#of course there’s no one among the companions fit to be his/equal status

[archduke-enver-gortash]

having completely normal thoughts (gortash wotr au)

[muslimmarriageevents]

Muslim Matrimonial Services Are Become Essential.

Generally Muslims looked for a daily existence accomplice just among their family members and companions. In any case, presently Muslims are fanned out and are experiencing from one side of the planet to the other. Present day Muslims are compelled to going to the marital administrations increasingly more as they continued looking for a reasonable companion. 

These wedding administrations take care of Muslims living all over the planet. It is made for the sole reason for offering wedding types of assistance for Muslim people, everything being equal. They are most certainly not Muslim dating administrations as some may erroneously think about it.

Islamic marriage is considered as a strict necessity which gives friendship and insurance from wrongdoing. For ladies it offers status and security in a few conventional Muslim people group. Most Muslim guardians assume the liability of tracking down a reasonable accomplice for their child or little girl. For the Muslims living in distant nations, decisions are restricted. So they have not many options than going to the administrations of these wedding organizations.

One must be incredibly careful while looking for a qualified admirer since their hazier side is rarely promoted. By and large, just their cash, rank, magnificence, instructive capability, occupation, religion and hardly any sure focuses are thought about. Marital ads could ordinarily at any point be misdirecting. So screening and cross checking are significant prior to taking a choice.

Requesting that a third individual get data about his personality, propensities, family foundation, monetary circumstance, is a standard everyday practice.

 Yet, this can be an exceptionally humiliating circumstance to the individual enquired when the admirer is known to have an unacceptable foundation and this is all the more so in networks where it isn't thought of as fitting to discuss others negatives regardless of whether it implies concealing it or depending on a "harmless exaggeration".

Imams can serve by and large with regards to the devotion of the person. Be that as it may, an incredible arrangement should be finished by the concerned guardians to look for concealed insights.

Both the imminent accomplices guardians are supposed to keep the Islamic rules set down while meeting. The concerned people are never to meet alone without a chaperone. The gatherings are directed in a business way with the goal that in the event of disappointments to click, it doesn't hurt both the gatherings.

 It is inside constraints of goodness that they are not clearly mouthed or excessively pushy for the solace of others. Again it is good that they don't shape a close to home holding prior to settling in the event that the proposition doesn't come through.

A few Muslim web-based wedding administrations give tips and advices to pick an accomplice. At times plans are made for both the gatherings to meet at a typical spot. Yet, this is uncommon, since in the majority of the cases, the concerned individuals make every one of the courses of action.

 Every one of the agreements like endowment and whether the young lady can work after the marriage ought to be talked about during such gatherings, before the Muslim marriage is concluded, to stay away from clashes later.

FOR MORE INFO :-

Muslim Marriage Bureau UK

[funtimebunnyblog]

I'M BACK!!! 🥰😍❤ Did you all miss me? I'm happy to say that I've finally gotten some WiFi where I'm currently living and updates are gonna try to be more steady here in the future but I can't make any promises because I get very busy with my work 😅😇 Please continue to bear with me!

In other words, a while back I wrote the OG version of this little short fic on A03 but I realized that I had never posted it here! 😱 Nevertheless, I decided to write the Part 2 to this and then decided to remaster that first part before posting it here! 🙂🙂🙂 I'm thinking about turning this into a little mini series 🤔🥰

Anyways, I'll stop rambling! Please enjoy! 😚

Pillarroomates (Chapter 1: Roommate wanted)

(This is dedicated to Dagdoth and Sureynot; 2 of the best bad influences I could ever ask for 🥰😍❤)

The steady click-clacking of keys filled the pleasant silence of the little kitchen, Kars typing away on the laptop before him at the table.

It was just a little after noon, a time where he usually put down his work for a brief session to sit back in silence and enjoy a cup of coffee, or maybe a mug of tea depending on his mood, with whatever baked-good had been whipped up recently. Today however, he chose to cut his little break out of schedule completely to get a jump on the deadline of the month that he was currently picking away at.

Hunched over, eyes glued to the screen, one could've swore he was a living statue perched like that so quietly if it weren't for his typing fingers.

The sweet smell hanging in the air came much closer as Wamuu strode over to the table, a soft smile was painted across the mans lips as he placed an oven fresh cookie on a plate down next to the mug of black tea his Master was letting steep at his side.

"Thank you, Wamuu." Kars said quietly, watching the blonde depart in his peripheral vision for only a beat before regaining his sharp focus on the sea of numbers staring back at him.

Kars had his own room with a desk to work in of course but he always found himself enjoying doing work down here this time of day. The heavenly smell of the kitchen when something was being baked and the pleasant background noise of the radio chiming softly, sometimes accompanied by Wamuu humming along, was something sort of relaxing to Kars.

Relaxing around here tended to be something rare too, as there never seemed to be a dull moment in the lives of the Pillarmen these days.

Not in this neighbourhood, no.

The younger man hummed in response, heading back to the stove to finish scraping fresh cookies off the pan to place on a rack to cool. He was sure Santana would make an appearance soon to try one, with the lovely smell filling the air and all.

Santana could never stay asleep (as heavy of a sleeper as he had the tendency to be) holed up in his room when there was something yummy being cooked.

The times where he appeared the quickest was when Kars flicked on the coffee machine first thing in the morning, the red-head manifesting at his side at the very first spew of hot caffeine never failed to nearly give him a heartattack; especially when it was 5 in the morning in a dark kitchen.

Kars' head lifted, cocking an eyebrow as there suddenly came a knock at the front door; three evenly spaced thumps on the wood. The thought of another complaining neighbour was the first thing to cross his mind, making him sigh as he moved to get up from his chair.

"PIZZA'S HERE!!!"

The sounds of heavy footfalls coming at a rapid speed from down the hallway accompanying the cry stopped him in his tracks.

The plum-haired man grimaced, Wamuu glancing over his shoulder with a frown, as none-other-than Esidisi sped by; the one hand clutching the towel around his waist was the only thing keeping it from blowing away completely.

Despite only catching a glimpse of his speedy companion, Kars didn't miss the fact that the other was sopping wet and trailing water.

Esidisi had simply lept out of the shower the second he heard the knock at the door, leaving with only a towel (just barely even) and the foamy suds that were still clinging to his hair and his body.

No doubt about it, he was dripping all over the place.

And all over his clean floor too.

Kars clicked his tongue, more than tempted to sigh again.

"Really, Esidisi?" He called out to the other.

It was hard to tell whether he was more displeased with his state of soapy undress or the fact that the oldest Pillarmen had gone and ordered yet ANOTHER pizza this week with only God-knows-what on it.

Sure, he the others found themselves actually partaking in "Human food" casually these days. Wamuu even went so far as to teach himself how to cook as a hobby to fill time around the house when he wasn't going to the Gym or to work, but Esidisi had become something of a strange enthusiast on the matter.

Some people in this world got a little riled up over something as simple as Pinapple being added as a topping on a pizza but Kars had a feeling those people would have an absolute fit listening to Esidisi's phone order of a multi-fruit pizza (consisting of: oranges, apples, watermelon and strawberries) with cheese, olives and pepperoni.

He was starting to wonder if his longtime companion was simply doing it just to see how far he could push a Pizza place with his barrage of odd orders until they yelled at him or worse, barred him completely from the place.

His question was only met with laughter. "I decided to ask for Mac and Cheese and Jalapeños on it this time!" Esidisi called back, voice echoing off the walls, as he finally reached the front door.

Wamuu's nose crinkled at the very sound of that, choosing wisely to direct his attention to his cookies once more.

Kars decided to follow suit and do the same with his own work.

He supposed it wasn't really his problem, therefore; he shouldn't say anything.

☆☆☆

The advertisment had been a strange one for sure, but really, you had no choice but to at least look into it. It never hurt to try and you were already desperate enough as it was.

Apartments and open housing in the area was becoming a rarity at best these days, this busy time of year didn't help things either, and you had been scouring the internet for every opportunity or opening there was to move in with someone in this portion of the city.

Sadly, you had turned up empty handed quite a few times.

The last one you had looked into had been great; a nice building, nice seeming people, decent budget; but alas, the people who put out the advert took it down just a day later.

They had decided to give the opening to a close friend of theirs who wanted to come across the country and live with them instead.

You had been starting to consider checking the complete other side of the city and trying to squeeze yourself in somewhere there or maybe even just going with the option of moving cities completely! The hassle of finding a place was just becoming too much until... this one happened to pop up.

☆ Roomate requSWIGGITY SWOOMATE, WE NEED A ROOMATE!!11!!!1!

We are Four Men seeking out a Human roomate to live with us in our rented house.

4 bedroom, 1 bath, 1 kitchen; upstairs, downstairs and basement.

Location: Western side of the city, 929 Bizzare av.

Rent and chores are divided equally among us.

Requirements as followed:

• Must be a CLEAN Human.

• Human must not bear the surname of "Joestar" under ANY means necessary.

•Must be actively working and have claims to have the ability to hold their job.

• Must be willing to contribute to the household via chores and yard work when necessary.

• must be CUTE!!!

• Mus

•

• Must like llf6io78fjjl0

•

• Jo9sjw6jnsjej27ebeolu

• Jsjsij wkk d18kkjs lkdjsjsns52jsjjsnend2njsmdv 6272jsndbdhs2672 jd Djjsija bsij eeskdnne9s782728 jd bjejrn rnusjjsj

• the human must not be loud

• It would be most appreciated if the Human was a mannered person, who holds appreciation for similar hobbies we do. -W

•

Ask within to apply! ☆

You couldn't help but wonder if whoever had written this advert had been drunk at the time by looking at the grabbed mess that took up half the page.

Better yet, you could only hope this was a real advertisement and not some sort of stupid prank.

Either way, you were determined to find out today and claim this oppertunity before anyone else got the chance.

Glancing down at the print out you had made of the ad at the Library, you sighed as you kept going down the street. You had been walking all morning and were beginning to wish you had the foresight to pack a snack or a drink for your seemingly endless sojourn for this supposed place.

There was no picture put onto the advertisement, even a proper description of the place would've been nice, and finding a direct address wasn't exactly a piece of cake to you.

Nonetheless, you kept going. Stopping at every house you passed in hopes to spot a matching address; finding nothing but different numbers and barking dogs tethered in yards.

With every different number meeting your eyes, the possibility of this just being a fake ad just kept growing and growing in your mind.

You were even starting to consider just giving up entirely when, at last, there it was. "292" the numbers were bolted to the front porch, the 9 starting to tilt to one side.

It seemed nice enough. The lawn was well kept, the walkway however looked as if it needed to be redone. The building was a sunbleached blue, probably a nice clean periwinkle once upon a time, but now leaning a tad white and staring to flake. The place was definitely in need of a touch up.

This was the place, now if someone was Home to even just talk to you about this ad that would be great.

You gathered up the courage to leave the sidewalk and start up the overgrown walkway, the wood of the porch whined under your feet as you stepped onto it. A couple of chairs, a book carelessly left behind in one, a little cage sat all by its lonesome in the far corner, and a big unmissable stain (probably coffee) caught your eye on the wood.

The word "Pillarmen" was scrawled on the name card over the mail slot of the front door.

A strange surname, you had never heard of it before, but it must've been safe to assume that it belonged to someone here. Presumably one of the men who had made this advertisement in the first place.

With only a moments hesitation, clutching the print-out in hand, you reached out and rapped on the door hard with your knuckles, then stood back and waited.

Silence... You took the opportunity to fix your appearance slightly, suddenly becoming a little self-conscious, smoothing out your shirt before clasping your hands behind your back neatly and putting on your best smile.

First impressions were important, most especially a first impression made at the door after all.

There came the sounds of voices, too muffled for you to hear through the walls, followed closely by the unmistakable thundering of footsteps coming closer and closer from within.

Finally, the door flung open.

You felt your eyes go a little wide, the smile drained from your face as you craned your neck back slightly to meet the gaze of the very tall and very muscular dark-skinned man that now stood before you.

Belatedly, as your eyes followed the droplets of water that were dripping off him, trickling down every inch of his muscular body and pooling at his feet, you realized he was practically naked; clutching only a fluffy white towel around his waist.

The towel didn't look nearly as fluffy and white as his hair, however.

"Uh--" Your tongue swole in your mouth as you both found yourselves staring at one another, seemingly sharing a similar dumbfounded moment.

He blinked owlishly.

"You're not the Pizza delivery." He said matter-of-factly, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between the two of you.

Your head shook violently, broke from your sudden stupor, pulling out the slightly crumpled piece of paper out for him to see.

"Uh-- I--... N-No! I'm not-- I'm uh.... here ab-about the-- the roomate ad...?" You sputtered, the words felt as garbled as alphabet soup falling off your tongue, you felt a nervous sweat beading on your skin under your clothes as it hit you for a second time that wasn't wearing any. "Oh! If uh-- this is a bad time I-- I can come back later!"

His face lit up suddenly, eyes shimmering like sapphires. "Oh!" He cried. "I forgot about that!"

The massive man turned, calling back over his shoulder deeper into the apartment.

"Kars! There's a Human here, they saw our advert!"

You happened to be so gobsmacked, still reeling from the slight shock of the very first of your encounter, you hadn't even noticed he distinctly used the word "Human" there.

"What?!"

You couldn't see past the mans hulking figure but you could very well hear the scraping of a chair in the distance, followed by more thundering footsteps heading towards the door.

You blinked as yet another larger-than-life sized man made his appearance, pushing past the first with a frown. The both of them looked almost comically squashed where they stood taking up the whole doorway.

This man was just as tall and as muscular as the first. His skin was like ivory, framed by dark cloth wrapped from his neck to the top of his head with only a tuft of deep purple hair dangling precariously out over his pointed nose.

More importantly, very much unlike the first, this one was fully clothed.

Clad in a dress shirt that matched his hair, slightly unbuttoned to just give you a peak of the buldging muscles he had underneath and the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, neatly pressed black dress pants and house shoes.

Kars blinked in surprise as he caught sight of you at last, eyes scanning over you. He honestly hadn't expected someone to come to their door about the advertisement they had put out so quickly, they had only put it out less than a day ago.

If anything, by the way it had turned out, he was surprised someone responded to it at all.

"Please, come in." Kars told you, making his best attempt to save this lousy first impression.

His surprised look was short-lived, turning sharp as he directed it onto Esidisi. The other man smiled sheepishly, turning and retreat back to the bathroom to finish his shower without the pizza he had left it for...

☆☆☆

☆Previously...☆

Kars hummed, reading over the advert for a 4th time with pursed lips.

He had listed all the necessary information about them and the living situation and even put down a few requirements to set the bar for any Human who would happen to want to apply.

However, even with the ground rules set, it still just seemed a little too bare to him.

"Hmm," Kars peered over his shoulder towards the living room doorway; he swore he could hear more of the crunching of the flaming hot cheetos Esidisi was enjoying rather than the actual program he was watching. "Is there anything specific you would like to add to this before I post it?"

"Shay they mush be cute!" came the reply though a mouthful of spicy junkfood. Kars could only hope he wasn't getting crumbs all over the couch again, not to mention getting too handsy with the T.V remote eating those things...

"That isn't what qualifies as a 'requirement', Esidisi..." he sighed.

The other swallowed, now blessed with the ability to speak much clearer; the crinkling of the cheeto bag hit Kars' ears next.

"Well excuse me for having standards." He heard his oldest companion grumble, drowned out by the crunch of more food.

Wamuu's head peered out of the kitchen, the pie he was just about to place in the oven cradled in oven-mit hands. He had decided to try his hand at fudge pie this time, having mastered apple so quickly.

"It would be nice if the Human were a Warrior as well," he said, disappearing from Kars' sight again as he went back into the kitchen, carrying the pie to the awaiting oven. "Or perhaps if they were interested in going to the Gym or baking as I do..."

Kars sighed, "Wamuu, I understand you would like someone to train with but this--"

"The Human must not be loud."

The Pillarman practically jumped out of his chair, the tiniest yelp escaping his lips as he swiveled his head to find none other than Santana looming over him. The sheet lines imprinted in the others face indicated he had just arisen from a deep sleep; most likely venturing out of his cave and into the kitchen to see what Wamuu was up to.

Even after thousands of years, he still couldn't get used to the youngest Pillarman sneaking up on him.

It probably didn't even count as "sneaking" anyways as Santana was just so naturally quiet he just happened to go unnoticed until he spoke up.

Kars opened his mouth to make an attempt to speak again, only to be cut off one more time as Esidisi finally made his own appearance; leaning over the purple-haired man to see the advert in the works.

"See, this is all wrong." Esidisi told him, frowning at the screen. "This is too formal! If we're going to get someone at all, we need to grab their attention somehow. Here, I'll fix it!"

The other practically clamored over him, cheeto bag tucked under arm as he reached over to type on the computer, deleting the majority of the title Kars had written out and already replacing it with one of his own creation.

Kars belatedly realized the others' hands were still coated in hot cheeto crumbs, smudging the keys of his pristine computer with imprints of red and orange as he typed away.

"Esidisi, stop this at once!" He commanded, trying to push him at arms length, only to be met with a hand pushing back and smooshing against his face. The smell of spicy cheese flavoring hit his nostrils, only fueling his fire. "This is my work computer! I'm the one writing this advertisement!"

Santana merely stood back, watching the two elder Pillarmen fight over the computer in silence. Esidisi was pushed by Kars into the keyboard a handful of times before their focus was solely on one another and no longer the ad.

"Get your grubby hands off me!" Kars growled as the other straddled him in the chair, his face now smudged like his keyboard. They kept pushing on one another, a clumsy slap war already underway, obscenities and curses getting mangled as they argued back and forth.

"You never let me--"

"I told you that--"

"I wanna do it! Just let me--"

Santana peered down at the computer curiously, uninterested in watching the display before him any longer.

The red-head typed out his own request before picking up the device and carrying it to the kitchen for Wamuu to see and whatever he wished; Santana ignored the sound of two bodies toppeling out of the chair and hitting the floor as he left.

Kars didn't even get to see the ad (or rather; the remainder of what qualified as an advert) before it was posted online by Santana.

[sev-wildfang]

these thoughts might not be sound

"ok but why did JKR jump into the TERF pit?"

well

shes a white ciswoman with money and aspirations of breaching into the English upperclass, where the common strain of white supremacy among women is TERFism - an ideology that allows white ciswomen to appease white cismen by letting them lash out at gender nonconforming people, primarily trans women, which are painted as the ultimate threat to their status.

the white ciswoman's bargaining chip in white supremacy is the potential to bear white children, which makes her "valuable" "as a woman" in the eyes of the white cis man - the trans woman is a "threat" to this constructed identity because she by default is categorically unable to bear any children, yet lays claim to identity as a woman and as the cis woman's equal (and in the twisted logic of this ideology, "removes" a potential sire for white children "from the breeding pool").

the TERF is like the racist and the eugenicist a tool deployed to "defend" the goal of this doomsday ideology, by removing "threats" to its (self-perceived as) homogenous in-group that would otherwise by virtue of humans not naturally being predisposed to bigotry of this intensity since we do not by nature treat our own species as livestock to be bred and optimized (for what?) in the way of animal husbandry, be allowed into the group, and bring their (perceived as) "outside" traits and ways of living into it.

white supremacy treats humans including itself like that, as livestock to be bred towards a goal but instead of factual material improvement (breed cows to give more milk to have more of it to drink, breed chicken to lay more eggs to have more of them to eat, breed dogs to be less feral and more obedient to have more reliable hunting companions, breed the wild mustard seed into a variety of vegetable crops to eat them for nutrition, breed apple trees to bear more fruit to have more of them to eat etc etc.) its goal is to make worse the situation for people not among the "in-group" in order to achieve relative material improvement, making things "better" for the in-group by making everything worse for the ones outside of it. this is framed as "purifying" the "white race" of course, in its own language. "purifying" the class of "women" by removing those from it that do not fit the unnatural mold of the white supremacist ideological breeding goal.

making "better" the situation of the white abled neurotypical ciswoman by making worse the situation for the non-white woman (specifically Black women, who have spoken about this more eloquently than i can), the disabled woman, the neurodivergent woman, and of course the trans woman - the "pretender to the status" of a woman. she is an antithesis to the ideology and someone who violates it not just by aspiration ("i am a woman" with an implicit "as much and as little as you are") but by rejection ("your assignment at birth does not define me or my role"), which targets another point in the system of white supremacy - the status of the white cis man. his status (so he be abled, neurotypical, and willing to "sire white children") sits at the top of his self-fashioned unnatural ecosystem. being born into it, his ideology dictates, is good. his position of power by the grace of his assignment at birth is what the whole system is meant to produce!

the trans woman, being ostensibly "born" into this "status" however turns out to be a changeling: she, for no apparent gain of status or power (since "becoming" a woman from "being" a man is a net loss in the logic of this system) "chooses" to reject this status. this upsets the dogmas of the ideology. if its actors can simply do this then the system's logic is disrupted. such an actor within the system must be purged to stabilize the power balance.

this is where the TERF is deployed, the white ciswoman anxious to lose her position near the top of the artificially constructed chain of power. she is allowed the delusion that really who she is fighting against aren't necessarily "people", but "deviants", "toxic presences" in the "ethnic body" (it may not be phrased like that by them, but the underlying logic is still there) that the white cisman wants out of his constructed system.

she can gain materially (because the white cisman rewards her for it, directly or indirectly as stated before) by attacking this "deviant".

which is how it's pretty obvious why JKR, who has aspirations of "moving up", of "gaining materially" is a TERF.

[belladxne]

you've got a look in your eyes (i knew you in a past life)

[see notes for AO3 & ff links]

prequel fic | part of the put your faith in the light that you cannot see series AU: Breath of the Wild pairing: KiriBaku word count: 5,504 Description:

(one glance and the avalanche drops, one look and my heartbeat stops)

One hundred years ago, there was a prince who would come to wield the sacred power inherited from his distant ancestor, the god Bakusatsuo, and a courageous knight chosen by the Sword that Seals the Darkness who fought at his side.

If only it were that fucking simple. Katsuki has spent his whole life being told he alone holds the sealing power that will repel the impending return of the Calamity. He's royalty, he's descended from the mortal incarnation of a god, he's been assured all his life that he's special for having this ability, and yet he still can't even harness a spark of the power. How could he possibly be blamed for resenting whoever comes to draw the sword, and masters their destiny as simple as that?

Katsuki stalks around his study with an indescribable energy welling up in him, clawing feverishly up his chest and throat. He won’t call it panic because it’s not—it’d be lousy and lazy to describe it that way when it ignores that he’s always dreaded this and has been near-resigned to it for maybe years now. He won’t call it what it’s not, but—but it evokes something similar, some same instinct of fight or fight in his gut.

Deku should be back soon. Should’ve been back at least a day or two ago, realistically, and the extra time spent waiting has been as much an agony as it’s been a relief. Katsuki doesn’t know if no news is good news, or simply a delaying of the inevitable.

He slams his fist on the desk with a force that rockets through his knuckles, up his wrist, a roar of frustration forcing its way from his chest, and then runs his hands through his hair, mindlessly tugging. He isn’t even supposed to be in here right now. If his mother knew he was shirking his training—“training,” she calls the endless prayers and rituals and meditations and recitations and time wasted on his knees doing the same things that never fucking worked—she’d no doubt bite his head off. No matter.

Deku should’ve been back by now. They’d sent him, finally, after years of talking and talking and driving Katsuki insane about it, to see if he was the hero of legend. If he would be the one to draw the Sword that Seals the Darkness. And Katsuki wants, more than anything, to vomit.

It’s all he’s been fucking hearing, for years now. Apparently it doesn’t matter that Deku’s not like him. That he’s not special. He’s not royal. He’s not descended from a god, or a hero, or any legend of note. He’s not even Sheikah by blood, but he’d been raised among them and trained among them and apparently had worked so hard, despite being such a nobody, that out of all the actual Sheikah they’d chosen to send him to the castle under the impression he’d be a suitable companion and protector for Katsuki.

If the assumption that he needed companionship or protection weren’t degrading enough, they had to add insult to injury by encouraging someone as weak and timid as Deku to think he could believe he was on Katsuki’s level and even capable of protecting him. Katsuki had the blood of Hyrule’s patron god in his veins, the legacy of a sealing magic that had been passed down through the entire royal line, but, hey, Deku had a can-do attitude and all the backbone of a welcome mat, so that made them equals, did it?

Somewhere along this line of thought, Katsuki’s hands had started shaking, and he squeezed his eyes shut so tightly it hurt as he leaned all his weight on the desk. Because if everyone was right about Deku after all—then he wasn’t just equal. If the sword chose him, let him wield it—then he’d have mastered his destiny, and all it’d have taken was plucking a blade from its stand.

This shrinking, trembling little nobody wouldn’t be equal to Katsuki, who’d tried and tried and tried and tried and couldn’t unlock the power that was his birthright.

He’d be above him. For having mastered his destiny in a way Katsuki just—just couldn’t.

Fuck, destiny—that was the real worst part, wasn’t it?

Not just that Katsuki worked harder than anyone else he’d ever fucking met and had nothing to show for it but scathing gossip from his own subjects, not just that the entire court hailed Deku as some sort of prodigy who could ever be mistaken for his peer, not just that the damned nerd might actually even shatter Katsuki’s entire understanding of the world and come back with that sword on his back as indisputable proof that everyone was fucking right and he was better than Katsuki after all and Katsuki really was useless if he couldn’t even measure up to someone so—

It doesn’t matter. It’s not just that. It’s that if Deku comes back wielding that sword, their destinies are tied forever. The hero of Hyrule, and the descendant of Bakusatsuo—they were always bound, by fate, by destiny.

If everyone’s right about Deku, Katsuki will never be rid of him—will never have hope of being free of this constant reminder that there’s nothing special about him. That the blood of Bakusatsuo in his veins, the royal position of his birth, the sealing power supposedly lying dormant within, the favor of each of the three Goddesses granted to him by his bloodline and status as Hyrule’s crown prince—it’s not enough. He had every head start in the world, and he can’t fucking measure up.

And this nobody, with no significant blood, no amazing history, no special boon—he could achieve what Katsuki never will, with ease, it seems, and Katsuki will be tied to him for the rest of their lives. He’ll never escape it.

He really does want to vomit.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do when Deku gets back—because it feels like an inevitability, at this point, how everyone talks about this. Maybe that’ll finally be it—maybe he’ll just fucking snap and the power will come flooding out of him and raze this kingdom to the fucking ground in an uncontrolled rage- and anguish-fueled haze.

That thought doesn’t bring him any sort of bitter relief, either.

Manifesting his power, being able to carry the fate of this kingdom on his shoulders—it was the one and only goal he’d worked for his entire life. Not even resentful misery at a merciless fate can erase that—can take away the need to have others see him, to have them know that he’s competent enough, strong enough, powerful enough to carry that weight. No petty destruction could bring him the same—the same—not even satisfaction, but relief.

Katsuki doesn’t just want the gossip mongers to say he’s good enough. He needs it.

Just as he’s preparing to slump into the chair beside his desk—to hell with training and prayer; he’s more than shown his devotion and dedication, and even if one of the three Goddesses or Bakusatsuo himself were to see fit to come back to this realm to personally unlock his power for him, it’s going to take something he hasn’t been doing nonstop for ten years already—he hears footsteps on the stone signaling someone’s approach, and he tenses.

“Your Highness?” The attendant who stands in the doorway might spark apprehension at the best of times—but right now Katsuki’s nerves are frayed and he’s solidly at his wit’s end, and there’s something he can’t place in the young man’s tone and expression that grates at him like nails on a chalkboard. He knows, before the attendant even opens his mouth once more, what will come out. “Midoriya Izuku has returned from the Great Hyrule Forest. Her Majesty the Queen expects your presence in the throne room immediately.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Katsuki barely registers anything past the word returned, not once his ears have begun ringing, and it wasn’t panic before but it feels like it now, and he really can’t fucking stand this. He nods dully and thinks there’s probably a scowl on his face, but he doubts it has its usual ferocity even as he grits his teeth to bite out, voice hollow, “Thanks. I’ll be there. You’re dismissed.”

The man doesn’t so much as twitch at Katsuki’s lack of formality. Obviously the castle staff all know to expect it by now. Less expected is the way he doesn’t so much as budge at Katsuki’s dismissal, even when Katsuki moves to get past him. He has to change; he’s not going to the throne room in his ceremonial prayer garb, but the attendant opens his mouth and seems to brace himself for backlash.

“Her Majesty was insistent that you come immediately—”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. Of course the old hag had been insistent, had been up the attendant’s ass about making sure the man would be up his ass about getting there. Well, they can both fuck off.

“I’ll be there,” he interrupts, halting just in front of the attendant to glare up at him. “Now fuck off already.”

The attendant hesitates only a few moments longer, likely less than enthusiastic at being caught in the middle of a battle of wills between the infamous queen regent and crown prince, but the conflict at least serves as a catalyst to pull Katsuki back into his own body, enough so that he knows the severity of his glare is back in full force. Predictably, the attendant caves.

“Your Highness,” the young man acknowledges with a nod of his head, before he beats a hasty retreat. Katsuki’s satisfaction is less than fleeting—gone in such a flash he can’t be sure it was actually there. It doesn’t matter. With something heavy and leaden in the back of his throat, he stomps out of his study and across the walkway to his room. He waits only for the door closing behind the unwanted messenger before he begins to tug off his ceremonial clothes, a process that takes hardly a couple moments.

It’s not so quick a process to don his usual attire. Still, it’s not so slow as he’d like, either, as he mindlessly and efficiently dresses with all the numb haste of a man determined not to be late to his own funeral.

He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want this news. He doesn’t want to face the nightmare scenario that’s going to be realized right before his eyes, but there’s no avoiding the inevitable—and at least there might, might be some avoiding of his mother’s temper if he doesn’t piss the old hag off by holding everything up. Despite every instinct in his body screaming for him to linger and hold off on what’s coming, he makes his way out of his own room, through the brief passageways to the sanctum.

He can’t say what it is that’s roiling under his skin, mostly because he doesn’t even feel like he’s inhabiting his own skin right now. His body’s moving itself, his mind is—it’s somewhere, but it feels miles away. There’s a grievous swooping in his gut and an uneasy tremble through all his limbs but it feels… muted, like he’s somehow disconnected.

There’s only each step his feet take, and the dread that continues to flood his system.

It turns out, his mother being such a bitch about him coming immediately was completely fucking unnecessary—not a shock, but he’s too numb to get irritated about it—because in the brief, near-unseeing gaze he flashes around the vast room as he enters it’s obvious that Deku’s not even here yet, that hardly anyone is, apart from the queen.

He bows the way he always has to whenever one of them enters the room with another, and he doesn’t even have the presence of mind for his blood to boil at the requirement like it normally does. He can’t focus on anything long enough for that.

Stiffly approaching where she stands in front of her throne to stand at her right side, Katsuki’s barely conscious of his posture or propriety. It’s all he can do to take his place, face forward, and play his part through the jumbled way his thoughts crash restlessly around his head in waves.

“Katsuki.” He doesn’t turn to see her face, but he can hear the disappointment dripping from her tone, and it makes him feel—feel—disgusting, somehow, a mental sensation like something slimy washing over his skin. “It took you long enough.”

As dazed as he is, he’s perfectly divided between the overbearing urge to snap back at her or simply not respond at all in his hazy state. Decorum, however, would mark both as unforgivable, a matter he’s grappled with all his life, moreso now that his own kingdom has started to loathe him. It takes more effort than it ever has in the past to strain for a response suitable enough to fit him through the situation, his thoughts disjointed as they are.

“I came as fast as I was able, Your Majesty.”

He doesn’t call her mother when he grits the words out—he never does. He hasn’t in years, maybe a decade. If they were alone, he’d have called her hag instead, and likely have gotten a smack to the head for it—but they’re almost never alone, almost always surrounded by an unremarkable backdrop of servants and guards and courtiers, all always listening for Katsuki to find some new way to disgrace himself.

The queen makes a scolding, derisive noise, and his hands twitch as somewhere faded and distant he feels the flare of indignation she always brings out in him, but he can’t maintain a hold on this conversation any more than anything else right now. He merely clenches his fists and, in effort to keep his gaze from flashing around the room wildly as if in search of escape, he finds a spot to the left of the main entrance, where the wall meets the floor, and levels his gaze there, eyes unfocused and unseeing.

Trying to calm himself has never come easy in the past and it doesn’t now, and he loses himself in the attempt—he couldn’t say how long it is before the massive double doors finally swing open, a servant announcing, “Your Majesty, Midoriya Izuku and his companion have come, just as you requested, ma’am.”

As simple as that, any attempt at composure is gone—once again, Katsuki’s ears ring, and it feels as though the floor has dropped out from under him as he swallows roughly, nearly dizzy for how quickly he pales. Fuck, it’s here, it’s finally happening, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it—for the first time in years he almost actually feels religious, enough so to want to drop to his knees and beg Bakusatsuo or the three Goddesses or—or fucking someone to just—to stop this before it happens, to save him from this.

He doesn’t. As it is, it takes all his strength not to sway to his knees anyways, but he keeps standing, faking steadiness with all he has in him.

His gaze doesn’t move from the spot he’d affixed it, still so inattentive he can barely register as Deku and another body move further into the room, each dropping to a knee before him and his mother, heads bowed low in deference. Fucking hell, he doesn’t know how to get through this.

“Izuku,” his mother greets, and Katsuki clenches his teeth, shuts his eyes, tries and fails to take a steadying breath. The level of familiarity is, of course, far from common, but the relationship between the Sheikah clan and the royal family has always been closer than most.

Even so, Katsuki knows she only goes as far as Deku’s given name because she knows Katsuki thinks he’s above needing Deku around as a companion, or protector, or gods forbid an equal, and she wants him to know he isn’t above shit. An awful lot of what she does is centered around trying to send him that message.

“If my understanding is correct, the day we’ve all been anticipating has come, and the Sword that Seals the Darkness has finally been drawn. This is so?”

Against his will, Katsuki’s eyes pry themselves open, and for all his reluctance his eyes flick unbidden to Deku. There’s something different about him, something beyond description—he seems… more confident, more vivid. He seems steady and unyielding, the green of his hair even seems fucking brighter somehow, and the way the light shines off of it almost creates an illusion of lightning crackling through it until Katsuki blinks. Lightning, a symbol of Farore. Fuck. Even with his head still somewhat downturned, Katsuki can see there’s a new light in his eyes, and it really sinks in.

The churning in his stomach is back, moreso than before, and Katsuki doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to move an inch before his nerves make him empty the contents of his stomach all over the throne room’s floor. He’s never felt this fucking helpless or hopeless, despair taking over at the blatant change in Deku that must have come from—

The thought stops cold as Katsuki starts to tear his eyes away, and he finally realizes something crucial.

There’s no sword at Deku’s back.

No grand, enchanted blade, no magnificent work of craftsmanship bearing the familiar Hyrulean Royal Family’s symbol. Not at his back, not in a parcel in his hands, nowhere. Even the shortsword at his waist is the same shitty eight-fold blade he’s always had, definitely not something new. There’s a hiccup in Katsuki’s thoughts, mind simply stumbling to a stop in its tracks as he fails to process for a moment. There’s… no way this can be the case. He’s heard the kingdom talk for years. He’d known the futility of hoping against the predicted outcome. He’d heard his mother just now.

How can Deku not have the sword?

His mind still hasn’t caught up, but some part of him must have, because his eyes finally register the other person in the room, the one who’d entered with Deku. His gaze shifts over unthinkingly, taking in hair that’s an absolutely atrocious shade of red, styled into the stupidest fucking spikes Katsuki has ever seen. He looks over the unfamiliar new face with the same lack of comprehension, seeing but not exactly perceiving the strong jawline paired with soft features; the pointed nose paired with rounded cheeks; the large, cat-like crimson eyes paired with small, furrowed red brows. He’s dressed in the typical armor of a Hylian soldier, though there’s no helmet to be seen to cover his absurd hair.

A feeling washes over Katsuki, one he has no idea how to name or place, one unfamiliar but that he knows, knows is somehow caused by the sight of this boy he doesn’t recognize at all. He can’t look away, except to briefly stare behind him.

To stare at a point, just over his left shoulder, where a masterpiece of a sword is strapped to his back. The hilt is elaborate; a deep, royal blue, with a green pattern woven around the hilt, and golden accents embedded in the wing-shaped guard. Katsuki’s never seen it before, but he knows, feels it somewhere deep and undeniable, that this is the Blade of Evil’s Bane.

Katsuki stops breathing. His eyes snap back to the boy’s face and slowly, finally, understanding dawns, seeps through him with a dizzying sense of relief so intense he almost—he almost fucking starts crying. Deku’s not the chosen of the Master Sword. Deku’s not the Hero of Hyrule. Deku’s not—he’s not suddenly and out of the blue a master of everything Katsuki’s a failure at, he’s not tethered to Katsuki’s side for the rest of his life—Katsuki can—can escape this, can actually fucking breathe—

And he does, lets out a breath so painfully shaky with overwhelming gratitude towards fucking any one of the gods out there who had a hand in this, who saw fit to grant him this reprieve, because there’s no outcome he can imagine worse than being some fated pair with Deku. He hopes the exhale isn’t too audible, too obvious to those in the room.

“Yes, Your Majesty, ma’am.”

Deku’s answer startles Katsuki, makes him realize—fucking—this entire winding, tumultuous journey his thoughts and emotions have trekked through has somehow taken no more than a handful of seconds. And only now, secondarily, does Katsuki’s understanding that this newcomer is the sword’s chosen shift from what it means for him and Deku, to what it means for them.

His first thought, taking in the sight of this other boy with his new understanding that this is the prophesied hero of legend he’s to save the entirety of the kingdom with is—just who in the hell is this clown?

“This marks a day of grave importance, then—and prodigious news for the kingdom, as well,” Katsuki hears his mother say beside him with the voice she uses to seem important and respectable in front of people who matter. (Katsuki clearly isn’t one of those people, in her mind.) “This makes the forewarned return of the Calamity seem all the more real—but it also gives us another weapon required to bring about its downfall. Nearly all of the pieces are in place to secure our victory.”

Katsuki doesn’t miss how pointedly she says the word nearly, and it brings him back into his own head, if only slightly.

“You understand, it is a shock to many of us in the castle that Izuku is not the hero foretold—I doubt there’s a soul in the room who isn’t surprised to discover it—but it is an honor to meet the champion with the spirit of the hero, chosen by the sacred blade. Is it true that you are a knight?”

A knight? So he’s not merely a run of the mill soldier, the way his armor suggests. Katsuki’s gaze is analytical now, and as the rush that accompanied his worst fears being alleviated finally ebbs, he finds new, subdued unease and dread taking their old place. What kind of person is this, the hero he’s destined to face the return of the Calamity beside? And—and what does it mean, that he’s drawn the sword when Katsuki can’t even manage a mere spark of the power that he’s supposed to master?

The boy nods, the very image of approval-seeking, meek respect. Katsuki feels his nose wrinkle.

“This is Kirishima Eijiro, Your Majesty,” Deku pipes up, and almost as soon as Katsuki’s irritation flares that he’s speaking for this Kirishima, the redhead shoots Deku a glance that almost looks… grateful? Katsuki wants to roll his eyes. “I—I was passing to the Great Hyrule Forest the way we planned, and when I neared the training camp by Rauru Settlement—Kirishima’s one of their most competent trainers; he trains all of their soldiers in fighting in unconventional styles—he’s familiar with how almost every army in Hyrule fights, and—”

“Izuku,” the queen interrupts, flatly. She can fake familiarity, but she can’t fake care, or patience—and while she makes it clear she must like Deku more than Katsuki, it can’t possibly be by much.

A brief glance reveals that Deku flushes, but he doesn’t startle like a rabbit frightened of its own shadow, anymore. Katsuki’s brow furrows. What in the hell is his deal, now? Even as he wonders at this, he can’t keep his gaze from the shitty-haired asshole that Deku has brought.

“Apologies, Your Majesty! I—he helped me dispatch of a monster camp that had set up too close to Rauru Settlement, that I encountered on the way, and he offered to accompany me to the sword, for safety in numbers. When we finally reached the heart of the Great Hyrule Forest, where the Great Deku Tree watched over the blade...” There’s something in the way Deku says the name, something that—that reeks of awe, and… gratitude? Something like it, at least. “I wasn’t able to draw it—it—trying took a lot out of me. But Kirishima felt drawn to it, and when I suggested he try his luck, he drew it with ease. I’m more than sure of it, he does bear the spirit of the hero, and he’ll serve the kingdom well, ma’am.”

There’s a silence that follows while his mother seems to ponder who the fuck knows what, Katsuki’s eyes still intent on the face he can’t seem to pull his gaze away from, still studying. He feels sick again, but this time the sensation’s not as physical. With ease, Deku had said. This Kirishima had drawn the blade—had mastered his destiny—had bested Katsuki—with ease.

He doesn’t know what to make of him, this boy who’s remained stone-still and stoic through this entire explanation, but he can’t help but wonder—how the fuck is this fair? As if sensing Katsuki’s thoughts, the knight suddenly chances a glance upwards for nearly the first time since entering, his eyes finding Katsuki’s as if magnetized, curious and open.

Something jolts through Katsuki so overpowering and fierce that his heart skips a beat, before galloping ahead at a breakneck pace as his breath hitches, transfixed by a sensation he cannot name. It’s—somehow, red locked with red, Katsuki is overcome by what feels almost like familiarity, but so much more than that, so much weightier. The way the knight’s eyes widen, he thinks it might be mutual.

Katsuki rips his eyes away, feeling unsteady. What the fuck was that? What the hell?

He obstinately refuses to look back, no matter the odd draw he’s felt so far, adamant not to let himself be buried once more by—whatever the hell that phenomenon was. He grits his teeth, fists clenching tighter, and forces himself to glare Deku down instead.

“And this Kirishima cannot explain any of this for himself?” his mother finally asks, and it’s one of the rare, almost nonexistent times she’s ever said something Katsuki would want to ask himself. He still will not allow himself to look back to Kirishima, but Deku shoots the knight a look, and there’s another brief pause while something seems to pass between them.

“He… doesn’t speak much, Your Majesty.” Deku only pulls his own stare away from Kirishima halfway through the sentence, and it rankles at Katsuki to know he can read Deku well enough to tell that the look on his face means he’s reluctant and unsatisfied to be speaking as he is, that he’s not being fully truthful. His expression shifts, though, to absolute faith and certainty as he asserts, “But his skill with a blade speaks for itself, and I know beyond a doubt that you’ll only ever need to see him in battle once to agree, ma’am. He has my complete faith.”

The noise Katsuki’s mother makes in response puts him on edge, if only because he’s on the receiving end of it so often. She makes it when she won’t go so far as to assert her disapproval, but she wants it made clear that she’s withholding any approval as well.

Katsuki chances a glance to his side, to gauge her demeanor in his periphery. She’s eyeing Kirishima appraisingly, a look Katsuki has often associated with a lioness looking for the weakest in the herd to hunt down, for anything she can exploit. She seems, soon enough, to come to a decision, tilting her head upwards slightly.

“Then may I once again extend my welcome, and emphasize what an honor it is to meet the wielder of the sacred blade. Rise, both of you.”

Both stand from the knee they had taken, rising with straight postures, hands clasped behind their backs, and heads remaining bowed respectfully.

“Kirishima, it sounds as though you are more than dedicated, and notably accomplished. This is something we will need more of in the castle, as we devote ourselves with singleminded focus to our final preparations to thwart the Calamity’s return.” Again, the words are pointed, directed more to Katsuki than the one they’re actually addressed to. Katsuki can feel her eyes on him, oppressive, as she continues, “Starting tomorrow, you are to take over as the head of Prince Katsuki’s personal guard, and you are to become his appointed knight. You must accompany him at all times, to ensure his safety and to prepare for the role the two of you will share when All For One once again rears its head. Is this clear?”

Katsuki can barely even catch how Kirishima bows and nods with prompt obedience as his own head swivels, mouth agape as he stares incredulously at his mother.

“Your Majesty,” he bites out, trying with all his might to hold onto some shred of etiquette despite the red tinting at the edges of his vision, “I don’t think that’s necessary. I don’t need—”

“What you need, Katsuki,” she cuts him off sharply, glare heated and tone caustic, “is to remember your place, and to meet the needs of your kingdom in the coming Calamity. Perhaps the competence of this knight, who has no such hindrances with meeting his own destiny, will rub off on you. This is not negotiable, and you will not treat it as such.”

Hot shame and an angry flush burn at him equally. There has to be something—something he can say—some argument he can make to get himself out of this, but as he struggles desperately to find it, fucking Deku clears his throat.

“Pardon my interruption, Your Majesty, but if Kirishima is going to be with Kacchan from now on, I think that makes this a good time to explain that I won’t be able to remain at the castle any longer.”

Katsuki and the queen both snap their gazes to him, Katsuki livid at the interruption as though his time to argue his case was over, and his mother with surprise. No one simply informs the queen something like this, without asking her leave.

“And why might that be?” Her tone is even, but Katsuki’s sure everyone in the room can hear the underlying dangerous note in her voice at the perceived insubordination.

Deku meets her eye, and it strikes Katsuki as wrong. He was never able to do so so steadily before. “Ma’am, in the wake of the prophecy of the Calamity’s return, I know most people in the kingdom have been looking to old legends again—so I’m sure you’re familiar with the legend behind the Great Deku Tree. A hero sacred to the Goddess Farore, gifted with Her blessing and tasked with roaming the land to be a caretaker to Her creations.”

Katsuki is preparing to snap a dismissal, unaware and uncaring where he’s going with this, but Deku presses on, “A hero who fulfills this duty for as many centuries as they are able, before choosing a successor and settling in one place to transform into the next Great Deku Tree, to protect Farore’s creations from up close.”

Choosing a successor.

The purposeful way he says the words, the shift in his demeanor—Katsuki stares at him, agape and disbelieving. There’s no way, it’s—it doesn’t seem possible. And why him, of all people?

“Your Majesty, the Great Deku Tree of our time—the legendary warrior, All Might—he awoke when Kirishima claimed the sword. And after he spoke to us, he chose me as his successor, and passed Farore’s blessing to me. I have to return to the Great Hyrule Forest after this to learn from him, ma’am, and after that… I don’t know.”

A murmur passes through the room, making Katsuki actively aware, for the first time, of its other occupants. Mostly guards, but a small handful of courtiers as well—he’d known they were there, before, but they had faded in the background as they often did for him; seeming little more than an everyday backdrop to his and his mother’s power struggles. He only really registers them all now to share in their shock at having such unexpected turns of events, twice in one day.

He stares at Deku, and it occurs to him—yes, the rest of the kingdom was wrong. Deku wasn’t special. He hadn’t had any grand destiny, or power, or role always living inside him. He wasn’t born with the same greatness that—that the chosen hero and god-blood prince were said to have. Instead, he’d forged his own destiny, made himself into someone special, on his own terms.

Katsuki feels envy like he’s never felt in his life blow through him, grinding his teeth so hard he swears he can hear it. He’s always hated Deku, but this—this is too much, it feels like acid eating away at his insides.

In the stunned silence that captivates the room, Deku seems to understand that no one would dare or see any need to challenge his right to leave. He draws himself to his full height, and adds, “It’s been my honor to serve the royal family, Your Majesty, but I know with Kirishima here that Kacchan will be in good hands. You can trust Kirishima to keep him safe.”

In good hands—as if he needs that—as if he’s still so helpless and useless as they’ve always treated him, like he really needs protecting and constant accompaniment. Deku says it, and Katsuki feels a familiar bitterness welling up as he finally looks once more to Kirishima, a fierce glower taking over his expression.

Kirishima having the sword is better than Deku having it—anything is—but Katsuki doesn’t, can’t find it in himself to feel gracious to the knight for that.

He knows resentment when he feels it. And he’s not going to shake it—not now, maybe not ever.

If this asshole thinks he’s just going to trail behind Katsuki like a good little knight and not deal with the crown prince’s ire, he’s got another thing coming.

[moonchildsaurora]

The Doctor who’s not really a Doctor

»»—— Crew Member #4 of Space Pirates ATEEZ ——««

all aboard The Perihelion, welcome to the co-pilot’s log system! here you’ll be able to access the crew’s profiles should you wish to read about their journeys:

[CAPTAIN] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

“look I’m a doctor but not that kind of doctor, please don’t bleed all over me”

often described as having celestial-level beauty, with a demon’s fiery soul (and mouth)

get on his bad side and he’ll start a solar flare magnitude of a roast that you wished you weren’t invited to 

“HE’S MY BEST FRIEND, WE’VE BEEN FRIENDS FO-“, “yes OK WE GET IT WOOYOUNG” 

grew up in the upper district of Liyutania where it’s renowned for its rich architecture, scholarly institutions and affluent demography. The lower district consists of merchant markets, working-class citizens and where the nationally popular activity of podracing would take place in Drifters Arena 

Yeosang is half human, half Suva [database file: rumoured to be descendants from the stars] hence the etherealness he’s inherited from his mother. His hair and skin has a soft glow whenever he’s in direct sun light, has limited ability to self-heal (although it takes up quite a bit of energy to do so) and precognition – both of which are common among Suvas. However Yeosang has yet to gain control over his visions; majority of the time it comes randomly and only shows for the next instant/near-future rather than far future 

the days Yeosang wasn’t cooped up reading encyclopaedias on the major comets and constellations of Planet Aipotu, he’d tag along with the family’s cook to the lower districts to help with ingredients shopping 

on the contrary to stereotypes for people of his class, Yeosang was brought up in a family who taught about equality rather than status, compassion over ignorance. So mingling with the lower district community was something he actually enjoyed, often finding the residents to be more genuine despite their rustic nature 

Old Brax from the local bakery would often treat Yeosang to a hot oshiadilla bun [database file: steamed buns that comes with various floral-infused custard filling] ever since he offered to help the baker package and display the food around the shop 

a simple smile, greeting and/or subtle kind gestures were what made Yeosang loveable 

the day 10 year old Yeosang experienced his first vision was the same day Wooyoung came stumbling into his life. A confused little Yeo managed to smoothly side-step and grab onto the stranger with lilac hair to stop a potentially painful crash thanks to his foresight 

“I like your hair! It’s the colour of clouds at sunset….I’m Yeosang by the way. Kang Yeosang! What’s your name?” 

immediately Wooyoung knew this kid was different from the rest of the uppers (slang for the rich ones) and dropped his defences a little more, “name’s Wooyoung and thanks for…” 

“just Wooyoung?” 

Yeosang learnt at a young age just how privileged he really is, and his brows furrowed at thought of how lonely it must’ve been for Wooyoung – what youngling would want to return to an empty house at each day’s end? 

first he split half his oshiadilla bun to share, before changing up young Wooyoung’s routine in a more pleasant way by making sure he’s surrounded by laughter and good company that night 

the Kangs pretty much find themselves having a new addition to the family, the first time Yeosang saw Wooyoung drop his tough exterior was when his mother fitted Woo in his new school uniform and embraced him as if he was her own child 

where Yeosang excelled in, was his studies (because the boy genuinely enjoyed learning) whilst Wooyoung gave it his best, though his intelligence comes in a different form   

has always loved astronomy and reading since young, which his parents were supportive of and provided the means for him to continue studying at the top institutes for his doctorate 

is well versed with 8 different languages and specialised in deciphering scripts as well as star charts/maps by the time he graduated 

being a model student Yeo has a sophisticated disposition with underlying quick-wittedness. He once broke character to deck a classmate with a book and even went as far to throw hands for verbally humiliating and splashing dirty water on Wooyoung in the eating hall. Wooyoung had to hold him back before the Headmistress came storming in to break up the fight 

his parents gave him a stern talking but they understood his intentions, Yeosang’s mother in particular was just as protective of her adopted son

nowadays if Yeosang had to attack it’d be through his colourful vocabulary because, “my jawline isn’t the only thing that can cut a bitch”

he did learn some hand-to-hand combat from San and Wooyoung had taught the basics of shooting a beam pistol – for extra precaution of course 

became The Perihelion’s official navigator after the crew met him at one of Wooyoung’s racing days

long story short: miscommunication occurred with a local merchant so cue Yeosang to the rescue – majority of the crew gawking at this angel – fluently translating to the correct dialect and civilly explaining to the hot-headed merchant that what they meant was “how much?” and not “shit fraud” 

he knew exactly the item they were after (thanks to an impromptu vision again) which caused Hongjoong to be shook, San was mildly impressed and the rest of the crew were just confused

“do you think he can read minds?”, “hush! He’s right there…..though that’d be cool if he could”

“no offence but you might want to work on your intergalactic translations first before trying to translate charts,” and here they all thought that San’s gaze was piercing, Yeosang might as well have shot arrows through them

Yeosang was totally lowkey judging

as thanks Hongjoong invited Yeo along for lunch, classic enthusiastic Mingi picked the boy up before anyone else could say anything and started to walk off in search of food

Seonghwa tried to get him to put Yeosang down because he was 90% sure that the half-Suva was close to using the good ol’ knee-them-in-the-balls, plus the rest of the public were starting to stare           

“HEY! What in Andromeda’s name are you doing with my best friend?!” a wild sweaty, sleeves already rolled up Wooyoung appeared 

thankfully with space dad’s & mum’s intervention, things didn’t get too out of hand (save for Wooyoung nearly butting heads with both San & Mingi) and by the time the twin suns were setting everyone was sharing drinks at the local Tav 

after Yeosang casually enquired Hongjoong’s crew about their intentions for needing the map to Parilles [database file: a minor planet long forgotten in the current’s solar system], there was a moment of silence before a barrage of “HOW DO- YOU CAN READ THIS SCRIPT???”

later on Yeosang would break the news to his family that both him and Wooyoung got invited to ‘an expedition’ which they accepted, “just so I can finally make use of this piece of parchment that I only spent a quarter of my life studying for.” Both of them promising their parents to write whenever they can and visit annually at least 

grew to become Seonghwa’s favourite child, sometimes helping the actual doctor with his work (or care for plant children). Refused to leave his side when the newly-awoken cyborg was in recovery, “there’s just something in my eyes and no I DON’T need tissues” followed by not so subtle sniffles

the navigator’s office is nothing less than regal (contrasting the rest of the ship’s organised mess) with shelves of books, pin boards, dangling starcatchers and a solid cherry oak desk in the middle where Yeosang would be busily scribbling notes with ink & quill on the array of charts he’s got splayed out as his little Yunhogizer flits around. Somewhere in there is also a secret compartment filled with emergency sweet treats too 

currently is dealing with sulky Wooyoung and Mingi because he blocked them on the companion bot’s messenger after that whole spicy photos fiasco that he’s so sure has permanently scarred his otherwise perfect eyesight; “be gone you ferals, and repent for your sins! By the way, I’m revoking bro privileges Wooyoung”

(moodboard made with love, by @s1ardusk​ ♡)

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

Moonlight Chapter 20: Magdalene

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 20/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Nineteen+

Chapter Twenty-one+ >>

Severus paused at the top of the steps leading into St. Thomas’s Church and exchanged a glare with the green copper head of a wild man that stood guard over the door. He tugged at the sleeve of his dark gray suit, agitated that it was not nearly long enough. In spite of Mr. Frost’s insistence that Muggle clothes became Severus far better than the ‘damned clerical dress’ that was his usual attire, Severus hated wearing them. They reminded him of all the days of his childhood that he had spent in clothes from Cokeworth Priory's charity bin that had neither matched nor fit. It wasn’t as though his father had been unable to afford proper clothing for his son. Tobias Snape had never paid for anything that he could get for free. And he had been very good at getting things for free. Ever since Severus had attained his majority, he had taken all of his clothing, magic and muggle alike, to Mr. Frost, Cokeworth’s venerable tailor. The man was free with his opinions about Severus’s sartorial sins, but he did good work and he was far more affordable than Madame Malkin’s or Twilfitt and Tatting's in Diagon Alley.

But the christening of the Lee child was to be held in this Muggle church, and so Muggle clothes it had to be. The brass knocker dangling from the wild man’s mouth was rough and heavy in Severus’s hand, and he was once again plagued by the indecision that had been troubling him all afternoon. A fit of good humor had addled his brains after his pleasant excursion to Romania, and he had accepted the Lees’ invitation to the event. He hated changing plans once they were made but, the closer the actual day came, the less his mind dwelt on Miranda and her smiles, and the more it dwelt on everything that could go terribly wrong. Being caught in a church with his Muggle-born lover and a slew of Muggle-loving purebloods would not do much for Severus’s precarious reputation among the Dark Lord’s minions. Not that it was terribly likely that any of those minions would cross his path today in this church or at the Embassy afterwards. He had gone to Spinner’s End to change after his classes, rather than risk leaving Hogwarts dressed as a Muggle, and had lost some time taking a circuitous route from Spinner’s End to St. Thomas’s in an attempt to ensure he was not followed. Beyond going home now and forgetting the whole thing there wasn’t much else he could do. With a sigh that was equal parts irritation and resignation, he jerked the ominous door open and took his decision.

“Bless my soul, Severus, you did come!” exclaimed Molly Weasley in a loud whisper.

She appeared from the shadows of the dimly lit church. It was late afternoon on a lethargic, cloudy day, and the flickering candles grouped around various pictures and statues provided more light than what managed to filter in through the windows. For a terrible moment he was sure that she was going to attempt to embrace him, but thankfully she stopped short and her outstretched arms dropped to her sides so that her hands might fidget with her bag. She looked a mess, her dress a clash of patterns and colors that had no business being seen in the same room, let alone on the same person. There was a reason that Severus stuck to black and gray.

“Molly,” he said shortly, barely inclining his head to her.

“It’s so good to see you somewhere outside of a meeting about You-Know-Who or a meeting about one of my children making trouble,” she went on bravely.

“Indeed.” Merlin, how long was this tête à tête going to last? “I was under the impression that Arthur would be here as well.”

“He should be along any minute once he finishes up at the Ministry. Did you have a nice day at school?”

“Not particularly.”

“That’s a shame. I hope it wasn’t one of my children’s fault.”

“No more than it is any other day.”

“Aren’t Aaron and Rachel lovely people? They’ve come by for dinner a few times and it’s so sweet to see a nice young couple right at the beginning of starting their family. Makes you nostalgic, doesn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Her eyes widened and she started laughing. “How silly of me, of course you wouldn’t know. Yet. Arthur tells me you have a friend that you’ve been hiding from everyone and that she’s quite a catch. Maybe you will know before too long.”

Severus was starting to feel dizzy from Molly’s chattering and, worse, the back of his neck was getting hot the way it did when he was particularly embarrassed. He had a strong desire to turn up the collar of his coat and he wished that he had left his hair down instead of tying it back. All of his usual masks were gone in these wretched Muggle clothes, so he made do tugging at his sleeve and glaring at his companion.

“I hope that Arthur was not remiss in explaining to you the dangers both to Miranda and to myself if you were to repeat that nonsense anywhere, even to our allies,” he said coldly.

The effect was instantaneous. She stopped laughing, the smile fell from her face, and the intelligent woman who sometimes hid behind the facade of the doting mother revealed herself.

“I understand completely,” she said seriously, putting a hand on his arm. “And while I’m sorry that things have to be this way for you, I am happy to know that you find other things to do with your time besides disciplining students and risking your neck. Your secret is safe with us.”

She gave his arm a brief squeeze that he supposed she meant to be consoling, and released him.

“I am aware that you and Arthur are capable of keeping a secret,” he allowed.

They lapsed into a silence that lasted long enough for her to return to fidgeting with her bag and him to wonder if he would fray the hem of his sleeve with tugging on it. He would have been perfectly happy to remain silent until the others arrived, but he was concerned that Molly would not allow such a thing to happen. In an effort to avoid speaking any more about his friend, he attempted to think of some topic of conversation, but neither magical tactics nor the behavior of potions students seemed quite the thing for the occasion.

“How did you meet her?” Molly asked abruptly, returning to the unfortunate topic.

Severus could feel his eyebrow start twitching. “By the caprices of fate.”

Thankfully he was preserved from having to continue that explanation by the noise of the door opening and the arrival of the rest of their party. Both he and Molly turned at the sound, perhaps equally grateful to be rescued, and Molly was halfway across the church to meet the group before Severus could blink. Amidst the tumult of embraces, introductions, and the crying infant, Severus took the opportunity to drift up the aisle, making a show of studying the stained glass pictures in the windows as he worried the hem of his sleeve. The sun outside made a feeble attempt to break through the clouds, and the rich colors of the glass responded with a pleasing glow. Judging by the obscured, but undressed figures and the riot of animal and plant life, it depicted the Garden of Eden. He busied himself picking out the various flora in an attempt to ignore all of the doubts that were creeping to the fore of his mind.

“You look nice,” Miranda said, her light step coming to a stop next to him.

She was near enough that he could feel the warmth of her body, but she did not attempt to touch him. He looked from the window to her and, from the blush that pinked her cheeks when he did, he rather suspected that his own face was betraying how pleased he was to see her.

“And you appear to have recovered from your illness,” he replied.

“Now, I already admitted you were right. I don’t think I should have to keep stroking your ego.”

“But it makes me so agreeable when you do.” Her flaring temper amused him, as usual, and he could not deny even to himself that at that moment he didn’t give a damn if all the Death Eaters in the Dark Lord’s army burst into the church and caught him.

“I don’t think you’d know agreeable if it bit you.”

“Fortunately I have you to explain these things to me. And perhaps I merely commented on your appearance in order to admire it.”

This won him a smile, and, as the others were busy settling the child and speaking to the priest, he allowed himself the indulgence of returning it with one of his own. The sun outside the window continued its mission to break through the clouds, drawing his eyes back to the image.

“There is a fascinating mix of plants in this window,” he observed.

“Is there?”

“Yes. There are chamomile and comfry tangled together with belladonna and cicuta. I had thought that this was supposed to be a picture of paradise, but perhaps it is some other strange, Popeish thing.”

“No, it is the Garden of Eden. But it’s before the Fall.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Before the Fall, all of the plants were helpful and benevolent. It was only after that some became deadly. Or, that’s what my brother Columba used to say.”

“I see.”

“I’ve always wondered what those sorts of plants were like before. What sort of good use they might have been put to.”

“Interesting question.”

Footsteps approached and a well-dressed but obviously sleep-deprived Aaron interrupted their conversation. His face was haggard enough that Severus decided not to glare at the new father when he gave Severus’s back a friendly slap.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to steal Miranda for a while, Severus. Thanks for being here,” Aaron said.

“Of course,” Severus replied.

He followed the Americans to a small alcove in the back of the church where a pair of clerics and the rest of the company were waiting. Severus fell back to stand behind Molly, the other extraneous person in this business, and his height enabled him to observe the rite from that spot. A pale but lovely Rachel cradled the infant who was all but swallowed up in a voluminous gown of satin and lace, and the efficient, owlish priest began intoning Latin texts with a rapidity that bespoke his understanding. At first Severus took the trouble to translate the words to himself but, before long, the rhythm and the quiet lulled him and his mind began to wander.

During his childhood, Severus had gone to service most Sundays, morning and evening. As Tobias had refused to darken the door of Cokeworth Priory, unless it was to receive some embarrassing form of charity that the Snape family did not actually require, this had been a welcome escape for both Severus and his mother from Tobias’s mercurial temper. Severus had found the morning service to be tedious, especially when it was interrupted by overlong and circular sermons, but he had found Evensong to be much more pleasant. There had been something about the way the afternoon light would break into the run-down church. It lit up the sad, neglected space, making it seem clean and otherworldly—almost magical. Sometimes, if they were lucky, Tobias would be gone when Severus and his mother returned home, and they would spend the rest of the evening together. Those were the times when his mother had given him the most attention, and he had held those moments close during the long hours and days when she had none to give. If he were asked, he would say that he had seen too much evil in the world to believe that God and Christianity were anything other fables and fairy stories, but he did remember the peace of those Sunday afternoons with something that bordered on fondness.

That same magical afternoon light broke through the clouds now, and came slanting in through the windows of St. Thomas’s, haloing the infant, her tired parents, and Miranda in its radiance. As Miranda held the child over the font, her face displayed an open, honest joy that made Severus’s breath catch to see.

“Magdalene Tokoyo, ego te baptizo in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spritus Sancti,” the priest murmured, pouring three measures of water over Magdalene’s head.

The infant blinked, as though surprised, but did not cry. Silence really was the order of the moment, and Severus found that he could recapture that fleeting feeling of peace that he had experienced during Evensong, far from his tormenting father. He could forget for a moment about the Dark Lord, and Albus, and the war, and Potter, and all the rest of it. He could just be.

*****

“Eh, you’ll be in the same boat soon enough, Severus,” Aaron observed between puffs of smoke. “It’s only a matter of time before…”

“Before what?” Miranda interrupted as she came out onto the Lee’s charmed porch. It was a nice piece of spell-work, just worn enough to seem real. Aaron, Severus, and Arthur were seated in the group of well-used chairs that looked out over the white painted wood and onto a lawn that was a replica of Aaron’s childhood home. The false sun had set, and the sky was a hazy grey as the stars started showing their faces. There was even a breeze of sorts, and it was easy to pretend that they were not far underground. Aaron’s face was jovial and pink, Severus was giving the man a narrow glare, and Arthur was staring up at the slow-turning fan on the ceiling of the porch, apparently trying very hard not to laugh. Miranda raised her eyebrows in order to give Aaron the ‘you’d better quit while you’re ahead’ warning.

“Oh nothing. Nothing at all,” Aaron hedged, offering Miranda a cigarette.

“No, thanks. I’ve been sent to collect Severus. Rachel wants to thank you for the present you gave to Maggie.”

“That would be preferable to continuing this conversation,” Severus said.

He rose silently and followed Miranda into the living room, both of them pretending not to hear the laughter that erupted from Aaron and Arthur as soon as they were off the porch. Rachel and Magdalene were snuggled together in the rocking chair and Molly was cleaning up the wrapping paper and dirty plates. Severus’s offering was currently floating above the sleeping baby; a rotating mobile of animated figures on silver strings. The figures went about a soundless play of a young woman slaying a sea serpent at a stately pace.

“Severus, thank you,” Rachel said, her tired face serene. “It was so nice of you to come and to bring this for Maggie. Wherever did you get it?”

Miranda could see the tips of Severus’s ears pinking and he cleared his throat before answering.

“I made it. You can change the scene as well, thus,” he explained.

He flicked the top of it with his long fingers, and the players transfigured into a new set. Now there was a young woman, flying up to the sky in a chariot of flowers.

“A nicely done piece of magic,” Miranda said, moved that Severus had taken so much trouble. “I had no idea that you made children’s toys.”

“It is not my habit but, as I did make one for Draco Malfoy on the occasion of his christening, I thought it would be acceptable to do as much now.”

“Draco Malfoy’s christening?” Molly asked. “What was that like?”

“Obnoxiously loud and insufferably crowded. Not at all like today.”

“I assume you didn’t put scenes from Japanese fairy tales and the Tenchi on Draco’s mobile,” Miranda said.

“No. Constellations. I thought it best not to depict the Miss Lee’s actual namesake. Rachel, I have no idea why you would choose to name your child after a woman who was murdered by being hung upside down in a vat of refuse.”

Rachel laughed. “Catholics sometimes make little sense to people who aren’t Catholic. But there are many martyrs with more gruesome deaths.”

“Besides,” Molly added, “you invoke a martyr to prevent whatever happened to them from happening to you.”

“It still seems macabre to me,” Severus insisted.

“It’s important to give expression to all sides of the human condition. And Magdalene is a lovely name,” Miranda countered.

“I never said that it wasn’t,” Severus protested.

“I’m afraid it will be a while before I’m able to finish the translations of that potions book I mentioned,” Rachel said, stifling a yawn.

“I quite understand. I look forward to when you are able to complete it, but I am aware that you have other demands on your time,” Severus said. “I do not have much reference for judging, but you appear to have produced a fine child. She has all of her limbs and seems able to eat and cry.”

“Why thank you. She cries especially well at night.” Rachel was not able to stifle the next yawn.

“So I see. I shall take my leave of you then, before those festivities start. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“And thank you for being here. I’m sure I’ll be back to normal one of these days. Maybe three years or so from now.”

He gave Rachel a short bow and Miranda accompanied him out of the room, amused by his gruff kindness to Rachel. But Rachel was a woman who made it easy to be kind. When they reached the door, his eyes darted about the room briefly. It was empty, and his kiss was surprisingly tender, but his expression when he pulled back was dark, as though he were thinking of something unpleasant.

“You are staying here tonight, correct?” he asked.

“I am. Tomorrow night too. Maggie doesn’t like to sleep unless someone is rocking her or walking with her, so I’m going to take a shift to give Aaron and Rachel a chance to rest,” Miranda replied.

“And you are meeting with Lucius tomorrow?”

“Yes. But don’t worry, Arthur will be there right on time to escort me away.”

He frowned and started tugging at the sleeve of his suit coat. “You should know that Lucius is fully aware that Black is not in Romania. He doesn’t know what you are doing there, but he is certain that whatever it is, it is not his bidding.”

Ah, that must be why Severus was acting so seriously. Miranda was touched by his concern, but she’d been handling Lucius Malfoy for the better part of a year now. She could take care of herself.

“Well, the Aurors are doing a pretty good job of watching my family. It may simply be time for me to cut ties with Malfoy. We’ve had a good run.”

His frown deepened and he traced her cheek with his finger. “Do try to be careful tomorrow. Lucius is not to be trifled with.

“I know. You warned him about me months ago.”

“I did, but sometimes warnings seem to go in one of your pretty ears and straight out the other.”

“Why don’t you come by tomorrow evening for supper? You can sit up with me while I rock the baby and we can hold hands like a pair of love-sick teenagers.”

This wrung a smile out of him, and he replied haughtily, “I have never been a love-sick teenager. I was born at the age of forty-five. But I will come, if only to hear about the afternoon’s disaster.”

“And to give me my birthday present,” Miranda reminded him.

“Yes. And to do that as well.”

*****

“Good day, gentlemen, it’s been entertaining. Papa will send over the exit papers tomorrow,” Miranda said as she sailed out the door, shutting it in her former employers’ sputtering faces.

Her heart was pounding in triumph, although she knew Papa was going to give her an earful. He’d understand though, he’d been at this long enough to know when a job was sour. Albus might be angry as well, but he’d just have to deal with it. She was doing enough for the Order in Romania that he’d better be happy with that.

The meeting had been unexpectedly short and Arthur wasn’t there waiting for her. The lift was out of the question at the moment, for she was far too jittery to be that confined. The stairway was deserted when she reached it, and her boots echoed off the ceiling as the torches flared to life and helpful signs on the walls chirped at her to watch her step. She was nearly to Arthur’s floor when she heard another set of footsteps on the stairs above her. Their rapidity and haughty sound told her they were Lucius’s. She quickened her step, but did not run, and she was not surprised to find the door leading out of the stairway locked. With a bored expression fixed on her face, she turned to watch Malfoy descend the final flight of stairs.

“A moment, Miss Rose,” he sneered.

“Mr. Malfoy, I think we’ve said everything we need to say to each other. I’m no longer in your employ, you may wash your hands of me and my behavior.”

He halted an arms length from her and his height forced her to look up at him.

“I don’t think you understand,” he continued. “You are meddling in forces that are far larger than Cornelius Fudge and the Ministry.”

“I think I understand plenty.”

“All the more reason that you should watch your step. You are still my pet to do with as I like.”

Only the knowledge that whipping out her wand and hexing Lucius within an inch of his life would bring down a host of Aurors and mountains of paperwork kept Miranda from doing so.

“Mr. Malfoy, I think we both know that I can kick your ass any time, anywhere. When you’re ready for a rematch, you just let me know and I’ll be happy to oblige you. And this time let’s say that the Unforgivables are on the table from the start. I think a nice round of Crucio followed by a quick Avada is just what you need.”

He grabbed her chin the way he had the night of his Christmas party, and Miranda decided she’d had enough. The way that his face blanched in surprise and confusion when the barrel of her pistol hit his chest was worth all the trouble of the day. He stared at it stupidly, and then let go of her chin to retreat a few steps.

“That’s better,” she said. “Now if you have anything further to say to me, why don’t you do it from right there.”

“If you think that Severus won’t hand you over when the time comes, you are sadly mistaken. And he will be the first in line to torture you when it comes to that,” he said, his voice shaking with rage.

She laughed harshly. “Do you think you’re telling me anything I don’t already know? Of course he’ll hand me over. I’m nothing but his plaything. All American women exist for the sole purpose of fulfilling the sexual fantasies of repressed Englishmen.” She cocked the gun and aimed it at his nether regions. “Go back upstairs, Mr. Malfoy. Before I get really angry.”

“You wouldn’t dare! We’re in the middle of the Ministry of Magic!”

“You sure you wanna try me? I do this for a living. I can get rid of you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, and no one will know where to start looking for the pieces.”

Lucius glared at her, but continued his retreat. When he reached the landing, he turned and started stomping back the way he had come. The door behind Miranda unlocked itself, but she kept her gun in her hand until she was safely through it. Just as she was closing the door, she heard Lucius’s parting shot from above her.

“I am going to thoroughly enjoy your demise, Miss Rose. I promise you that.”

*****

“Sit down, Miranda, your pacing is making me dizzy,” Severus complained that evening. He was sitting on the sofa in the Lee’s homey living room, reading Coleridge aloud while Miranda paced with the sleeping Lee infant in her arms. The constant movement was distracting Severus from sorting the many thoughts twisting through his mind into appropriate categories in a vain attempt to pretend that he was in control of the situation. He knew he must bring up a terrifying subject this evening, before Miranda returned to Romania, and he found that he would prefer a meeting with the Dark Lord to the current situation.

“I’ll try, but I’ll probably be up again in five minutes,” Miranda agreed. She lowered herself into the rocking chair smoothly and Magdalene remained asleep. After the two of them were settled, she added, “You should have seen the looks on Malfoy’s and Fudge’s faces when I quit. I’ve never seen that particular shade of purple.”

Severus snorted. Although he would rather not deal with this new complication, part of him did wish that he had witnessed the scene in the stairwell. It was not often that Lucius met someone willing and able to stand up to him.

“I suppose it was impossible for you to continue playing that game any longer. I wish that I knew why Lucius is so sure about Black’s whereabouts. The idiot must have left cover when he well knows he is to remain indoors at all times.”

“What’s Black like? I’ve been pretending to hunt him for so long that I feel like I ought to know him.”

“He is a disgrace of a wizard and I do not wish to discuss him.”

“Sorry. We can talk about something else. I hear you have a birthday present for me.”

Yes, the present. That was by far the more comfortable topic. He was more than willing to postpone the other, even if this show of sentimentality on his part embarrassed him almost as much. He cleared his throat and pulled a small black box out of his pocket.

Eyeing Miranda’s full hands, he said, “Perhaps I should do the honors.”

“Please do.”

As uncomfortable as he was, he could not deny the warm rush of pleasure that went through him when he opened the box and saw her reaction to the tear-drop filigree necklace that waited inside of it. A lovely line of pink spread over her cheeks, her lips parted in surprise, and her eyes became the soft, calm gray of the sky after a storm.

“It’s beautiful.” She smiled up at him and added playfully, “Although Mama would say I have no business accepting jewelry from men.”

“I assure you that this is purely a practical present.” He hung the necklace lightly around her neck so as not to disturb the infant. It was a handsome piece of frippery if he did say so himself. He’d passed it in the village near Miranda’s cabin several times before finally going back to purchase it. With a few well-placed charms it had become the perfect vessel for the real gift he had made for her.

“Oh? I see, there must be a potion inside of it. Is it a new one?”

“Correct on both counts. A Stasis Potion.”

“What does it do?”

“The next time you decide to get yourself maimed, you will drink it and it should keep you alive long enough for you to find further help.

“Should keep me alive? I don’t remember volunteering to be your test subject.”

“One of the hazards of keeping company with a Potions Master. I have tested it and it shows great potential.”

“Potential?”

“Being as you should only take it in a dire emergency, you will have nothing to lose should it fail to work. Of course, if you don’t care for it, you needn’t keep it. I am certain I can put it to another use.”

“No,” she said quickly, putting a protective hand over the pendant. “I love it. All of it. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure.”

He leaned down to kiss her but, before he could make contact, the infant started fussing again, requiring Miranda to resume her pacing. Reluctantly, he reclaimed his spot on the sofa and opened the book. His agitation returned full force as he fidgeted with the pages without starting to read. Aaron’s off-handed remark from the day before had been plaguing him, as it had brought on the realization that he had been careless in the extreme. Carelessness was a trait that Severus despised and one that he could ill afford. Much as he dreaded the next topic of conversation, he knew that it was as unavoidable as it was tardy.

“You should keep reading,” Miranda said. “I think your voice was helping Maggie stay asleep.”

Best to get on with it before the infant started squalling again.

“There is something that I need to speak to you about first,” he began. It was good that he had left his hair down tonight. He could already feel his ears growing hot.

“If it’s about Malfoy, I know that you’ll hand me over to the Dark Lord if you have to. I understand.”

“That’s not at all what I was going to say. And I would not give you to the Dark Lord.”

“Yes you would. If your cover depended on it, you would do what you had to do.”

“I should think that I am clever enough to avoid doing that if at all possible.”

“I know that too. I just wanted you to know that I understand that it’s a risk.”

“Now that I have your permission to sacrifice you, would it be quite acceptable for us to discuss a more pressing difficulty?”

“More pressing? What might that be?”

“It has come to my attention that we have not been terribly cautious in our relationship.” Not his best opening.

“I’ve never been cautious in all my life. So?”

“I don’t think you take my meaning. I was referring particularly to the carnal aspect of our relationship.” She blinked and bit her lips, and he knew she wanted to laugh at him. “I mean to say…I am concerned that long term consequences may develop…or may already be developing….”

Mercifully, she interrupted him, although she couldn’t quite keep the laughter out of her voice. “Severus, are you asking me if I’m pregnant?”

He was almost pathetically grateful she’d said it for him. “Yes, I am.”

“It’s a little late to worry about that, don’t you think?”

Did that mean she was? “Be that as it may, there are plans that need to be made. I cannot think of a worse time for such an event, but that is all the more reason we should deal with it purposefully.”

“I see you have a plan.”

In an attempt to manage his discomfort, he stood and paced over to the fireplace, tapping his fingers irritably on the mantelpiece. The figures in the framed pictures perched on it were whispering and grinning at him, but his stern glare sent them back to minding their own affairs. His eyes drifted down to the merry jumping of the flames and he forced himself to continue.

“I always have a plan. There is no escaping from either your current obligation in Romania, nor can I leave my position at Hogwarts. I will explain the situation to Albus and I am certain that he can be persuaded to spare us a member of the Order to help you and to ensure your and the child’s safety. Once you are free of your blasted mission, you will return to your family in America and stay there until the problem of the Dark Lord is resolved. We should also get married sometime before the child is born, but I expect that you will have some opinions about how that is to be accomplished.”

“You’ve really thought this out, haven’t you?”

“I was remiss in not thinking of it before. I hope never to be so incautious again. It is highly unusual for me to be so careless.”

“Severus, stop. I’m not pregnant. And, before you ask, yes, I’m sure.”

“Ah.” God, he was a idiot. “Well. Good.”

“Did this have to do with whatever Aaron was teasing you about yesterday? For a diplomat, he can be pretty tactless when he’s sleep-deprived and inebriated.”

“His comments merely reminded me that I had not been cautious with regards to that aspect of our relationship. I could not recall ever seeing the necessary potions in your cabin, nor the ingredients for them. And, in any case, I would rather prepare such potions myself.”

“You didn’t see any of those potions because I don’t need them. I can’t have children.”

Her voice was light, but there was a strange undercurrent of tension in it. When he turned his gaze from the fire to glance at her, the mask of her smile reminded him of the one she’d shown him during that wretched exchange of insults at her cabin when they had first met.

“There’s no need for you to worry, you’re quite safe,” she went on. “We can be as careless as we like and there won’t be any mud-blood brats running around afterwards.”

“Don’t use that word,” he said, his brow furrowing.

“Call a spade a spade. Why else are you so relieved that I’m not knocked up?”

“I should think that it were apparent that now would be a terrible time to have a child. You are trapped by bond in a dangerous mission in Romania and I am bound to the precarious life of a spy.”

“It’s not because you don’t want to further pollute the Prince bloodlines?”

“When did I ever say that?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, her mask falling away. When she opened them, they were soft again, but with sadness, not with pleasure.

“You didn’t,” she conceded. “That was unfair of me.”

The sorrow in her eyes hurt him, and he came away from the fire that he might run his fingers over her dry cheek. She leaned into his touch, and the sweet smell of the balsam oil the priest had put on Magdalene’s head the day before filled his nose. Miranda held the infant tucked under her chin with a natural grace, the way she did everything. The pair of them made such a comfortable image that he felt irrationally disappointed he could not hope ever to see Miranda pacing by his fire, cradling a dark-haired child of their own.

“It is true that I have never desired to become a father,” he said, his eyes on Magdalene’s downy black curls, “but, if it had to happen, I would not be sorry that it was with you.”

The child began to stir and Miranda broke away to resume her pacing. He could not bring himself to look at her face after such an admission, and he was relieved that her voice was returning to its usual sanguine tone when she spoke.

“I…I could use a cup of tea, I think. Would you mind?”

“Not at all.” Relieved to have something mundane to do, he started for the kitchen. But he could not quit the room without his curiosity prompting him to say, “Miranda, I must ask why you are so certain that you cannot have children.”

“Just trust me on this. I don’t think you want to hear all the gory details.”

“No. I suppose I don’t.”

His thoughts were a tangled mess as he went into the kitchen and began the calming ritual of making tea. Methodically filling the kettle, setting it to boil by charm and measuring the tea leaves into Rachel’s white and blue teapot brought him back to earth. All the while, his instinct was pricking him, telling him that there was more to Miranda’s explanation, and he had the urge to continue digging until he uncovered what it was. He did his best to crush the urge and let whatever it was lie. Their relationship was quickly becoming confusing and more complicated than was at all prudent.

It was for the best that she would be returning to Romania tomorrow. Distance would help to put things back into their usual places. Their casual relationship was perfectly pleasing as it was. Best not to think of anything else.

Somewhere in his heart he knew this was a lie. He embraced it like a lover and poured out the kettle over the leaves.

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

End Notes:

Belladonna is deadly nightshade and Cicuta is water hemlock.

Magdalene Tokoyo Lee is named for St. Magdalene of Nagasaki, who was brutally martyred in 1620 and Tokoyo, a young lady who killed a sea serpent.

Newly baptized babies are the best smelling creatures in the world.

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

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Nineteen+

Chapter Twenty-one+ >>

[royal-ni-fe]

The types as roles they play in the Kingdom™️

INTJ: The Wizard: the Queen’s magical and SOMEWHAT clairvoyant consort, whom she always consults with before making any important decisions about the Kingdom. He’s counseled her in avoiding several wars, and dodging death innumerable times. He shares a castle tower with the Elf and since they couldn’t agree on a single theme, the result is hilariously mismatched. Invasive plants, elegant flowers, and engraved marble statues must share table room with disturbingly grotesque materials of dark alchemy. He borders between chaotic good and chaotic neutral but with just enough good in him to be occasionally benevolent.

INTP: The Wizard’s Owl: was once a young, wildly curious peasant who snuck into the Wizard’s potion lab to study the chemicals at the witching hour. Caused an explosion. The well-done Wizard casted a spell on her and turned her into his familiar of sorts. She still regularly singes her feathers on experimental potions. She often attempts to make witty banter with the Princess’s Badger, but he doesn’t speak barn owl.

ENTJ: The Pretty Warlady: a tall and strikingly gorgeous dictator who’s ruthlessly out for another throne, namely the Queen’s. Her army accepts women exclusively. One thing that sticks out about her is her refusal to accept the premise that to be powerful is to be masculine. Her maidens tastefully paint white flowers on her black armor because that’s aesthetic as heck and she relishes in looking exactly how she wants to while butchering her rivals in combat.

ENTP: The Escaped Gryffin: a very small gryffin who’s half kestrel, half house cat. He’s on the run from the Warlady. He used to be her court Jester but he asked too many riddles and argued with everything she said. One day, after he had made her question her existence for the seventeenth time in a single hour, she exploded at him and locked him up to be promptly executed. In her blind rage, she forgot that he could fly and he simply squeezed through the 87ft high dungeon vents. Luckily, he was charming enough to befriend some dwarves who took him out of her reach down in some deep mine. After several months, the dwarves begin planning a little “cave-in accident”. Of course he’ll survive to harass someone else.

INFJ: The Elf: Most elves are known for being mysterious and wise. Ours is no exception. Starry eyed with short and fair hair, the Elf provides a stark contrast to his castle roommate, the dark and broody Wizard. He mesmorizes the Queen with his philosophical wisdom about kindness and love. Due to his partial mind-reading ability, he also makes accurate predictions about the integrity of her subjects. He’s brave, extremely powerful and isn’t opposed to battle. However, ask him to shoot a troll with a bow and he might manage to pierce through his own heart. He does better just being pretty, writing futuristic fiction and providing the queen with more humanistic insight as opposed to the practical predictions of the Wizard. It should also be mentioned that his forest magic keeps the queen’s gardens looking lovely all year round.

INFP: The Prince: the Warlady’s younger brother. Small but resilient and highly principled. He refuses to fight her battles but instead dons shining white armor and goes in search of those in need. He’s actually a skilled hand-to-hand combatant and is known to fight off entire bands of desperados should they be harassing a traveling maiden. Of course, he often stops and gets off his horse to sit down on a nearby log to write poetry about soft brown hair and bloody knuckles. He’s in love with the Princess but she doesn’t return his affections. He respects that and remains solely her friend without expectation of anything more because he’s a decent human being.

ENFJ: The Benevolent Dragon: the Queen’s pet water-drake and The Malevolent Wyvern’s brother. Longer than several football fields, the pastel blue fellow wraps himself around the castle and serves as a living and dangerous moat. He sleeps and guards his treasure, the Queen. Her ambition is his ambition. Whenever a friend wishes to enter the castle, he asks them a fun riddle. It doesn’t matter if they guess it or not, he’ll let them in. He just likes riddles.

ENFP: The Princess: the Queen’s adorable, teenage sister has chin-length, curly, dark hair that always seems to get caught in things. The original anti-hero. She dabbles in a bit of magic herself but as more of an art form in contrast to a weapon. Her olive green eyes constantly sparkle with curiosity and intrigue. The world has never been boring for her and it never will be. Occasionally, she gets a bad case of wanderlust and with her favorite familiar, she travels far and wide in search of slightly malicious adventure, pulling dangerous heists and randomly starting rebellions within other kingdoms. She went through a dark phase at one point but when she accidentally raised an entire graveyard of people up from the dead, her sister put a permanent ban on necromancy.

ISTJ: The Princess’s Familiar: the intelligent, lawful good, dutiful little badger who follows the princess on her every adventure, even if he doesn’t approve. Truth be told, at one point, he’d rather have stayed in the gray forest, digging and searching for underground food like his badger family. However, he’s grown accustomed to his life as a magical companion to, in his opinion, the loveliest witch in the kingdom. He just wishes she’d incorporate a little structure and routine into her evil antics. Also, he has the voice of Sterling Holloway

ISFJ: The Winged Healer: when after the battle of the century was over, and the Queen lay half-dead atop her fallen soldiers, her dying general and former lover whispered a barely audible prayer for healing. Alas a drop of starlight hailing from the highest heaven floated down like a dove and took form as an ageless woman. She simply slid her slim fingers delicately across the Queen’s fatal wounds and healed her completely. Since then, she’s become the Queen’s lady in waiting. She belongs to no race and there are none like her. It’s said that to simply gaze on her is to be cured of any illness. Her ivory skin, rose colored hair, golden eyes and silvery wings are alarmingly beautiful, but her disposition is sweet, quiet, naïve and unassuming.

ESTJ: The Cold Knight: almost none have ever seen his face but everyone knows who he is. He rides a dead horse and commands a dead army. It’s been speculated that this is the same army the Princess haphazardly resurrected. Little known to the general public, he was once the Queen’s lover and was quite handsome before the lust for her throne overtook him. Now, he bides his time in a small castle set atop a cold mountain, waiting for a moment of weakness in the walls of the Kingdom. He’s not as scary as he sounds though and he and the Queen still occasionally hit the local pub disguised as peasants. She still loves him but keeps him at bay.

ESFJ: The Giant: The last giant who wants to fit in with the little people so badly that he doesn’t see how unique and special he really is. He spends his time rearranging the mountains, unclogging the rivers and romping about or wrestling with the Queen’s dragon. Unbeknownst to him, his favorite friend, the Princess, is madly in love with his curly brown hair and periwinkle eyes. She’s been openly working on a spell to shrink him down to her size, at least temporarily. She regularly tests it on her familiar and so far has managed to turn him into various types of chairs. On a side note, he’s three-hundred and seven years old, but in giant years, that equals about fifteen and a half.

ISTP: The Tinkering Fairy: a tiny chaotic neutral fay with a pension for the mechanical. The Queen paid a steep price to have her renovate the entire castle with the latest gadgets and weapons of the time. Of course, she lives in the Castle Garden among the angstiest of the flowers. When a storm seems on its way, the Queen casually opens her bedroom window and the fay will settle down on a little cushion, laid out discreetly for her on the Queen’s dresser. As she’s technically a part of the Forest, the Elf’s natural magic he exudes seems to have a euphoric, drug-like effect on her. She mistakes this for love. Fay minds cannot be read so, of course, the Elf is oblivious.

ISFP: The Malevolent Dragon: a graceful and charming Wyvern, living in the gorgeous and expansive mountain hall she confiscated. She brought in an army goblins simply to sort out her treasure and move it to a safe chamber so she could redecorate. The walls are lined with her intricate and colorful paintings of the various breeds of dragon. The hall itself is the picture of luxury and eccentricity, and the color scheme seems to compliment her lovely iridescent scales. From time to time, she comes to the aid of the Warlady in hopes of procuring more riches for her hall. She boarders between true neutral and neutral evil.

ESTP: The Queen: arguably the most lovely person to ever exist. She rules the Kingdom with a sharp mind, a soft heart, iron hands and a diamond scepter. She’s kind and caring but also daring and adventurous. She’s fought and befriended dragons. She’s battled in great wars and went on grand quests to rescue her loved ones. She’s truly loved and quickly left her lovers. She’s done it all and is forever excited to do it again. She’s trained to fight on any terrain, in any circumstance with any weapon. She’s a master with the bow, a sage with any sword, a lady of knives and sharp things. She’s not taken to magic but knows a few simple spells her sister taught her. Even though she’s openly admired by even her worst enemies, she must remain watchful and vigilant because her Kingdom and the giant castle are the most enviable in the world and no one could resist the temptation to conquer it, be it that they are able. But only fools are not afraid of her, to quote the old saying “You want battle? [The Queen] will give you war.”

ESFP: The Dwarf: a young and attractive red-haired dwarf who forgot about treasure or mines long ago. He pursues a career in acting and in minstrel work. He’s performed for the Queen several times and she regularly invites him back to act or sing or both. One time, an entire battle was fought between the Queen and the Warlady over whose kingdom he belonged to, but he’s never belonged to anyone but himself and that’s a fact he relishes in. He’s eccentric and demanding, with a love for speedy ponies and cinematically dark pubs. Don’t underestimate him though, he’s deadly with a ball and chain mace.

[hurt-care]

His Lordship’s Gardener - Part 3

This is part 3! If you haven’t read Part 1, you can find it here and you can find Part 2 here

Cowritten with @salamanderskin

And for the rest of the summer, Isaiah stays, careful to avoid the open windows and outdoors when he's able, and when he's not, Elder dotes on the young man, washing his afflicted eyes and showering him with kisses. Carefully avoiding the eyes of the serving staff, they spend nights together, take long baths in Elder's tub, and pass hours in the study reading side by side.

When late September nears and the English countryside begins to cool in anticipation of fall, Elder tells Cartwright that he plans to have a small social gathering at Woodhaven. Several members of his circle have written, saying they'd missed the Lord Elder at other local social events and the annual August lawn party at Lord Ambley's in London.

"It'll be nearly fall by then," Elder says as they lie in bed together in Cartwright's chambers. "Your nose seems to be behaving much more as the nights grow colder. If you would do me the honor, I'd love for you to attend."

He strokes Isaiah's hand affectionately.

"My tailor will be visiting this week to measure me for a new suit and I'd like to buy one for you too, if you'll accept it."

The gardener's eyes travel to the wardrobe, which contains the clothes he has recently had sent over from Tunbridge Wells in light of his stay at Woodhaven being rather longer than he had anticipated. They are certainly getting a little threadbare and are not in the latest fashion.

He gives Elder a mock-serious look from under his lashes. “Of course I shall attend, and I suppose I shall have to accept that offer as well. If you wish to show me off then I don't wish to be an embarrassment to you.”

"I've told you for months that you are no embarrassment," Elder says, poking Cartwright's side in an equally teasing fashion. "You could wear Bishop's serving uniform and I'd still want you there."

The plans for the party set the old manor house abuzz as it was in the days of Elder's marriage, when couples from across the county came to lounge on the lawns and eat extravagant meals. Even as a widower, Elder had hosted large gatherings, including a splendid summer lawn party, but this summer had been much devoted to his new dear friend than social events.

As Elder's tailor finished the measurements for Jacob's new suit and moved on to Cartwright, Bishop the butler pokes his head in to review plans for the seating arrangements. Elder meets him in the study to discuss the details.

"And the Winchesters have rung from Derby to say they'll be making a weekend of it," Bishop says as they sit at the long library table to look at the plans. "They'll be staying with relations in the town though, so the spare rooms are still available."

"I'd rather people not stay," Elder confesses. "We've only four spare suites and Mister Cartwright occupies one already."

"Forgive me, sir," Bishop says. "Is it proper for him to attend? I have not figured where he should sit on the plans. Perhaps next to Miss Parker? She is the eldest daughter of the Parkers and still unmarried. He could be a suitable companion."

"He will sit next to me," Elder replies. "He is my guest, so of course it is proper."

"The Grahams have asked that their daughter Helena sit next to you, sir," Bishop says. "You know she much fancied you at last fall's Autumn Ball. If you sit with two men, people will talk. Your social status, if I may be so bold, has slipped since you stopped attending the local parties."

Elder looks at the dinner table plan and sighs.

"Very well. Seat him with Eleanor Parker and I with Miss Graham."

The evening of the party arrives and as Elder greets guests downstairs, Isaiah waits in his room, gathering the confidence to join the crowd.

Mister Cartwright pauses at the top of the stairs to take a few deep breaths. He can hear the swell of excited chatter rising from below, muffled by the oak panels to a dull hum punctuated by the occasional polite laugh. He had though himself ready to go down, but a sudden fit of nerves keeps his feet anchored just outside the door of his room. He fidgets nervously with the constraining wing-collar which rises from beneath his new jacket. The suit was a generous gift and the flattering cut of it boosts his confidence for all that he finds it confining. The dark colour of it matches his favourite green waistcoat and the show handkerchief which peeks out of his breast pocket. During the summer months he had taken to carrying a useful one in there too, and one more in his inside pocket just in case, but he has foregone them tonight. They would spoil the cut of his suit and he won't need them.

The buzz in the room quiets when he enters. There are a few couples, a few of Elder's older friends and noticeably, a couple of young ladies visibly chaperoned by proud parents. And there is Jacob himself, looking magnificent in his own new suit. Isaiah wishes he could tell him so, to see him blush, but settles for a formal “Good evening, Lord Elder.”

He extends a hand, employing the title he rarely has any use for. Does Elder look nervous at his presence? Bishop certainly does. He is certain that the butler is watching him with distaste, but it's no concern of his. Instead he extends a winning smile to the company in general.

“Please do introduce me to your guests.”

"I'd be most delighted, Mister Cartwright," Elder says, giving Isaiah a firm handshake. His heart flip flops at the sight of the other man. The beautiful forest green of Cartwright's suit brings out the intense flecks of color in the gardener's eyes and highlights the broad expanse of his shoulders in proportion to his waist. He is all angles next to Elder's more slim and straight build.

Straightening his maroon silk ascot, Elder steps back from Isaiah to introduce his guests.

"May I present my dear friend, Mister Isaiah Cartwright," he tells the assembled crowd. "He's a most talented landscape architect and brilliant scholar who I have had the pleasure of hosting here at Woodhaven for some time. I'm most happy to finally introduce him to you all."

There was a soft buzzing of conversation amoung those gathered at this revelation. Though it was not entirely uncommon for the larger houses to have long term guests for the purpose of estate improvements or other business, it was unusual for them to be invited to a social event.

"Mister Cartwright," Jacob continued. "May I introduce Mister and Missus Oliver Graham and their daughter, Helena."

He indicated a couple in their late sixties accompanied by a young woman of twenty-three. They greeted Isaiah politely and Elder moved on to a man he introduced as Lord Inglewood, of Singleby Abbey, a fine house some fifty kilometers from Woodhaven. Then there was Lord and Lady Usher with their son, a young man of seventeen, as well as Lord Archer, Lord and Lady Craven, and Mister and Missus Peregrine.

"We are still expecting Lord and Lady Parker and their daughters Eleanor and Margaret. And Margaret's husband, Lord Harwell," he said to Cartwright. "Mister and Missus Winchester as well. Will you excuse me, Mister Cartwright? I must catch up with Lord Archer. I'm sure Mister and Missus Graham would be delighted to hear of your plans for my gardens for next season. Missus Graham here does adore roses, if I remember correctly."

“Then I am sure we shall get on splendidly.” Isaiah affirms and goes over to acquaint himself. He can be very charming when he wants to be and conversation flows easily enough. He is pleased to find that Missus Graham does indeed have a good, though rather hands-off, knowledge of horticulture. He had worried about interacting with Helena, but to his amusement her eyes are following Elder around the room and barely focusing on himself at all. He catches himself pinching the tip of his nose and quickly folds his hands behind his back to suppress his nervous habit. He owes it to Jacob to project confidence.

As Jacob chats briefly with Lord Archer, Bishop comes in to announce the arrival of both the Parker family and the Winchesters. With his best host smile, Jacob greets them all and encourages them to order a drink from the staff and enjoy the conversation.

Eleanor Parker looks elegant in a pale green gown, her chestnut hair swept up in the latest style and held in place with a jeweled comb in the shape of a fan. She'll be a nice dinner companion for his Isaiah, Elder thinks, until the company is all gone home and he can have the young gardener back to himself.

Elder rings the sash bell on the wall, indicating to the staff that he is ready for his guests to go through to dinner service. Clearing his throat, he calls attention to the room and the party guests go quiet.

"Good evening, everyone. I am most pleased you could join me this evening. Dinner is served if you will all follow me this way to the dining room."

He leads the party down the oak-paneled hall to the dining room where Bishop now stands at attention alongside several other members of the waitstaff. The men take their places at the ladies' chairs, pulling them out and helping the women sit. Elder is privy to a shy smile from Helena Graham as he takes his seat next to her. She is wearing a small nosegay of light pink roses for youth and desire coupled with baby's breath for innocence which she rests in her lap after conspicuously letting him see it.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Graham," he says to her as he glances along the table to see how Isaiah is faring with Eleanor.

The gardener seems to be doing well enough. Down the table it is possible to see him chatting away to Eleanor, wearing his most charming smile. As befits a man with several sisters, he is actually more at ease among women than he had been upon his first meeting with Elder. A few things, however, indicate his distress. He has his handkerchief out in his lap and is twisting it through his fingers as he talks. It might look like a nervous habit if it wasn't coupled with a wavering, distinctly itchy expression on his face. As Elder watches he rubs his nose once and then again harder.

They are not far enough away that Elder cannot catch their conversation. They are still on the subject of flowers and Eleanor indicates her own nosegay to point out the ostentatious lilies that form the centre of it. Where she got them in this season heaven only knows, and they must have cost a fortune, which somewhat takes the edge of their suggestion of innocence.

The moment that Eleanor raises her small bouquet of flowers revealing the large, offensive lilies, Elder's heart drops in his chest as he observes from the other end of the table, realizing the situation they're now in. It's bad enough that poor Cartwright is directly next to Eleanor and her lily-filled nosegay, but they've just sat down for dinner and it'd be terribly bad form for any of them to get up in the midst of it all, or switch seats.

Isaiah looks up and catches Elder's gaze with eyes that glint very green in the glow of the candles. He gestures the bouquet and gives a anxious little half smile as he mouths, “We might have a problem.”

Returning his attention to Eleanor he responds to her murmured question by shaking his head and leaning back slightly in his chair. “Indeed, I can smell them quite well from here, thank you.”

Undeterred, the hapless Eleanor raises her nosegay to allow him to sniff it. Isaiah can only shrug away from her to sneeze a tight, restrained “-idttsch-uh!”

He is epitome of politeness, cupping his mouth with his handkerchief and turning his head over his shoulder, swallowing the sound. “Excuse me.” He finishes, faintly.

Elder locks eyes with Cartwright as the people nearby bless him after he sneezes.

"I'm sorry," he mouths. "Try to hold it back. We'll eat fast."

He turns his attention back to his starter of soup with leeks, trying very hard not to stare down the table at Isaiah, though his mind will not focus anywhere else. His glass of port is drained in a single, long sip as he looks to Lady Helena for distraction.

It doesn't work. Elder's discussion with Helena is derailed when he realises that the lady is not looking at him at all but somewhere over his shoulder, her face a picture of polite concern.

“Goodness!” she exclaims.

It is easy to see what has attracted her attention- Mister Cartwright has his decorative handkerchief cupped over his face, recovering a fleeting fit of sneezes. After a moment he lowers it in relief, only to snatch it up again for another outburst.

“--idtssh!-ittssh!-idtsshuh! Hih-” A soft, questioning intake of breath, and- ““--idtssh! Hk'idtssh!”

“Please excuse me, Miss Parker,” Isaiah manages, shaking his head slightly to clear it.

Eleanor and her mother have both raised their eyebrows in identical expressions of incredulity, though the daughter's is the more sympathetic of the two. Isaiah is simply desperate to blow his nose but doesn't fancy doing so under the watchful eye of the whole table and settles instead for a sniffle and a shy wipe with his handkerchief. His attempt at politeness kept his sneezes too soft to offer him any real relief. Besides, the offending bouquet still rests between them on the table. Every breath brings it's sweet scent into his nose, settling his nostrils flickering. It takes a concerted effort to return to his food.

Elder crosses his ankles under the table, fidgeting in discomfort. He's torn between sympathy for the man, mortification at the situation they're all in, and that horrible little flame of arousal that always seems to come with poor Cartwright's sneezing. If he'd been seated nearer to the man, he'd've spilled his wine over their laps or some other clever excuse for leaving the dining room. But they are all glued to the table by the rules of propriety and leaving the dining room would be unthinkable, especially if they were to both leave.

"Please excuse my friend," he says to Helena, turning away from Cartwright again. He'll have some apologizing to do later. "He has a sensitive nose. Something must be irritating him. Now, do tell me more about your trip to France. Your mother said you enjoyed the south greatly."

“It was marvelous, the climate is quite something and the cathedrals are divine.” Helena begins, laughing prettily.

Meanwhile the main course is served and things seem to be settling down at Cartwright's end of the table. Isaiah allows himself to relax into Eleanor's company under the watchful eye of her parents, and conversations flows. Eleanor is indeed a lovely young woman though sheltered and girlish in her ways. She gives Isaiah her entire attention as they talk, turning in her chair to face him. To his dismay she even scoops her wretched nosegay into her lap and toys with it as she speaks. Isaiah can easily imagine the disturbed pollen dispersing through the air towards him and sure enough as the evening passes the ticklishness in his nose grows again to distracting levels.

He absolutely must sneeze, he is quite unable to think for fighting it, and as soon as Eleanor turns from him to address her parents he takes his chance. Simply allowing his carefully controlled breath to fan the tickle in his sinuses prompts him to one quick, relieving sneeze stifled to almost nothing.

“Hi'Knxt!”

Typically for him, the one allowance leads to several more and then to a unavoidable fit. He manages to keep them almost silent, clenching his features with only the barest bob of his head toward the back of his wrist, but his affliction does not escape the watchful eye of his companion.

“God bless you, Mister Cartwright!” Eleanor says. “Are you quite alright?”

“Fine, I assure you.” He gives her his most charming smile in an attempt to distract her, but she will not be redirected and leans in to put a gentle hand on his arm. As she does so Isaiah receives a breath of her perfume which does not help matters at all. He barely has time to draw a shuddering, uncertain breath before he is overtaken again, and this time he is completely unable to stifle to sound.

“I merely- I- hh- hhhuh- tdssch! Tdsshuh!-TDSSCHuh!

“I do hope you're not catching a chill. Don't you think he sounds unwell, Mother?”

Missus Parker eyes the hot blush creeping over Isaiah's cheeks with obvious distaste. “He certainly looks a little peaky.” She says cooly. “Perhaps you should not sit so close, dear.”

Chagrinned, Eleanor sits back from him and Isaiah does the same, wiping his nose hard. He eyes are beginning to itch too and it takes all his willpower not to scratch them. He must look a mess, and fears he may get worse before he gets better.

Though Helena's charms are worthy, they aren't distraction enough to keep Elder from glancing Cartwright's way. Even the young lady notices his divided attentions and asks if everything is alright. Elder nods and smiles, feigning interest in their conversation. But soon, he hears a wretched sneeze from down the table and he very nearly loses his grip on his silverware, catching them before they rattle against his china plate.

He clenches his knife and fork until his fingers go red as the sneezing fit continues. From the burning feeling in his cheeks, he's sure his face is the same color. Taking a long, deep breath, he turns back to Helena and his food, knowing he cannot save Cartwright from this minor disaster.

Helena looks down the table and frowns, leaning into Elder as she whispers,

"Your handsome friend doesn't look very well at all."

Jacob is now positive that his face is the same crimson as the young lady's dress.

"He is sensitive, as I stated," he replies as evenly as his voice will allow. "If he's truly unwell, I'm sure he will excuse himself."

"I don't believe I've ever heard anyone sneeze so many times quite so rapidly," Helena says with a tone of genuine surprise.

Elder pops a piece of asparagus in his mouth and swallows hard. He knows that Isaiah will not last much longer alongside Eleanor, especially if they are to have dessert straightaway. Desperate times call for the fabled desperate measures.

"Pardon me," he says to Helena as he leans back and gestures to Bishop to get the butler's attentions.

"We'll move straight through for drinks after dinner," he whispers to the butler. "Tell the kitchen I'm sorry about the dessert preparations. We'll discuss what to do about that later."

Bishop nods and returns to his post at the buffet table alongside the nearly empty platters of food.

He takes another bite of asparagus, almost clearing his plate, and sneaks a glance at Isaiah, dismayed that he can see how red the man's eyes and nose have become even from this great distance.

There is a little murmur of surprise when Elder announces his plans, and Missus Parker exclaims “How Bohemian!” in a whisper quite loud enough to carry through the dining room. The room is filled with the soft rustle of chiffon as the Ladies allow themselves to be escorted through to the parlour. Isaiah stands, extending an arm for Eleanor as he tries to keep his persistent sniffling to a polite minimum.

In the parlour the air is close. Warm firelight plays on the heavy velvet drapes, making rainbows in the dark wood where the furniture has been polished to an impressive sheen. There is a little fuss about where they should be sitting, soon resolved as the guests settle themselves in the same approximate order from Elder's wing chair as they had been from his seat at head of table.

Helena Graham briefly departs Elder's side to join Eleanor and her parents. Apparently the young ladies know each other and there is much giggling and admiring one another's gowns. Isaiah is unnerved to notice their eyes darting in his direction more than once. They seem to be talking about him.

“Mister Cartwright, won't you come to sit with Helena and I?” Eleanor says, turning her doe-like gaze on him.

He tries to smile at her, but his hayfever is acting up again and the corners of his mouth twitch of their own accord as his features waver. Before he can answer her he sneezes a ticklish, throaty “hh'IDdtsh!-IDdtsh-ue!” that is very loud over the polite conversation in the parlour. He spins on his heels to shield his face from the two ladies, presenting them instead with a fine view of his shuddering shoulders.

When he turns back, Misses Graham narrows her eyes at his rudeness and one of the other guests, he doesn't catch who, tuts under their breath. He thinks he can see Lord Elder shifting uncomfortably in his seat, a sight that would please him if it were not for the circumstances. Really, this has gone on for quite long enough. With a decisive sniffle, he knows there is nothing else to be done here.

He addresses the girls loudly enough to include the room at large, with an apologetic glance to Elder in particular.

“As a matter of fact, I'm afraid you were right. I am feeling a little under the weather.”

This is an understatement by now, with his eyes itching madly, and so he doesn't feel as bad he might in telling this half-truth- they don't need to know that he could be fully recovered in a few hours, given some fresh air. His voice has taken on a suitably congested tone.

“Poor Mister Cartwright.” Eleanor says. She speaks with genuine concern and more than a little curiosity.

“Please, Miss Graham, don't -snf- don't let me spoil your evening.”

He is desperate to exit as swiftly as he may, before he can be taken by another fit of sneezing. He does not have long. The allergic tickling is mounting in the back of his nose and throat again and he must fight to keep his smile pleasant as he turns to face Lord Elder.

Isaiah's green eyes meet those of his lover in a meaningful stare which manages to encompass embarrassment, apology, and a certain knowing heat. Poor Jacob must be suffering with this worse than Isaiah himself. The very thought of Lord Elder's arousal is contagious, Isaiah finds himself getting hard in sympathy even as he sniffles miserably, pinching his nostrils against the pollen to buy himself time.

“Your Lordship, I'm afraid I'm... not feeling well.”

The gardener jerks his head very slightly to one side, indicating his desire to leave. He is held by propriety and a sudden fear that if Elder wanted, with his status and role as host the man could very well keep him in the parlour and sneezing uncontrollably all night.

Lord Elder would never dream of keeping Isaiah in such close quarters to the allergens which taunt the poor gardener's nose, though the ideal is certainly alluring. He'd removed them from the dining room in anticipation of these excuses being made, as it was very clear that Mister Cartwright wouldn't make it through dessert without causing a scene. Elder had seen his dear man in enough fits of hay fever to know that the symptoms were unlikely to lessen by simply leaving Eleanor's side. It doesn't stop him from taking a brief moment to imagine them in the parlour alone, however. He blinks and the guests vanish, leaving him with Cartwright in his arms, reclining on the long green sofa...

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mister Cartwright," Lord Elder says, returning to reality. He's careful to keep his voice even despite the rising heat in his cheeks as he locks eyes with his lover. "Please, rest and recover. We'll get on here fine. Do take care."

Cartwright's red-rimmed eyes lower from his gaze as the man gives a nod and a final round of apologies to the gathered crowd as he retreats from the parlour.

"Your poor friend," Eleanor says, wandering over with Helena. "Whatever is the matter with him?"

"I explained to Miss Graham," Elder says through gritted teeth. "He has a sensitive system. He can be taken by illness swiftly. He'll recover, I'm sure of it."

He reaches for his glass of sherry and takes a long sip, trying to quell the nervous, excited tension in his body, but he's been driven to distraction and is unable to return to pay the proper attentions to his guests.

"Will you ladies excuse me for just a few moments? I'm going to pop out and ask our footman to bring some things up to Mister Cartwright's chambers."

Swiftly, he stands and maneuvers to the door, taking the stairs up from the parlour double time until he catches up with Cartwright in the main hall, caught in the midst of a building sneeze.

"Wait," he says, grabbing the gardner by the waist and pulling him in close. "In here."

He pushes the door to the nearby study open.

Isaiah looks up at Elder over his handkerchief, surprise making the urge back off for a moment. “My Lord- ?” He manages. Then all he can do is cup the cloth over his nose as the sneezes he had been holding back in the parlour catch up with him in a rush.

“Idtssh!- IDTSh! hi' TSshhuh!-TSsch!-TSCsch!- ah... Jacob? What are you doing?”

Elder nearly corrects Isaiah at the title of 'My Lord'. In his mind, they're long past the use of titles in private company. But once the sneezing resumes and his Christian name is tagged onto the end of the allergic fit, he's gone weak in the knees again.

"I'm so sorry," he says, brushing a lock of hair tenderly from Isaiah's forehead. "I didn't even think about the nosegays. That's what I get for having visitors so infrequently. I'd forgotten the style whims of the modern woman."

He looks at Cartwright's reddened face intensely, the heat in his own body reaching a peak.

"I'm sorry for something else too," he admits. "You're driven me to distraction and I couldn't bear to sit in there and keep up appearances when all I want is to be with you. I'll stay just a moment before they'll notice my absence."

“You will?”

There is a shyness which sometimes comes upon Isaiah when Elder looks at him with such intensity. Out in the parlour, among the young women, he'd managed confidence at least until his hayfever had gotten the better of him. Here, he is suddenly demure. His gaze hovers somewhere around Lord Elder's collar, taking in the man's darting pulse, then dart up to meet Elder's eyes. Even after all these weeks there is an uncertainty, as though he can't quite believe his luck.

“And what is it you plan to do with me?”

If Cartwright can't believe his luck then Elder is beyond disbelief. It sometimes feels like he's taking advantage of the poor gardener's ailment, but if Isaiah's enthusiasm under the sheets is anything to go on, it seems like he doesn't mind much. And the hay-fever always seems lessened after a bit of lovemaking. And Elder doesn't reserve his affections for only when his dear gardener is red-nosed and sniffly.

Isaiah's teasing words make Elder shiver and he leans in close.

"First...there's this," he says, kissing the man's neck. "What...if...I...told them all....you...were....very....very....ill. And I sent them....all...home."

He kisses up Cartwright's neck and along his jaw with each word. He finishes at the man's lips, wrapping his hands around Cartwright's waist and gripping his bum, pulling their bodies against each other with a comforting pressure.

“Are you mad?” Isaiah is startled by the unexpectedness of the encounter but it doesn't stop him from biting his lip and squirming under Elder's insistent grip. His free hand slides down to grasp Elder's hardening cock through the cloth of his dress trousers and he gives his lover a calculating look. “Seriously, how long do you think we have? Five minutes? Ten minutes? I like a challenge.”

He draws his head away from the kiss to scrub his nose against Jacob's collarbone, murmuring “ah, it itches.”

He is only exaggerating a little, but he loves to make Jacob shiver.

"Christ," Elder groans, hips straining into Cartwright's touch. "Hold on a minute while I lock the door. We have seven minutes, for a good compromise, but more like five if we're to play it safe."

Reluctantly, he pulls away from the other man to secure the study door before returning to Isaiah's hold.

"You've grown a naughty streak, my love," he says as he tilts his head to kiss Isaiah's nose with a light, tender touch. "You weren't so bold those many months ago when you came here."

He turns their bodies, shrugging off his tailcoat and bracing the broader man against the bookcases. He can hear his own pulse hammering in his ears as the adrenaline of the moment courses through him. He imagines his guests in the room just down the hall, oblivious. The thought excites him.

"What will you do with five minutes?" he asks, eyes glinting devilishly.

“For a start, I would let you know about this.” The gardener's hand reaches into his jacket pocket and emerges holding a bundled napkin from the dinner table. It is unfolded to reveal a single lily dropped from Eleanor's nosegay. It is a little crushed from transit, the bud opened just enough to reveal heavy stamens within. “I was thinking to save it for later. It may not have any effect, but who knows?”

He is blushing boyishly, twisting the corner of the napkin in one finger. In one swift movement he kneels before Elder and fumbles with his fly, bringing his mouth to hover there. He looks up at his lordship and then to the lily in his hand.

“It d-does smell good.” He falters. He draws a deep breath of the scent which sets his already swollen nostrils twitching.

With clumsy hands, Jacob pushes his trousers down and fiddles with the button on his shorts. He is practically trembling with arousal and from his lips spills a soft, urgent whine.

"You're too indulgent of me," he growls, tugging his shorts down over his erection. He bristles at even the slightest brush of the fabric there. "Sweet boy."

His fingers run through Isaiah's thick hair and he pulls the man's head close, letting his cock just barely touch the gardner's swollen nose. He bites his own tongue to keep from crying out.

"Please," he begs. He glances down and sees the single lily lying on the carpet in the napkin, so small and delicate. It's a wonder such a simple thing can bring both men into fits of different kinds. He's not looked at a flower the same way since Isaiah came to live at Woodhaven.

The gardener takes Elder in his mouth for one hot, wet moment, and then withdraws, pressing the back of wrist against his nose to sniffle. He turns to blow his nose shyly, and then follows his lordship's gaze down to his stolen prize.

The napkin hovers just beneath his chin as he draws in a deep breath and then another. The petals actually shake in the slight suction, and Isaiah can almost see the motes of pollen being inhaled. At first there is no reaction save that his nostrils continue to flare sporadically. His green eyes flutter closed in concentration as he focuses all his attention on the sensation, then shrugs and brings the so close that pollen dusts the tip of his nose.

“I don't think it's workihnng- !” The last syllable gives him away.

He shakes his head like a horse bothered by flies. One hand is bunching the fabric of his trousers in his fight not to rub the offending tickle away and he squints helplessly towards the light for one tight, ticklish moment before-

“IihPtssh!-idtssh!-ttssh-u! --- huh-!” A shuddering breath. “I'kttsh!-ktdssh! -i'KTSchuh!” Only then does Isaiah allow himself to swipe a wrist across his wet nose, bringing the barest moment of relief as he squints up at Elder again. His hand finds the man's cock, moving in a fast, irresistible rhythm. He no longer has to coax the sneezes out with patient breaths; they tumble over each other as sudden and unstoppable as hiccups, all consonants and repressed force against the back of his throat.

His voice is a breathy, unstable whisper. “Someone might hear us- but I can't -tdssh!- can't st-! Hah'idtssh-Idtssh!”

Elder's head is tipping back in a silent cry and he doesn't care if anyone hears.

"Oh God," he moans as Cartwright's hand stokes him in rhythm with the persistent sneezes that spray from the man's nose. "I'll try to be quiet...oh god..."

His body trembles and goes rigid as he cums, gasping and writhing against the bookshelf. With a pleasured sigh, he relaxes, body humming in the afterglow of orgasm. As his waist, poor Isaiah is still snuffling. He crouches, coming face to face with his love, and kisses the man gently in a momentary break from the sneezing.

"You're a wonder," he says, tucking a stray curl of hair behind Isaiah's ear as he pulls back from the kiss to assess the other man's face. The gardener's eyes are swollen a familiar pink and his nose shines wetly. "Christ...I just want to come upstairs with you. Maybe I can send all the company home."

For all his dealings in 'polite society', he'd always preferred his time at home to duties of socializing. He'd thrown this particular dinner party to get several local acquaintances to stop asking after him. As much as he wished to spend the rest of the evening doting over Isaiah, he knew in his heart he had to see the party through.

Isaiah takes Jacob's hands in his own, bringing them both up to standing. He shakes his head, chiding.

“You've been gone long enough. They'll be suspicious. Just-” Isaiah fastens Elder's fly, runs a hand through his dark curls until they are settled neatly, tugs his cravat straight and finishes with a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “-there.”

His affliction does not come to an end with the cumulation of Elder's pleasure, and he is taken by another fit of sneezes.

“Idtssh-u! Hh'IIssch-u! ITDsh! ...ugh.”

They are taking on a drawn-out, congested quality and prompt a spike of pain through his temples that furrows his brow into a frown. He breathes out tiredly afterwards, giving a thoroughly useless snuffle.

“I won't be able to breathe for a while. I really could use a rest now.... Go on. I'll see myself upstairs.”

Heart melting at Isaiah's futile attempts to breathe through his nose, Jacob embraces the broader man, their faces resting cheek to cheek. He kisses the soft bit of skin at the edge of Cartwright's ear before pulling away.

"I suppose so," he says resignedly, smoothing his tailcoat. "Ring for a footman to draw you a bath if it'll help. If you'd prefer, you can rest in my bed or if you choose your own, I'll stay to my rooms tonight so you can get a proper sleep. Put a cool towel over those poor eyes, won't you?"

He reaches into his jacket pocket to retrieve one of the two linen handkerchiefs he always carries with him now.

"And here," he says, gently putting the cloth to Isaiah's scarlet nose to wipe it briefly before pressing it into the man's hand. "Rest well, love."

With a final kiss to the gardener's brow, he straightens up and shakes out his limbs, returning himself to the right frame of mind with which to perform the social graces required of a dinner party.

"Wish me luck," he says. As he exhales a long breath he goes out the study door and down the hallway back to the parlour where the guests are now gathered with after dinner drinks in hand. Helena and Eleanor are at his side almost instantly, inquiring after dear Mister Cartwright.

"I'm terribly sorry I was gone so long," Elder says, barely containing a blush. "I'm afraid he's taken a bad turn and I've seen to him upstairs. He regrets he couldn't stay longer."

"Oh, I'm sad to hear it," Eleanor says, pouting girlishly. "I do hope he recovers quickly. I hope it isn't catching."

She raises her nosegay to sniff coyly and Elder can clearly see the spot missing the one lily. He nearly chokes on his own drink.

"I'm sure he'll recover," he says after a brief moment of sputtering.

Mister Graham comes to his rescue with conversation and he's able to shake off the two young ladies, distracting himself with the polite conversations of his company late into the evening until the last carriage has pulled away. As he stands on the front lawn of Woodhaven watching the Graham's carriage travel off into the night, he turns to look back up at the windows of the house, noting the lamp in both his and Cartwright's chambers are out. A smile crosses his lips as he thinks of his sweet gardener, now hopefully resting peacefully.

Cheered that the company is gone and all is well, he pops down to the kitchens where the servants nervously greet him (though they aren't unused to this rather eccentric behavior) and fetches a large helping of the dessert that went unserved.

"You may eat the rest, but do set aside the trifle for supper tomorrow. It is Mister Cartwright's favorite and I'll have it sent up with his dinner."

Plate of cake in hand, he goes up to the study and sits in the chair opposite the bookcase and eats with a satisfied grin.

A little while later comes the murmur of bare feet on the thick carpet, as of someone stealthily approaching. Stealth is not enough- he next thing Lord Elder hears is a highly audible gasp, followed by a stifled sneeze.

“hi-ksht!”

Elder turns around to see none other than Mister Cartwright silhouetted in the study door, dressed in his striped pyjamas and with one hand pinched sheepishly under his nose. He looks tousled and sleepy.

“I take it the guests got away alright? Now, won't you come to-- hhh-!” He stutters as the two remaining sneezes, never far away, double him damply into his hands- “t- kshtt!-idtssh!”

A pause, recovery. Isaiah approaches Elder's chair and stands behind him, reaching his arms around to embrace the man. His chest is warm against Elder's back.

“Jacob, come to bed?”

-

The End

For more, check out our follow-up fic, “His Lordship’s Visit”

[rla1994]

Chapter 3

Yay!! chapter 3 is here!!

Again Don’t own anything

The Underworld was not like what Kanon had imagined. Then again Poseidon had teleported them  near  the river Styx, meaning they were in fact not yet in the Underworld. They were standing among the souls either trapped or waiting for the ferryman, like them.  Kanon soon heard someone sing off key. He turned to the god at his side. “Please tell me that is not Charon.” His hopes were crushed when Poseidon simply smiled at him. The angel sighed and readied himself for the worst trip in his life. A boat appeared on the horizon slowly getting closer. It a few more minutes before the boat was ashore. They approached Charon. The ferryman extended his hand without looking at them.

“Payment.” The god of the seas raised one eyebrow. “Payment? Since when was it required for me to pay?”

“Just who do you-” Charon glanced their way. “L-l-l-lord Poseidon!” The ferryman was clearly shocked to see his masters’s brother. “Excuse my behavior, I did not know you would be visiting.” He helped them board onto his rowboat. “Would you like me to warn His Majesty about your visit, My Lord?”

After collecting his payment from the souls he’d be carrying across the river, Charon ordered them to take the oars and row. “Yes, please.” Kanon was about to enjoy the ride when Charon began singing in that horrible voice of his. “Really?” The angel looked towards his god. The older one chuckled. “The only way to make him stop is to silence him. Don’t worry, you become used to it after some time.” Kanon groaned that was not what he wanted to hear. Half way across the river and he was already fed up with Charon’s singing. The sea dragon send a small burst of energy at the demon who fell silent all of a sudden. 

“What-?” The ferryman was confused, he could speak but he could not sing, how? “I took away your singing voice.” Both the demon and the god turned towards the angel. “Don’t worry, I’ll give it back. At the end of the ride.” Charon pouted before going back to his steering. Kanon could feel Poseidon’s gratefulness through their shared bond. He smiled smugly. When, finally, the trip ended and only after they had set foot on the ground, did he gave Charon his voice back. The demon was obviously about to sing again when Kanon stopped him. “If I hear you sing one more time, I’ll take your voice away forever.” The threat made him shut up immediately, he went back on his boat and steered back to the other shore. 

“Thank you,” The god said. “now come on, we have a long way till my brother’s palace.” Poseidon began walking through the dry land that was the Underworld. They soon reached the main gate guarded by the three-headed dog, Cerberus. One of the heads reached down and sniffed them before Cerberus moved aside. As they walked past him, Kanon saw the serpent that served as Cerberus’s tail. “He didn’t try to stop us.” It was said as a statement but the god could hear the question underneath it. “Of course not, he knows me and you probably smell like one of the demons to him.” The fallen nodded in understanding. They walked a bit more before they came across the Judgment Hall. It looked like a massive temple. It was tall with six Doric columns, three on either side of the door.  The pediment was adorned with a representation of the royal couple’s wedding. They entered through the front doors. The inside was even more grandiose than one would expect from the outside. Rows of columns flanked the central room. Stairs at the end of the room led to three desks, each made of black volcanic rock. Behind each of them sat a demon, the three demonic generals. Or as they were more commonly know : the three Judges of the Underworld. The one on the left had shoulder length wavy purple hair, his equally purple eyes that held a teasing glint. The angel smirked, he had a feeling he would like that one. The one in the middle had long straight white hair with bangs covering a pair of golden eyes. The feeling the fallen got from him was not a pleasant one. The last one had short spiky blond hair with golden eyes. Kanon could not read him. The demon was so stern that the only thing Kanon could make out about him was his no-nonsense attitude. Although, he looked fun to tease. 

“Welcome, Lord Poseidon.” The one who had spoken was the middle one. Kanon had to suppress a shudder at the sound of his voice. It promised hours of torture, pleasant or not, the angel believed that depended on the partner. “I hope Charon has not troubled you to much with his singing.” The smile the judge gave clearly meant that wished for the opposite. “Thank you, Minos. And no, Charon was not to troubling. I should thank my general for that. He seems to have the ability to take someone’s voice away.” Poseidon returned Minos’s smirk with a smug smile of his own. “Oh, really?” The look the judge sent to the fallen was not a pleasant one. 

“Could you perhaps allow us to pass? We are quite in a hurry, actually.” The judges all stood up. Minos mentioned for the visitors two follow them as they made their way through the Hall. Behind the Hall, the Underworld divided itself into three: Tartarus, where the wicked were sent, the fields of Asphodel, where the regular souls were sent, and Elysium, where the bravest and most righteous were sent. Behind the fields of Asphodel, was Hades’s palace where they were heading. Kanon could not help himself, as they walked through the fields, and reached out his hand to caress the flowers. Multiple gasps made him turn around to face the other four. They were all gaping at him. “What?” He asked clearly confused. “How? How are you still here?!” The purple haired demon exclaimed. “What kind of questions is that?” The angel replied offended. “No, don’t take it personally, but you just touched the flowers, right?” The angel nodded still confused. “Those flower take away one’s essence upon contact.” Kanon blinked slowly. Ah, they didn’t know. “ Ah, yeah, uh, how to explain?” The fallen scratched his chin before finally answering. “After an accident, my essence was liked with that of someone else.”  His explanation caused his four companions to gape once more but the general simply shrugged it off and continued to walk. The others hurried to catch up with him. They soon reached the palace. 

It was a magnificent Gothic style castle. It stood upon a small hill. Stairs led to the main entrance that was overhung by a richly decorated ark. There were statues on either side of the doors representing majestic beats. The whole front of the palace was made of arks containing either windows or statues. All of which were encrusted with gems. It looked like a palace fit, not just for a god, but for the richest of them all. Hades did indeed his moniker of ‘Plouton’ and title as the god of riches. The doors open as they approached. They made their way down a long corridor decorated with frescoes telling the history of the Underworld. The interior was of the same style as the exterior with arks and high corridors composing most of what they walked through. When they finally stopped, it was in front of another set of doors. 

The room behind them was a grand throne room, it, just like Poseidon’s, was spacious enough to fit the whole Underworld army inside. It had a high ceiling with multiple glass chandeliers descending upon the room to illuminate it. The walls were littered with painting. The stairs leading to the royal couple’s thrones were framed by maroon curtains that fit with the black walls and the deep red decoration. The thrones could not be more different, while the left one, bigger and more imposing with its black coloring and depiction of thorns and flames clearly indicated it as Hades’s, the one on the right looked like someone a transformed a garden into this throne: it was made from a earthy green material with flowers sculpted around the edges with all kinds of gems encrusted in it. It was the only thing that should have clashed with the rest of the room but it only gave the room a more welcoming feel. Just like the goddess seated upon it. She looked exactly like how the books Kanon had read described her. She looked like life itself had become alive. Her long wavy golden hair was pulled into a complicated bun with two strands of hair framed her face. Her eyes were of the same green as her throne. Her luscious lips were adorned with the barest hit of red lipstick. Her olive skin went perfectly with the midnight blue of her floor length dress. She was wearing a pair of golden sandals at her feet. Her only jewelry was a small band of gold with an equally small ruby on her left ring finger. 

Persephone was not considered Aphrodite’s rival for nothing. She possessed an other worldly beauty to her that screamed ‘goddess’. The man to her left was just as handsome. His shoulder length black hair framed a pale face with the purest pair of blue eyes Kanon had seen. He was wearing a black robe with a golden belt, golden epaulets held a black robe in place. The collar of his robe was made of gold and a necklace with a star at the end adorned his chest. Just like his, the only other piece of jewelry he had was a silver band with an emerald on his left ring finger.

The Judges stopped at the foot of the stairs and went on one knee. “Brother, what a pleasant surprise.” The god of the Underworld had a calm but commanding voice. “What brings you to my domain? You rarely leave Atlantis these days.” Poseidon smiled warmly at his older brother. “I thought I’d introduce you to my new general.” Kanon stepped forward at his deity’s words. “Oh, don’t worry. I already know who he is. The Anomaly, at least part of it.” Hades stated.

“Excuse me? Anomaly?” To say Kanon was offended was an understatement. He would not be treated like an object. “I have a name, you know.” The fact that he was talking to the ruler of the Dead was not fazing him. Hades’s reaction was impossible to tell, his face not having changed at all. Persephone on the other hand looked like she was having the time of her life, just like Poseidon. The Judges were currently fearing for the angel’s life.

“And what might be?” Her voice was like honey and the sweetest of wine as the Queen spoke. Her amusement was as clear as day. “Kanon, Your Majesty” Poseidon gaped at his general. “You never showed me that kind of respect!” Kanon gave him a blank look. “We met today. And I only give my respect to the people who deserve it.” Poseidon pouted. “Kanon?” The mention of his name made the fallen look at Hades. “As in the one from the prophecy?” Hades’s voice screamed caution. The sea dragon swallowed before nodding. The god of the Underworld hummed before addressing his brother. “Presenting your general is not the only reason you came here, am i wrong?” Poseidon chuckled. “Indeed, my general told that after our niece’s death during the Celestial wars, our younger brother has, it seems, forgotten to replace her with another god or goddess to rule over the Heavens, thus leading to a problematic situation.” Poseidon paused. He continued after Hades urged him on. “The previous Grand Pope was presumably assassinated and his assassin has usurped his identity and is currently preparing for war.”

And ... Done!

omg 2k words!!!!

again below is the ao3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17670578/chapters/41711108

[marvelsuperfangirl]

Green’s Your Color ( Loki x Reader)

A/N: I’m sorry it took so long for me to write it but since my finals are approaching and I am more than stressed out I put writing aside for a while.

Request by @nori-jan : “Hey there ! i see that your request is open and i've had this scenario in my had for a while so here it is (sorry if my english is messed up): You and Loki have hidden feelings for each other. One day Thor throws a big royal event on Asgard, and Loki asks you to be his ±1. when you get there, you see the stunning emerald green dress that Loki has pick for you (you don't know he's the one who chose it). During the event you don't see Loki a lot because of his royal tasks, but everybody is glancing at you, treating you with a lot of respect and you think it's weird. You manage to ask Thor, and he explains you (quite embarrassed) that there is a tradition in Asgard, when you wear someone's color (Loki's green in this case), it means you are his promise. So you go ask Loki for explanation and he finally confess his feelings for you. Hope it's okay, thank you so much !”

Again I’m really sorry for taking so long to post it and if there are some grammar mistakes. I hope you’ll like it and that it’s up to your expectations.

Words: 3262

When a maid came to you with the mission to deliver you an invitation as the younger prince's special guest, to a party Thor had decided to organize you knew that you'd had to get dressed up nicely. Firstly because there obviously will be many people and among those simple people would be the prince of Asgard, god of mischief and your favorite person in the nine realms: Loki. Usually you wouldn't have been invited to that kind of party but you were going as the god of michief guest.

It's not that he was fond of that kind of event but the appeal of the title and glory was unresistable for him and he made much effort to act like the prince he needed to be to gain the respect of his people again after his many treason against the people of Asgard as well as Thor. You didn't really appreciate those parties either, you'd rather be in the massive library of the castle, settled on one of the armchair with a book in your hands. The smell of the old leather cover and the pages, the sound of the paper when you turn each page to access to the next and the calm reinging on the place. But the most important thing, drawing you to the library even more was Loki, you found that you had a common interest with the prince when you found him also reading a book in a spot near to yours, one day you decided to ask about what he was reading and the at first awkward relationship that started by brief greetings and shy smiles blossomed into a rather interesting friendship.

Despite being a man of action and thirsty of glory and conquers, he was also a lover of art, literature, music, painting and many other forms of art. That was your main conversation subject when you first started talking and it was still the case but there was so much more behind those conversation than just sharing opinion's on someone's art.

For you Loki always have been a masterpiece himself, his raven hair as dark as his soul but his heart as white and pure as his skin. A beautiful contrast that was mesmerizing in your eyes. The way he could be so mean to one and so nice to you was a mystery and like art, his behaviour was  abstract.

When you met him in the garden for your daily conversation, you talked about the party with him and weren't surpised when you saw his face twisting into an annoyed expression when you mentionned his royal duties

" I won't see much of you if you're busy seducing all the beautiful ladies that will attend the event. I mean, the time to find you a wife will come sooner than you think." you said.

He scoffed, a smiled appearing on his face.

" What kind of lady could handle me and my moods, one day I could get all into romance and the next, I'll be off to conquer the universe, leaving mayhem and destuction. You're the only one who managed to put up with me" he said, lightly nudging your shoulder with his.

It was your turn to smile

" I appreciate the kind of mayhem you create my dear, if those ladies don't see how wondeful it is, then they will be sad to learn what a marvelous man they passed by. But if you want to be sure to get to their heart just wear you helmet, you know, the one with the horns"  you gestured over your head, forming the horns of his signature accessory

" Maybe I am already trying to harpoon one lady's heart  and that those giggling hens doesn't even deserve a glance from me."

It was a surprise for you. Was Loki courting someone? Why didn't he talk to you about it ? He never show any signs of affection toward anyone except you and his brother, when he wasn't pranking him of course, but still he was infatuated with someone. This man was a true mystery for you, one that you couldn't resolve even when you forced yourself to try.

" And who that lucky lady might be?" you asked , looking at the setting of colorful flowers in front of you, trying to look like you're not that interested by his answer despite your worriness.

" It was only a supposition, my dear"  

You nodded, still lost in the beautiful sight of the garden but your mind was miles away , seeking which lady of Asgard managed to make her way to Loki's heart. You knew how hard it was to be appreciated by him, for you it  has been a hard task at first. And earning his trust and trusting him back was rather complicated. The flow of bothering thoughts was interrupted by someone scratching their throat. You turned toward your companion and saw that he was now standing up.

" You see me sorry , my lady but I have to leave you. My duties are waiting for me."

You gave him another nod and got yourself up to his level.

" I hope to see you soon" he said, offering you a smile and delicately taking your hand in his. He brought it to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

The usual shiver you felt evertime you received any kind of affective gestures from him, ran down your hand and through your whole body.

He released your hand and turned around, ready to walk away from you. You didn't feel like going back inside the palace and decided to stay there to freshen your mind because of all the disappointing thoughts running through your head Despite the pleasure the simple act of affection Loki just gave you, the shock of his confession had you shook. You let yourself fall back on the stone bench and stared at the flowers registering the fact that you lost the only chance you had with the god of michief . And in your misery, you didn't see how the younger prince looked at you to get one last glimpse of your face before stepping into the golden palace.

The light in his eyes was well-know of you and fitted him perfectly. Mischief. And that scared you more than anything, because if Loki had a beloved and if it wasn't you, your heart would break into a million pieces. You'd had enough of staring into the empty; the flowery garden became a blurry mess of colors while your thoughts were darker than the heart everyone assumed Loki had.

Getting up, you walked away from the castle and to the stairs, leading to a wilder part of the garden. Instead of the perfecty entertained garden you stepped into an equally beautiful landscape but you could clearly see that the gardener didn't really took care of this one. Ivy was growing on the statues and walls and as you marched further the grasser became taller. It could have looked like nobody took care of the garden but it was an intentional effect, the wonderful garden slowly fading into a wild place, letting the nature take back its rights leading to the forest.

As you entered the forest it was starting to darken because of the thousand-year-old trees  and their massive foliage, creating a dome of above your head. It was like you just entered a new dimension where the atmosphere was mystically natural.

The grass was tickling your feet through your sandals and the wind, caressing your skin and making your hair flying and every directions. You walked for a while, thinking, letting the sound of leaves brushing against each other and the occasional tweeting of the birds calming you.

The thought of the man you loved since your tender childhood, despite all his acts, at the arm of another lady and how much it would make you suffer had left your mind, your troubles long forgotten.

After wandering in the forest for the rest of the day,you got back the the palace, the stars were already shining in the night sky. The torches were already burning  and providing the castle with their light. As you approached the diner hall you could hear the voices and laughter of people. You could imagine how lonely Loki was feeling, he always was foreign to these kind of behaviour and didn't want to be assimilate with those apes that were the Asgardian males. In his words, he hated how their drinks spilled everywhere and the annoying sound of their pints breaking o nthe ground  when they wanted a refill. And their conversations about ripping some monstruous creature's head off or talking about their last love affair.

The second your entered the dining hall, your presence was immediately known because of Thor's loud greeting.

" Lady Y/N, where have you been?" his booming voice resounded on the walls.

You smiled and offered a nod of the head to the others while making your way to the empty sit next to Loki.

" I went for a walk in the forest to get away for a while"

You sat down and started to grab a few pieces of food and put it in your plate.

" I s everything good?" the familiar voice of the younger prince asked you.

You nodded.

You could feel Loki's eyes on you but wouldn't dare to react, he was smart and the simple fact to look at him in the eyes would betray you and prove him that effectively there was something wrong.

" Are you still coming to the ball tomorrow?"

You threw him a quick glance and hummed through your full mouth and took the time to swallow to add:

" I still have to find a dress tho"

" Don't worry, you still have the time to find one until tomorrow evening" he said, before getting up, excusing himself and walking away from you for the second time of the day.

A knock on your bedroom door interrupted you as you were brushing your hair, sitting at your dressing table in only a robe.

" Come in!" you shouted not bothering to get up

The door opened, revealing a maid holding a dress in her arms.

" Lady Y/N, I have a dress for you" she said and walked up to you

You raised your eyebrows and put your hairbrush down on your dressing table.

" For me ?"

She nodded

" It's your attire for the ball " she said with a smile before walking to your bed an gently put the dress on it before going out of the room.

You eyed the dress from your place and went to take a look.

The color green was the first thing you saw and, coming closer you noticed the touches of gold in some parts of the dress.

A smile ghosted over your lips and you untied the belt of your robe, sliding it off of you, letting you naked.

You then grabbed the luxious piece of clothing and hold it in front of you; you couldn't wait another minute to try it on.

Turning the dress for the back to face you, you untied the lacing to loose the fabric and permit for you to slid in the piece of clothing .

The soft fabric was soft on your skin, caressing it like you were a fragile being.

The dress was a vibrant emerald green color and the material seemed fluid as how it was dancing with every movements you made.

It had an off-shoulders neckline made in golden lace which slowly faded away to transform into the green piece of clothing.

A split on the side, going up to the middle of your thigh was also covered in golden lace.

And for the final touch a lacy, still golden belt, a part of the dress itself, shaped like a snake with two emeralds for the eyes, matching the color of the dress. The belt was perfectly marking your waist to emphasize your beautiful waist.

It was the most beautiful dress you'd ever had the privilege to wear and you felt like a princess.

You couldn't keep yourself from smiling at the sight of you in the mirror. If Loki don't fall in love with you in this dress then nothing would make him.

" Can you help me with the lace, please?" you asked the maiden who obliged and tied the golden lace.

She backed away from you while you were still looking at your reflection amazed at how a simple piece of clothing could make such a difference.

" The party already started, my lady, your presence is required by the princes" she said

You nodded and walked out of your room, followed by your maiden  

 When you entered the ballroom you felt all eyes settling on you and felt quickly ill at ease and didn't know why all those important people were watching you. You took a few steps further into the room and turned on yourself, trying to spot a familiar face. The first thing you recognized was the luscious mane of raven hair belonging to Loki. You started walking in his direction and waited for him to finish his conversation with one of his guests, as soon as he was free, you tapped on his shoulder to grab his attention. He turned around, his first reaction was a smile at the sight of you but when his eyes wandered down your whole body to see you cladded in the dress, his eyes widened and his mouth fell a little bit open.

" Y/N! You look ravishing!" he exclaimed

You felt your cheeks set on fire and just settled on mumbling a quiet " Thank You".

He put his hand on your arm and rubbed his thumb against your skin. You met his eyes and got lost in them, you could have stayed like this forever if one of the guest didn't call out for him breaking the sweet contact you were having.

I am sorry, I can't spend much time with you, I have my royal responsabilities to attend .

He sighed, his dark eyebrows furrowing at his own words.

" I understand" you said, offering an understanding smile but the sadness prominent on your features.

" Don't worry when I'm done I'll join you. But until then, be careful with the men, I don't want any of their disgusting hands to be put on you. So just try to stay away from them"  he retreaved his hand  and walked away to a new guest.

You stood in place for a while not knowing what to do with yourself and smiling shyly at the people who were still staring at you. Finally deciding to move, you walked toward the table where the royal feast was waiting for the guests to decide to stuff their faces with the food.

You found an empty sit around the table and let yourself fall on it as graciously as you could . Your eyes locked themselves on Loki again who you had troubles to recognize the behaviour . Those warm smiles he was giving everyone and the laugh you were one of the only lucky persons who could hear it was now given to every guests who approached the younger prince. Completely lost in your thoughts and your eyes still glued to Loki you didn't saw Thor sitting next to you.

" Are you alright, lady Y/N?"

His loud voice frightened you and you quickly turned your head toward him the surprise evident on your face.

You put your hand on your chest, clearly howing that he almost scared you to death.

" I didn't see you there"

He chuckled before taking a huge sip of the also huge pint of beer he had in hand.

" Still drooling over my brother from afar ?" he asked

You were caugt.

" I'm...I'm not drooling! I'm just looking at him because beside you, he's the only one I know there, that's all. " you tried to hide the fact that you were now more red than Thor's cape.

Your earned yourself another laugh from him.

" My brother isn't a man of feelings. But he isn't a brute like he calls me or the other Asgardians. He has a deep sense of love and trust me, if he came to lost the one he loves, I can't even imagine how much it would make him suffer."

Goosebumps erupted on your naked arms and your stomach clenched, not yet ready to hear the truth that will probably make you hurt.

" Who is it ?" you asked

The god of thunder gave a quick glance in his brother's direction before focusing on you again. A soft smile appeared on his face as he put his pint down.

" It's been a while since Asgard received so much guest or even organized a gathering, so it's not a surprise that you're not aware of that tradition"

You furrowed your eyebrows questionningly and before you could ask what he meant he continued.

" It's a very old tradition on our planet that when a man is infatuated with a woman, he asks her to wear a garment in his representative color to show everyone that she is his. Loki is know to own the color green and he 's the one who chose your dress for tonight."

Your head snapped to Loki, A mix fof relief and shock washed over you as a wave of warmth spread through your whole body. With a wide smile you turned back to Thor.

" Does he really want me to be his?" you sked barely able to contain your excitement.

" I believe that, coming from brother, this is the biggest proof of love I 've ever seen. Also, as Loi's older brother and King of Asgard; you have my blessings" a toothy grin followed his words. He took his pint back and made a silent "cheers" move with it before emptying its content.

" Thank you so much" you aid, leaning to press a kiss to Thor's bearded cheek before quickly getting up from your seat.

You speed walked toward Loki, refusing to waste anymore time on useless flirting and discreet looks when all you had to do was grab that stubborn man's face and kiss him.

And that's exactly what you intended to do. Walking through the crowd of people and reaching Loki, you didn't wait for him to finish his conversation. You grabbed his shoulder and turned him around.

He seemed surprise by your actions but before he could veen say a word  you'd cupped his cheeks in the palm of your hands and gotten on your tiptoes. Both of your lips met in a chaste kiss but you lingered there a few seconds longs, savoring the moment you'd waited so long to live, before pulling away.

The surprise on his face was more than quickly replaced by a smile.

" What was that for?"

His hands found their way to your waist as the two of you finally reach the point of shyness never seem to have existed.

" You didn't needed to make me wear your color for me to be yours"

Looking into the blue eyes that you loved so much, you were touched by a sudden boldness and kissed his smiling mouth in another chaste kiss.

" I have always been yours."

[datshq]

BNHA Secret Santa Fic

@bnhasecretsanta gift for @todoiideku ! I hope you had a great one and that you enjoy my gift, late as it is. I tried to fit at least nods to all your preferences! You told me you liked AUs and I saw you reblogging Fantasy AU stuff so that’s what this is based off.

Title: The Greatest Gift of All Summary: Prince Shouto’s path to receiving all he ever wanted lasting three Christmases. Also known as: Shouto is really, really bi and keeps falling for the altruistic knight types.

Christmas was celebrated in the Kingdom of Shizouka in early winter. The region had extreme variations between seasons, which was why winter came so late in the year. The potential for both snowstorms and heat waves through the year was believed to be the reason why the royal family held the power of heat and cold, combating the worst of the most extreme seasons.

For Shouto, the reality of the world was nothing so whimsical and fairytale-like. The reality was that the Todoroki family's regard in the eyes of their subjects had been going downhill during the reign of the previous king, and Enji Todoroki had felt he needed to recreate the strength of the lineage. Because of that he had tirelessly searched the entire kingdom in his youth for the purpose of finding a bride with the magical potential to balance out his own.

Weather magic was commonly practised within the kingdom, but summoning winter had never been seen as too much of a priority, considering the season's destructive nature. As such, King Enji, crown prince at the time, had commanded the magically gifted women of the kingdom to present their level of affinity for the magic. That was how he had found his bride and secured the good standing of the royal family for a while longer.

It didn't last, as was the nature of temporary fixes. Enji's obsession with creating a perfect prince to continue the Todoroki reign had caused the family to become splintered, ruining the unity that also could have served to create the image of strength that Enji coveted. As things stood, all of Shouto's older siblings had abandoned the castle, seeking their fortunes elsewhere with whatever magical talents they'd been born with and trained in.

As for Shouto's mother, the much coveted winter witch, no one had heard from her in years. She'd been sent away from the castle years ago, spirited away into some distant corner of the kingdom where no one could find or recognize her.

What she had done to deserve such a banishment was kept as much a secret as her location. Regardless, the countless servants at the castle didn't miss how the crown prince was kept secluded soon after and how, when he finally emerged from his chambers, half of his face sported a faint burn scar.

In a kingdom ruled by Enji, Christmas was a grand, bright and impressive celebration. It was all a testament to the man’s ego, a bright and warm party in the cold and dark of winter, a victory over a season. Enji was like that about everything, treating everything as a foe he could overcome, even weather or his own family.

A man who only had enemies and conquests didn’t have the time or interest to celebrate just for the sake of it. As such, Shoto had never learned to do so either. In fact, Shoto could barely stand Christmas celebrations.

While Shouto himself wasn't much of a Christmas person, others more than made up for it. During Christmas time the castle was always brimming with cheer and singing voices as servants and temporary hired help set up and maintained the grand two-day long party. The guest were equally merry, among them Shouto's oldest and dearest friend, the knight Momo Yaoyorozu.

Momo was still young, but everyone knew she would be leading the royal guard when the current commander retired at the latest. Her family was highly influential, nobles of the highest calibre, so no one questioned her status despite her age. Outside of that Momo's strategic ability, combat ability and magical prowess created an impressive resume that had Shouto fully believing that he could rely on her any day and that she deserved the high regard even if her family could have potentially influenced it.

Every year, Momo and Shouto would exchange gifts privately, away from the bustle of the party. They were small, practical but fun things: books, spyglasses and maps. It was a reliable tradition and one of the few things Shouto enjoyed about Christmas.

This year Momo gave Shouto a map of the kingdom of Shizouka, with handmade markings sprinkled on the edges of the kingdom.

"What's this?" Shouto, asked, curious about what made these spots so special that Momo would catalogue them for him.

Momo fumbled with the spyglass she'd gotten from Shouto, military grade with shadow-repelling enchantments. "Those are all the places mentioned in rumors about your mother."

Shouto's eyes widened and his hands immediately rolled up the parchment, protectively hiding it from the curious eyes of anyone passing by.

"Because of the secrecy, no one knows anything for certain, but people have been curious for years, so there's been a lot of digging around and whispering going on among the nobles. I collected the most promising leads here," Momo explained. She gave Shouto an encouraging smile. "Maybe one day we can check them out?"

"Yes," Shouto breathed out with no hesitation. "Yes, I'd love that." He felt like he loved the idea of seeing his mother even more when it was combined with the idea of leaving this palace with Momo. He wondered how he could tell her that.

"Thank you," he finally said. "You're amazing."

Momo's smile was beaming, her eyes sparkling like they always did when she got a compliment. "You too," she replied, happy, eager and friendly.

She hadn't understood what Shouto meant, but Shouto decided that this was fine too. She understood enough. Even if his feelings weren't exactly reciprocated, he was still valued, so much was clear in this meaningful gift that was one step closer to getting him what he'd wanted for years: to see his mother again. He could wait to find someone to love and to love him in return, just like he could wait for this.

---

It was the day before Christmas Eve the next year that Momo approached Shouto again with the idea of leaving the palace.

"I need to get you out of the city," was what Momo said, and it was also all she needed to say.

Shouto knew opinions on his father's rule were growing less split and more entirely negative. Of course there was going to be a coup. Indeed, Shoto's quiet observation of the servants had noticed more outsiders were helping with the Christmas preparations than the year before. Disguised rebels possibly.

"Thank you, Momo," Shouto said sincerely to the guard as they made their way out of the castle casually, like they were simply going out for a stroll, arms linked companionably. "I appreciate you going through this extra effort to make sure I'm not hurt."

"Of course," Momo said passionately, eyes gleaming with intent. She was breath-taking like this. "You're my friend, Shouto." Her cheeks flushed. "I can't take all the credit for this consideration, however, Jirou was the one who pointed out that the nobles are most likely involved in this for their own selfish reasons." Momo's arm around Shouto's tightened protectively. "She knows I'm friends with you so she said I should get you away from the power struggle."

So Momo wasn't so much worried over Shouto getting caught in the crossfire as she was worried over someone purposefully coming after Shouto to make sure he didn't claim his father's throne. While the common citizens might have considered Shouto a good replacement for his father, the noble families thirsting for more power wouldn't care about much outside their own grab for power.

"Good thinking," Shouto said, instead of the several uncomplimentary things he was thinking about adults and their games.

"Jirou is so practical like that," Momo said, and there was something in her tone that indicated she meant much more than that.

This must have been the difference between Shouto telling Momo she was amazing and her saying it back. Hidden meanings that hoped for more. A game of emotion rather than power. It was nice, even if disappointing.

---

There was a bright side to everything. Going into exile granted Shouto the unique ability to go searching for his mother without any other responsibilities holding him back. He would have wanted to take this journey with his friend but, by the time they were united, if they ever were, Shouto would most likely have to take his father's former throne. As things were, Shouto would have gladly allowed the crown to go to anyone else, as long as it meant he could finally find his mother.

Shouto didn't travel alone for long. He'd told the end goal of his journey to a pair of knight-errants who'd eagerly agreed to help him traverse the scarcely-habited outskirts of the kingdom. Well, Izuku had agreed with no questions asked, but Tenya had insisted on the term that Shouto wouldn't keep them from fulfilling their duties. With that agreed, the trio had continued the journey together.

It was a long journey to begin with, with few roads to make travel easier, but Tenya and Izuku made the trip even longer, since they stopped to help with every minor or major disaster, settle every dispute and help with any problems. At first Shouto put up with these knightly duties grudgingly. Then he became used to the interruptions. Finally he started to appreciate the side trips for the new sides to his companions they brought out.

Tenya was an organized person and a good speaker. He was the one who usually settled the disputes they ran into, convincing people to come to a conclusion. He organized groups to take care of bigger problems and he was generally very logical and almost impossible to argue with.

Shouto thought, if he ever did take the crown and became the new king, he'd like to lead like Tenya did. He didn't think much of his admiration for the knight when it first started popping up, mostly because, even as he looked to Tenya with appreciation, Izuku's similar looks were downright starstruck. Obviously Tenya just was a very admirable person, or so Shouto convinced himself.

Izuku was as led by his emotions and gut as Tenya was by his logic. It was watching the easy way he cared for the well-being of complete strangers that taught Shouto the difference between helping because you wanted to right a wrong and helping because you cared too much to let something unjust slide.

It was Izuku's example that finally moved Shouto from simply liking the idea of people getting help, to actually taking part in helping people with their problems. He also noticed that Tenya had, bit by bit, stopped talking about his knightly duty so much whenever they stopped to help someone, also developing a softer side to match Shouto's new outlook. Even Izuku was more willing to speak his mind after they had all travelled together for a while, becoming more assertive from having his friends support him in the things he did.

All in all, the three of them all benefitted on a personal level from travelling together. They had all grown as people and become better. Because of that Shouto had started to see the arrangement as a status quo of sorts, the way things were and would continue to be. Because why change something that so obviously worked?

But all journeys have an end goal somewhere and, if nothing stopped you, you'd eventually reach the ending. As such, it was a bittersweet occasion when Izuku and Tenya presented to him the map he'd based this journey on, with added markings on a location close to the town they were currently stocking up at.

"So, we asked around," Izuku explained. "Well, I did most of the talking because apparently some people think Tenya is intimidating." Izuku scoffed at the very thought but then put himself back on track as he tapped the woods Momo had marked originally. "But, there's a young woman living in the woods around here, who always comes to town alone but still buys supplies for two people. Also, no one knows where her assets come from, since she's never selling anything."

"We think she might be your mother's attendant," Tenya carried on, easily offering up the conclusions based off Izuku's facts. "Since your mother's location was to be a secret, and you mentioned she was unwell, it would make sense for her to have an attendant with her who could take care of her needs."

Shouto grasped at the map to look more closely at it, at the more exact coordinates for his mother's hideout that Izuku and Tenya had managed to discover. Somehow, the situation felt almost dreamlike and unreal. After all this time, after almost a year of searching, they'd finally found her.

Shouto swallowed. "How do you think she's doing?" he asked.

Izuku moved closer in comfort while Tenya considered the question. "You did say it was living at the castle that didn't agree with her," Tenya said. "And this is a peaceful region. It's the perfect place to recover."

In other words, if his mother could recover, this was the place to do it. It was good news.

"This is amazing," Shouto said, after a moment to collect himself. He turned to his companions, thinking about how he'd grown thanks to them, how he probably never would have made it to this point without them. "You're amazing."

He'd never managed to say that quite like he meant to with Momo. He hoped that this part of him had changed too.

Tenya's cheeks reddened, but he smiled brightly as he clapped Shouto on the shoulder. "You're magnificent," he returned, tone holding a weight of meaning.

"Wonderful," Izuku added in, his voice equally meaningful even as his body seemed to curl up from embarrassment over the sincere regard, arms tight around his own torso.

Shouto looked at them both and now realized that even as he'd admired these two and as they'd admired each other, they'd also been admiring him back. His feelings were reciprocated.

The map in Shouto's hands felt heavy and real. The warm regard of his companions made this new perception of reality finally make sense. It wasn't a dream and he wouldn't need to wait anymore. He was getting all he'd ever wanted, in one fell swoop.

[muslimmarriageevents]

Muslim matrimonial services are become essential.

Generally Muslims looked for a daily existence accomplice just among their family members and companions. In any case, presently Muslims are fanned out and are experiencing from one side of the planet to the other. Present day Muslims are compelled to going to the marital administrations increasingly more as they continued looking for a reasonable companion. 

These wedding administrations take care of Muslims living all over the planet. It is made for the sole reason for offering wedding types of assistance for Muslim people, everything being equal. They are most certainly not Muslim dating administrations as some may erroneously think about it.

Islamic marriage is considered as a strict necessity which gives friendship and insurance from wrongdoing. For ladies it offers status and security in a few conventional Muslim people group. Most Muslim guardians assume the liability of tracking down a reasonable accomplice for their child or little girl. For the Muslims living in distant nations, decisions are restricted. So they have not many options than going to the administrations of these wedding organizations.

One must be incredibly careful while looking for a qualified admirer since their hazier side is rarely promoted. By and large, just their cash, rank, magnificence, instructive capability, occupation, religion and hardly any sure focuses are thought about. Marital ads could ordinarily at any point be misdirecting. So screening and cross checking are significant prior to taking a choice.

Requesting that a third individual get data about his personality, propensities, family foundation, monetary circumstance, is a standard everyday practice.

 Yet, this can be an exceptionally humiliating circumstance to the individual enquired when the admirer is known to have an unacceptable foundation and this is all the more so in networks where it isn't thought of as fitting to discuss others negatives regardless of whether it implies concealing it or depending on a "harmless exaggeration".

Imams can serve by and large with regards to the devotion of the person. Be that as it may, an incredible arrangement should be finished by the concerned guardians to look for concealed insights.

Both the imminent accomplices guardians are supposed to keep the Islamic rules set down while meeting. The concerned people are never to meet alone without a chaperone. The gatherings are directed in a business way with the goal that in the event of disappointments to click, it doesn't hurt both the gatherings.

 It is inside constraints of goodness that they are not clearly mouthed or excessively pushy for the solace of others. Again it is good that they don't shape a close to home holding prior to settling in the event that the proposition doesn't come through.

A few Muslim web-based wedding administrations give tips and advices to pick an accomplice. At times plans are made for both the gatherings to meet at a typical spot. Yet, this is uncommon, since in the majority of the cases, the concerned individuals make every one of the courses of action.

 Every one of the agreements like endowment and whether the young lady can work after the marriage ought to be talked about during such gatherings, before the Muslim marriage is concluded, to stay away from clashes later.

FOR MORE INFO :-

Muslim Marriage Bureau UK

[doctorwhonews]

Torchwood: Aliens Among Us - Part 1

Latest Review: Written By: James Goss, Juno Dawson, AK Benedict Directed By: Scott Handcock ​Lead Cast: John Barrowman (Captain Jack Harkness), Kai Owen (Rhys Williams), Tom Price (Sgt Andy Davidson), Paul Clayton (Mr Colchester), Alexandria Riley (Ng), Jonny Green (Tyler Steele), and Eve Myles (Gwen Cooper) Supporting Cast: Stephen Critchlow (The Mayor), Rachel Atkins (Ro-Jedda), Ruth Lloyd (Vorsun), Sophie Colquhoun (Madrigal), Rhian Marston-Jones (Quenel), Lu Corfield (Brongwyn), Rhys Whomsley (Osian), Sharon Morgan (Mary Cooper), David Sibley (Vincent Parry), Sam Béart (Catrin Parry), Anthony Boyle (Hotel Manager), Sam Jones (Toobert Jailert), Wilf Scolding (Personal Trainer) ​Released by Big Finish Productions - August 2017 In receiving the licensed green light to revive Doctor Who’s first full-fledged TV spin-off show, Torchwood, as an ongoing series of audio dramas in May 2015, Big Finish set themselves arguably their most daunting challenge since embarking upon a mission to do likewise for Who back in 1999. Like its mother show in the 1970s, the four season-strong, adult-geared BBC sci-fi drama had reached the height of its televisual powers by 2009, producing an award-winning miniseries in Children of Earth which suggested its writers had finally perfected their efforts to blend universe expansion with compelling, mature storylines capable of attracting newcomers alongside ever-devoted followers of the Doctor. Just as the arrival of iconic figures like Colin Baker, Sylvester McCoy and John Nathan-Turner bred behind-the-scenes troubles which ultimately sealed Who’s 19-year hiatus, however, so too did Torchwood’s golden age of on-screen success reach a swift, turbulent crescendo just moments after its apex. The Starz-produced fourth season Miracle Day lacked the narrative momentum, multi-faceted supporting characters or overall British charm which had reaped Children of Earth such universal acclaim two years beforehand, once again prompting a previously beloved sci-fi saga to enter an indefinite purgatorial state, particularly as its showrunner Russell T Davies faced heartbreaking personal struggles not long after the run’s Summer 2011 broadcast. But between their sensational opening trio of monthly runs featuring beloved characters like Gwen Cooper, Toshiko Sato, Ianto Jones and of course the indomitable Captain Jack Harkness (if you’ve yet to try The Conspiracy, Uncanny Valley, Zone 10, Broken or Corpse Day, then head to Big Finish’s website when you’re done here and remedy that error), the tremendous The Torchwood Archive serving as both a fitting series coda and 10th anniversary special, and box-sets like Before the Fall offering profound insights into the titular secret agency’s mysterious past, Big Finish have more than confirmed their status as the brand’s perfect gatekeepers for the foreseeable future. Next up on their agenda, then? Continuing the story where Miracle Day left off, albeit making a few welcome course corrections en route to ensure that Season Five doesn’t trigger another near-death experience for Torchwood. Even with the support of the mighty Russell behind them, can the studio pull off such a Herculean feat, no longer simply hopping between eras of the show for standalone romps but instead conveying a whole new arc over the course of 12 episodes and three box-sets? Let’s begin the quest to find out with Aliens Among Us – Part 1, evaluating each of the four hour-long instalments in detail before ascertaining whether James Goss and company should ever have bothered embarking upon this audacious campaign… Changes Everything: “Torchwood is dead.” There’s an unmistakable sense of irony about wright James Goss’ decision to invert the title of Torchwood’s pilot episode in naming Season Five’s opener. While the Cardiff of “Changes Everything” has undergone no shortage of transformations, between mass immigration, mass homelessness and mass alien infiltration, while Jack and Gwen were fighting to end the Miracle in the US of A, this compelling first chapter largely works to re-establish much of the show’s pre-Miracle Day status quo, from the shattered but still intact Hub to the team’s iconic SUV to Jack and Gwen back in business at Torchwood Three’s helm. Much of the real change, then, comes with Goss’ introduction of two deliciously morally and psychologically complex new – potential in one case – recruits to the team this time around. Enter the irritable but courageous civil servant Mr. Colchester and the intrepid but concerningly ruthless ex-paparazzi Tyler Steele, the former of whom comes off as initially closed-minded yet has plenty more to him than meets the eye and the latter - brought brilliantly to life as an unashamedly slimy rogue by Jonny Green - bound to rile most listeners with his self-serving rationale as much as he does the rest of the team. For reasons that will become obvious by the end of the hour, Russell’s influence upon the characterisation of these two new players is as clear as daylight, lending them the same dramatically layered but equally realistic personalities that one would expect of any of the Doctor’s 2005-2009 companions or indeed any employee at Torchwood until the Miracle. It’s thanks to this pair of ever-evolving characters largely taking centre-stage – especially in Tyler’s case – here that a somewhat necessarily by-the-books set-up storyline revealing the existence of an unseen alien community pulling the strings in Cardiff remains thoroughly engaging to sit through, though that’s not to say the plot doesn’t pack any dramatic heft in its own right. Much as we’ve encountered plenty such shady organisations such as those behind Season Four’s Miracle or indeed the Committee at the heart of Big Finish’s Torchwood monthly range to date, that the latest foes to emerge from the Rift provoke racist sentiments and terror attacks across Wales’ capital city gives “Changes” a disturbingly relevant edge, the depiction of bombings taking countless lives sure to unsettle anyone following today’s headlines but all the more relevant a subject matter for the show to tackle. As with most season premieres aiming to kick-start a season-spanning arc, the extra narrative legwork “Changes” must perform ultimately robs the opening outing of the chance to become a stellar standalone outing, but even so, by injecting the show with a fresh, volatile new team dynamic at Torchwood Three and harrowing poignancy via its topical real-world ties, Goss sets Aliens Among Us off on a promising trajectory indeed. Aliens & Sex & Chips & Gravy: “Right then, let’s go to a hen night.” Has any episode title ever served to summarised the core tenants of Torchwood as a work of mature yet oft-hilarious drama than the epithet Goss attributes to Season Five’s sophomore outing? Probably not, but thankfully the man responsible for helming the brand at Big Finish doesn’t get complacent off the back of this unparalleled achievement, instead finding time to devise a largely isolated storyline which dedicates almost an hour’s worth of time to developing bothEve Myles’ Gwen and Paul Clayton’s Colchester, not to mention exploring the fascinating interplay between these two world-wearied soldiers as they march into one of their most unlikely – not to mention hugely comedic – missions yet. Laden with outrageous set-pieces – from absurd hostage situations to drunken car chases – and unsubtle but warranted politico-religious commentary, Goss’ script follows these veteran crime-fighters in their efforts to determine how young Madrigal’s upcoming wedding nuptials are connected to the still-mysterious powers manipulating Cardiff for their own ends, only for their investigation to result in the increasingly inebriated Maddie causing them no shortage of explosive grief throughout the night. One does admittedly get the sense as “Aliens & Sex & Chips & Gravy” progresses that Goss thought this delightfully disbelief-uprooting premise was entertaining enough to fuel an entire hour of audio drama, since the second act of proceedings feels rather padded, throwing in convoluted further plot developments and additional characters who don’t add a great deal to proceedings beyond further exposition surrounding the nature of Madrigal’s betrothal. All the same, with Myles and Clayton on top form as they explore how their respective characters deal with leading lives of near-total dishonesty when balancing work with family ties, with Sophie Colquhoun’s Madrigal serving up a veritable array of painfully chuckle-worthy one-liners with each successive pint consumed, and with Goss even finding time to resolve loose plot threads from Titan Comics’ Torchwood strip by revealing the fate of the Ice Maiden’s crew, “Gravy” achieves more than enough in its running time – and builds more than enough intrigue for what’s to come – to stave off any occasional sense of plot tedium. Most importantly of all, that Episode 2 gave yours truly the joy of writing out its pitch-perfect title in full for this review is reason enough for its existence. Orr: “Who knew there was an alien black market right in the middle of Cardiff city centre?” Clearly not content with allowing Goss to expand Torchwood’s core roster with Colchester and Tyler, Juno Dawson adds another player into the mix with Orr, a third RTD-endorsed recruit whose alien heritage affords her some, well, alluring abilities that play glorious havoc with each member of the team here. “Orr” once again marks a near-complete tonal departure from its immediate predecessor, returning to explore the haunting implications of extremist fanatics for a Cardiff already at economic war with itself, while also throwing in aspects of romance and series-changing tragedy for good measure along the way. As one might well imagine, handling such a delicate balancing act – and having to carry the burden of progressing Aliens Among Us’ overall arc in a far more substantial manner than “Gravy” with the full-scale arrival of the season’s core antagonist – would prove a challenging at best prospect for even the most accomplished of scribes. Sure enough, what with tackling weighty concepts like housing shortages, illegal commercial transactions hidden in plain sight and shapeshifts forced to cater for their onlookers’ sexual fantasies, Dawson can’t quite avoid imbuing “Orr” with a lingering sense of tonal discontinuity at times, struggling to decide whether to focus on the hearty laughs Orr’s powers inspire, the aforementioned topicality of her plot or indeed setting up a twist set to inextricably alter Aliens Among Us’ trajectory for the next nine episodes. Thank goodness, then, that the merits of those individual plot and character threads are strong enough to leave the listener suitably chortled, emotionally wrought and ultimately captivated to discover what lies around the corner as soon as the show’s iconic end credits sting kicks in. As shown by her sublime Torchwood one-off outing The Dollhouse back in April, when left to her own devices Dawson’s got more than enough comedic and dramatic chops to pull off a standalone storyline for the range, but even if “Orr” can’t quite match that entertaining Charlie’s Angels-riffing adventure’s lofty heights, as a penultimate instalment for Part 1 it’s got more than enough to keep fans and newcomers alike engaged. Superiority Complex: “All life is equal – animal, mechanical and everything in-between.” Those wanting Part 1’s concluding instalment to serve as a gripping mid-season finale which leaves one desperate to hear the next four episodes might need to restrain those expectations somewhat. Much as “Superiority Complex” affords the whole team plenty to do as they infiltrate a prospering alien hotel to determine the source of recent on-site murders, with John Barrowman clearly relishing Jack’s newfound role as a typically flirtatious barman and Orr’s abilities granting her unprecedented access to employees’ psyches, it’s certainly not concerned with resolving or substantially progressing many plot threads established so far, barring a last-minute cliffhanger which promises dire straits for Torchwood Three come October’s Part 2. With that disclaimer out of the way, though, listeners can focus on simply enjoying the sheer lunacy of the team’s present situation, one member hiding a particularly juicy secret as she spars wits with disgruntled guests and Orr’s encounters with the hotel’s true management proving both ridiculous and tangible given the current exponential growth of artificial intelligence. Between uniting Jack with a British monarch in The Victorian Age and transforming Cardiff into a disease-ridden warzone in Outbreak, AK Benedict  is no stranger to devising logic-eschewing premises anyway, but “Complex” tests the extent to which your disbelief can be suspended like never before, an experiment which if nothing else ensures an unpredictable listening experience presumably akin to watching an episode of the original TV series while under the influence of narcotic substances. Better yet, come Episode 4’s credits we’re left with the unmistakable, gratifying sense of a truly reinvigorated Torchwood, one packing a familiar status quo but with revitalising new elements in the form of the team’s latest recruits, and the fresh, unstable dynamic between protagonists old and new ensuring that both the standalone and arc-orientated instalments compel. If Goss and company could work to justify Kai Owen and Tom Price’s top billings as Rhys and Andy – neither of whom get much in the way of dramatic meat until “Superiority” – next time around, and develop the elusive Ro-Jedda as a multi-dimensional antagonist for Jack et al to battle, then Part 2 could take the show to Children of Earth-rivalling heights once more, but for now, the show’s well and truly back on form, and long may it reign as such at Big Finish. http://reviews.doctorwhonews.net/2017/08/torchwood_aliens_among_us_part_1.html?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

[theonyxpath]

Greetings, fellow Cainites!

The title of this blog is the kind of question to make fellow writer and developer Neall Raemonn Price disturbingly euphoric. He has an odd fetish for those three-eyed soul-sucking demonspawn learned vampires know as “Salubri.”

Well, V20 Dark Ages Companion is coming soon, so I thought I’d post to the blog about it.

Illustration by Pat McEvoy for V20 Dark Ages Companion

As covered in previous posts, V20 Dark Ages Companion profiles several domains around the known world, including a couple largely unaffected by the War of Princes, rise of the Inquisition, or fall of the Salubri. In Mangaluru, on the west coast of the country we now call India, the War of Princes’ tendrils fall short of plunging a domain into war. The Long Night persists, and the Salubri rule in concert with the Danava and Ravnos, each of them preying on different castes of kine.

V20 Dark Ages Companion allows us as writers, and you as Storytellers and players, to explore new realms and play chronicles of Vampire: The Dark Ages in different styles to the typical feudal, mediaeval setup of Europe. While we represent domains including Bath (in the British Isles), Bjarkarey (in Scandinavia), and Rome (location fairly obvious), we also go farther afield with the domains of Constantinople, and Mogadishu (in Somalia). And then we have Mangaluru, which is the greatest distance travelled in a Dark Ages book to date. The distance between Mangaluru and the European continent made us ask questions, such as “how would the hierarchy of such a domain be set up?” “how would they treat the kine differently?” “what would be their perspective of the vampire arrivals from their west?” and importantly, “how have recent insurrections and wars affected this relatively remote domain?”

What if the Salubri never fell? We ask this question in the Apocrypha of V20 Dark Ages. We demonstrate a scenario where this is indeed the case with Mangaluru. I explore a similar theme with a sidebar in V20 Dark Ages Tome of Secrets, regarding the Tzimisce. What if the Tzimisce Koldün put ancestral rivalries and blood-borne jealousies aside and banded together against the nascent Tremere? Would we see a different Vienna come the Final Nights? Would we see a different Sabbat and Camarilla?

Dark Ages is a ripe setting for playing out these “What If?” scenarios. Allow your players to set off a series of events not in keeping with the established canon, and alter your own game to fit. Upcoming V20 books such as the Dark Ages Companion and Beckett’s Jyhad Diary are perfect for making subtle or major tweaks to the rich lore of Vampire: The Masquerade. Doing so in the course of a chronicle empowers the players, and makes them feel like they have a genuine impact on the setting.

As per demand from my last blog on V20 Dark Ages Companion, I include below an extract from the Domain of Mangaluru chapter (by Neall Raemonn Price), and extracts from the Apocrypha of Clan Malkavian (by Susann Hessen) and the rituals of Clan Tremere (by Malcolm Sheppard):

—

A Land of Legend

As told by Malsang of the Nagaraja

The people’s flesh is hot. The spices, you see? Can you not taste the pepper amidst the copper, so like sun-warmed blood even on the most rain-soaked evening? Ahh, those are the only delights left to me. The night is still beautiful, but how I wish I could see the green of the trees once more, how the rain must cause the light of the sun to shatter into a thousand colors. What some call our curse abates in this place, for the land’s blessings are manifold. The sage Parshurama himself reclaimed this land from the sea and built the temple where the Danava now dwell. The sea has blessed us further. Spice has been the blood of Mangaluru, literally and metaphorically. It pools in their livelihood and in their meat. The people pole down the rivers Gurupuru and Netravati, walk through the rolling hills to come here and ply their wares. When the Empire of Rome was late a Republic, that elder of theirs, Pliny, spoke of fearing our pirates. Even then proud Roma refused to face our sailors on equal seas. Lasombra, Ventrue, and Malkavian from Rome, Brujah from Carthage, each sent their childer to our shores, foreign leather planting into the sands over red clay. The Greeks recognized us as one of the greatest fonts of pepper in the entire world, and what their swords could not take their coins bought instead. The Byzars of New Rome come here now, Greek as ever, as do Persians, Muslims, Jews, and Christians.

The triumvirs have been here as long as Mangaluru, and Mangaluru has always been here. How not? The Salubri and the Danava have been close since Saulot received his revelations within the city of Golconda. They and the Ravnos are all enemies of the hated asuratizzaya to the east, driving deep the alliance between the three lines of the Blood. Danava and Salubri have always ruled this land, and the jati of the Ravnos have been their strong sword arms. They rule with sorcery and legend, demanding blood as payment and giving health as the best of kings. The Children of Danu are not like the Ventrue, lurking under the grand castle of the Premysls, or the Toreador in their fine courts. They garb themselves as holy men, calling themselves Brahmins when they deem to do so at all, and slumber amidst the temple of Mangaladevi, greatest of the Kerala temples. The Kshatriya Unicorns rise in the palaces of kings, existing among the people, hiding in plain sight but watching over them in secret, waiting, protecting.

The Seat of Kings

The Salubri have named themselves rulers since Kulashekara Alupendra, king of the Alupas, made the city his capital. The Alupas were always second to the Chalukyas of Badami, the Rashrakutas, the Calukyas of Kalyani, and the Hoysalas — whichever dynasty held the imperial throne, the Alupas were quick to bend the knee, and so remained favored signatories. The Shepherds attached themselves to Alupendra’s court, ensuring their pawns and angers-on remained strong and in good health. They made sure the king’s political enemies and those traders who faltered in their profits made their way to Mangaladevi, to pray for holy deliverance. They found it: sacrificed and consumed to fuel the Sadhana of the deva Danava. Those blood sorcerers, in turn, protected the prophets from all enemies. Both hold the Ravnos, commoners in status if not in caste, under their taloned thumbs, much to their chagrin. We came much later, and only the insistence of the Salubri that the city was welcome to all was our salvation. Common vampires coming to Mangaluru must bring a mortal with them as tribute, one whom they will not miss. If they fail in this, they must procure one from outside the city, for many of the lesser mortal traders who come to Mangaluru fall under scrutiny as soon as they step off their ships. The Salubri judge their impact on the city, the Danava scry their karma, and if the trader suffers under the weight of his sins, Ravnos take him in the night. The majority of these sacrifices go to the Danava, the smallest remainder to we, and by our combined patronage Mangaluru remains safe by blood sorcery. We make more of it than the Danava, clearly — not blood, nor meat, nor soul is wasted by we — but their magics are empowered by their gods, so clearly the sacrifices seem worthwhile. They are the only mortals who perish at the fangs of vampires within the city, though — an unholy murder, performed without sanction, will only result in the swiftest and most terrible vengeance. The travelers and traders taken are relatively few in number, while the residential people of the city and dedicated herds keep safe Mangaluru’s Cainites.

Peace and prosperity guide the night’s activities. Divinatory magics allow the Salubri to guide foreign vampires to auspicious victims, enriching the capability of the city to support a Cainite population. Even a Trembling One visiting the city (and there are many) can expect an ironic smile and warm welcome from a Salubri. And why not smile, for are they not victorious? What the Hellenic Cainites deemed Elysium rules over the city entire. The combined power of Sadhana and Valeren find any who seek to break the peace before the thought even occurs to them. The Shepherds are open about their challenge, telling every Tremere neonate who comes to take a message back to their chantries: Mangaluru is a refuge, one the Tremere may assault if they dare. The Children of Saulot are there, and they are waiting.

—

The Coronati

For each deadly sin, there is a Malkavian who represents it. The very sin of sloth is called dejection in some Orthodox writings, and one who suffers from depression will certainly be judged slothful rather than ill. When a neonate emerges and finds his new mind inextricably tied to one of these sins, he will regard himself as wicked or cursed. While other vampires will see in him the mark of Malkav, they too will consider him stained with wickedness, not illness. Kine are less merciful yet — knowing nothing of the curses of Caine, they will see sin without reason.

This state is a mixed blessing. Most Cassandras of any notable station come from these ranks — they are the ones who most readily accept the premises of their surroundings, and they are the ones who seem most rational. Some believe such Seers only descend from those Malkavians among the Coronati — Malkav’s childer who sucked vitae from the earth surrounding where Malkav was once struck down by Set — in order to preserve him and spread his madness. But these Coronati childer are the sinful, and theirs is scorn to reap. Among Cainites, the Coronati childer are often compared with the Nosferatu. Their minds are not sick, but twisted and warped into unholy patterns. Their souls carry the ugliness inside that the Nosferatu carry openly. Sin and pain stain their souls, whether they suffer uncontrollable bouts of rage or megalomania, or obsessively arrange their possessions just so. They manipulate the madness in others, spreading insanity like a plague.

Even those whose predilections do not run towards true sin will face the same stigma among vampires — if a Childe of Malkav does not display the touch of true madness, then her peers consider her one of the sinful.

—

Wield the Spear of Damnation (Level Three Ritual)

This ritual recalls the legend of Caine itself, dedicating a weapon to satisfy a vampire’s nature just as the Dark Father cursed himself, when he raised a sharp stone against his brother. The Tremere writes Genesis 4:10 (“And he said, ‘What hast thou done? the voice of thy brother’s blood crieth unto me from the ground.’”) upon an edged weapon in purported angelic script, during a meditative trance. This requires one hour. From that moment forward, half the lethal damage inflicted by the weapon (rounded up) converts to blood points, filling the wielder’s pool. This persists until the weapon has harvested the caster’s Thaumaturgy + ritual successes in blood points. Blood so harvested doesn’t inflict extra damage (it comes straight from blood shed by the wound), but is of the target’s type. Lupine blood remains doubly potent, and other blood types have their signature effects.

[musaesidereum]

❖ au masterlist; joseph

a kingdom swallowed by the sea siren / merman AU #j au: siren

Amongst all of the dangers born of the ocean, sirens are one of the most dangerous for humans in particular. Born with preternatural beauty and illusory magic that could captivate beyond mortal resistance, sirens have adapted over time to become irresistible to their favourite choice of prey now that they were in abundance and constantly crossing the ocean in search for land and glory.

Unlike the rest of his brethren, Joseph is a wanderer at heart, and longs to explore the lands beyond the ocean. If befriending what should be his natural prey is what it takes, that’s exactly what he intends to do.

AU.

a mirror never lies twin AU w/ tricksstar #j au: twins

Born twenty minutes before his identical twin Joseph to George and Elizabeth Joestar, Joshua Joestar is very proud to announce that he’s not only the elder Joestar twin, he’s also the more handsome one, the smarter one, and the more humble one to boot. Don’t believe anything that Jojo has to say about him being better--Josh is definitely the cuter one of the two of them. It’s the burden that the elder twin must bear, you see!

Constantly getting into trouble with his equally hot-headed twin since the moment they were able to walk, Josh and Jojo are inseparable and incorrigible. And really, Josh can’t imagine ever living a life without his twin.

AU.

always a catch pokemon AU #j au: pokemon

Long before Joseph became the powerful and well-respected Elite Four that he was known as at the age of thirty, he’d been a young teenager struck with wanderlust with a big dream and an even bigger heart. Satisfying his need to roam with his faithful Mime Jr at his side, Joseph soon found his fulfilment in the various battles he had with trainers all over the world.

Companion pokemon: Mr Mime, Jolteon E4 team: Steelix, Zebstrika, Magnezone, Tangrowth, Gothitelle and Metagross.

AU.

and I'll be there when the world stops turning modern cisswap AU w/ xgodlike #rp: tall dark and handsome

The Joestars have always been a wealthy family--but as they grew in number, the relationships between each branch of the family became more and more tumultuous. Eventually, it culminated in irreconcilable differences and legal warfare. The constant lawsuits and fighting among the branches eventually drained whatever money Josephine’s particular branch had left, leaving them mostly destitute (compared to their previous economic standing, at least) and struggling to retain their upper-class status.

Of course, Josephine had been extremely young when all of this happened, and grew up enjoying the attention and the indulgence of her favourite uncle, Robert Speedwagon, without any actual knowledge of what happened ten years ago. Or the people involved in what happened.

At the young age of twenty, Jojo’s finally got herself her first boyfriend--a particularly wealthy (and most importantly, tall) lawyer by the name of Dio Brando.

AU.

death should not take thee mmo AU #j au: mmo

When he finally boots up his favourite MMO after the agonising five-hour wait for the latest expansion to download and install, he really didn’t expect that he’d be sucked in-game the moment he got through the log-in screen.

With a crossbow strapped across his back and a variety of potions clipped to his belt... Well, he can’t really help but think that this really gives first-person shooters a whole new meaning. Also, Joseph really should stop pulling all-nighters. All of this has to be a lucid dream, right?

Modern AU.

descend with me into the depths demigod AU #j au: demigod

The line of Joestar has always had a close relationship with death. It’s only fitting that eventually, death becomes a part of the family, right? In which the Joestars are matrilineally descended from the primordial being that is Death.

AU.

look at me in the eye and call me a liar hotline miami AU #j au: hitman

Joseph Joestar’s family’s got a long history behind them, a long and proud history of societal innovators, of leaders and public servants. The Joestars have bright and shining history that serves delectably well as their public face, hiding the true reason for their amassed wealth and power behind the glittering veneer of public service. They had been mercenaries and cutthroats, pirates and smugglers and everything else in-between.

Considering his slick tongue and charismatic charm, Joseph could’ve become a conman, a grifter, a swindler. He would have been great at it, cheating people out of everything that they owned and leaving them bereft. However, Joseph found himself as an--errand boy instead, doing odd jobs when the night came calling. Armed with a spotless uniform and a rusted bat, he preferred this job, really: he enjoyed the visceral rush of picking up hits.

Modern AU.

the frenzy within one’s veins post-BT vampire AU w/ xgodlike: enthralled by blood #j au: vampire

Joseph never noticed that Kars kept his Stone Mask with him during the fight. As he fought for his life--and the lives of everyone else with him, Kars managed to clasp the Mask around his head and smear his own blood on it--causing it to latch on and kill him, even as they rose up through the mesophere towards space, and he gets converted into a vampire as he falls back into the ocean. He doesn’t remember what happened after that, as he was utterly unconscious as he hit the waves, all those kilometres below.

What he did know was that eventually, he woke up to find himself somehow alive and conscious, cradled within the depths of the ocean. It didn’t take him long to realise how he’d survived. He was now a creature of the night, something that he’d been actively fighting to prevent. Swimming aimlessly through the ocean eventually led him to being washed up on the shores of Venice, where he found himself confronted with Suzie Q.

In which Joseph is forced to put on the Stone Mask by Kars near the end of their fight in an attempt to destroy him using the sun’s light.