in a curious tilt of his head, “If you wish to. We may begin it whenever you decide.”

“Well, there, there is another step for tonight. A, sort of trade.”

“Trade?”

“Of dreams, plans or hopes rather, for the future.”

He nodded and asked, “Would you like to bring anything with us?” You shook your head and he stated with a soft grin as you popped another square of cake between your lips, “It will still be here later if you change your mind.”

Down the hall he led you into his open room after confirming it was acceptable for sharing. With his arm outstretched he led you inside and watched you climb on the bench at the foot of the bed then onto the plush furs coating the massive bed. Only retracting his arm your hand was formerly resting on to steady yourself to avoid the post at the foot of the bed. His amused grin remained watching you lower to your knees and slide your legs under the covers in the middle of the bed. The curious glance you gave him made him chuckle as he knelt on the side of the bed and shifted to stretch out over the comforter but under one of the top furs while asking once on his back in a glance at you. “How does this dream sharing start?”

With your hand raised he grinned again easing his hand in yours over the covers as you said, “One for us, another for lands and the final for possible heirs.”

Three vague hopes each later you turned your head at his deepening breaths, noting his closed eyes you wet your lips and waited a bit longer then slid a bit closer to his side and rolled onto your side as you caved into hopefully easing the distance between you at the contact. Keeping your hand locked in his you missed his peek down at you seeing your head press against his shoulder after your free hand settled, after a timid hovering pause, onto his chest. You swallowed dryly and closed your eyes and simply let go, ignoring your discomfort and fear of how he would take waking with you so close to him and dropped off into sleep.

With a widening grin at your steady slow pulse felt through your joined palms Thranduil shifted his free hand to gently ease your hand to the center of his chest just above his heart where he folded his hand around it and turned his head to kiss the top of yours softly whispering, “Sleep well, Aerasumé.” Then turned his head back and closed his eyes drifting off as well.

.

Morning light brought on the tightening of your grip on his hands as your head burrowed behind his frame into the shadows making him chuckle and release your hand on his chest to free the canopy on that side of the bed blocking the window. Tighter you curled against his arm bringing back his grin until the beginnings of a growl from your stomach urged him out of bed to the kitchen. The breakfast he served you was topped off with a few flowers from the gardens outside, and followed with more treats from the night before at your request he gladly joined you in answering that craving. Beside you on the bed he shared the full plan for the day and then eased back offering his arm again, ensuring you were fully covered when you curled up for another nap while he simply enjoyed being beside you.

Noon was signaled with twelve chimes from the clock in his study parting you to dress and get ready for the lavish lunch for the guest nobles. On the other side of you door you flashed a weak smile up at the King hoping the circlet you had chosen would be acceptable. A soft smile from him and assurance later, that you had time to adjust to the crown or design another of your own, you made your ways through the Royal Wing to the large dining hall filled with guests grinning at you both with exhausted expressions of their own. Until nightfall the Durins lingered as the rest of their kin had already begun the trip back again with the aid of the Elven guards.

A tight hug later Thorin palmed the gem you slipped him from your necklace as he hummed Khuzdul sentiments to you and promised to have the first visits planned soon while remembering Bilbo was remaining behind with you for company. The long line finally refilled the mountain now rippling with comments on your so called sacrifice, setting aside your search for your One to calm the tension in these lands, a sacrifice they would never forget or make it appear to have been for nothing.

A call from one of the Elf Lords took Thranduil from your side and back to his usual irritating Council. Again you began a walk with Bilbo to calm yourself and found yourselves back again to what appeared to have once been a garden. Timidly you stepped out of the empty walkway near a back ballroom and music room, seemingly forgotten, to wander along the overgrown pathway between the weeds, halfway you stole a curious glance at Bilbo who shrugged and stated, “You are the Queen, technically you could tear up any garden you wish.”

You nodded and turned gripping the first weed and giving it a firm tug. Instantly your pent up irritation, uncertainties and nerves seemed to drop staggeringly with each weed torn free. At your side Bilbo added to the pile of weeds that in the distance drew the attention of a guard. Soon after he darted away when he spotted you on your knees digging out a new better home for a patch of wilting bright red cardinal stalks after having added your rings to your necklace the hour before.

Not long after a set of gardening tools and a wheelbarrow and buckets were brought for you. Little by little a small patch was cleared and completely coated in dirt from the knee and elbows down with a couple streaks of dirt on your cheeks you tiptoed through the palace until you halted crossing Legolas’ path. A grin eased onto his face when he noticed the state of you, happily he stated, “Ada mentioned dinner should be ready soon, the four of us again if you don’t mind.”

You shook your head and he chuckled watching you brush a strip of dirt coated curls slipping free from your braid behind your ear sending the loose dirt down over your chest to the ground, “Of course not. I just will go bathe and change.”

Legolas nodded and stated, “I cannot wait to see the final product when your demolishing is through.” You grinned and turned after a nod of your own and walked with Bilbo on your path to scrub and redress. The dirt coated gown had been shaken the best you could do in the garden outside your apartment before you tried to rinse and hand scrubbed it the best you could after your bath then hung it on the towel hook on the wall to dry hoping whoever handled it wouldn’t be too cross when they simply looked at it.

.

After dinner you watched as Thranduil left to speak with the other Elf Lords while Legolas left to his own round on guard. Silently you walked through the palace and found your way to the pastures where you found the Elf on watch that night over the cattle there. His head bowed to you with a hint of a smile moving to your side, “Your Majesty, how may I be of service?”

“I was wondering if I might borrow a pair of cows tomorrow.”

He raised a brow then glanced at the herd and you again, “Our females are either carrying or with calf, if you do not mind them joining I can deliver them when you wish.”

You flashed him a quick smile and said, “Thank you, the grounds are covered in tall grass, so I will leave it to you to choose the hungriest of them.” He nodded his head and watched you turn to leave again allowing him to chuckle to himself at the odd request marking the first of your rule that soon was rippled through the kingdom.

Back in your apartment when you felt your eyes drooping you walked through to your room where you changed into your night gown and eased into the bed chosen solely for you after remembering your agreement to have a pausing night between each night together and sank into a deep sleep. Not long after, Thranduil entered himself, easing his outer robe off and paused near your doorway at the scent of dirt and grass as well as the sound of your slow and steady breaths. A curious smile spread on his face on his path to his own room to strip and ease into bed. On his back he laid there already feeling an ache at not having you next to him, in a roll onto his stomach he nuzzled his head into a pillow still holding your scent and relented to his exhaustion.

.

A soft knock woke him early before his meeting to pick up on the issues from the night before. Somehow in your busy gardening filled days you started to notice a rivalry between the King and the highest Lords in these lands on the Council, the first attempt in helping him tolerate the day was the breakfast you carried through his room. Groggily he raised his head expecting a messenger only to give you a sleepy smile and sat up, across from him you sat cross legged while he started on the meal sharing his day before asking, “I hear you have found a project of your own?”

You nodded, “I found an old garden.” Partially expecting him to restrict your hobbies.

Thranduil smiled at you saying, “I look forward to seeing the result of your efforts, Aerasumé.” Sheepishly you caught his eye and he chuckled stating, “You are Queen, if you want a patch of land as your project it is yours. Any Elf questions your claim over it or refuses aid let me know, I will silence them.”

When the plates were cleared his head turned to the doors when a messenger entered and froze bowing his head, through a soft smile you claimed the tray and said, “We’re done eating.” He bowed his head to you and moved closer to the bed passing the King the message accepting the stern silence understanding what he could have interrupted.

What the note held signaled you to leave when it brought him out of bed to pull on a fresh shirt and outer robe, then boots and his crown after fixing his hair and brushing his teeth. On his path to the door he paused catching you in the dining room, sampling one of the selections of grapes a servant had brought earlier, nearing you he gave you a soft smile and claimed your hand, “Thank you for breakfast. If I am not able to join you for lunch I will see you at supper.” Gently his lips pressed to your knuckles then released your hand and turned to head out grinning at your soft blush from his parting.

The doors closed and you sampled a few more grapes then went to get changed yourself, shaking your head to focus. With pants, boots and a loose shirt under an outer vest you walked through the palace pulling your hair back into a high bun after easing your rings on your necklace. Bilbo arrived not even an hour later, foot by foot you cleared the same patch revealing what used to be part of a stone lined planter.

.

Atop his throne Thranduil slumped into his usual lounging position trying to remain conscious in the long stretch of useless speeches from each on the Council below him until a large tan sow was led through the throne room. A curious grin eased onto his lips when the Elleths escorting the pair and the three curiously mooing calves between them split the Council, who refused to halt their nonsensical attempts at naming their future demands for changes on your trade deal when the six months were up.

His grin was traded for yours when you spotted the cows that entered the garden and hungrily dug into the tall grass around you. Little by little it resembled something closer to what you imagined it had once was while you missed the pulses of light coursing through your fingers into the earth and out into the forest around you.

.

Rains halted your work the next day however. Against the archway looking out at the garden you sighed at a loss for what to do that day only to turn your attentions towards the rain drawing chimes from the wind chimes in the open archways of the forgotten music room nearby.

Inside you wandered seeing the overturned furniture coated in sheets around a badly neglected piano. Entering you started to inspect the piano while Bilbo snooped around for some cleaning supplies. His search brought about a slew of Elves jumping in to keep the Queen from scrubbing anything they should have been tending to, leaving you to snoop out some tools, soon to be supplied in great urgency, to start repairing the inner workings of the piano. That one day of rain had grown into a week, one that had the King ordering a lunch to be sent to you when after your second day in the garden that you had missed lunch. If he could not join you himself he would ensure you would not miss a meal.

By week’s end the rain had let up and you returned to the garden noting the grazed grass around the brightening flowers freed from the patches of weeds you had ripped out as the first glimpses of hummingbirds that dove in for the bright red cardinal stalks in full bloom. Soon another patch had been cleared and word rippled through the kingdom of what their Queen was doing, reinvigorating their urge to begin working on the corners of the palace they had abandoned for lack of use in hopes of keeping you from tasking yourself to clearing them. That single shared objective left them heading to bed nightly just as exhausted as you were, but with a much brighter light in their eyes and selves noting just what their efforts had managed to recover from the dust and grime.

.

Painfully after a particularly harsh set of shrubs being trimmed, pulled out and rehomed into better locations the dirt coating you, which seemed to come off far easier since your third week toiling in it, was scrubbed clean easing your way into a set of knee length pants and a baggy shirt. Across your room your feet carried you to your own bed where you settled wondering how things would go after this final week of your consummation period had ended. On your back you drew the covers up over you and closed your eyes hoping you could sleep on your own as since you had left Lindon it had grown difficult to do so, even more so since feeling your attachment to your husband growing by the day. Each smile, adoring glance and tender brush of fingers against your skin settled the comfort that even if you still had some distance between you and only a small portion of your days together you had at least found him to be attentive and kind.

Nights alone however left you wanting. You weren’t completely clueless to your own desires and interests romantically speaking. Sure you’d imagined one day having a husband with a beard for you to braid the traditional beads into after the traditional shared baths upon consummation as well as those for each child you were blessed with and hopefully grandchildren to follow after eventually. True even without one you had to admit the broad shouldered tall figure Thranduil bore appealed to the Dwarven side of you as did the muscles you clearly felt under his baggy sleeping shirts when he held you.

The ages had truly made him firm and sturdy, obviously attributing to his noted skills with his twin blades, with eyes that even through the glints of fear, anger and irritation you had seen flooding them in your beginning you could see the kindness and adoration overflowing in them towards you. Something in him, though stoic and proud to a fault, ached to be yours apparently and every inch of your heart wished to be worthy of it and grant it in return. Handsome and yours and somehow not, your mind reeled as it flickered to the image you had caught of him in the archery grounds the week prior between bouts in the garden and his seemingly endless meetings. The strong fluid motions he took for each release of the arrows in his quiver held you in place until a passing servant snapped you back to reality and your goal of fetching a pack of twine to support a small sapling.

As you heard Thranduil’s sheets shifting you drew your hand back from your thigh holding back from that urge not wishing to be found out by the man you should not be so anxious to release those desires with. Closing your eyes you tried not to imagine him suffering the same irritations at your holding that progression back. A groan through the doors opened your eyes and parted your lips. In your clouded mind you imagined it to be lustful until you heard the thrash his arm made against the mattress and slurred muffled cry into his pillow. Practically throwing your blankets back you raced across your bed and into the hall feeling your loose braid whip behind you in your turn and dart down to his room where you found him fisting the sheets in a pained attempt to rise with pained moans. Inhaling quickly you darted across the room, hopping up to rush across the bed and kneel at his side, “Thra-,” you leaned back avoiding his unconscious swat at you before he planted his hands and moaned lowly through tears, “Ada-.”

Your lips parted and you gripped the covers he had yet to throw off him and eased under them, maneuvering under his arm and curled your arms around his neck drawing him into your chest while your leg folded around his side drawing him closer to you. Lowly he gave another half moan before the sound of your heartbeat urged him to cling to you. Underneath your back his arms snaked as his dreams of the orcs and firedrakes that had taken his father and wife from him blurred away to the sound of your heartbeat triggering on the memory of that race you shared through the woods. Each beat of your heart mimicking the hoof beats from his Elk on his wish for a few meager moments alone. Steadily his weight drooped across your chest as his head nuzzled against your neck and chin gaining him tender pecks across it while your fingers brushed back his hair and eased soothingly across his back.

Steadily enough your eyes drooped after he had settled and coiled around you more muttering to himself losing comprehension without seeing what he was dreaming, though clearly centered around you by the mentions of your name when your scent wafted into his dream. For hours under those covers your arms tightened across his back and wove in his hair, the hand shifting through his hair ended up stirring him as your index finger traced along the tip of his ear. The motion opened his eyes as he tried to tear himself from his dream he had imagined to have been hinting towards something more heated only to find himself curled around your chest.

His first worry had been that he had found his way into your bed breaking the sanctity of your space only to feel the difference in the sheets confirming you had come to join him marking that you had most likely heard his terrifying return to his most painful moments. The click from under your collar when he raised his head drew his hand to the chain around your neck drawing your pendant out hoping he hadn’t broken it.

A tilt of his head later he couldn’t help but grin at the portrait of the half Elleth obviously was your mother across from Thorin in one of the wing tips. Curiously he pressed it shut then pressed on the opposite side finding Maglor and Maedhros there, shutting that he shifted the pendant in his palm then pressed the side below theirs finding it empty before shutting it and moving to open the other. A gentle press later and a seam of pure light was exposed, without having to open it more he closed it again recognizing the glow from Queen Earwing’s necklace back in Doriath when it was sacked by your kin.

His tensing drew your hands to ease across his back again instantly closing his eyes and drawing him to melt around you again tighter as your lips pressed to his forehead. For this treasured moment, however painfully achieved it confirmed his hope that you could face the troubles of life together, that you would surely comfort him in his obvious past troubles as he would try to painlessly learn yours. And no matter what trinket you carried from them you had obviously not yet shared possession with him about he would wait until you entrusted him with that knowledge and fully understood if you would never choose to. The front door to the apartment were opened far more carelessly than any messenger should ever dare open his door with one of the Council members who froze in the bedroom doorway catching the King’s glare and his place clearly between your legs ending his struggle against Legolas and Tauriel’s struggle in removing him from the apartment.

Wordlessly the Council member stood in the hallway instantly regretting his decision, not for how the King would react but you. In his turn to dart away beside the doorway Tauriel glared at him while easing a silver plated Elk onto the hook on the wall outside the apartment confirming for all that now there was no entrance when the King or Queen were inside without permission. A subtle yet obvious way of marking the possibility of heirs for everyone to see as Legolas shut the doors and turning to start on the joint breakfast he knew you would be waking soon for after he had spotted your sleeves and collar confirming you were sleeping after hearing no indicators of anything past that.

An irritated grumble later Thranduil folded around you again thankful you had missed the intrusion and felt his smile easing back at your hands smoothing across his back again. Sunrise came with your breaths deepening lifting his head and signaling his shifting off of you imagining you to wish to flee only to have you roll over moving back to his chest with a grumble of your own easing your hand across his middle only to have them linger on a set of raised scars lifting your head to inspect further when you brushed the covers away. Above you he lowly stated, “Tail whip from a fire drake in the first age. Knocked me down sparing me from the flames that killed my Ada.”

Your lips parted and your eyes locked on his, “I-.”

He shook his head and reached out brushing the curls freed from your loose braid behind your ear and out of your face, “No need for apologies. These are one of the few scars from those wars, the others are quite inconsequential. I do have to ask, how did you kill Smaug?”

“I didn’t. He was purified and returned to his form before Melkor had twisted him into a fire drake.”

Thranduil nodded and gave you a soft smile asking, “Have you seen many battles?”

“I got caught in the middle of Azanulbizar.” Thranduil’s lips parted, “Azog had me by the neck after Thror fell. Fili and Kili snuck out, I was trying to get them back before the battle started.”

Thranduil nodded then asked, “Were you injured?”

You nodded and raised the bottom of your shirt and brushed down the side of your pants exposing a slice down the side of your hip and thigh, “When Azog fell I fell, sort of awkwardly on his mace.” Thranduil’s brow inched up as you covered the wound and folded your palms together, “The armor I borrowed had folded plates, one of them got shifted by a spike and the hard fall cut me.” Making him nod and relax you were not terribly injured, “Only a gash, please don’t worry about my ability to carry-,”

He shook his head, “No, I would never assume that. I never heard in that battle, if you were victorious.”

You nodded, “We won it back, Dis and Frerin moved our kin from Ered Luin there shortly after, well, those that weren’t employed out there, mainly to fix it up again. Most Dwarves still wouldn’t go near it even after it being scrubbed, they were expecting us after Rivendell but that back path took us farther north than we anticipated to reach any of the entrances. Plus then that would take us past Lothlorien and we’d still have had to get through your lands.”

“Our.”

You nodded adding softly, “Our.”

“Will they move back now?” You shrugged and he nodded, “It is painful, to go back, our Council rarely touches on possibly reclaiming our old keep. Barely any of it left now.”

“They may change their mind later.”

He grinned then sighed stating, “Legolas should have breakfast finished by now.” You nodded and accepted his help up out of bed and watched as he added his shirt and maroon robe and guided you to the dining room where Legolas greeted you happily.

…

Halfway through supper however Thranduil was called away again with news on the latest scouting reports for any spider nests. Aimlessly you walked back to your garden only to peer up out of the archway leading to it up at the rain beginning to fall from the canopies above earning a sigh from you. In your velvet gown resting above your bare feet you entered the music room eyeing the self lighting crystal lanterns brightening the room upon your entrance just enough for you to see what you might crash into. A curious pile of trunks in the corner drew your eyes to them as well as your feet soon after. The top was eased back on the highest of them revealing spare piano strings. Setting that aside you opened the next finding sheet music to Valinorian classics you moved beside the piano then returned to inspect the final and largest of the trunks.

The top of the trunk eased back revealing an abandoned set of painting supplies strapped inside the lid and covered easels below. Cautiously you folded back the cloth divider and raised the first painting of a simple doe and a buck behind her in a field.

The next was a set of birds in one of the fountains on the opposite end of the palace with a blonde Elleth lounging beside it with a flute.

The next was the same Elleth in a study asleep on a chaise beside a high backed chair with only the hand of an Elf seated on it exposed in its place easing the wrinkled wrap higher on her.

The next portrait all but drew an audible gasp from you when you eyed the profile of the King with his back to the painter and his hand settled on the pronounced belly of the same Elleth. Her face was turned away from him in restrained irritation while his held a soft smile at the child she was carrying.

Slowly you eased the painting back into the trunk feeling you had overstepped greatly in opening it, feeling tears well up in your eyes as your lip quivered. The tightening in your chest only worsened at the passing pair of Elleths, far older than even the King bearing soft smiles sharing to one another softly in Doriathian.

“Finally some life here once again.”

The taller of the two nodded with a weak chuckle, “It would figure another Queen would see the benefit of claiming these corners for their plots.”

“Let us hope this Queen does not find the same end for finding herself at odds with our King.”

Warmly a tear eased down your cheek in your duck to avoid their view until they passed and you covered the paintings and sealed the trunk again. Hastily your hand wiped your cheek in your rise to your feet in a hopeful dart for your apartment only to shoot behind a darkened turn and ease behind a statue while the eldest brothers on the Council passed by.

The elder of the two all but growled out, “Now only to find a way to jolt our Queen out of our grounds and into the throne.”

The other nodded as your quivering lips clenched and another tear of yours fell to your chest, “Three ages is long enough, one merchant’s son after another. Finally we can hold our heads high at a ruler from a noble line. High King Finwe, reared by Prince Maglor himself.”

The other nodded adding even softer, “Princess Nyemmai managed those decades without Oropher and his Cayuse of an heir.” The term for a feral low quality steed parted your lips in silent rage, “Our Queen has some buck in her but that can easily be worn out with proper guidance.” In a peek out you caught his hand clenching on the tapping staff at his side earning a near shout from you only to have you duck back out of sight when Tauriel appeared with a fiery glare of her own.

Coolly she stated, “The nerve of you, daring to suggest yourselves any rights to address our rulers in such a manner!”

The elder leaned in tapping his finger between Tauriel’s brows stating, “600 years at the heels of such a master has done nothing to aid in your view infant!”

Coldly they chuckled and continued around her while the younger stated, “Lunches are delivered to her gardens, surely a note can be managed in the King’s hand calling our Queen to join us.”

His brother nodded again, “Now, how to appease to her interests in stepping ahead…”

Again a tear slid down your cheek as Tauriel darted off returning to her destined path mumbling to herself at the plotting Council members the King had yet to exile. Surely you imagined this to be a dream and yet the cold stones behind you had reminded you of your place in the shadows, trading one hall of doubters for another, though in this one you were seen on the opposite end of the playing field as the assumed and anticipated victor. Those thoughts faded however when your mind wandered back to the garden and music room you wished to flee to your mind flashed to the Elleth in the portraits you assumed to be the Princess Nyemmai they had been referring to, urging you back again to your chosen path.

.

A gentle knock later the door your curled knuckles had wrapped against freed the call of the Prince inside, “Enter.”

Wetting your lips you slipped inside and closed the door behind you. Through the main hall you peered until you found the Prince in his sitting room with a supply of feathers he was adding to the end of an arrow. In the doorway you stood raising his interest at the lack of an approaching messenger or sound at all, as soon as your saddened expression came to his attention he emptied his hands and stood crossing the room, “Aerasumé, what is ailing you?”

His eyes locked on yours searching hopefully for any sign of the trouble, “I wished to speak with you.” He nodded and motioned his hand towards the chair beside his you settled into while he claimed his again, “This may be troubling, but I wished to be honest with you as soon as I discovered it.”

He nodded again scooting closer to you anxiously, “Of course.”

Releasing a steady breath you stated, “The garden I have been working in, I overheard two Elleths in passing,” he nodded again, “It was the former Queen’s.” his lips parted, “And the music room beside it, I found, portraits inside.”

His brows rose and he wet his lips hastily, “Portraits?”

You nodded, “The few I glimpsed at were of a blonde Elleth, the last couple with your Ada, I am assuming while she was carrying you.”

Softly he pled, “Would you show me?”

You nodded and stood after he had and guided him to the music room where he grabbed the trunk you pointed out to him and turned back to his apartment only to pause as you stood in place. In a near pleading gaze he asked softly, “Would you sit with me?”

Beside him you walked back to his apartment where you moved his arrows aside so he could ease out each of the portraits and grin at them each. Until he passed the one you had stopped on, finding the portrait of him in his mother’s arms while the King sat beside her with his extended finger being gummed by little Legolas stirring teary chuckles from the Prince. The ones after were a few scattered images of him in her arms before switching Prince Legolas in his first steps until a final portrait of Thranduil and his making flower crowns for the doe statue behind them you took as a marker for her grave.

In a low deflated tone beside you he drew your attention when he said, “My Naneth betrayed Ada.”

Your head turned to him with lips parting partially while he continued staring down at the portrait of her asleep on the chaise that he raised for you, “This, was one of their last times together. It was arranged, after our kin fled Doriath and my Gramps was chosen as King Ada was brought up and was instructed to take a wife to continue the line of Kings. She never really accepted him, but she tolerated the union for the position it put her in. They tried to be civil, I know Ada did at least, and then the wars began.

His final trip home they conceived me, when they got back she was in labor, three months they were together until Gramps called him back to the war for aid. There was a message, the King had fallen, along with Ada, it all sort of hit her at once, her shunning him, betraying their trust by running Gran away back to Lindon. All at the scheming Council’s doing, trying to force her ahead of Ada for her bloodline. She fled, leaving me behind, alone. Ada returned, alone with a third of our forces after the Fire Drakes came down at them. They passed her dismantled carriage on the way where they had been attacked. He never speaks of her, past that statue there is no grave, no hint of her, just unspoken memories of those she left behind.”

Your eyes met his and your hand folded over his on his leg, “I am sorry. I, never imagined.”

He grinned at you shaking his head, “She was young, they both were, not nearly old enough to marry. I understand why Ada did not tell you, please do not hold it against him, it is painful remembering how hard he tried to make it work only for her to betray him. Part of why he reacted so harshly when he imagined you had lied to him.”

“Old wounds.” Legolas nodded and you added, “I simply wished to tell you what I had found, I understand completely and I can always find another-,”

He cut you off squeezing your fingers in return holding your hand on his, “Please do not abandon it, keep claim over it, do not let it go dark again, please. You may not see it but you have woken something in us, made us seek the light again instead of dwelling in the shadows. Please, for me, if you were expecting my casting you out that is not the case, I would wish to see it in full bloom again.”

You nodded and then glanced at the time when his clock chimed and you stood patting him on the shoulder earning a soft chuckle from the Prince before you made your way to the door and paused to wipe your cheeks then passed through into the halls. Inside he lingered pausing to admire his mother still then took the one of him gumming his father’s finger and stood inspecting his walls.

In a circle he turned until he found the proper place for it and brought down one of the elk skulls he had been gifted by one of the Council members he now had the chance to finally replace and hung it in its place then hid the skull away in one of his closets in a trunk of hated gifts from them. Proudly he beamed up at the peaceful moment captured by a random artist and moved to put away the others he added to his bedroom closet with the few other treasure he had found of hers and returned to his arrow making with a gentle stroke of her ring on his finger.

Pt 5

[dominushq]

Hello everyone! Below the cut will be a sample application to act as a sort-of guide for all of you. Please take note that this is only a guide and that we, in no way, shape, or form, expect everyone’s application to look like this. This is only provided as an example! 

Congratulations, HENRY! You have been accepted for the role of MARCUS with the character JOHN MARCUS ELLIS. Please head over to the checklist page for any final reminders and send in your blog within twenty-four hours. Congratulations on your acceptance and we can’t wait to have you with us!

OOC.

Name/Alias: henry Pronouns: they/them or he/him Age: nineteen Timezone: gmt+1 Activity Level: i’m one of the two admins of the roleplay, so i’ll probably be around a lot! the exchange program will probably be an issue, though i promise to still try and pull my own weight. weekends will probably see me more active more often than not. for a numerical rating, i’d say 7/10. Triggers: removed for privacy. Anything else? removed for privacy.

IC.

Name: John Marcus Ellis

— JOHN: The name of an Evangelist, the Beloved Disciple, the only one who stood with Mary the Theotokos at the foot of the cross as Christ hung crucified—your father named you John in great anticipation of the works of faith he hoped you’ll come to exemplify and you’ve somewhat followed much of the example your namesake set. Even now, the words of the Gospel of John is still seared onto your brain, a piece that you memorised once when you were bored that your mind never quite let go of. 

— MARCUS: How convenient that your name in Sodalitas has already been, in some respects, your name. The Stoic Roman Emperor had never held your regard but you can somewhat see the respect people had or him. When the society gave you that name, you began using it in your daily life as well, seeing no point in keeping John when all the people you knew called you Ellis or Marcus already. Sometimes, when you’re with your parents at Lambeth, the sound of your own first name feels like a stranger’s now.

— ELLIS: Your last name has never really been that notable until your father became the Archbishop of Canterbury. It was noble, to be sure, but it was a minor noble family, one that accorded no mention in history books. In fact, it had been your mother’s family that was the more notable when you were younger, the Grosvenor family one of the few who share the privilege of being close to the Queen and her family. With the passage of time, the star of your father’s rise began to shine brighter and it is his name that draws attention now. When you introduce yourself, it only takes a second for them to realise that you’re that child of the Archbishop, and you realise that there’s a possibility that you will remain forever in the shadow of your father. 

Age: Nineteen Faceclaim: Niels Trispel Gender ID: Nonbinary Pronouns: They/them Field of Study: Theology and Religion College: St. John’s College

Biography.

trigger warnings: stillbirth

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. ( John 1:1)

These words spill out of your lips, over and over again, as if you’re a broken record. Your father asks you to continue and you try to recite the next verse from memory alone, the Bible in front of you only ever to be consulted if strictly necessary. This could almost be a vigil, except you’re far too young to know what the words really mean, and so it ends up meaning nothing, the words just remaining words instead of whatever phenomenon your father had hoped to conjure up. It’s not that you’re stupid—you could, if you concentrate hard enough, conceptualise of a word given Being (and, even now, you know it’s with a capital B)—but the concept of divinity itself is foreign to you, even as your father exemplifies it with his very being and your mother takes great care to ensure that you’re brought up in the faith.

You know he’s an important man and that you are, in some ways, blessed for having such a man for a father but his title means nothing to you—at least not for now. It will in the future, but the future’s a long way away still. For now, you are a child.

( But were you ever really a child? )

This is an account of the heavens and the earth. ( Genesis 2:4 )

This is how your life starts: you are born to The Right Reverend Thomas Weatherby Ellis and a schoolteacher named Lady Margaret Anne Grosvenor. You are their only child, after complications from a birth after yours resulted into a stillbirth and the inviability of your mother’s womb to ever bear fruit again. The years of your childhood pass by without consequence, and you are hard-pressed to remember the details that surround your early life. If you concentrate hard enough, you can think of the feel of leather under your cheek as you dozed off while studying, the way you thought that gilding at the edges of the Bible would rub off on your fingertip and the disappointment when it didn’t, and the way expectation always seemed right around the corner, a familiar and dark thing that has been your nurturer more than either of your parents.

Beyond these, however, there is nothing much else—not for the reasons of tragedy or great harm, but because you’ve always been mature for your age: an adult in a kid’s body was what they called you, and you’ve realised through the passage of the years that you were never really a child in the conventional way other children were. In a way, you’re more mature than any of your other peers. (In another, this repression has made you capable of a childishness that shocks even you, resulting in a fearful wanting that only children are capable of—a wanting that you deny exists but continues to do so nonetheless.) 

You do not remember much of your childhood because it blends from this day and the next and so on, an almost stunning replica of your life right now that it feels as if you have stood unchanging since the dawn of time. However hard you try, you can’t ever remember a time when you haven’t always been like this, as if the void has always been inside of you, swallowing any vestiges of real emotion, sapping you of the vitality that you keenly feel is so present in other people but not you, never you.

( Have you always been wanting? )

Pray, then, like this: our Father in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. ( Matthew 6:9 )

There is a great bustling in your life one day, a great rupture in the routine schedule of your day-to-day living. People tell you your father is a great man—no, a good man, a holy man—and they say this as if it should mean something to you. They hail your family as a paragon of virtue and they think that the knowledge you have is proof of your father’s upstanding virtue. His titles change and you move into a new place called Lambeth, a veritable palace in comparison to your former residence, which you are quick to forget. (Some days you forget even its name, until it hits you suddenly: Bishopthorpe.)  It’s a stretch to say you’ve flourished in your new residence, but the library at Lambeth does become your home, for whatever it’s worth, and your mother often found you passed out in between stacks of books.

You stay for only a couple of years or so at most before you get shipped out to boarding school. It’s a tradition, after all, and that is what your family has stood for ever since time immemorial. The decision is not without its detractors—for how, some say, can a man who profess to follow the example of Jesus Christ justify the use of so much money?—but then you test as a Queen’s Scholar and the news of the extravagance of your tuition fees is swept away by news of your precociousness. They begin whispering that you will be like your father some day, a scholar in the service of Christ, knowledge pursued and discovered for the greater glory of God.

You don’t know what to think about that.

( And so it goes, and so it goes, and so it goes— )

Let no one be found among you who sacrifices his son or daughter in the fire, practices divination or conjury, interprets omens, practices sorcery, casts spells, consults a medium or familiar spirit, or inquires of the dead. ( Deuteronomy 18:10-11)

Your father tells you the history of your family one night when you are home after Michaelmas term.

It is a long and proud history, he says, one in which he and your mother took part in, and which you will take part in one day soon. Oxford’s secrets will be laid bare before you, as well as the secrets of the universe and the meaning of life, but—perhaps most importantly—you will come to know the most important people who will undoubtedly make changes in the history of your nation, if not the world. The preparations have already been made, he tells you. A boy should have come up in Eton to befriend you and tell you all about it, but he’s just making sure.

The last statement confuses you. You have no friends. It’s the first fact anyone at your school knows about you. You’re the student that always keeps to themself with their books, distinguished academically but not much else. Your father frowns when you tell him this and tells you a name, while in the same breath asking if nobody has truly come to you before he said all this.

You recognise the name as a boy who you’ve ignored all throughout the year. You realise that your father probably won’t like it if you tell him you’ve ignored who was supposed to be your... mentor, you supposed (for lack of better term), so you tell him nothing and just shrug, saying you’ll follow it up when you get back for HT.

You never do. In fact, you don’t acknowledge the boy as someone who exists at all, and he does the same to you. You take your A-Levels and get into Oxford to read Theology and Religion and you expect nothing to come out of the heritage you inherited from both of your parents—but then comes the invitation and the initiation. You don’t refuse but neither do you really accept it: you just went along with everything, an almost fatalistic and nihilistic apathy tinging your actions. They give you the name Marcus not knowing that it already is your middle name, purely because of your reputation as an academic, never mind the fact that you don’t really follow the philosophical code championed by Marcus Aurelius. You say nothing about it: you don’t think they’re the sort of crowd to care much for historical accuracy, anyway.

Your membership is one that is at the sidelines. You are an audience member to the theatricality of the whole thing, knowing as you do that every words is blasphemy and realising that your father and mother (holy folk, people called them) have committed idolatry several times over—and that now you will follow in their footsteps: singing hymns to a pantheon that’s now defunct, toasting to spirits that aren’t even there, and committing cruelties that would make the hunting sessions some of your father’s friends go to look tame.

You take part in it, but you don’t believe in it. You believe in nothing, really, and perhaps that’s been your most fatal flaw. You’ve been oversaturated with holiness, with sacredness, with belief—so much that you must have gotten sick of it over time without your knowing, and now you’re condemned to a life half-lived as punishment for a sin you didn’t even know you committed.

It has always been like this, and it always will be like this. 

( So it has been, and so it shall be, forever and ever. )

Interview.

What is your name and what was your relationship like with the deceased? 

the silence that greeted the first question is almost deafening in its suddenness, but marcus has grown used to long silences from long reading sessions in the library with nothing but books to keep them company. they regarded the officer in front of them and blinked slowly, owlishly, almost boorishly. “my name’s john marcus ellis,” they say finally, “but people either call me marcus or ellis.” there was a short pause, as if they were waiting for an acknowledgement of their statement from the officer, but there was no answer forthcoming and they were left to continue their thread of conversation. in the silence that filled the empy space, marcus became all too aware of the soft ticking of their wristwatch—a quick look at the device and they realised that they were going to be late in handing in their old testament paper. “i suppose people will call hardwicke and i friends,” they said at long last, their tone a smidge distracted by their realisation, “but we’re not that close really.” although perhaps some would also say shared membership in a secret society was close enough. then again, marcus didn’t really care what other people thought. “i knew him since we were kids, and he was an associate of mine in eton as well as in oxford, but there’s nothing else to tell you beyond that.”

Can you tell us a little bit about yourself before we start?

they knew, almost detachedly, that they could say a lot of things as an answer to this question, but their mind came up blank. usually, marcus introduced themself simply with their name and, if some odd people still needed clarification, announced their link to their father. it would almost be a proud claiming of a heritage, but the words just fell flat with their deliverance, and it sounded more like a shameful thing rather than a point of pride to be the child of the archbishop of canterbury.

somehow, they realised that such a performance would not be welcome now, and so they struggled to fill the silence. “there’s nothing much to tell,” they say. “i’m just a student at oxford. i don’t really know how i can help you in this investigation of yours, honestly.”

Do you possess a reason we should know about for having murdered the deceased?

"of course not,” they said quickly, and it was true. edward hardwicke never posed a threat to them and whatever political machination that caligula and agrippina tried to wrought upon their group didn’t really interest marcus. they were apathetic in most things, the politics of their secret society simply being but one of the many things that just existed for them but nothing more than that. “hardwicke and i were at the very least amicable.” and this, too, was true, for edward did treat them civilly enough, a behaviour which they mirrored right back until the fateful night that they didn’t.

then again, that was what the authorities would kill to know, wouldn’t they? logically speaking, a profile of a killer must have already been written up by them somehow, and they could just imagine the profile they have right now: esoteric, highly intelligent, familiar with religious symbols, and possessing a connection to edward hardwicke—traits which marcus knew they fulfilled to the letter. 

how amusing to know that the law could be so wrong yet so right at the same time. “i don’t know what to tell you,” they said. “i’ve said all that i can say: i have no reason to kill hardwicke, and that’s it.” this, too, was true; but having no reason didn’t stop them from plunging that knife into his chest anyway.

Did the victim have any enemies? Was anybody threatening the victim?

marcus shrugged, an easy motion of the shoulders that didn’t really come easily to them as much as they like to think it did. “maybe?” they said. “hardwicke’s very well-known in oxford. they’re very active socially and i think they’re in all the political clubs.” a false lead would work well in their favour now, especially when such a lead was likely in the eyes of the authorities. “he can be a bit abrasive and forceful, but i don’t know anyone specifically whom he offended.” they could, of course, drop caligula’s name—and a small part of them did want to, merely to see what repercussions it could hold—but a threat to caligula was a threat to the society, which will ultimately result in a threat against marcus themself. as much as they were curious to see how that potential chain of events might unfold, they had to be smart too.

Can you give us any information that might help the investigation?

"i don’t know,” they said, their voice feigning sheepishness. “as i said, i don’t really know how i can help you, because i really know nothing about the whole thing.” this has been, they realised, the most impassioned they’d been in quite a while. it was a pity, then, that this was in the end just another fabrication, a simulation designed to keep what needs to be secret secret. “in fact, the last time i saw him, it was in a lecture last term about the poetic elements present in the prophetic books. he told me we should catch up during the summer, but i never had time to take him up on his offer.” a pause. “it’s a pity, really.”

Where were you on Sunday morning?

removed to keep the mystery alive.

Extras.

I have a Pinterest board here.

A playlist here.

And a mockblog here.

Their character tag can also be found here. 

And a general tag for Dominus as a whole can be found here.

[shsl-heck]

A (Currently) Untitled Custom MTG Set

Okay so, this is my second attempt at typing this all up since tumblr randomly ate the first one, but for the past while I’ve been attempting to create a custom mtg set in a new plane I am tentatively naming Ecumia. This has been an on and off project but I decided to start posting updates here because I think it will be interesting to see my thought process throughout the whole thing, and also because I’m hoping it’ll motivate me to keep going. My basic idea is that it takes place on a plane starved for mana where cities have been modified to become constructs that travel the plane scrounging for what little mana they can find. The rest is going to be below a read me because it’s a long post. It has a summary of the setting, draft archetypes, mechanics and just some random thoughts on where I may go.

First I want to go ahead and go into more detail about the cities. There are five main giant cities, each of them is based on a four color mana combination. They’re all based both literally and ideologically on what color mana they lack just as much as they’re based on the colors they do have. So I guess I’ll go ahead and list them out with some explanations since they’re one of the biggest features of the world. (Sidenote: they’re all meant to be in some way terrible and corrupt.)

Zezuklet is the WUBR aligned city. It positions itself as a meritocracy, to be a prodigy in Zezuklet is the expectation. Everyone works to improve themselves and their skills to serve the city in its never ending quest for expansion and fuel. They cooperate and work together like the cogs in a machine not like people who care coming together. Black and red provide the passion for self improvement no matter the cost, blue provides the forethought and efficiency with which everything is run, and white gives the system it’s strict laws and orderly conduct. Meanwhile despite the white aspect’s focus on cooperation the lack of green mana manifests in a lack of sense of community which gives the city it’s main theme of isolation and alienation, the embodiment of society as a cold machine.

Philael is the WUBG aligned city. It’s a cult run by a council of revered priests, prophets, and theologists. It’s not the rakdos style cult though, it’s much more of the sinister sort of banality like scientology, mormonism or selesnya. The modern new life fusion way style of cult if that makes sense. Everyone is part of the family, and you don’t betray your family. If you do, then anything is fair game. Don’t worry though, family forgives. White and green create a tightknit but highly stratified and strict sense of community. Blue manifests itself in the extreme degree of mental manipulation and veiled knowledge that goes on in the running of the cult, and we see black in the cult’s policy of brutal retaliation against those that break its rules. The lack of red mana is meant to provide a sense of lacking individual identity or the ability to express oneself.

Novaesium is the WURG aligned city. In concept it’s meant to be ruled by a lineage of wise and powerful philosopher kings, however in execution the monarchs are rarely as wise and fair as one would hope. They are a regressive society who desperately tries to cling to a mythical past version of Novaesium where it was the center of culture of commerce across the plane. Anything that threatens to interfere with the return of the kingdom’s golden age is essentially considered treason. As with many of the cities white manifests in Novaesium through it’s monarchy and sense of authoritarianism and strict but arbitrary rules. Blue shows itself through the focus on subjects like classicism and focus on analyzing the past, while red lends itself to the passion and zeal to return to that past. Green ties it all together with the sense that their community is all linked together and working towards a common supposedly noble goal. Black mana when appearing in characters that aren’t villains is typically reflective of self improvement and ambition, so Novaesium’s lack of black mana is meant to reflect an inability to move beyond the dreams of the past and create something new.

Raxfada is the WBRG aligned city. In Raxfada might makes right, which means that few warlords last long thanks to the frequent invocation of trials by combat to determine who should be in charge. Despite the bloody duels and lack of formal legal system Raxfada works on a strict honor system. Families are to take eye for eye and tooth for tooth. In order to keep the city running Raxfada is in a forever war, hunting down smaller weaker cities and draining the mana from them or integrating them into the city’s mass. White and black combine to create the honor system that substitutes for rule of law with it’s focus symmetrical but swift and brutal violence. Red represents the zeal and love for battle that citizens are raised to value in order to continue the forever war, and green the philosophy of might making right, and value of raw physical strength.

Quisith is the UBRG aligned city. It runs on a parliamentary system in which many small guilds and miscellaneous groups vye for control over the parliament. People are in general highly devoted to their individual parties but deeply suspicious of all others, believing them to be plotting to take over. These fears are of course justified since nearly every single guild, secret society, etc are all planning to take over in some manner. Quisith is unique in that because it’s made up of small factions sweeping statements about philosophy are a bit harder, but in general blue and black combine to produce a very dimir-esque aspect of subterfuge and subtle conflicts and plotting between organizations. Red is meant to reflect the intensity of conflicts and constantly flaring tempers between warring factions. The lack of white means that there’s a lack of centralized authority and unity between the whole of the factions.

Now I want to move on to the draft archetypes, each of which cover a two color pairing to make them flexible enough to build in limited formats.

Azorius Artifacts takes advantage of the color pairing’s ability to control the tempo of the game while giving it tools to buff, untap, and take advantage of artifacts they play in other ways. This is probably the most control oriented draft archetype for players who are a fan of that.

Orzhov Cycling is, as the name suggests focused on cycling. Specifically it uses cycling as a means to drain life from your opponents while maintaining card selection. I have the urge to say this is probably more of a midrange deck, but honestly I could see it being built in a couple different ways.

Boros Voltron/Go Tall focuses on applying powerful buffs to a single creature with cheap spells, making it one of the more aggro focused draft archetypes. There’s really not much more to say than that.

Selesnya Toughness Matters is my attempt to make a draft archetype that takes advantage of creature’s toughness with spells that set power equal to toughness and others that reward playing high toughness creatures. Because of the focus on more defensive creatures I think this archetype could potentially turn into a stall focused one, but it is also green so who knows what people could come up with.

Dimir Self Mill seems like pretty well trodden territory (it just appeared in Theros,) but it specifically seeks to take advantage of the two new custom mechanics, Trawl, and Repurpose which both have graveyard synergy and actually give Dimir the ability to ramp. I’ll explain both those mechanics in the next section though.

Izzet Auras is not something that is traditionally thought to fit the color pairing. However on this plane I wanted auras to be a sort of magical expression of an inner truth. Similarly to how the Prismari in strixhaven view their craft as artistry, auras are considered a deeply personal and artistic form of magic which I thought fit Izzet. (I actually came up with this before strixhaven was spoiled so it was a fun surprise.) Izzet auras do things like grant card draw, firebreathing and more, making them a sort of toolbox deck.

Simic Go Wide wants to overwhelm their opponents quickly with their efficiently costed creatures and overwhelming generation of tokens. Yes, this is an aggro Simic archetype, lord forgive me.

Rakdos Self Burn obviously deals direct damage to yourself as well as opponents and permanents they control while rewarding you for lowering your own life with benefits like card draw and buffed creatures.

Golgari Repurpose is fully based around the Repurpose mechanic which grants them exceptional temporary ramp, letting them cheat out giant creatures at the cost of exiling cards from their graveyard to help pay. This is yet another archetype aiming to use new mechanics, this time with sacrifice outlets and giant beaters.

Gruul Aggro is the mother of all aggro draft decks in this list. It has a focus on cheap but strong creatures with haste, and powerful enter the battlefield effects that defeat your opponent before they can begin to pull out their own strategy.

Finally, I want to finish off with a summary of the new mechanics, and a report of my progress as of writing this.

The two main mechanics unique to this set are Trawl and repurpose. Trawl lets you mill an amount of cards and then return any lands put into your graveyard that turn to your hand. I’m still ironing out the kinks in repurpose, but essentially repurpose is a keyword on permanents that lets you exile them from your graveyard (and maybe your hand, I haven’t decided) in order to add generic mana to your mana pool.

As of right now I have around 65 of the 101 magic cards found at common in each set completed. Rough drafts of white’s common cards in the set are finished and I plan to go back over an re-edit them to add some polish after I’m done with all the commons.

Thanks for reading and hopefully this was interesting!

[archivednimueries]

So, what's this all about?

In a dystopian future where everything is regulated by the government and there is no getting ahead in the world, it’s hard to find a reason to rise with each new day. The world is colorless, gray and unexciting – everything ran by a plan made well before you were born. When you’re told when to sleep, how to dress and what to do with your life, everything eventually loses its taste and you lose your will in the process.

The Rabbit Hole is for those who crave a little more.

In the dead of night, deep under the city, you may just find the entrance to the Rabbit Hole if you’re lucky. Lavish and decadent, this exclusive club is everything the real world ever sought to keep from you in glorious technicolor. Here you can be who you want and do exactly as you please. Watch the girls and boys dance or buy from the bar, grab at what life up above has denied you. After all, it doesn’t cost much – just a token, really.

Sign away your name on the dotted line.

All names are taken and collected by one of the enigmatic and elusive Queens. From the moment you leave one of their opulent throne rooms to venture into the other areas of their realm, your name is no longer your own. In its place, you are given a new name and a new identity in the form of a mask. Which, in reality, is better for you, isn’t it? If no one knows your name, and no one knows your face then you can go back to your mundane life when morning comes. What harm could come of signing an insignificant piece of paper?

Tell me, would you sell your soul to gain a life worth living?

So come inside, have a drink and lose yourself in the world that time forgot. Won’t you stay a while and eat our food? Now’s your chance to feel something, why not dive right in?

Who All Is In The Cast?

Red Queen - 

White Queen - @maidregalia

Queen of Hearts - @hcartless

Alice -  

Red King -

Jabberwock / Cheshire Cat - @fateweary

King of Hearts -

The Duchess -

Knave of Hearts - @hornblowcr

Red Knight -  

White Knight - @sixthofficer

White Rabbit -

Mad Hatter -

March Hare -

Dormouse -

Tweedle Dee -

Tweedle Dum -

Catterpillar -

{Please note that other Wonderland characters are also available, or even made up names. If you need help coming up with one, you can always message me. Examples of possible names: Red Rook, White Bishop, Ace of Hearts, etc.}

How To Apply

Character Name: Wonderland Name: FC: Aboveground Occupation: Age in Verse: Number of Years in Wonderland: Court Affiliation: (Red,White, One of the Suits) Bio: 3 + Paragraphs (Include any developed powers or the like.)

What Is It, Really?

This is a group verse set in a Dystopian Film Noir setting in the year 2584. Basically, the world is in shambles with something of a 1940’s twist. Warfare and complete obliteration forced the world to restart, and instead of flying cars and hoverboards, we have a handful of cities and a nation left barren and full of dust. Those cities have electricity, running water, high skyscrapers and even technology, but due to government regulations life carries on as it did when people could be controlled and Big Brother didn’t have to reach so far to keep his eye on the prize.

Bring in the forties and fifties, won’t you? The trolleys, the fashion, the cars and those quaint little one stop diners – this has them all. A person’s life is entirely and wholly organized from birth, marriage and to death by The Powers, those that were given the task of leading the world once it all fell apart.

While there might not be life outside of the cities, below in the Underground lies a realm that thrives just as it has since the dawn of time. It’s been known by many names, but now it’s just called Wonderland and one has to fall through the Rabbit Hole to find it. This is a land of bright color, music and everything the drab neutral world above has ever been denied. While most people who visit only ever get to see the Rabbit Hole itself or one of the Queen’s courts in the flesh – there’s an entire world just waiting to be explored.

The Underground is actually a fae realm, and all the members of royalty and some of the court are fae. Mortals can and will develop powers befitting their personality the more time they spend in Wonderland. Some have even been known to go mad.

But, What About Wonderland?

Yes, what about Wonderland? Despite being a utopia away from the Aboveground, Wonderland is a land riddled with political intrigue and strife. To better understand the world, one has to go back to the beginning.

Before Wonderland, the entire realm of the Underground was ruled by one man - a God of his own making - the JABBERWOCK. For many years he was a selfless man who all but broke his back in his attempts to keep his lands prosperous and plenty. When war threatened his lands for the first time, he allowed himself to be taken over by the spirit of something darker - something sinister enough to take on the oncoming peril. When the war was won and the day over, this spirit continued to cling. Eventually, the Jabberwock’s kingdom became a dark one riddled with the blood of its own people. Sacrifices were ordered and the land began to die.

THE RED QUEEN, THE QUEEN OF HEARTS, and THE WHITE QUEEN conspired to bring this reign of terror to an end. The youngest of them, The White Queen, was told by her two elders to infiltrate the court and ensnare the Jabberwock with a spell that would weaken him and lead to his downfall. The web they wove became further entangled when the Jabberwock, realizing their plan, married the White Queen in an ancient binding ceremony and played on her heartstrings to change her allegiance.

The day of the battle was an uncertain one. The Red Queen and The Queen of Hearts standing on one side of the field while the Jabberwock commanded the other. The tides were in his favor. It wasn’t until The White Queen joined her sisters that the dark fray was pushed back and his armies defeated. Together the Queens combined their power to destroy the Jabberwock.

Believing that they had eviscerated his body during the attack, the history of the Jabberwock was struck from the records and the Queens forbade the use of his true name. They and the remaining subjects all drank a potion to forget. From the ashes, WONDERLAND was born and each of the Queens claimed a piece of the realm for their own. Forsaking their true names in favor of their current titles and masks, their solution to keeping the land and themselves alive was the system of taking names that you now know.

Alright, so what else?

There are a few things to take note of both Aboveground and in the Underground.

Aboveground, everyone’s life and career have been given to them by THE POWERS. There is no choice or free will. You either do as you’re told, do as you’ve been taught or you face the punishment. There is a special task force called the NOBLE GUARDS who keep everything regulated and patrol the streets. The city has a curfew and when ten o’clock rolls around, everyone had better be tucked in their beds.

If you’re one of the resourceful few that make it into WONDERLAND, you need to remember that taking off your mask or revealing your name are not permitted. Anonymity is one of the safeguards beyond the RABBIT HOLE and failure to comply will result in banishment or worse. There are some creatures that frequent the Rabbit Hole that actually live within Wonderland – creatures that are far older and more powerful than their nighttime visitors. The dancers, the Queens and various members of their court – All of them reside within Wonderland’s borders. Some of them have a fake life above, one to amuse them from time to time.

A few residents did start out as human, as funny as that may sound. Prolonged visits to Wonderland can result in certain changes. Latent powers can develop, features may change or grow more prominent and a sudden clarity of the senses can make the world a little maddening. Partaking in their wine, drinking their food and dancing within their halls are all something of a decadent drug that can become addicting. The more time you spend away from Wonderland, the greater your longing to return will become. Being banished has sometimes resulted in madness and death. The brief nightly visits of most will not result in changes, but the addiction is still there.

What Are The Rules?

While it is not necessary to follow all members of the group rp, please try to keep interaction and plotting going across the board.

You are allowed to have supernatural powers if you like. All fae born have glamour and thrall. How else could they have created their fake lives Aboveground?

Don’t God-mod. I mean, really.

Be kind and keep your drama ic instead of ooc.

TAG ALL OF YOUR THINGS AS GV : DYSTOPIAN WONDERLAND

If you have questions please ask me, don’t just fumble around in the dark.

[pamphletstoinspire]

Padre Pio and Spiritual Formation - Article 6 - Contemplation Of God

Story with many images:

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/padre-pio-spiritual-formation-article-6-god-harold-baines/?published=t

Padre Pio described his spiritual director, Padre Benedetto Nardella, as the man who "formed" him. Here are some of Padre Benedetto's teachings on the Christian life.

Article 6 - Contemplation Of God

Think of God as more gentle than all gentleness, more good than all goodness, more merciful than all mercy, more loving than all love and you will understand Him in the most suitable way and be most pleasing to Him.

If with charity in your heart you also wish to awaken your admiration, think of Him as strong, wise, beautiful, holy and pure more than can be imagined. With just a gesture He made from nothing immense armies of Angels, most noble creatures, shining with genius, admirably powerful, fascinating in their gentleness and dignity; that is a sample for you of his wisdom and virtue.

Oh, how amiable and great is our God! How small we are when we consider Him to be a little superior to us in benignity, generosity, patience, and glory. Enlarge, enlarge your concept of Him in your intelligence and arouse the sentiments of love and adoration in your heart.

Perpetual Union With God

If you ask me how much time you must spend in vocal prayers, and in meditation, I reply that I leave it to your discretion, considering your family circumstances, personal requirements, etc., etc. But if you want to know how long you must remain in prayer or union with God, I exhort you with Saint Paul of the Cross (founder of the Passionists 1694-1775) to remain so for twenty four hours a day. You must always do everything looking at Him with interior affection so as to please Him: in your work, arranging your affairs, eating, sleeping, during recreation, keeping your attention fixed lovingly on the One who loves you and looks at you with perpetual love. Return often in his presence with simple loving words from the heart and keeping Him in your memory.

I know that it is impossible for you at the stage of love you have reached to keep a constant attention like souls that have exercised a great deal and are advanced; but you can easily harbour the interior desire and wish to succeed doing what you can for the time being.

However, never do anything with violence or torturing yourself, but always gently and with patience.

Complete Abandonment To Providence

You ask me what Saint de Chantal asked Saint Francis de Sales. She too wanted to know if her soul abandoned in God's hands could repose completely, leaving to Him the care of what concerned her interiorly as well as exteriorly, and placing all her trust in his Providence and will in such a way as to remain without a care and without having to choose and without the desire for anything outside of what our Lord worked in her and for her, having cast away every impediment or resistance.

How can you doubt? What can be more advantageous than this abandonment — what activity more fertile than this calm? God is father and mother and I don't know if a child can do better than to go gently into the arms of its mother without thinking or agitation.

There is no saint who has not cultivated complete self-abandonment to God and in this way reached sanctity, and the unchanging calm through the various and sometimes most painful events and contradictions of life.

Therefore there is no instructor leading souls to a great love of God who does not teach and recommend self-abandonment.

And who can think, arrange and provide better than infinite Wisdom and Charity?

Oh! Almighty Love, may everyone embrace You casting out all anxiety and personal prudence.

Abandonment And Darkness

You want to know why the Dominus tecum remains a mystery to you. It is very simple to understand when you know that the Dominus tecum was not enough for Mary either when she was searching for her lost Son. His reply: "How is it that you sought me? Did you not know that I must be about my Father's business?" — Lk 2,49 — I assure you that no words, even if Jesus came to speak to you personally, as He did to Mary Magdalene near the Holy Sepulchre, would get you out of your anxious state until God the Father permits it. And the Father is charity and does everything out of charity even when it may seem rigour to the soul. Who could imagine that the Father looked with immense love at his Son hanging on the cross, when even He seemed to unite Himself to his crucifiers in judging that He had been abandoned by his Father?

It is an old truth, but the drama is always new and the Father always sees the souls perpetuated in his Son on the gibbet, and always the souls cry: "Why have You abandoned me?" — Mk 15,34 — forgetting that after the crown of thorns the glorious crown follows.

And you will forget the Father's prize, continuing to bewail his abandonment all the time you are predestined to be on the cross, which will be more or less long, but always in proportion to the strength you will be given to moan and lament the dreaded abandonment.

It is the cross, and the cross has to come before joy. But how is it possible, you will say, that such thick darkness comes from God?

Think daughter, amongst soldiers there are those destined to the dugouts of the front line of battle almost from the beginning of the hostilities, while others have never known them; and yet there is only one Supreme Commander. Everyone here below is in the army and we all have different tasks: on you falls the advanced post, reserved to brave men. Do you mind?

But the first are always the first and you would do well to thank God who has chosen you and given you the courage.

Self-Knowledge

You can write to me and you must, as there is no penance or sacrifice more beautiful and pleasing than obedience.

As for replying, I will not follow your or my judgment but our Lord's that is as pleasant as it is supreme.

The terrifying knowledge of yourself consoles me because it is the truth, but you must not stop at that. Just as the architect builds in height according to the depth of the foundation, so must the spirit use the knowledge of its own misery to raise itself and trust in the sublime mercy of the pious Excellence.

You know that gold is purified with fire and that love is a flame: do you then want to fully rehabilitate and beautify yourself? Love. An act of love and devotion is worth more than a hundred fasts and disciplines.

Humility, Trust, Manifestations Of Extraordinary Phenomena

Humility is beautiful, but gentle trust is beautiful also. Shy modesty is pleasing but not as much though as abandonment in the One who commands us to hope and who opens his arms and Heart to us removing the screen of the garment and the sacred enclosure of the ribs.

Having up to now remained silent and mistrusting the unusual phenomena in yourself was beneficial for you to protect yourself from vainglory. In such matters reserve is a test of the goodness of the origin. But now that the proof has been given you must speak. I have ordered you to do so and you are safe from any trace of vainglory and deception.

Indeed there could be deception in remaining silent, as Satan loves to set his traps in closed souls. Or he will at least provoke you to extreme diffidence and halt your progress wanted by God when He gave you his favors.

A Death Blow

Resign yourself to this death blow, and be at peace. Many are the troubles of the just man, but out of them all the Lord delivers him — Psalm 33, 20.

You think yourself abandoned, but in reality you are not, because it is not easy that a God called Charity abandons a soul made in his image and redeemed at the price of so much suffering and blood.

Oh, how true it is that all things work together unto good for the predestined — Rom 8, 28. To suffer humiliation is painful, but you may be sure that divine Mercy will turn it to your consolation. And no matter what terrible accident may overtake you, so long as you want to belong to God, it will contribute to carrying out the desire of perfection. Therefore be calm. Or rather rejoice at the thought that on the day of revelation you will understand how good God is in all his ways.

Patience With Oneself, Corporal Mortifications

Only you fear yourself, I and the others do not; but believe me if the guides do not fear there is nothing to fear. Be determined to subdue your irascibility and be, as the Apostle says, patient, kind, bearing with all things — I Cor 13, 4 — full of mercy also towards yourself who is the closest to yourself. Considering your good health and strength I permit you to do some discipline during the week and to add a little bit of mortification in eating on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays. I do not mean downright fasting but to leave off eating a few mouthfuls that at the end of the meal satisfies sensuality without being necessary for the health. Seven hours of sleep are enough. Any more inclines one to looseness. On the whole only the amount that God wants will be beneficial to you.

Ask our Lord to save you from the grip of the dog and from the lion's mouth — Psalm 21, 21-22, as the Prophet prays and add: "Be my help Oh God, do not abandon or despise me, Oh my God and my Good."

***

To suffer humiliation is painful, but you may be sure that Divine Mercy will turn it into your consolation.

***

Be my help Oh God, do not abandon or despise me, Oh my God and my Good.

***

Rejoice at the thought that on the day of revelation you will understand how good God is in all his ways.