#this is your calling. you must learn to banish self doubt and put in the hard work and time it takes to make something truly amazing

[craycraybluejay]

writing is torture but unfortunately i am a writer and will legitimately die if i do not do it

[horizon-verizon]

I'm seeing people claim Daemon has been grooming Rhaenyra since she was a little girl both in the book and the show but that's not true? In the book he gets banished when she was 8 and doesn't return to King's Landing until she's 15. And in the show we have no idea what their relationship looked like pre episode 1 and it's implied he spends a lot of time away from court.

I wrote about the medieval ages of consent, ages of marriage, and how they can relate to thoughts of grooming in the universe of ASoiaF HERE.

You are correct, but it's after Daemon leaves KL in anger at Rhaenyra being named heir that he voluntarily leaves with Mysaria to Dragonstone ("A Question of Succession"):

It is when Viserys later hears that Daemon gave Mysaria an egg for their unborn child that Daemon is actually exiled ("A Question of Succession"):

Ultimately, I think that if the frame of mind for characters default to how little choice a lot really have in choice of partner (especially for women & girls) is going to affect how they think about childhood and be more open to those relationships we'd avoid, condemn, call the police for. In other words, before I hate Daemon for his maybe grooming maybe not grooming of anyone only-specificially-uniquely (for no other reason), it would behoove me to really think about HOW AND WHY he or any person can marry/fuck much younger people & get rid of that problem. Because that larger force is guiding these people's actions more than them thinking "this is a child, I love to fuck children, lemme fuck this child".

Rhaenyra was born in 97 A.C. and was proclaimed Viserys' heir at the age of 8 in 105 A.C., which also means Daemon left that 1st time in 105 A.C. Daemon did not come back to KL until 111 A.C., when she was 14-15 and she had decided to wear her red-black dress to unsubtly declare her opposition against Alicent and the greens. Daemon was not there often enough or around Rhaenyra enough to have that much of an influence before he came back. Again, for BEFORE.

He also did not begin to give her gifts and attention like what the text explicitly says he did after he came back, which implies EITHER that he didn't do that as often when she was younger OR if/when he did no one thought that it was a weird or suspicious bc family members gives gifts to each other.

The following is what he did after he came back, in terms of what would be identified as grooming and would alert many readers ("A Question of Succession"):

Intermission (ignore, this popped into my mind when I was thinking of my response)

Ironically, Rhaenyra's red-black dress moment almost matches and simultaneously contrasts with Jaehaerys' 14-15 yr old working harder to become a "better" king by working on his swordplay, fighting, bearing, etc. as a way to reduce and put to bed doubts over his leadership, referring to the medieval belief that a king must be not just physically able but also strong and good with a sword (hence the ableist rhetoric against Daeron II, no matter if he was disabled or not). It's not about truths so much as manipulating and controlling the image--Jaehaerys barely actually went to war during his entire reign. He did it once on his dragon with his sons, it was barely a battle AND he, as a male, is encouraged to learn swordplay (the avenue towards respect and trustworthiness on a ruler's capability in such a society) more than if he were a man, but his reign nor right to rule at that moment wasn't really as under attack much as when he was younger. And here Rhaenyra must form some sort of self-defense and advocacy, some show of strength both for herself and to put on for others. Without swordplay or participating in martial arts (things discouraged for women), she shows strength where she needs to--in court, through dress. Social "performance" can mean different things but stems from the ability to be what one uses to self-affirm/self-advocate, bc it's about controlling one's own image and having some sort of awareness of your relationship with those actors/people you need to control/manipulate/influence. And those we are able to look at a distance from as "children" are pushed into such positions bc of the society they live in. We can't refute its importance in social interactions and politics nor how those people we real, modern people call children have been involved with such practices as if they were adults--even nonsexually--in ASoIaF.

END of Intermission

Grooming can happen at any child age as long as it is an extended period of time because it needs constant reinforcement.

Viserys had been planning--with the council--for some time as to who 15-year-old Rhaenyra should marry. Only a little under a year after Daemon comes back. In 112 A.C.--again, she's 15 here--Daemon was exiled (again) AND she went on an unofficial tour to attract possible admirers & supporters on a semi-official "progress". So that the heir could also "know" her soon-to-be subjects and those subjects would be putting a face to the name of the woman they swore to protect and be loyal to ("A Question of Succession"):

Note how even after Daemon leaves, there is Mushroom's account of Viserys being very worried and angry over Daemon's words/actions AND Eustace's account of Viserys commanding both to never speak about whatever happened, later exiling Daemon. After this event, the court "returned to its customary tranquility" for at least a little under a year before he forced Rhaenyra to marry Laenor.

And it is after he does this that we have two other accounts of how exactly Rhaenyra and Criston finally separated.

And really, Viserys favored her marrying Laenor since a Velaryon alliance was perceived as necessary esp after he spurned a marriage w/Laena: ("A Question of Succession"):

This makes the tour even more likely a means for Rhaenyra to attract favors from her not-"suitors" to build her image, NOT to actually get a suitor to marry.

There is an interesting phenomenon in Rhaenyra going on a tour other than just an heir meeting those she will rule. Twofold: one because she is a woman, and one because of herself and what happened/didn't happen w/Daemon:

she gets to present herself, be charming, and show off her physical beauty, dragon, and clothes as a sort of "treasure" and show why she's called the "Realm's Delight" to make a very feminine-but-desirable picture to her subjects (female paragon of beauty to match the image of a ruler being the "supreme" example of the aristocracy) -> a crossover of sexual desire and the motivation to be loyal to her as a subject when a woman being a ruler is an uncomfortable notion

the idea being to "bait" others in her tour: why would she present herself in such a way if not for marriage prospects, or at least if she "likes" someone she sees, the lords/sons can make a case for their devotion to her; making her visit these lords and their sons is not an event that happens for women and girls and many would feel as if it were some sort of suitor-progress -> thereby, as she's presenting herself as if she were marriageable (a sort of business as usual) and emphasizing her virginity and sexual "purity", she could also be getting ahead of any possible rumors of her lost virginity for the sake of her reputation and future with Laenor.

Of course, we'd have to have evidence of supporting materials that indicate the possibility of Viserys or any of his council being actually this forward-thinking. But that tour really came in handy for Rhaenyra. The timing...

Anyway, yeah, all this indicates that it isn't enough for us to see Daemon give Rhaenyra gifts and pay special attention to her when she's already in a situation where the "childhood" we recognize in her does not have the same meaning as "childhood" for any person in some medieval societies, even with people trying to get their kids married with as little age gaps and as older as possible in noble circles. It certainly shows how sexual purity for girls makes men automatically/likelier and more often seekers of young girls for sexual partners bc it makes a prize/attraction of youth in women/girls more than boys. But we'd have to destroy the entire system and world and/or convert it to a more modern world (doesn't have to be the digital age specifically)--and that's not happening anytime soon within the timeline of Rhaenyra's period.

So the question after identifying Daemon as a groomer is what takes away with that information? Other than hating Daemon--which is your prerogative--in the context of examining the text &SOCIETY, how does it serve us to understand Rhaenyra's story in-text when she must learn/build strength in a world where she must marry and have sexual relations much younger than how we'd want her for her to even gain power (other than explaining how ludicrous that she and all women here are in this)?

la pheacinne states:

All I said is that it doesn't matter in the context of the story because all women got married in their teen years. All. All mariages, all classic love stories basically have a grooming element, and it's so generalised that it looses its value as a point of criticism. Yes, technically, if you sterilise the context and isolate the facts, it could be considered "grooming", yes technically there is a power imbalance, obviously, it's just that these points cannot constitute a valid criticism for the character because in the context of the story, they lose their meaning. They cannot be used as a proof that the character is bad or immoral or a pedophile. [...] The problem with the word "grooming" is that it's not a neutral word. It's a word with a very heavy meaning, that frames an individual who has a perverse, unnatural sexual desire for children whereas the society this individual lives in has decided (fortunately) that these children are not to be considered in a sexual way. So this individual breaks a fundamental moral code of the society they live in, and they do it so skillfully that they go the extra mile as to manipulate their way into basically, committing the crime that constitutes child sex abuse. It is a crime punished by law. You go to prison for it. Everybody knows it is perverse, unnatural behaviour, everybody tries to protect their children from it, and children themselves have a certain knowledge that it is NOT ok for an adult to approach them that way.

AND HERE:

Well GRRM is creepy with age differences, that is a fact. I'm ok if you adress this as a meta commentary. What I mean by a meta commentary here is a commentary on the choices of the author himself and whether these choices are wise/unwise, or if there is a pattern that should be adressed. All of this can be discussed in a meta commentary. Dead Ladies Club was one for example, in a different subject though.

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Thor’s twin

Thor Odinson x twin!reader

warnings:

a/n: HSHSHHSHSHHSHSGS

prompt: @locke-writes: “Wait Lacey I have a headcanon idea if you’re willing to write it. Headcanons for being Thor’s twin??? Idk man I feel like that could be unbridled chaos”

okay, i believe that odin and frigga refused to tell the two of you who was born first

“either one of you could earn the throne, but you need to prove that you can handle the responsibility” -odin

jokes on him, neither of you cared for the opportunity to rule

you two were much better suited as warriors

you were both able to weild mjölnir, which created...disagreements

“i should have mjölnir! i lifted it first!” -you

“only because you pushed me out of the way!” -thor

“will you two just rip each other apart already?” -loki

speaking of loki, his pranks always exhausted you

especially when you appeared to have woken up in your twin brother’s body

“wh-what is this? LOKI!!!”

he always got a kick out of it

and the celebrations of victory? they never disappointed

“brother! another victory on the battlefield, but was there any other doubt?” -you

“of course not, y/n! at this rate, i don’t think we’ll ever fall!” -thor

“don’t put your hammer where your mouth is” -you

you and thor were definitely unstoppable fighting together, both blessed to be literal gods

“eyes front, thor! the fight’s not over yet!”

when you walked beside each other, sometimes you’d summon mjölnir to your hand

it always annoyed the hell out of him

“give that back”

“i don’t think i will”

“y/n, i’m serious”

“come and get it”

“that’s it!”

*swatting and wrestling in the middle of the hallway*

sometimes frigga would even catch the two of you arguing

“oh, my children. would you quit your bickering for just one moment?” -frigga

“but mother, y/n took my hammer!” -thor

“you’ll just have to learn how to share” -frigga

as the years flew by, there was always something crazy to occupy you

especially the day that thor had been banished, which hadn’t exactly gone as planned for loki

you were supposed to be banished, as well

“i suppose the future of the throne is your responsibility now, my child” -odin

“i...i don’t know what to say” -you

“but y/n doesn’t desire the throne one bit, i would have no problem stepping up, father” -loki

“we’ll deal with this later, brother” -you

you had to plan something with sif and the warrior’s three

yes, it was treason, but your brother would always be worth it. no matter how much you two argued, he was your other half

now you found yourself on earth, it was such an odd-looking place

and then you were chased by a destroyer

“thor, you must get to safety! i will not lose you again!” -you

“hi there, i’m jane...” -jane, obviously

“hello, lady jane! i’m y/n, thor’s twin!” *blocks debris* “i must go now!”

life didnt get much more simple after that, especially since loki had died (or so you thought) and the bifrost was completely destroyed, it would take a long time to fix any of the damages that asgard suffered

mourning over loki felt right and wrong at the same time, he betrayed you and your family, but you’d never stop loving him

he would always be your brother

as time went on, you had to visit earth once again because of...loki

“i should have known” -you

“yes, you should have” -thor

“you didn’t know, either!” -you

“and they call us petty?” -any SHIELD agent or avenger

loki mocked you when he was captured

“you were nothing but loved growing up, brother. what happened?” -you

“there was a shadow cast over me, thor’s shadow. don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it, either. odin only ever truly notices him and all of his feats” -loki

“you tell nothing but lies, loki. i won’t fall for them and i will not help you. you should stop while you’re ahead”

“so you agree that i’m ahead?”

threatening loki with mjölnir

ppl actually called mjölnir “thor’s hammer”

“i think you mean our hammer” -you

the battle of new york was admittedly terrifying, you knew loki had it in him, but seeing it in the moment just hurt you

it was possible you had a guilty conscience

but the avengers saved the day (mostly) and you brought loki and the tesseract home

and loki was sentenced to an eternity in prison

“hey, thor, think i’d have a shot at lady sif?” -you teasing the hell out of him

“shut up. you won’t make me jealous no matter what you say. my heart belongs to—” -thor

“the midgardian, i know”

you did sort of make him jealous tho ngl

aaanyways you pushed him to go see jane again, it had been too long to leave a midgardian waiting. their lives were short.

and you got to see her again! unfortunately you lost your mother that same day

and you were p i s s e d

murder? murder. (murder)

you may or may not have broke into the vault to get a weapon you could truly call your own

and then went against your better judgement and took loki to off-world with you

“y/n—” -loki

“shut up” -you

but you wish you had listened to what he had to say since you had the bear the loss of loki once again

now you had two family members to avenge

speaking of avenging, you steered clear of the avengers because......they were nuts

“y/n! you know, we could use another god like yourself on our team” -tony

“thor won’t help power your building, will he?” -you

“you got me” -tony

“so, you and thor are twins? who’s older?” -steve

“we actually don’t know!” -you

“oh...neat” -steve

“you know, thor was crying the first time he tried to lift that hammer of his” -clint

“i have no doubt about that” -you

“thor always talks about fighting in wars, but he never gives us any details. has he really fought wars?” -natasha

“oh, plenty of them! my brother and i have fought side by side in countless battles, you’ve even witnessed one! in new york!” -you

“how could i forget?” -nat

okay getting past all that, you focused on getting a headstart on some more *prophetic* instances that thor caught up to you on

and once you got back to asgard, you knew there was something wrong

“are you kidding me? loki? again?” -you

“hello, sibling. it’s nice to see you again” -loki

“why are you the way that you are?” -you

“that’s enough, y/n” -thor

✨going to midgard for odin who instead gave you a homicidal sister✨

hela was not nice at all. at ALL.

your heart broke when she shattered mjölnir

and loki made a bad call to open the bifrost for the whole odinspawn family

and next thing you knew, you were on sakaar

“thor? what the hell?” -you

“y/n! oh, it’s so good to see you! help me out here, please!” -thor

“i’m sorry, brother, but me and loki have been playing the loving brother/sibling act to keep it civil. this place...it’s unlike any place we’ve ever seen. we need to be smart. and we need to get back to asgard.” -you

“yes, we do. there is no doubt in my mind that hela is destroying asgard as we speak” -thor

“right, well...i don’t think loki will be joining us because, he and, uh, the grandmaster as they call him...they sort of formed a relationship” -you

trying to break thor out of prison and oh....hulk is here? that was unexpected

“y/n! y/n, that mean girl who kidnapped me? a valkyrie. a real life valkyrie!” -thor

“what?! father told us they had all died!” -you

“i think it would be safest to disregard everything father has ever told us” -thor

“i very much like that idea” -you

kicking absolute ass on your way out

you and valkyrie teamed up, so you had to say your goodbyes to loki early on, he made it clear he wanted to stay

“you will always be my brother, loki. i wish you well on your journey to find your place in this life. and i do love you, remember that” -you, giving him a hug

“...thank you, y/n. i...me, too” -loki

yet he came back for you in the end

after thor had lost his eye, he’d unlocked his true power........not to be a sore winner, but you’d unlocked yours first while he was on earth

but you two together? that should have been unstoppable

yet you weren’t

“what the hel? she should be dead!” -you

“we need to go” -valkyrie

“wait, i have one more idea” -thor

and that idea was the idea that ended asgard

but you’d create a new asgard

but then half of asgard was murdered by thanos! and you and thor were stranded in space! and loki actually died! and you were saved by space pirates! and were flirted with by half of their crew!

“thor, you need to see dmitri, you need a new weapon if we’re going to finish off thanos” -you

okay, well you and the “guardians of the galaxy” went after infinity stones instead, you knew that one day you’d have to

running into tony stark in space?????

“y/n? what are you doing here?” -tony

“i’m here to kill thanos, what are you doing here, stark? who are these two?” -you

“hi, i’m peter! that’s mister—doctor strange” -peter

everyone turned to dust after thanos escaped and you, tony, and nebula went to star-lord’s ship

and were saved by captain marvel

and reunited with thor

“y/n, by odin’s beard, i thought i had lost you” -thor

“it’s alright, i’m here now” -you

starting up new asgard and watching your brother fall into a depression that caused you to do most of the heavy lifting in this new kingdom

“are you still playing fortnite, brother? it’s five in the morning” -you

“can you pass...” *belch* “just pass me another beer” -thor

and after 5 years, you got to go back to asgard? but asgard from 10 years prior

“mother...” -you

“y/n, we have a mission” -rocket

“i know, i know...where’s thor?” -you

running into your mother while getting thor

“hello, mother. i...yes, hello” -you

“hello, my child. i hope that the future is treating you well” -frigga

“it isn’t, but thank you, mother. i love you” -you

and then you were back on earth and had to comfort thor, who was self-loathing again

but the work had been restored by a simple snap!

and you and thor were able to fight a real fight once more, summoning mjölnir again was invigorating

and there was some kind of bittersweet win here, one i’ve covered plenty of times

“it was fitting for such a great battle to be our final one for now” -thor

“you’re leaving?” -you

“i am, but i trust you’ll take care of our people like you always do. i will see you again, dear sibling. one day” -thor

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedficrecs // @emygirl // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisbisexual // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @ofthedewthesunlight // @canarypoint // @zoeyserpentluck //

[jarienn972]

La Sirena - Chapter Three

Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

My intent had been to post this latest chapter update for @cssns​ yesterday, but neither Tumblr nor my internet at home wanted to cooperate so Chapter Three was a little bit delayed. I decided with this chapter to jump a few days ahead so that Killian was partially recuperated and able to start exploring his new surroundings.  He’s discovered that his “angel” is a mysterious, lonely woman who has been stranded on this stretch of shore for a very long time and he wants to learn more about her.  Will he get more than he bargained for though?

I have to say thanks again to @courtorderedcake​ for her beautiful artwork featured here and to @kmomof4​ for being an amazing beta reader!

The first two chapters can be found on AO3 and FF.net or here: One  Two

Chapter Three: A Glimpse of the Unknown

By the third sunrise since arriving on this distant cove, Killian was at last feeling recuperated enough to venture beyond the protected thicket. He'd been gratefully accepting Emma's offered sustenance and had enjoyed the few, brief conversations they'd shared. The fruits she'd brought had served to nourish his weakened body, especially after a week or so subsisting on the unidentifiable gruel the pirates had shoved at him. More so, her pleasant words may have been few, but they had helped ease his troubled mind and he hoped to entice her into talking more now that he had recovered enough to carry on an intelligent discourse.

What had brought her here to such a seemingly lonely place? Was she truly alone here or were there others living nearby? He had no inkling whether she'd answer him, but with little else to do, he'd relish the challenge.

For now, he was anxious to stretch his legs and discover a bit more of the isle he'd landed upon. Using a nearby palm tree stump to aid in keeping his balance, Killian found his footing and pushed himself fully upright for the first time since he'd escaped the doomed pirate ship. He'd crawled about the clearing as needed and he'd of course been able to sit cross-legged in the sand to eat, but standing suddenly felt foreign. His legs protested the exertion, although not nearly as much as his throbbing head. He had to pause for a few seconds to allow the dizziness to pass, but he pressed forward despite the realization that he'd likely underestimated the severity of the blow he'd taken from the ship's rigging.

It was also at this moment that it dawned on him what a fright he must look. His uniform had been torn to shreds in battle, made worse during his imprisonment, and now hung in tatters on his gaunt form. The relentless waves had shredded the fabric even further but had barely touched the dark stains. His current state was completely unbecoming of an officer but he was a long way from a tailor so he'd have to make due. He was determined to do one thing to improve his outward appearance - bathe. He'd not bathed properly since he'd departed Liam's ship nor had he shaved. His chin itched of several days' growth of whiskers and he found himself idly wondering if his lovely companion might have soap or better yet - a straight razor - in her possession.

Taking each step slowly and deliberately, he followed a narrow, well-trodden path through the patch of cycads, emerging onto a pristine expanse of shoreline. The sand squishing between and beneath his toes was warm, but not uncomfortable as he trudged toward the water's edge. He'd not yet seen Emma this morning. Perhaps he'd risen before her? He was tempted to turn back towards the rocks and search for her, but he knew she'd come find him in time. Right now, he was eager to wade into the crystal clear bay that stretched out before him as far as the eye could see and allow the seawater to wash away the grime and ease the aches in his joints.

And if the fair maiden wasn't around to see him, he could shed his torn, bloodstained linen shirt and the stiff, uncomfortable wool uniform trousers. A least for a few minutes…

The scratchy trousers were the first to go, followed quickly by his shirt. He'd not even bothered undoing all of the buttons as several were already missing. By the time he reached the water, he'd left a trail of clothing behind but as long as he was still alone on the beach, his dignity remained intact.

He waded into the surf, noting that the shallows extended only a short distance from the shore before dropping into unknown depths. At least the waves were calm as they broke against his legs. He dared only to venture in waist deep, not prepared to test his swimming ability so soon lest Emma need to rescue him again. As he bent his knees to lower his torso into the cool, salty water, he watched the little fish darting around. He cupped water in his open palms and splashed it onto his face, careful to avoid the gash on his forehead as he scrubbed away layers of grime. His wound still stung enough without introducing more saltwater to it.

He wasn't normally a contemplative person but even he had to recognize how recent events had altered his perspective. For days in captivity, he'd had nothing but time to think about those he'd failed. His crew. His brother. Himself. Maybe he lacked the necessary skills to be a proper leader. He'd sailed his crew into certain death and yet, here he was - left to wallow in guilt. Liam would have fought harder. He wouldn't have allowed his crew to be taken prisoner.

And yet Liam was the one who'd given the order to scout the uncharted island. The order had come from him. He was the Captain. Liam had imparted this fate upon them with his order…

Killian squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head, willing himself to banish those thoughts. No, Liam was a good captain. He would never knowingly endanger his crew, especially not with his younger brother leading the expedition. It had been an unfortunate series of events that Killian alone had survived to lament. Fortune had intervened and spared his life, bringing him here to another uncharted, idyllic locale. The cove and its beguiling inhabitant were both ripe with beauty and intrigue.

At some point, his senses became aware that he was no longer alone. He didn't know how long she'd been watching him but he couldn't halt the flush of embarrassment from darkening his cheeks as he splashed an abrupt about-face in the water.

"Apologies," she shouted from the shore. "I didn't intend to startle you."

"'Tis alright," he replied, stupidly arguing with himself as to whether he should cover himself.

"I followed your trail from the grove," she began, waving an arm in the direction of his discarded clothing littering the beach. "If I had known you wished to bathe, I would have recommended the spring-fed pool inside the cavern as being more preferable…"

He chuckled to himself as he gave his head a little shake. Of course, it would have been… "I'll remember that for future reference."

"I am pleased to see that you're feeling stronger today," she smiled while a breezy tradewind fluttered the hem of her tunic, giving him a glimpse of her pale but enticingly shapely legs.

"Yes," he gulped, suddenly even more aware of his current state of undress. "I am feeling much better this morning…"

"That is wonderful. I've refilled the carafe for you back at the grove and brought you some fresh fruit. Is there anything else you might need?"

"You wouldn't happen to know where a man might get some new clothing and perhaps a straight razor around these parts? Is there a town or village nearby where I might find such things? My former uniform is rather an unacceptable mess at the present."

"I'm afraid that the nearest place you'd call a village is more than a day's trek up the peninsula from here and it's certainly not a place where you'd find such goods."

"Ah, pity. We truly are quite isolated here, are we not?"

"Afraid so, but you might be surprised by what this bountiful cove can provide. I believe I may be able to locate some clothing for you and perhaps some personal implements as well. Come join me in the cavern and we can take a look?"

"Ehh…," he stammered, blushing an even deeper shade of crimson. He'd not thought of himself as a prudish person but he was far from a brash braggart who would dare reveal his nudity to an innocent maiden yet. "That sounds like a wonderful idea…"

She seemed a tad confused when he didn't exit the water but after a moment, she understood his hesitation. "Ah - I am truly sorry… I have had little need for modesty in my solitude. I'll leave you be and meet you back beneath the trees in a few minutes."

"Much appreciated," he responded as she turned toward the swaying palms, all the time hearing the ghostly echo of Liam's laughter ringing in his ears.

**********

After ensuring that the coast was clear of prying eyes, Killian padded self-consciously out of the sea. He collected the remnants of his threadbare shirt and used it to give himself a precursory drying off as he fetched his trousers. He would have preferred to burn them rather than don them yet again, but with no other option for clothing presently available, he'd have to suffer and make due. He didn't have the foggiest notion of what Emma had meant when she spoke of the provisions of this bountiful cove, but he had to trust her. He was the outsider here and even though he still knew little about her, he doubted she would have mentioned anything if she couldn't be of assistance.

He chose not to bother putting what remained of his shirt back on as he followed her footprints back into the cycad grove where he'd spent nearly every waking moment since being marooned on this shore. The canopy had provided shade and shelter to him, although he was thankful the skies had been fair. He'd spent the past decade and a half aboard various ships, his leave in port usually brief so this was an unfamiliar experience for the seasoned mariner.

Not necessarily an unpleasant one though, he thought to himself as he arrived to find Emma kneeling in the sand, splitting apart a fig. She silently offered him one half as she bit into the other. Killian accepted it with a nod, popping it into his mouth before realizing she was staring at him with her intense green eyes.

"Have I done something wrong?" he queried with a furrowed brow, concerned he had offended his host with either his actions or his partially clothed form.

"No, no…" she assured him, averting her eyes with a hint of shame. "I was just admiring your pelt…" Her face scrunched in disgust at her errant choice of words. "No, that's not the right word…" She shook her head, trying desperately to come up with the proper term as Killian looked on in confused amusement. "I was drawn to the dark hair that covers your limbs and your torso… The males of my people, they simply do not possess body hair in such patterns."

"Your people don't have body hair?" he asked, incredulously, lifting a curious eyebrow as he wondered how they'd gotten to this conversation.

"Not to the extent of yours… They are able to grow facial hair but only fine, pale hairs adorn their bodies…" Her attempt to explain what she meant only began to exacerbate her awkwardness. "A thick coat of fur is not needed for warmth in our land so I have never seen anyone with such an impressive display of hair…"

"Well, it isn't really for warmth where I come from either. I inherited it from my grandfather, I believe…," he realized he was blushing while he rambled on, suddenly wishing he had something to cover his bare chest.

"Please - do not be embarrassed. I had no intention of shaming you and I should not have been staring - it's not polite - but it has been a very long time since I've been this close to anyone."

"How long?" he caught himself asking, cringing immediately as he blurted out the insensitive question. "Forgive me, please. That wasn't proper for me to be asking."

"It's no matter. We've both made our blunders, have we not?" She mused with a shy grin, the first time he'd truly noticed her smile. It was only visible for a split-second as she abruptly changed the subject, reverting back to her stoic front. "You should come with me to the cavern now. I believe you shall find some of what you seek there."

"Inside the cave?" There was a heavy dose of disbelief in his voice. What on earth would be inside that cavern that would be of use to him?

"Please, just follow me. You will see."

He might have still been skeptical but he was also of the opinion that if a beautiful woman asked you to follow her, you followed her. He'd be damned if he wasn't going to do as requested.

The mouth of the cavern was deeply recessed into the jagged outcrop, making it virtually invisible from the bay. It was dark and uninviting but as they made their way over the ridge and passed into the void, Killian was pleasantly surprised to learn that the interior was relatively well illuminated. Streams of sunlight filtered in through cracks in the cavern's ceiling and he also recognized the acrid scent of smoke lingering in the tempered air, likely residue from the series of torches and lanterns lining the rock walls that Emma used to navigate the tunnels.

With Emma leading the way, they rounded a shadowy corner in a dim passageway that became ablaze with light as they neared. Emma was only a few steps ahead of him, but suddenly there were torches roaring to life. He'd not seen her stop to light the flames, but he shook it off as a trick of his weary head. His injury must be toying with his imagination.

The chamber they'd now entered was clearly Emma's living quarters and Killian swallowed back a swell of unease at invading her private dwelling, although she didn't appear fazed. He noted its simple furnishings as they passed, this not being her intended destination. Tucked away in an alcove, he saw only a mattress fashioned from woven raffia grasses and a series of colorful ceramic carafes like those she'd used to bring water to him. She seemed to have little need for creature comforts or material goods, so different from the women he'd encountered in various ports around the realm.

"Just a bit further," she stated, drawing his attention away from her dwelling and back to the passage. He noted the trickle of water off in the distance, likely a stream or brook formed from the spring she'd mentioned earlier. They pressed forward into another chamber that again seemed to illuminate as they drew closer. The experience was a tad disconcerting to Killian but he was determined to keep his mouth shut - at least until his jaw fell slack by the revelation of stunning wonders all around him.

The narrow corridor weaving through the rock opened into a broad, expansive subterranean room, awash in brilliance from its own natural skylight which opened directly above a sparkling pool. Faint tendrils of steam arose from the surface. This must be the spring Emma had recommended for bathing and it looked incredibly inviting.

"This is the spring you spoke of earlier?" he queried.

"One of them. This is the mineral hot spring. There is also a cool, sweet water spring around the bend. It feeds into this pool as well as one deeper into the cavern," she advised.

"This cavern… I've seen others similar on my many adventures. It's an old lava tube, is it not?"

"Very astute and yes, this entire cove was formed by an ancient lava flow."

"It is quite a lovely place and I see now many of its provisions, but I still fail to see what assistance this is to be for me…"

"It was not the cavern itself that I was referring to. This happens to be where I have stored some unusual items that originated in your world."

"My world?" he asked, confused as she lowered herself to her knees and lit a lantern conveniently sitting at her feet. When she raised the lamp, he could now make out the objects she'd been so cryptically taunting him with - four large marine chests in varying states of decay.

"Are these not from your world?" She brought the lantern closer to the nearest chest. It was covered in faded, cracked leather and decorated with ornate brass fittings and latches that were marred with heavy patina. He surmised that there was once a matching padlock that was lost to time but there was no evidence that it had been removed by force. The whole thing had seen better days, bearing extensive visible water damage. Depending on how well it had been constructed and the quality of the leather casing, it could potentially still be watertight. "I find these washed up on the shore from time to time."

"They appear to be merchant chests, used for transporting goods. We had many like these on my ship, although these appear to be much older."

"I assume they came from ships that have sunk in the treacherous waters surrounding this land."

"Around this placid bay?" he scoffed. "These waters are far too tranquil. These must have traveled here from afar…"

"Do not allow the tranquility of this cove to fool you. These waters are teeming with untold dangers. Your very survival was nothing short of miraculous!" Even in the half-light cast off by the flickering lantern, he noted the stern admonishment that spoiled her visage before she hastily turned her face away from his view. She paused with a haunting silence as she calmed herself before continuing with the prior topic. "These chests, I have searched through them, though they contain little to serve my needs, save for the bits of fabric and notions. I do believe that you will find objects that will conform to your needs so please, feel free to peruse their contents at your leisure. I am going to return to the bay so I may find some shellfish for our next meal. If you need my assistance, just shout. Voices carry well in this cavern and I have excellent hearing."

She extended her arm towards him, offering him the lantern she held. She wouldn't require it to make her way out of the cave. He took hold of the handle as she pushed herself back to stand. Emma paused momentarily as Killian crouched, flipping open the latch on the first chest to uncover the hidden treasures beneath.

"Thank you. This was not at all what I expected…" he said as he poured over goods that had survived their journey well. He glanced over his shoulder with a wide grin crossing his lips, one that instantly faded when he discovered she'd already departed.

How? He'd barely averted his attention for a minute or two… How had she vanished so rapidly and so stealthily? One more mystery to add to his growing list…

When he emerged from the cavern, he sported a billowy black silken tunic featuring tiny mother-of-pearl buttons and linen trousers that were the color of the sand. He'd needed to draw the laces quite tight to prevent them from sliding off of his slender hips, but they were exceedingly more comfortable than what was left of his woolen uniform pants. He'd fretted over not finding a razor in any of the chests although he did locate a short-bladed cutlass within a chest full of treasure, likely once the property of a long-dead pirate. It didn't sit as comfortably in his grip as his service rapier but it was a solid, capable weapon. It would certainly prove useful to split a coconut or filet a fish.

He tucked the blade back into its scabbard as he caught sight of Emma on the horizon. He was prepared to thank her for the clothing he'd found, but there was something about the expression on her face… She looked worried, even frightened and she was running toward him.

"Emma? You look vexed, love…"

"Get back inside the cave!" she ordered. "There's a storm coming. It isn't safe here…"

Killian's brow lifted in confusion as he glanced skyward, seeing only a few sparse, puffy clouds against the azure backdrop of the heavens. There was no foul wind blowing to indicate an impending storm. Whatever was she talking about?

"What storm? There's no sign of rain clouds above…"

"Killian…," she pleaded, catching his arm as she hurried past him and tugging him back to the shelter of the cave. "Don't argue with me. Just return to the cavern, back to the pools. You can not be caught up in this…"

"In what?" he pressed for more information while trusting her judgement and retreating beneath the rocky overhang. He expected that she would remain here with him for the duration of this coming storm but once he was safely out of the elements, she released her grasp and scrambled back toward the ridge. "Emma? Where are you going? I thought you said there was a storm coming? That it wasn't safe?"

She stopped at the crest of the ridge and lowered her head. He wasn't sure what to make of her body language or the consternation etched into her face as she glanced over her shoulder.

"It isn't safe for you," she replied sternly. "but this storm - it's here for me."

[sapphires-and-gold-fics]

Sense & Sensibility Braime AU Update!

Forget Me, Not

Chapter 15

They were three days on their journey, and Sansa’s behavior as they traveled was less than desirable, speaking up only to remark on any particularly pretty prospect they might pass, her thoughts flying ahead of their little caravan. Brienne, therefore, was forced to assign herself the post of civility, engaging Ser Brynden, talking with him of the sights, and laughing at his stories. Gradually Brienne lost her initial discomfort, but she remained guarded, allowing the Blackfish to regale a captive audience without expectation of her own performance.

As they passed through the city gates at midday on the third day, Brienne’s discomfort seeped in again, as if the shadow of some great winged beast of ages past had cast a shadow on her view. Though it was unlikely that they would run in the same circles, she was at this moment closer to Lord Lannister, Jaime’s father, than she had ever imagined she would find herself. She prayed that there would be no reason for their paths to cross, for her knowledge of the man’s misdeeds threatened to sabotage her self-control.

Ser Brynden’s townhouse was handsomely fitted up, and the ladies were immediately put in possession of a very comfortable apartment. As supper would be some hours off and Ser Brynden had almost immediately on their arrival stepped away on business, Brienne determined to employ the interval in writing to Catelyn. In a few moments, Sansa also sat down and began writing. “I was writing home already, Sansa,” said Brienne, “I can defer my letter a day or two if you would prefer to write to mother first.”

“I am not going to write to my mother,” replied Sansa hastily, as if wishing to avoid any farther inquiry. Brienne said no more; it immediately struck her that her sister must then be writing to Ramsay, and just as quickly concluded that they must therefore be engaged. This quick conviction, though not entirely satisfactory to Brienne, gave her the little pleasure of Sansa’s certainty. Sansa was finished in a very few minutes; in length, it could be no more than a note. Then she was up and ringing for the footman immediately.

Sansa’s eagerness to be gone from Riverrun had assured Brienne of Ramsay’s being in town and therefore confirmed to her her sister’s knowledge of his whereabouts. Brienne had been resolved not only to mind Mr. Snow’s attentions and ascertain his motives, but to allow for the possibility, though unlikely, that she had misunderstood his character before, and to allow him more credit. If however, she could determine that his motives with regard to her sister were less than sanguine, she would not hesitate to confront him and open Sansa’s eyes; otherwise, she must then learn to avoid every selfish comparison and banish every regret which might lessen her satisfaction in Sansa’s happiness. Yet now Brienne found herself confronted with a hesitation in herself which would inhibit her ability to meet her sister’s pleasure for the rest of the day, and doubted her ability to be even-minded toward the man.

The tea-things were brought in sometime after Sansa had already been disappointed more than once by a knock at a neighboring door, or a carriage that neglected to pause before theirs. Just as Brienne sat back with her cup a loud knock finally resounded unmistakably at Ser Brynden’s threshold. Brienne felt secure of it announcing Mr. Snow’s approach, and Sansa started toward the door as if in synchrony with Brienne’s thoughts, seemingly ready to throw herself into his arms, when Colonel Casterly appeared.

It was too great a shock for the girl to bear with calmness, and she left the room abruptly. Brienne was momentarily disappointed for her sister, and then for Tyrion when she saw that Sansa’s reaction to his arrival had not gone unnoticed. “Is your sister ill?” said he. Brienne answered in some mildly affected distress that she was, talking of the length of their journey, and every thing to which she could decently ascribe her sister’s rudeness.

He heard her with the most earnest attention, and then recollected his manners and began speaking directly of his pleasure at seeing them in King’s Landing, making the customary inquiries about the friends they’d left behind. She offered him refreshment which he accepted, seeming pleased to return to their friendly custom of former times. He had been in King’s Landing almost ever since quitting Riverrun. “I have been once or twice in the Vale for the few days on business, but it has never been in my power to return to Riverrun,” he had intimated.

Thinking of Jaime’s visit to the Arryns, Brienne wondered suddenly if he was acquainted with Tyrion. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak much of the Vale, Tyrion. Do you spend time there often?”

Tyrion began his reply when there was a commotion in the hall and the Blackfish appeared in the open doorway of the room. “Colonel!” cried he with great liberality, his usual noisy cheeriness perhaps a little more pronounced following his social club visit, “I am monstrous glad to see you. I could not come before, beg your pardon, you know one always has a world of little things to do after one has been away. But pray, how came you to conjure that I should be in town today?”

“Ah,” Tyrion set down his cup, “as I was about to enlighten Miss Stark, I had the pleasure of hearing it a Mr. Arryn’s where I have been dining.”

Of course, Tyrion would know the Arryns through Lord Edmure, Brienne thought, and given Jaime’s proximity to that family perhaps they were acquainted. But Brienne would not have an opportunity to raise the subject today.

“Oh, and how is my daughter looking then? Well rounded, no doubt?” This, with a twinkle in his eye.

Tyrion smiled politely, “Everyone appears to be in excellent health, Ser.”

“Aye, to be sure. I thought as much. Well, Colonel, I’ve brought two of the Miss Starks to town with me - the other is somewhere - but tell me where have you been since we parted? It was a shame you could not stay through the season.”

Tyrion’s eyes ticked toward Brienne who colored slightly, embarrassed by Ser Brynden’s insistence on laying out personal business in company. But Tyrion collected himself quickly, “I’m afraid there’s been much for me to attend to and,” reaching for his hat and rising with a grateful nod toward his interim hostess, “I’m afraid I must return to it but I promise you Ser not to be a stranger to this house or to your guests while you are here.”

“Capital!” cried the Blackfish with a satisfied grin. Tyrion took his apologetic leave of Brienne and then allowed Ser Brynden to escort him to the door.

For not the first time that day, Brienne felt she had been left with more questions than answers.

Sansa rose the next morning with recovered spirits and happy looks. They had not finished breakfast before Lysa Arryn arrived, so delighted to see them all. She proposed that the ladies accompany her to some shops where she had business that morning. Sansa, though declining at first, was finally persuaded by Brienne to go, being reminded that they had never been to town, and should take the opportunity to see it.

When they returned in the noon hour, no Ramsay nor any other visitor of interest had called. “How very odd,” Sansa said in a low and disappointed voice, as she turned her eyes back to the view of the street.

How odd indeed, Brienne repeated within herself, regarding her sister with uneasiness. A physical foe would be no trouble for Brienne But Ramsay’s invisible presence was pulling at Sansa’s heart in a way for which Brienne could not conjure an effective weapon.

The following morning found Sansa in spirits again, happy in the mildness of the weather and still happier in her expectation of a frost. The cooler weather is bad for man’s sport, thought Brienne, perhaps Ramsay has been in the country and Sansa is imagining that the chill will draw him back to town.

It would be quite cold at Winterfell now, her thoughts continued, wondering if the chill was a portent of that family’s arrival as well, for Robert and Cersei had never yet spent a winter in the North. She allowed herself to wonder briefly where Jaime might find himself given the season and then granted herself a momentary remembrance of being alone in the stables with him, the warmth of his hands on hers, and the warmth of his words.

Colonel Casterly, who had a general invitation to the house, was with them for tea almost every day; he came, it seemed, mostly to talk with Brienne, who often derived more satisfaction from conversing with him than from any other daily occurrence. Tyrion was kind and interested in what she had to say in a way that no one, save for Jaime Lannister and perhaps Eliza Blackwood, a pairing she chose not to think of too often. She herself was not overly solicitous of Eliza’s company, as it made thoughts of Jaime difficult, but Tyrion’s company she enjoyed immensely. She took great pains to engage with him without pity, despite his sometimes-concerned and earnest glances toward her sister.

A little more than a week after their arrival it finally became certain that Ramsay Snow had also arrived. His card was on the table when they came in from the morning’s drive. “Gods be good!” cried Sansa, “he has been here while we were out.” Brienne, glad at least to at last see some real happiness manifested in her sister’s countenance, and assured at least of Ramsay’s proximity, now ventured to reassure her sister that he would come again. But Sansa quickly quit the room with the precious card. How addictive it was to engage in the possibility of hope.

Sansa insisted on being left behind the next morning, anxious not to miss him again, which in turn made Brienne anxious about a possible reprisal of their last encounter at Riverrun, which had left her sister in tears. Brienne was unsettled through the whole of the morning, but when she and Mrs. Arryn came back to the house, but a glance at her sister was enough to inform her that no second visit and no reprisal had taken place.

When the letters were brought in after dinner, Sansa nearly knocked the footman over looking for one with her name on it. “You expect a letter then?” asked Brienne, no longer able to be silent. “Yes, a little -- not much.”

Brienne sighed, frustrated. “You have no confidence in me, Sansa.”

“No, Brienne.” And scoffed, “This reproach from you -- who have confidence in no one!”

“Me!” returned Brienne in some confusion, “indeed, Sansa, I have nothing to tell.” Save for other people’s secrets, she thought.

“Nor I,” answered Sansa with energy, her cheeks almost as red as her hair, “Our situations then are alike. We have neither of us anything to tell; you, because you communicate nothing, and I, because I conceal nothing.”

Again she watched as her sister quit the room, distressed by this charge of reserve in herself, and still lost as to how yet press for greater openness in Sansa. She thought of writing to Catelyn right away, but remembered at once where the root of Sansa’s sensibilities lay, and told herself she would wait until tomorrow when she hoped she might be able to present for her mother a more even representation of what had passed, and not draw concern from the Riverlands.

About the middle of the following day, Ser Brynden went out by himself on business and Brienne began her letter directly while Sansa, too restless for employment, walked from one window to the next, finally seating herself by the fire in melancholy meditation of the foot traffic below.

Brienne was earnest but sensible in her application to their mother, suggesting that Catelyn write to Sansa alone and demand an account of her real situation with respect to Mr. Snow. Her letter was all but finished when a knock at the door announced a visitor, and Colonel Casterly was announced. Sansa, who had seen him from the window, and who now hated company of any kind that arrived in any shape other than the one she sought, left the room before he entered it.

Tyrion looked graver than usual. He seemed pleased to find only Miss Stark present as if relieved not to encounter either the Blackfish or Sansa directly. After a pause of several minutes, their silence was broken by his asking her in a voice of some agitation when he was to congratulate her on the acquisition of a brother? Brienne was not prepared for such a question, and having no ready answer, was obliged to ask what he meant? He tried to smile as he replied, “Your sister’s engagement to Mr. Snow is very generally known.” The other man’s name sounded painful for him to speak.

“It cannot be generally known,” returned Brienne, “for her own family does not know it. Tyrion,” she said familiarly, “who has told you such a thing?” He looked surprised. “I beg your pardon, I am afraid my inquiry has been impertinent. Their correspondence and impending nuptials are universally talked of.”

Brienne felt her blood begin to boil, a thin sheen of sweat gathering at the back of her neck. “Who is saying such things?”

Tyrion cleared his throat and looked up at Brienne, his parallel embarrassment and pity evident. “Many, Miss Stark. By some with whom you are most intimate -- Ser Brynden and his daughter Mrs. Arryn, and Mrs. Blackwood… and others with whom you do not claim an acquaintance.”

Brienne was stunned. Of course, the Blackfish in his folly would make mention of his suspicions to the family, but to who else? Who else was in his company at the club? Tyrion interrupted her thoughts. “I might not have believed it except when I arrived the servant happened to be carrying a letter addressed to Mr. Snow in a lady’s hand, and so I was convinced before I could even ask the question of you.”

Brienne stood as if to follow Sansa’s footsteps from the room, but stopped herself. Why hadn’t she put an end to this business sooner? Leaned into her suspicions? Tyrion addressing her from her elbow drew her from her thoughts, her name in his mouth almost sounding like her memory of another. “Miss Stark… Brienne… is everything finally settled? Is it impossible to--” he stopped himself. “I have no right and no chance of succeeding do I, Brienne?” He looked away, not waiting for an answer, and moved to collect his hat and umbrella from beside the sofa. “I believe I have been wrong in saying so much, but I hardly know what to do, and on your prudence, I have the strongest dependence and trust. Tell met hat it is all resolved and that this secrecy is all that remains.”

Tyrion’s words and desperation seemed to avow to herself a love for her sister, and this affected Brienne very much. As she was at least convinced of Sansa’s affection for Ramsay and could leave no hope of the Colonel’s success, despite her own desire for her young sister’s betterment, she thought it most prudent and kind to acknowledge that, while she had been informed of the terms of the attachment by neither party, she had no doubt of their mutual affection, and confessed that she was unsurprised by their correspondence.

Tyrion listened to her silently and, once she had composed herself and returned to her seat, he bowed his head and spoke: “To your sister, Miss Stark, I wish all imaginable happiness; to Mr. Snow, that he may endeavor to deserve her.”

With that he took his leave, abandoning Brienne to her thoughts. She derived no comfort from this conversation, nothing to lessen the unease in her mind. She set her cup down and stretched her fingers, her palm itching for the weight of a blade, that she might take this matter in hand herself, the best way she knew how.

[the-end-of-art]

Sewn into his jacket an incoherent note

How to Make Love, Write Poetry, & Believe in God by Nin Andrews

A few weeks ago, I was part of a Hamilton-Kirkland College alumnae poetry reading, and after the reading a woman asked a simple question: “How do you write a poem?” I didn’t have an answer so I suggested a few books by poets like John Hollander, Mary Oliver, and Billy Collins. The woman said she had read books like that, but they didn’t help. She wanted something else, like a genuine operating manual—a step by step explanation.

I, too, love instruction manuals, especially those manuals on how to perform magic: write a poem or know God or make love, if only love were something that could be made. Manuals offer such promise. Yes, you, too, can enter the bee-loud glade and the Promised Land and have an orgasm.

I love the idea that my mind could be programmed like a computer to spit out poems on demand—poems with just the right number of lines, syllables, metaphors, meanings, similes, images . . . And with no clichés, no matter how much I love those Tom, Dick and Harry’s with their lovely wives, as fresh as daisies. I can set them in any novel or town in America, and they will have sex twice a week, always before ten at night, never at the eleventh hour, and it will not take long,time being of the essence.

I love sex manuals, too: those books that suggest our bodies are like cars. If only we could learn to drive them properly, bliss would be a simple matter of inserting a key, mastering the steering wheel, signaling our next moves, knowing the difference between the brakes and the gas pedal, and of course, following the speed limit.

A depressive person by nature, I am also a fan of how-to books on God, faith, happiness, the soul, books that suggest a divine presence is always here. I just need to find it, or wake up to it, or turn off my doubting brain. That even now, my soul is like a bird in a cage. If I could sit still long enough and listen closely, it might rest on my open palm and sing me a song.

God, poetry, sex, they offer brief moments of bliss, glimpses of the ineffable, and occasional insights into that which does not translate easily into daily experience, or loses its magic when explained.

In college, I took classes in religion, philosophy and poetry, and I studied sex in my spare time—my first roommate and I staying up late, pondering the pages of The Joy of Sex. As a freshman, I auditioned my way into an advanced poetry writing class by composing the single decent poem I wrote in my college years. The poem, an ode to cottage cheese, came to me in a flash as a vision nestled on a crisp bed of iceberg lettuce. Does cottage cheese nestle? I don’t know, but the professor kept admiring that poem. He said all my other poems paled by comparison.

This was in the era of the sexual revolution,long before political correctness and the Me-Too movement. My roommate, obsessed with getting laid, said we women should have been given a compass to navigate the sexual landscape. She liked to complain that she’d had only one orgasm in her entire life, and she wanted another. “What if I am a one-orgasm wonder?” she worried. The subject of orgasms kept us awake, night after night.

In religion class, my professor told the famous story about Blaise Pascal who had a vision of God that was so profound, his life seemed dull and meaningless forever afterwards. He never had another vision. But he had sewn into his jacket an incoherent note to remind him of the singular luminous experience.

The next day in religion class, a student stood up and announced that the professor was wrong—about Pascal, God, everything. The student knew this because he was God’s friend. He even knew His first name, and what God was thinking. The professor smiled sadly, put his arm around the student, and led him out of the classroom, down the steps and into the counselor’s office. When the professor returned, he warned us that if we ever thought we knew God, we should check ourselves into a mental institution. Lots of insane people know God intimately.

But, I wondered, what would God (or the transcendent—or whatever word you might choose for it: the muse, love, the orgasm, the soul, the higher self) think of us? For example, what would a muse think of a writer trying, begging, praying to enter the creative flow? All writers know it—that moment when inspiration happens. The incredible high. And the opposite, when words cling to the wall of the mind like sticky notes but never make it onto your tongue or the page.

What would an orgasm think of all the people seeking it so fervently yet considering it dirty, embarrassing, unmentionable? And then lying about it. “Did you have one?” a man might ask. “Yes,” his lover nods. But every orgasm knows it cannot be had. Or possessed. Or sewn into the lining of a coat. No one “has” an orgasm. At least not for long.

What did God think of Martin Luther, calling out to him in terror when a lightning bolt struck near his horse, “Help! I’ll become a monk!” And later, when he sought relief from his chronic constipation and gave birth to the Protestant Reformation on the lavatory—a lavatory you can visit today in Wittenberg, Germany.

I don’t want to evaluate Luther’s source of inspiration. But I do want to ponder the question: How do you write a poem? Is there a way to begin?

I think John Ashbery gave away one secret in his poem, “The Instruction Manual:” that it begins with daydreaming. Imagination. And the revelation that the mind contains its own magical city, its own Guadalajara, complete with a public square and bands and parading couples that you can visit this enchanted town for a limited time before you must turn your gaze back to the humdrum world.  

But a student of Ashbery’s might cringe at the suggestion that poetry is merely an act of the imagination. In order to master the dance, one must know the steps. And Ashbery was a master. So many of his poems follow a kind of Hegelian progression, traveling from the concrete to the abstract to the absolute. Or what Fichte described as a dialectical movement from thesis to antithesis to synthesis. Fichte also wrote that consciousness itself has no basis in reality. I wonder if Ashbery would have agreed.

In college I wrote an inane paper, comparing Ashbery’s poetry to a form of philosophical gardening in which the poet arranges the concrete, meaning the plants or words, in such an appealing order that they create the abstract, or the beauty, desired. Thus, the reader experiences the absolute, or a sense of wonder at the creation as the whole thing sways in the wind of her mind.

Is there a basis in reality for wonder? Or poetry? I asked. Or are we only admiring illusions, the beautiful illusions the poet has created?  How I loved questions like that. I wanted to follow in the footsteps of Fichte and Hegel and Ashbery and write mystical and incomprehensible books. I complained to my mother that no matter how hard I tried, I could not compose an actual poem or philosophical treatise—I was trying to write treatises, too. “That’s good,” she said. “Poets and philosophers are too much in their heads, and not enough in the world.”

I didn’t argue with her and tell her that not all poets are like Emily Dickinson. Or say that Socrates was put to death for being too much in the world, for angering the public with his Socratic method of challenging social mores, and earning himself the title, “the gadfly of Athens.”  

Instead, I thought, That’s it! If I want to be a poet, I just need to separate my head from the world. Or at least turn off the noise of the world. And seek solitude, as Wordsworth suggested, in order to recollect in tranquility. I imagined myself going on a retreat or living in a cave, studying the shadows on the wall. Letting them speak to me or seduce me or dance with me.

The shadows, I discovered, are not nice guests. Sometimes they kept me awake all night, talking loudly, making rude comments, using all the words I never said aloud. “Hush,” I told them. “No one wants to hear that.” Sometimes they took on the voices of the dead and complained I hadn’t told their stories yet or right. Sometimes they sulked and bossed me about like a maid, asking for a cup of tea, a biscuit, a little brandy, a nap. One nap was never enough. When I obeyed and closed my eyes, they recited the poems I wanted to write down. “You can’t open your eyes until we’re done,” they said, as if poetry were a game of memory, or hide and seek in the mind. Other times they wandered away and down the dirt road of my past, or lay down in the orchard and counted the peaches overhead. Whatever they did or said, I watched and listened.

That’s how I began writing my first real poems. I knew not to disobey the shadows. I knew not toturn my back on them and look towards the light as Plato suggested—Plato who wanted to banish the poets and poetry from his Republic.I knew to not answer the door if the man from Porlock came knocking.

To this day I am grateful for the darkness. For the shadows it creates in my mind. It is thanks to them I have written another book, The Last Orgasm, a book whose title might make people cringe. But isn’t that what shadows do? And much of poetry, too? Dwell on topics we are afraid to look at in the light?

(https://blog.bestamericanpoetry.com/the_best_american_poetry/2020/09/how-to-make-love-write-poetry-believe-in-god-by-nin-andrews.html)

Five prose poems by Nin Andrews (formatting better at http://newflashfiction.com/5-prose-poems-by-nin-andrews/)

Duplicity

after Henri Michaux “Simplicity”

When I was just a young thing, my life was as simple as a sunrise. And as predictable. Day after day I went about doing exactly as I pleased. If I saw a lovely man or women, or beauty in any of its shapes and forms and flavors, well, I simply had to have it. So I did. Just like that. Boom! I didn’t even need a room.

Slowly, I matured. I learned a bit of etiquette.  Manners, I discovered can have promising side effects. I even began carrying a bottle of champagne wherever I went, and a bed. Not that the beds lasted long. I wasn’t the kind to go easy on the alcohol or the furnishings, nor was I interested in sleep. It never ceased to amaze me how quickly men drift off. Women, many of them, kept me going night after night. You know how inspiring  women are.

But then, alas, I grew tired of them as well. I began to envy those folks who curl up into balls each night, their bodies as heavy as tombstones. I tried curling up with them, slowing my breath, entering into their dreams. What dreams! To think I had been missing out all along! That’s when I became a Zen master, at one with the night. Now I teach classes on peace, love, abstinence. At last I have found bliss, I tell my followers. The young, they don’t believe it. But really, I ask you. Would I lie?

The Broken Promise

after Heberto Padilla, “The Promise”

There was a time when I promised to write you a thousand love poems. When I said every day is a poem, and every poem is in love with you. But then the poems rebelled. They became a junta of angry women, impossible to calm or translate, each more vivid, sultry, seductive than the next. Some stayed inside and sulked for weeks, demanding chocolates, separate rooms, maid service. Others wanted to be carted around like queens. Still others took lovers and kept the neighbors up, moaning at all hours of the day and night. One skinny girl (remember her? the one with flame-colored hair?) moved away. She went back to that shack down the road where we first met. At night she lay down in the orchard behind the house and let the dark crawl over her arms and legs. In the end even her dreams turned to ash and blew away in a sudden gust of wind.

Little Big Man

after Russell Edson “Sleep”

There was once an orgasm that could not stop shrinking. Little big man, his friend called him, watching as he grew smaller and smaller with each passing night, first before making love, then before even the mention of making love, then before even the mention of the mention of making love. Oh, what a pathetic little thing he was.

One night he tried reading, Think and Grow Big, but it only caused him to shrink further inside himself. Oh, to grow large and tall as I once was, he sighed. What he needed, he knew, was a trainer with a whip and chains. Someone to teach him to jump through hoops and swing from a trapeze and swallow fire until he blazed ever higher into the night. Yes, he shuddered. Yes! as he imagined it. A tiny wisp of smoke escaped his lips.

Questions to Determine if You Are Washed Up

after Charles Baudelaire, “Get Drunk!”

Do you feel washed up lost, all alone? Do you fear that time is passing you by like a train for which you have no ticket, no seat? That you have lived too long in the solitude of your room and empty mind,  that now you are but a slave of sorrow? Or is it regret? Do you no longer taste the wine of life on your lips, tongue, throat? Is there not even even a chance of intoxication? Bliss? No poetry or song above or below the hips? No love in the wind, the waves, in every  or any fleeting and floating thing? No castles in your air? No pearls in your oysters? Are you wearing a pair of drawstring pants?

Remembering Her

after Herberto Padilla

This is the house where she first met you. This is the room where she first said your name as if it were a song.  This is the table where she undressed you, stripping away your petals, leaves, your filmy white roots and sorrows. And there on the floor is the stone you picked up each morning, the stone you clung to night after night. Sometimes she kicked it aside. Sometimes she placed in on the sill and blew it out the window as her presence filled you like a glow, and you thought for an instant, I, too, can fly.

[ask-codeearasure]

Introducing Ouija Board Demon the Depressed Juggalette

WHAT IS UUUUUUUP MOTHERFUCKERS! LOOK AT THIS FORMERLY PSUDEO DEAD BLOG. SUCKS ASS THAT THIS SHIT HAD TO BE THAT WAY BUT DON'T WORRY MUMMY IS HERE TO MAKE IT BETTER! Okay for realz tho, this shit sucks to say and know but I can't motherfuckin change shit tbh because this shit ain't really fully MY choice but who honestly gives a fuck? Well, hopefully you. So tha fuckin miraculous motherfucker who owned this blog, concept, and characters was TailsGothicAngel, but she had to fuckin dip because some punk ass, cocksuckin, pathetic little whores decided to abuse her till she finally fuckin broke and wouldn't let her fuckin move the fuck on by telling her why they fuckin liked kicking her around, and instead used it to fuckin spread lies and gossip to random Discord Servers where she couldn't even defend herself. It got to the point where some punk ass slut, who was the main aggressor decided it was funny to invalidate Tails' trauma and accuse her of doing, basically the same shit. I'd show screenshots and shit, but I ain't here to start shit, and It is already bad enough that this shit got Tails to the point she literally fuckin quit the internet, from deleting her tumblr, and twitter, but she also fuckin gave me control of her fuckin Ko-Fi, and Patron and had them connect to my bank and shit, and gave me her League of Legends account with a fuck ton of skins. So... yeah Tails ain't comin' back and I doubt she ever will. So yeah... ya'll have me now. She personally asked me to take control of all this shit and gave me everything. So sorry that this shit has to be this way, but there ain't nothin we can do. If ya wish to talk to me directly and not tha characters, jus put "Dear Miss Ouija," or just "Dear Ouija," and I'll fuckin respond ta ya. Also I'm gonna be rewriting tha stories and shit... and changing their designs and more, so.... ya. hope ya'll enjoy. To close this depressing shit off I'm gonna put in an excerpt from my personal favorite book, hopefully this excerpt will help ya'll cut people out who don't deserve your god damn time: Psychic vampires are individuals who drain others of their vital energy. This type of person can be found in all avenues of society. They fill no useful purpose in our lives, and are neither love objects nor true friends. Yet we feel responsible to the psychic vampire without knowing why.

If you think you may be the victim of such a person, there are a few simple rules which will help you form a decision. Is there a person you often call or visit, even though you really don't want to, because you know you will feel guilty if you don't? Or, do you find yourself constantly doing favors for one who doesn't come forward and ask, but hints? Often the psychic vampire will use reverse psychology, saying: "Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that" - and you, in turn, insist upon doing it. The psychic vampire never demands anything of you. That would be far too presumptuous. They simply let their wishes be known in subtle ways which will prevent them from being considered pests. They "wouldn't think of imposing" and are always content and willingly accept their lot, without the slightest complaint - outwardly!

Their sins are not of commission, but of omission. It's what they don't say, not what they do say, that makes you feel you must account to them. They are much too crafty to make overt demands upon you, because they know you would resent it, and would have a tangible and legitimate reason for denying them.

A large percentage of these people have special "attributes" which make their dependence upon you more feasible and much more effective. Many psychic vampires are invalids (or pretend to be) or are "mentally or emotionally disturbed." Others might feign ignorance or incompetence so you will, out of pity - or more often, exasperation - do things for them.

The traditional way to banish a demon or elemental is to recognize it for what it is, and exorcise it. Recognition of these modem- day demons and their methods is the only antidote for their devastating hold over you.

Most people accept these passively vicious individuals at face value only because their insidious maneuvers have never been pointed out to them. They merely accept these "poor souls" as being less fortunate than themselves, and feel they must help them however they can. It is this misdirected sense of responsibility (or unfounded sense of guilt) which nourishes well the "altruisms" upon which these parasites feast!

The psychic vampire is allowed to exist because he cleverly chooses conscientious, responsible people for his victims - people with great dedication to their "moral obligations."

In some cases we are vampirized by groups of people, as well as individuals. Every fund raising organization, be it a charitable foundation, community council, religious or fraternal association, etc., carefully selects a person who is adept at making others feel guilty for its chairman or coordinator. It is the job of this chairman to intimidate us into opening first our hearts, and then our wallets, to the recipient of their "good will" - never mentioning that, in many cases, their time is not unselfishly donated, but that they are drawing a fat salary for their "noble deeds." They are masters at playing upon the sympathy and consideration of responsible people. How often we see little children who have been sent forth by these self-righteous Fagins to painlessly extract donations from the kindly. Who can resist the innocent charm of a child?

There are, of course, people who are not happy unless they are giving, but many of us do not fit into this category. Unfortunately, we are often put upon to do things we do not genuinely feel should be required of us. A conscientious person finds it very difficult to decide between voluntary and imposed charity. He wants to do what is right and just, and finds it perplexing trying to decide exactly who he should help and what degree of aid should rightfully be expected of him.

Each person must decide for himself what his obligations are to his respective friends, family, and community. Before donating his time and money to those outside his immediate family and close circle of friends, he must decide what he can afford, without depriving those closest to him. When taking these things into consideration he must be certain to include himself among those who mean most to him. He must carefully evaluate the validity of the request and the personality or motives of the person asking it of him.

It is extremely difficult for a person to learn to say "no" when all his life he has said "yes."

But unless he wants to be constantly taken advantage of, he must learn to say "no" when circumstances justify doing so. If you allow them, psychic vampires will gradually infiltrate your everyday life until you have no privacy left - and your constant feeling of concern for them will deplete you of all ambition.

A psychic vampire will always select a person who is relatively content and satisfied with his life - a person who is happily married, pleased with his job, and generally well-adjusted to the world around him - to feed upon. The very fact that the psychic vampire chooses to victimize a happy person shows that he is lacking all the things his victim has; he will do everything he can to stir up trouble and disharmony between his victim and those people he holds dear. Therefore, be wary of anyone who seems to have no real friends and no apparent interest in life (except you). He will usually tell you he is very selective in his choice of friends, or doesn't make friends easily because of the high standards he sets for his companions. (To acquire and keep friends, one must be willing to give of himself - something of which the psychic vampire is incapable.) But he will hasten to add that you fulfill every requirement and are truly an outstanding exception among men - you are one of the very few worthy of his friendship.

Lest you confuse desperate love (which is a very selfish thing) with psychic vampirism, the vast difference between the two must be clarified. The only way to determine if you are being vampirized is to weigh what you give the person compared to what they give you in return. You may, at times, become annoyed with the obligations put upon you by a loved one, a close friend, or even an employer. But before you label them psychic vampires, you must ask yourself, "What am I getting in return?" If your spouse or lover insists that you call them frequently, but you also require them to account to you for their time spent away from you, you must realize this is a give and take situation. Or, if a friend is in the habit of calling upon you for help at inopportune moments, but you similarly depend upon them to give your immediate needs priority, you must regard it as a fair exchange. If your employer asks you to do a little more than is normally expected of you in your particular position, but will overlook occasional tardiness or will give you time off when you need it, you certainly have no cause for complaint and need not feel he is taking advantage of you.

You are, however, being vampirized if you are incessantly called upon or expected to do favors for someone who, when you need a favor, always happens to have other "pressing obligations."

Many psychic vampires will give you material things for the express purpose of making you feel you owe them something in return, thereby binding you to them. The difference between your giving, and theirs, is that your return payment must come in a non- material form. They want you to feel obligated to them, and would be very disappointed and even resentful if you attempted to repay them with material objects. In essence, you have "sold your soul" to them, and they'll constantly remind you of your duty to them, by not reminding you.

Being purely Satanic, the only way to deal with a psychic vampire is to "play dumb" and act as though they are genuinely altruistic and really expect nothing in return. Teach them a lesson by graciously taking what they give you, thanking them loudly enough for all to hear, and walking away! In this way you come out the victor. What can they say? And when you are inevitably expected to repay their "generosity," (this is the hard part!) you say "no" - but again, graciously! When they feel you falling from their clutches two things will happen. First, they will act "crushed," hoping your old feeling of duty and sympathy will return, and when (and if) it doesn't, they will show their true colors and will become angry and vindictive.

Once you have moved them to this point, you can play the role of the injured party. After all, you've done nothing wrong - you just happened to have had "pressing obligations" when they needed you, and since nothing was expected in return for their gifts, there should be no hard feelings.

Generally, the psychic vampire will realize his methods have been discovered and will not press the issue. He will not continue to waste his time with you, but will move on to his next unsuspecting victim.

There are times, however, when the psychic vampire will not release his hold so easily, and will do everything possible to torment you. They have plenty of time for this because, when once rejected, they will neglect all else (what little else they have, that is) to devote their every waking moment to planning the revenge to which they feel they are entitled. For this reason, it is best to avoid a relationship with this kind of person in the first place. Their "adulation" and dependence upon you may, at first, be very flattering, and their material gifts very attractive, but you will eventually find yourself paying for them many times over.

Don't waste your time with people who will ultimately destroy you, but concentrate instead on those who will appreciate your responsibility to them, and, likewise, feel responsible to you.

And if you are a psychic vampire - take heed! Beware of the Satanist - he is ready and willing to gleefully drive the proverbial stake through your heart! - The Satanic Bible by Anton LaVey Hail Satan!

[silver-lily-louise]

in floribus veritas 

(a Shadowhunters fanfic)

Summary: Alec ends up spending a lot of time at Magnus’ loft, and with him come the flowers. (A canonverse AU where Nephilim have a certain affinity for plants; and Magnus knows that, but that doesn't mean he was prepared for anything like this.)

A/N: Hi! Firstly, I must say a giant thank you to @ralfstrashcan​, whose enthusiasm for this idea has been encouraging me to get it finished since I first mentioned the idea. I really hope you enjoy the finished result, bud! <3 Secondly: the flowers mentioned in this fic have all been chosen for specific meanings. They should be pretty clear from context, but just in case you want a reference, HERE are the meanings of each flower, in order of appearance and grouped by scene. And lastly: As this is a canon AU, it uses more canon dialogue than my usual fare. I make no claim over such material. Please enjoy! <3

Read it on AO3, or below! 

~oOo~

The first time he notices it happening, Magnus blames himself.

The apartment is empty now, Clary and the other Shadowhunters gone, and it’s not until he feels something brush against his leg that he looks down and spots the tiny rose bush. He frowns, sending a cursory pulse of magic through it, and his jaw drops as he’s almost overwhelmed by déjà vu. His heart flutters, his stomach twists a little, and he feels himself smile on reflex; just as Alec seemed to when they officially met, when they exchanged names and gazes and stood close enough to send an almost-forgotten thrill down Magnus’ spine.

Right on this spot, he realises.

He crouches down, runs the stem through his fingers – it’s smooth and cool to the touch, bearing no thorns to protect its burgundy blooms. Other than that (and the small fact that it’s growing straight out of the floor, as if the walkways of this place were cushioned with compost), it appears to be a perfectly normal plant.

He shakes his head, a little self-deprecating. You idiot. Nearly eight hundred years of learning to handle your magic, and you let something like this slip through the moment you meet a cute guy? Just because he’s tall, and handsome. Well, more like beautiful, especially when he smiles. And surprisingly down-to-earth for a Shadowhunter. Not to mention that he pretty much saved your life tonight –

He waves his hand sharply as he straightens up, banishing both the rose bush and that runaway train of thought. The rose ends up in a quiet meadow in the Seelie realm. He’s not so sure where the thoughts go. Or how long it’ll be before they come back and get truly out of hand.

***

The next time he notices it, he knows it wasn’t him, but that’s not at all comforting.

He’s sitting at the table, eating the Belgian waffles that Alec declined to share (because of course he did, he’s quite clearly closeted and much as he trusts Magnus he doesn’t know him, not really), when he catches a whiff of something light and floral and decidedly not breakfast.

He stands from the table, suddenly a little wary because when half your job is potion-making, unexplained smells rarely mean good news. But thankfully, the pleasant aroma isn’t coming from the apothecary. It’s coming from the flowers sprouting all around the couch, and the armchair, and the coffee table.

He waves a hand, but once again detects no malevolence, just a rush of emotion (comfort, amusement, butterflies in his stomach). Clearly, the flowers are manifesting some echo of what the room has seen – but while he may have believed he could conjure a single rose bush by accident, in the heat of the moment when his magic was still running high from the fight, this particular floral arrangement is far too extensive for that to be a possibility here.

He banishes the freesias to the same Seelie clearing as before, but he lets the dandelions fall with a soft scattering noise onto his apothecary table. They’re hardy and digestible, which makes them a good base ingredient for potions. Especially the more… experimental ones.

Magnus wanders back to the dining table. He’s not sure what’s going on – possibly a stray spell from an object he’s picked up recently, or a minor disturbance in the veil – but if the worst thing it’s doing is conjuring flowers, it can afford to wait until after breakfast.

Besides, it’s always easier to solve mysteries on a full stomach.

***

The third time is when Magnus finally figures it out.

‘I will not ask again.’ He leaves the room, because he has to. He’s put all his cards on the table. Alec may have everything to lose, but Magnus has nothing left to give.

He’s not even surprised when he puts his hands in his pocket and his fingers brush against something soft and fragile. He pulls out what looks like a strand of dark hair with hundreds of tiny leaves posted along it, dispassionately notes the echo of the want that’s been building in his chest ever since that night at Pandemonium. What does surprise him, when he re-enters the room a few minutes later, is the trail of footprints. They lead from the centre of the room to the front door, the furthest ones misshapen where the door must have clipped them on Alec’s way out. They’re made of holly and exude anger and frustration, even without Magnus actively searching them.

He doesn’t know how the hell he missed it. It seems so obvious now, confronted by Alec’s footprints, the impossible shade of Alec’s feelings in the air around him. It’s not my magic, not by accident or by proxy. It’s his.

***

Contrary to what Ragnor, Cat, and Raphael might say, Magnus is no fool. He’s lived through enough centuries and met enough Shadowhunters to know about their minor blessings; a phrase which is still bandied around, because apparently the Clave thinks itself too important to call a spade a spade. Or, in this case, call a garden trowel a green thumb.

Magic is life, Magnus remembers hearing once. It was either Ragnor or himself who said it, though it’s hard to recall which because they were both rather drunk at the time. But regardless, it holds true – and while demonic magic is the life of fire and lightning and fury and time, angelic magic is softer, subtler. Demonic magic fixes or changes, but angelic magic enhances, as evidenced by the runes branded onto the skin of Raziel’s children. One of the more harmless effects is that Nephilim, by and large, have incredible skill with plants. Nothing on par with the Seelie, of course – the heady blend of angelic and demonic magic lends itself to staggering feats, whole cities built of living vines and lightning-struck forests being resurrected and healed. But still, on this plane, even brief exposure to an angelic aura can seem to make a plant brighten, as though it were a child whose best friend had come round to play – and if a plant is cared for full-time by a Nephilim, it will bloom strong and steady and almost unfailingly become a prime specimen of its species. In fact, back in the days before Valentine and his ilk started stirring their unrest, sending the Shadow World tumbling back a good few decades in terms of inequality for Downworlders and Clave superiority, Magnus had some fairly good business relationships with Shadowhunters who grew rare plants that could be used for spells and potions.

It’s a shame, he’s often thought, that the Nephilim took it upon themselves to be the Shadow World’s military and police instead of the Earth’s gardeners. The world may have been greener and kinder for it.

But that’s by the by, and this isn’t just a green thumb on display – Alec appears to be manifesting plants into existence, inadvertently conjuring or summoning them from gods-know-where. Magnus has heard rumours of this before, once or twice, but it’s not nearly as well-documented as the general minor blessing. As far as he knows, it’s a sign of overwhelming emotion, of something too powerful to be contained by the soul alone. He snorts. No wonder it’s a mystery – Shadowhunters pride themselves on control, on not succumbing to the distraction of daring to feel something. Those who fail are seen as rebels at best, abject failures at worst. Perhaps if that weren’t the case, Institutes would be colourful, green places, swirling with free feeling, rather than the clipped and cold and stark places they almost unfailingly are.

Magnus has seen the way Alec carries himself. How careful he is. The stern panic that takes over when his mask of control slips. It goes to show, then, how much Alec is struggling with that control, if his burdens are spilling over into these green manifestations. And despite everything – all the angry words, all the fierce denials – Magnus’ heart breaks a little at the thought.

***

The stunned silence that falls when Magnus slams into the ceremonial hall is quickly replaced with murmurs. Shock, outrage and idle curiosity fill the air, in fairly equal measure.

‘Magnus,’ Maryse says, because of course she thinks she’s entitled to his first name, ‘leave this wedding, now-‘

He holds up a hand. ‘Maryse, this is between me and your son. I’ll leave if he asks me to.’ It’s easy to stave off her anger, because his is reignited by the sight of Alec – or more specifically, the grass at his feet, the small pink flowers with upturned petals. It might be beautiful, if it weren’t for the utter sadness radiating from them; and maybe Shadowhunters can’t feel the flowers’ cause as warlocks can, but gods, they have to know this isn’t normal, don’t they?

It’s that anger that allows him to plant his feet, to stand his ground against the scrutiny while Alec stays frozen. Because even though this is what Magnus wants, he’s no stranger to self-sacrifice – but this isn’t right for anyone truly involved, he knows that beyond a doubt, and if someone has to take the first step, the first dozen or hundred steps, to stop it? Magnus will do that. For himself, and Alec, and even Lydia, he’ll take this last chance. He’ll take this step.

Alec takes the next one. And the next, and the next, until he’s all the way down the aisle, leaving a trail of snowdrops in his wake before he takes Magnus by the lapels and kisses him, right there and then; fully, unashamedly, declaredly.

It’s a long moment before they pull apart, before Magnus sees the four-leaved clovers he could feel winding around his jacket collar, the green carnations woven into a crown around Alec’s temples, even – he notes with a quiet chuckle – honest-to-gods mistletoe hanging above them. ‘You never cease to amaze me, Alec,’ he murmurs. ‘Yeah,’ Alec says, breathless, a little dazed-looking. ‘What did I just do?’

And with the leaves around them still radiating joy and want and truth, Magnus can’t help but smile. The right thing, he thinks.

***

Things move quickly after that. Despite everything happening with Valentine, everything around them threatening to drive them apart, they manage to hold on – finding solace in each other’s company, the knowledge that this is real and safe and theirs.

Alec ends up spending a lot of time at Magnus’ loft, and with him come the flowers. Which is fine by Magnus, of course. The most common are lavender and orchids, which he’s always had a particular fondness for – but he quickly finds himself drawn to the nuances, the blooms that only appear in certain circumstances. On evenings where they end up curled together on the couch, murmuring sweet nothings, tall, lily-like flowers will start to appear. If Magnus pays Alec a compliment, he’s delighted to find that pink blossoms the exact colour of Alec’s blush will suddenly surround them.

Perhaps his favourite, though, are the light purple roses that sometimes appear from the ceiling – and when he works out that they’re caused by his magic, or rather Alec’s reaction to it? Well, who could blame him for flaunting his powers a little more than usual? A door opened here, a stereo turned on there – almost nothing in terms of the magical cost, but worth everything in terms of Alec’s seeming delight. His magic has been valued before, of course. But something about Alec’s appreciation feels… purer. Less self-serving than he’s ever known – especially from a Shadowhunter, for goodness’ sakes. There’s no covetousness, no malice in the strange aura those roses exude. Just a kind, quiet sort of wonder, something that makes Magnus’ heart flutter and whisper to him that this, this is different.

It’s one of the reasons he’s initially hesitant to make things physical between them. I fear I may lose you, he says, and to some extent it’s the truth – but more accurately, he fears they may lose this, this strange, sweet affection. Perhaps it’s wrapped up in old-fashioned ideas of purity equating to chastity, and he wouldn’t normally have time for such pretentious notions, but sometimes he hardly dares breathe for the disbelief that what they’re building together won’t tumble like a house of cards.

But mutual desire is rarely best denied, and once they’re both on board, things are moving quickly once again because they aren’t a house of cards, they’re brighter and faster than the wind and in the face of such sweet, swift devotion, Magnus could never feel like he, like this, is fragile. You have nothing to worry about. I want this. Do you not want to? – Of course I do. You’re beautiful.

  The next morning, they wake in each other’s arms. A lazy hush of contentment settles over them as they talk softly, and it feels like sunlight, like the stretch and sigh that starts a well-rested morning.

Eventually, Alec says, ‘You know, you’ve never asked about the flowers.’ Alec’s staring up at the ceiling, so Magnus can’t meet his eyes as he’d like to. Instead, he glances around the room, at the latest evidence of Alec’s moods and mindset. The sweet scent and gentle pink glow of honeysuckle and dog roses and sweetpeas wind above their heads, enveloping the headboard. Red roses climb the curtains across the room, filtering the morning light into something gentler and warmer than the cold winds in the mid-autumn sky should allow. But perhaps most impressive is the floor – Magnus’ bedroom has been entirely re-carpeted with reds and oranges and whites and purples, the soft petals of calla lilies and striped tulips covering every last inch.

Magnus shifts his gaze back to their source, and smiles. ‘Well, I know a little about it. I know this kind of… intense manifestation, rather than the usual ‘minor blessing’, can be caused by powerful emotions – a reaction to overwhelming events. When I first realised they were coming from you instead of me, I thought it was just a slip of control, but as things have continued… I suppose I didn’t want to make you self-conscious of something so beautiful. I was just happy you felt comfortable allowing them to bloom, instead of hiding them away.’ He pauses, realising that Alec still isn’t looking at him. ‘Unless there’s something else about them?’

The quiet between them lasts a moment longer, and Magnus is just about to reassure him that he doesn’t need to explain if he doesn’t want to, when Alec speaks again. ‘You’re half-right.’ He sighs and shuffles a little, but keeps his arm tucked around Magnus’ shoulders, so Magnus curls in a little tighter towards him, offering his full attention. ‘They are linked to… what we feel,’ Alec continues. It’s a little stilted, but not reluctant – more like he’s choosing his words carefully, and trying to keep balanced in his seeming vulnerability. ‘And you’re right to say that at first, I just couldn’t help it, meanwhile now… I let my guard down around you. But it’s more than that.’ He glances up at the headboard, reddening a little, and Magnus bites back a smile, suddenly remembering that Alec can feel the echoes of what was behind each particular bloom, even though he’s not a warlock. They were his feelings, after all. ‘Most Shadowhunters don’t experience this… level of manifestation,’ he says, his tone turning slightly professional even as his blush deepens a shade or two. ‘Even with huge, life-changing events, or when they completely let go of their control, this is way beyond the norm.’ His eyes finally flick to meet Magnus’. ‘And that’s because of you.’

‘Me?’

Alec nods. ‘Yeah. Your magic, to be exact. I can’t – I can’t explain how I know, but I can feel it. When I’m around you, I can feel the same sort of ebb and flow as any time I let my guard down – like when I’m hanging out with Izzy, or when I turn in for the night and I’m alone in my room. But then something happens ­– and it’s like it magnifies somehow, and starts spiralling out of control.’ He chuckles. ‘It freaked me out at first, but when you didn’t say anything about it – when you turned up to the wedding anyway… I knew it didn’t bother you, and I knew it would be hard to stop in any case, so I started to just… let it happen,’ he admits.

He’s still looking Magnus in the eyes, but he looks half-afraid again now – as if Magnus is going to ask him to tone it down, or maybe just outright reject the flowers, now that he knows the full story. Instead, Magnus raises a hand to cradle Alec’s cheek, and drops his glamour. ‘Of course they don’t bother me, Alexander,’ he murmurs – still marvelling a little that Alec meets his true gaze in wonder, rather than fear or revulsion. ‘They’re beautiful.’

Alec smiles, and Magnus returns it, satisfied. ‘Besides,’ he says, resettling so the back of his head is more comfortably pillowed on Alec’s chest, ‘I liked them when I thought they were just you – but now I know that they’re sort of… us, too?’ He reaches down and takes Alec’s hand, lacing their fingers together. ‘I think I like that even more.’ ‘Yeah,’ Alec says softly, his hand briefly squeezing Magnus’. ‘Me too.’

***

‘Magnus, I… I love you.’

It manages to render him speechless for a moment, because that word is new between them. But it’s only the word that’s new, only the sentiment in this language – because the truth of it has been around them for weeks now, winding around every piece of furniture in the loft, stretching across expanses of daylight and even blooming soft and small in the shadowy corners. A low, constant hum against Magnus’ magic, quietly surrounding him, trying to make him understand. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

Perhaps that’s what makes it so easy to find the courage, the faith he needs for this moment. ‘I love you too.’

And then Alec is in his arms again, strong and safe and alive, like the scarlet tulips that bloom around them and whisper an echo of their confession like it’s a prayer.

He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

***

‘Magnus, ever since our… fights, I… I can’t – I can’t think straight.’

Magnus shakes his head, at a loss. ‘Well, I can’t do anything without thinking of you.’ He doesn’t dare meet Alec’s eyes, trying to keep his tone unaffected – which would be easier, if he weren’t feeling quite so affected. If he hadn’t spent this past week in a grieving haze, if he hadn’t kept noticing all the flowers still around him; the dahlias in front of the Seelie Queen, still the table’s centerpiece after the other day, when Mr Bane had waltzed into the Downworlder Council meeting with a barely-concealed smirk and shaken the hand of Mr Lightwood. The buttercups and hyacinths and crocuses which adorn the spare bedroom in gold and red, a vestige from when Madzie stayed over and the three of them wound up chasing each other around the room, laughing until Magnus could barely breathe and would be content never to do so again if he could just live in that moment forever. The red chrysanthemum, still tucked into the pocket of the jacket Magnus was wearing when he told Alec I love you too, but I can’t have both.

Proof of Alec, of them, all around him. Wilted, now, but still present – a ghost of those feelings brushing against his consciousness, faint but not entirely faded.

Magnus glances down at their feet as they talk, unsurprised to see a slowly creeping carpet of simple yellow blossoms. They lend truth to Alec’s words, but he knew that already – what strikes him now, what forces him to stop and take a deep breath, is how alive the feeling is around them. This isn’t the fading echo he’s been surrounded by since they’ve been apart; it’s vibrant, and immediate, and gods has Magnus missed it.

He smiles. ‘You know what’s not an understatement?’

They walk home, and when tiny blue flowers twine around their linked hands, Magnus just holds on all the tighter.

***

There are still flowers, even now. Maybe if Magnus didn’t feel so fucking empty all the time he’d find that painful; to have proof, right before him, that his magic is still there. That Alec can still reach it, use it in some way, when Magnus himself can’t. He can’t even feel it anymore, thanks to whatever Asmodeus did. Idly, Magnus wonders if his father has gleaned enough pain from their little transaction to make it worth his while, or whether Magnus’ numbness has left Asmodeus wanting, feeling equally hollow. The idea gives him a low, grim satisfaction.

Of course, besides his newfound mortality, another part of being so completely cut off from the magic in his blood is that he can’t feel the flowers anymore, can’t sense them beyond his mundane sight and smell. Which is perhaps why it takes him a few days to realise that they’ve changed.

It’s the poppies on the coffee table that clue him in. They’re white, like they’ve lost all their scarlet vibrance to the geraniums blooming right beside them, and it’s a slightly disconcerting sight. It makes him take pause, properly looking around – the lavender is thriving on the balcony, as usual, but it’s intertwined with larger orange blossoms that press close to the brickwork. And when Catarina arrives, asking if he’ll watch Madzie the next day, she walks in on a carpet of daisies and sits on a cushion of folded red blooms. ‘I feel a little bad, squashing these,’ she says as she takes a seat.

Magnus chuckles. ‘Ah, you get used to it. They’re sturdier than they look.’ ‘Speaking of your personal florist,’ she says with a smile, ‘is he gonna be here tomorrow? I know Madzie would love to see him.’ ‘Yes, he should be around. He hasn’t gotten sick of me just yet.’

The jibe slips past his defences before he can stop it; and when he tries to play it off with a hollow smile, Catarina just frowns at him, her concern clear. But before he can say another word, her eyes brighten, and he can practically see the idea spark in her brain a moment before she sits forward, reaching out to him. ‘Give me your hands,’ she says, a quiet command, and one that he readily obeys before he’s even realised that he’s doing so. Nurse tactics, Ragnor used to call them. Not even Raphael was immune, back when the four of them lived together.

Cat closes her eyes, and Magnus gasps as a rush of feeling washes over him – Alec’s feeling, the thoughts and instincts that led to the blooms around them. It’s strange, because there’s no accompanying buzz of magic, but it’s still more familiar than foreign, and Magnus swallows hard against the lump forming in his throat.

‘He’s not a warlock,’ Cat says gently, ‘so I won’t say he understands, but he knows that this is hard for you. And he loves you, Magnus. I honestly don’t think he’s going anywhere.’ She opens her eyes and allows the connection to fade, but keeps hold of his hands. ‘And for the record? He isn’t the only one.’

Despite the wetness in his eyes, when Magnus smiles at her in response, it feels more genuine than it has in days.

***

For one horrible moment, Magnus thinks that Madzie is really there, and he’s torn between the urge to shout Run, sweetpea! and the instinct to jump Iris from behind without any verbal warning – because maybe he doesn’t have his magic anymore, but he still has his fists and his rage and his furious love - Out of the corner of his eye, he sees white heather start to bloom in the shadows. Alexander.

His relief is soured by his hatred of his own helplessness, but it’s relief nonetheless. He takes a breath, keeps his distance, and waits.

  The next morning, on his way out to fetch breakfast, he catches sight of a single tiger lily on his apothecary table. He can’t feel it, of course, but he doesn’t need to – he remembers this one, from before.

You know, I’m proud of you.

He plucks it halfway up the stem, and fights a sudden, strange urge to crush it into pulp – why won’t Alec just admit that Magnus is weak, that he’s nothing now - Instead, he closes his eyes for a moment, steadying himself, and then carefully tucks the lily into his coat’s top buttonhole.

He isn’t powerful, and he certainly isn’t worthy of Alexander’s pride. But he is loved. Maybe one of these days, that will start to feel like enough.

***

‘What’s he doing here?’

Lorenzo is starting to wonder that himself. Much as he enjoys the justice of seeing the great Magnus Bane brought so low – arrogant Edomspawn; what did he expect, trying to contain two magics inside of him? – he didn’t come to bear witness to a petty lovers’ spat.

‘Can we just get a minute, please?’ Gladly, he thinks, turning on his heel and rolling his eyes as Bane raises his voice again. If being owed a frankly colossal favour by the Head of the New York Institute wasn’t such a boon, he’d keep walking. But for now, he simply waits outside, enjoys a moment alone – far better company than he’s been supplied with so far today – and takes an appreciative breath of fresh air. The veritable rainbow of roses around Bane’s bed were starting to give him a headache with their cloying stench; or perhaps that was just the sentimentality, leeching off of them like a heat haze. Honestly, Lightwood, the whole world must know by now how attached you are. Don’t Shadowhunters usually pride themselves on their emotional control?

He sighs, not really eavesdropping, but unable to miss the rise and fall of angry voices. From the sound of it, this might take a while. Yes, Lightwood is really going to owe him one hell of a favour.

***

‘No no no no, please – Look I’ve, I’ve lost everything, I – ‘ This isn’t real, this can’t be real. Except it is, and he knows he doesn’t have anything to offer, not anymore, but he can’t – ‘I can’t lose you too, Alec, okay?’

Words aren’t working, this isn’t working, and he kisses him – but it feels wrong, because Alec always kisses like he’s trying to give Magnus all of his heart and soul in that touch, and now he doesn’t even kiss Magnus back, even when he tries a second, third time -

But he’s still there. He hasn’t pulled away, not yet, and maybe – ‘Stay with me, okay?’ Magnus whispers. He smiles. Please, I can – I can do this, for you, I can find that spark again, but only if – ‘Come on. Stay with me.’

‘Magnus,’ he says. And it sounds like goodbye. And he’s pulling away. ‘I can’t.’ The world drops out from underneath Magnus, and he barely hears the I’m sorry, the sound of the door.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, but when his vision clears, he’s standing in a circle of flowers. Short, purple spires, some thicker than others. Other, flatter blooms, scattered around him, looking bizarrely like crumpled, bloody bandages. He doesn’t need magic to know what they mean. After all, Alec’s just told him, hasn’t he?

***

Magnus only stops walking again when he reaches the LOVE sign, his heart lurching as his eyes immediately find the words Aku cinta kamu nestled amongst the other locks, as well as the honeysuckle vine – the one that had sprouted as soon as Alec clicked the lock into place, and was now curled all around the sign’s framework.

The grief in Magnus’ chest flashes briefly into anger. Portalling to this side of town was instinctive, a way to quickly gain some distance from Asmodeus. Is there nowhere he can go, nowhere that once felt safe, where he won’t run headfirst into some trace of him, of them? Hasn’t he lost enough?

With the lock reduced to no more than ash, and he turns his power on the base of the honeysuckle. But when the red burns away, the vine is still there. A little scorched, now, but still intact.

Magnus frowns, confusion creeping in – but then the warmth that his fire loaned the air carries the sweet scent to his lungs, and he swallows hard as his magic reaches out on instinct, feeling for the echoes of what created it.

…To show their eternal love. I wanted us to have a lock, too.

He turns and strides away, and if he weren’t so close to tears, the bitterness might twist his mouth into something resembling a smile. That feeling of promise, of forever – it’s absurd, but he almost feels like all those flowers, all those echoes of their intertwining magics, should have known better.

But perhaps that’s just a way of saying that he should have known better.

***

‘You can’t be here.’ ‘I can’t be anywhere else.’ He’s looking at Alec with a kind of joyful wonder, but all Alec feels is panic. ‘No, you don’t understand,’ he says. This wasn’t part of the deal, and he can’t risk – ‘We can’t be together-‘

‘Asmodeus can’t come between us again,’ Magnus interrupts, and all of Alec’s protests die in his throat. He knows. He knows, but he’s still – ‘I know about the deal,’ Magnus says softly, ‘and why you did what you did. It’s- it’s okay, I-‘ But Alec doesn’t, can’t, wait another second, just reaches out and pulls Magnus close, kisses him with all the I love you and I’m sorry and I just wanted you to be happy he can muster. He can feel Magnus’ magic – not the dulled glow he’d grown used to, but something vibrant, alive in its own right, just like it was before. He feels Magnus smile against his lips, and when they break apart he sees the snowdrops winding up Magnus’ lapels, and can’t help but smile too.

  And then, as suddenly as he arrived, he’s gone.

The portal closes behind Magnus, and Alec clenches his fists so hard he can feel the ring dig softly into his flesh. His engagement ring, which means that they’re going to get married, which means that Magnus has to come back, right? He has to. There’s no other option.

All the strength leaves Alec in a rush, and he falls to his knees, the impact cushioned by a thick carpet of marigolds. Come back, he thinks. Please come back.

There’s a flash of light in the sky, and the rift closes above them.

***

Nothing grows in Edom. Nothing natural, anyway. But folded white petals are starting to unfurl on the windowsill, and the second he registers what’s happening, he hears a distant call. ‘Magnus!’ He’s transfixed a moment longer, shock rooting him to the spot, but the next call comes from much closer. ‘Magnus!’

The spell breaks, and Magnus turns around – ‘Alexander!’ – and practically launches himself at his fiancée. And Alec is there to catch him, gods, he’s there – and this is real, it has to be. How else could anything bloom in this godforsaken place?

Magnus pulls away – not completely, not daring to break contact, not yet – and when he eventually notices the rest of the room, he barely hears what Lorenzo says, because nothing grows in Edom but they’re standing in a veritable meadow, surrounded by white carnations and tiny ivory bells.

I’m never leaving you again. Maybe Magnus should protest that, tell Alexander that he shouldn’t, can’t stay. But right now, all he can think of is how much braver he feels, now that he isn’t facing this alone.

***

It’s a while before they can return to the loft – there are people to update, injuries to check over, and then a general dazed feeling (What now? Is it really over?) that delays all of them – but eventually, the two of them step through the portal hand-in-hand, and they’re home.

They just stand there for a moment, and Magnus is right there in front of him, and if it weren’t for the grounding ache of abused muscles and tired eyes, Alec would worry that this was a dream. Magnus breaks the silence. ‘I don’t know about you,’ he says with a smile, one hand trailing softly down Alec’s back, ‘but I could use a drink.’ Alec huffs the barest hint of a laugh, because that’s simultaneously the understatement of the century and heartachingly familiar, normal, after the last few days of literal and non-literal hell. ‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘sounds good.’

Magnus steps away to the small drinks trolley, and Alec drifts after him like a tethered helium balloon. His phone buzzes, and he smiles at the message he finds there. ‘Everything alright?’ Magnus asks. Alec nods. ‘Yeah, it’s just Izzy. I told her that if she starts feeling weird again, after the heavenly fire, she needs to go straight to the infirmary. She told me to stop worrying and enjoy my evening.’ Magnus raises an eyebrow. ‘You? Stop worrying? I thought she knew you better than that.’

Alec smiles, not quite able to laugh at that while half his thoughts are still on seeing Izzy collapse, on the fear when Magnus couldn’t heal her - He winces a little, struck by a small stab of guilt, now that he’s out of the moment and his head is clearer. Magnus shoots him a questioning look. ‘I can’t believe I yelled at you,’ he says by way of explanation, smiling a little incredulously at how ridiculous the past few days have been. ‘I’d only had you back for – what, five minutes?’

But Magnus just hands him his drink, not looking even a little disgruntled. ‘Well, it was a stressful day all round,’ he says, a little teasingly. ‘Besides, you know what they say about the course of true love.’

They clink their glasses together – to us, Alec thinks absentmindedly – and as they drain their glasses probably faster than is advisable, he breathes deeply and tries to anchor himself in the moment. This is real. We’re home. Everyone’s okay, and we’re back home.

He puts his empty glass to one side, and steps forward to loop his arms around Magnus’ waist, closing his eyes as he rests their foreheads together. ‘I missed you,’ he whispers. Magnus returns the gentle embrace, one hand moving up to slowly tousle the hair at Alec’s nape, and Alec melts a little into the touch. ‘I missed you too, Alexander,’ Magnus says, his voice wavering just a little, before he closes the scant distance between their lips.

The kiss quickly turns heated, and as they stumble towards the bedroom, refusing to break it, it’s so familiar that if he weren’t completely preoccupied, Alec would want to just stand there for a while and marvel that Magnus is back, he’s safe, they get to have this again –

They open the door to the bedroom, and he feels Magnus pull away abruptly. ‘Magnus, is-‘ But then Alec feels it, too – a wave of despair crashing over them, making him shiver as if they’re standing out in a cold wind, not safely inside their cozy loft. He reaches out, suddenly needing the reassurance of contact. Magnus obliges, linking their hands together; even as he steps forward, onto the thick bed of marigolds that Alec had completely forgotten about until this moment.

He pulls Alec down with him as he crouches close to the flowers, gently brushing against them with his free hand. ‘I don’t understand,’ he murmurs. ‘If I wasn’t here…’ He trails off, and looks sharply back at Alec, his eyes widening briefly in understanding before his expression softens in sympathy. Because Magnus’ magic isn’t the only way the flowers can manifest. Not if the feeling is strong enough. Alec, for his part, just gazes back, open. He has nothing to hide from Magnus. Not about this.

Magnus pulls them both back up to standing, one hand coming up to cradle Alec’s jaw as the other breaks away from their hold, waving in a complicated pattern until every last marigold disappears in a blink of blue magic. ‘I love you,’ Magnus murmurs. Alec swallows hard. ‘I love you too.’ And then they’re kissing again, and with the weight of despair lifted from the room, Alec sets out to show Magnus just how much he means it.

***

Magnus wakes first, and the first thing he realises is that he’s on the wrong side of the bed.

Alec was half-asleep by the time Magnus stepped back into the room, and Magnus had chuckled. ‘Did you forget which side yours was while I was away?’ he asked. Alec had blinked wide in realisation, before his face screwed up once more in a yawn. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I just – You’re back now, you can-‘ But Magnus had just climbed into the other side, too fast for Alec to do more than shuffle over a few inches. ‘It’s okay,’ he said softly, before flashing a flirtatious smile. ‘The view is just as good from this side.’

Alec had rolled his eyes, which was quite a feat when they were half-shut, and Magnus had laughed again, his heart brimming with quiet joy as he settled close to his fiancée. ‘Go to sleep,’ he said. ‘You need it.’ ‘Hmm. You too,’ Alec had mumbled. He was asleep too quickly to hear Magnus’ murmured reply. ‘I will.’

The second thing Magnus realises brings a huge, soft smile to his face. He’s on the wrong side of the bed – their bed. In the loft. Because he’s home.

He rolls over gently, trying not to wake Alec, and his heart swells with affection. I love you, he thinks, his hand reaching out almost of its own accord to tuck away an unruly lock of Alec’s hair. Above their heads, sweet pink and white honeysuckle blossoms perfume the air, and he breathes deeply, overwhelmingly content. I love you more than anything.

***

‘Isn’t this bad luck, or something?’ Alec asks, as Magnus leads him into the ceremony hall. ‘Seeing each other again before this evening?’ Magnus laughs. ‘Well, typically that superstition refers to not seeing the bride, specifically, so I think we’ll get away with it. Besides, there’s something I need you to do before you go see Maryse.’

He waves his hands, and there’s a soft thump. All along the aisle and around the edges of the room, long, low trays of earth appear, and Alec feels a smile spread across his face in understanding. ‘I know I said I’d sort the décor,’ Magnus says, ‘but this seemed appropriate. Besides,’ he continues, taking hold of Alec’s hand, ‘whatever you manifest is likely to overtake anything I choose, anyway. Thought we’d just cut out the middleman.’ Alec feels like he ought to at least pretend to be offended, but seeing Magnus’ beaming, joking smile, it’s impossible to do anything but return it.

They walk down the aisle hand in hand, their footsteps echoing amongst the empty seats. When they reach the dais, Magnus turns them around, and they survey the room. There’s a myriad of flowers in every tray, but Alec’s eye catches on the golden peonies which dominate the aisle, and the tall, blue, trumpeted spires lining the walls. What’s more, away from the intended earth, ivy wraps around the seating, the windows, the doors.

Alec turns back to look at Magnus, his heart skipping a little faster than normal. ‘What do you think?’ Magnus reaches one hand up to the back of his head, pulling him in to kiss him on the cheek. ‘Perfect.’

  That evening, Brother Zachariah says, ‘It is my honour to pronounce you one,’ and Alec kisses his husband for the first time. Around them, gold and blue flowers bloom bigger and brighter than the sun.

  ***

‘Alexander. Are you sure?’ Magnus asks, his voice barely above a whisper. The moon is full and bright above them, the streets of Alicante strangely quiet below. The night is blanketed by a still hush, and full of promise. Alec takes both of his husband’s hands, and easily finds a reassuring smile. He’s been sure about this for a long time. ‘You’ve asked me that about a thousand times,’ he teases. ‘I’m sure. I want this.’

‘I have to ask again, you know that. If you do this, there’s no turning back,’ Magnus cautions. ‘I won’t begrudge you needing more time to decide, or… or changing your mind.’ His voice wavers a little, but his gaze doesn’t, boring into Alec like he can see straight into his heart, his soul. Alec doesn’t think that’s too far from the truth. ‘It doesn’t change anything,’ Magnus insists. ‘I love you, no matter what.’ ‘I know,’ Alec says. ‘That’s why I want to stay. I told you, I’m never leaving you again.’ Magnus’ breath hitches, and Alec reaches up, thumbing away a stray tear. ‘Besides,’ he says, ‘Max’s hundredth birthday is going be the event of the millennium. Am I really not invited?’

It works – the tension eases, and some of the fear in Magnus’ eyes fades away as a wet chuckle escapes him. ‘Of course you are,’ he says, gesturing to the small purple spheres that are blooming around them. ‘Who else is going to organise the flowers?’

  On a quiet spring night, on a moonlit balcony in Idris, there’s a dull flash of golden green. The air fills with the soft scent of peach roses, and forever begins.

 ~oOo~

[qunnblackthorn]

( robert sheehan, cis male, homosexual, he/him ) rome welcomes QUINN BLACKTHORN, a WEREWOLF. they are 25/27 years old and have been in the city for ONE MONTH. they are known to be ADAPTIVE + RECKLESS, which makes sense because they’re RESISTANT about the marriages. i heard they’re betrothed to BASIL FAININ - a CHANGELING.

Hello! Let me bring you this disaster of chaos and random self-doubt. Feel free to hit me up for plots whenever, I’m always ready to throw poor Quinn into the most outlandish situations and watch him flounder around. Best of luck, he’s a first rate mess and well aware of it.

@bloodwedstuff [repost of this since the first time it apparently didn’t want to tag.]

Some people are seemingly born with madness in their blood, be it from generations or their own vein of it; they come into the world a shrieking torrent and rarely fall to silence. Such was Quinn, a problem from his first wailing breath. There was nothing extraordinary about him, or his pack, aside from the way they carried on about life. As they were not, as most other packs argued, anything near to proper wolves.

They had the gifts of course, the blood in their line surprisingly pure in fact with few humans in the mix, but it was the way they decided to live that cast a shadow upon the entire lot of them. Dogs, scavengers, city-side mongrels by the murmurers of other wolves; the Blackthorn pack had generations long history of etching out an existence right in the middle of human affairs. Or, technically, in the very midst of their towering cities. Which was no place for wolves, not when they were meant to run and hunt, to defend their territory with teeth and claws.

The Blackthorn lot did all those things and more; they adapted. Early on in their line the founders saw the opportunity for something better than lingering in the forests and never let it be said that a Blackthorn isn’t an opportunist right down to the marrow of their bones. So they became what other packs would not; city shadows and lurking creatures in the neon glow. Brilliant con artists who taught their pups the wisdom of how to navigate the humans’ booming cities and fit themselves in. Quinn was no different aside from being born into the important spot of being the youngest of the alphas’ brood; a example for the rest of the pack.

Too bad he was so very terrible at it.

Because Quinn wanted freedom, wanted everything just the way that unpredictable desire ran in the pack. He learned exceptionally well to roam the streets, to be a wolf and a human in the light of day, and he had a smile that could charm anyone. It was just never enough; he was endlessly bored. His older brothers reprimanded him, often, about pulling himself into some sort of presentable shape; even for a pack of scavenging mongrels they still held their heads high after all. But Quinn was starstruck by life, so young, so very eager to explore it all. The war fractured his wild nights and restless joy; tore everything down around him in one fatal swoop.

The pack slunk back, melded into the underbelly of the city and refused the fight; seeing no reason in throwing their lives away by picking sides. They had known good in both, humans and their supernatural kin, so they avoided the bloodshed. Many snapped and snarled that they were cowards for it but they were very swift-witted cowards, yes, and too hard to corner for other packs to bother much with. Most assumed as the cities fell the Blackthorn pack would go down with it. Instead they thrived as the world turned to dust, the true mark of a survivor is knowing when to swallow pride and stalk the vultures rather than fight the lions; better to have a full belly from stolen spoils than your throat ripped out for testing the anger of a bigger predator.

So the ruins of the city, once called London, became their playground. The world fell apart and they established a territory that even now many are afraid to venture too far into; very few want to take a chance on earning the anger of the wolves who rule over their kingdom of rubble and wreckage. It nearly became their destruction though, and Quinn will certainly claim it was his own, the strength of the pack to survive in the decay around them. As they grew larger a fracture appeared, a battle between the alpha and her brother over the state of the pack as their numbers outgrew their resources, and that weakness was exploited by another rival pack that had been lurking and mulling in their rage over the Blackthorn’s mingling in the affairs of humans and turning their back upon outsiders.

It was a vicious, terrible night that most were not prepared for, too many dead and among them Quinn’s second eldest brother and father. There was victory but the cost was a grave one and what remained was a weary, weakened pack. Then the accusations began. They had been united, stronger for it, but blood rage burned in those still alive, demanding answers. Quinn felt the intensity of it when his remaining brother turned sharp teeth on him, knowing his habit of roaming, of testing and toying with the other creatures in the dying woods and lands outside their city domain. It was his fault for tempting them, his fault for foolishly befriending them and leading them right to the pack in the middle of the power shifting between the leaders. Quinn couldn’t even properly defend himself because perhaps it was true.

It was also a noose around his neck for certain, betrayal of the pack was an offense that would not go unpunished but his mother stepped in to save him. Her command over the pack spared his life but it took his place within it away forever and Quinn had no choice but to run. And he kept running, weary through and through but refusing to allow it to show. Right up to the day he found himself in Rome, the sanctuary he doesn’t trust. The alternative has vicious teeth though, not all of his former pack were pleased with the idea of simply banishing him from their ranks, he’s felt them too close on his heels for comfort for far too long.

Rome might be the best chance he has but it won’t be an easy road.

First and forth-most Quinn will offer as little as possible about his past, shift the conversation to any other direction because he doesn’t want to speak of such things. He still suffers horrible dreams over it and still has no doubt his eldest brother intends to track him down. After seeing that anger he’s terrified of it catching up to him. The less he speaks of the past the more he can pretend it never happened, the more he can pretend the more he can exist without being wary of every shadow that crosses his path.

Quinn is exhausting. There’s little way around it, and  it doesn’t trouble him very much. He’s sarcastic, talkative and generally difficult to follow in a conversation but the opinion that if he’s going to make the effort of accepting the oddities and downsides to other people they should do the same for him is one he holds strongly to. Then just as quickly he’ll tip into bland indifference, boredom plagues him. His downsides are a bit harder to navigate, he’s a dramatic, argumentative sort, sometimes to a fault and rather stubborn, but nobody’s perfect.

As it is with most wolves, Quinn values loyalty a great deal. Once his is earned, which doesn’t take as much work as it should, he’s not likely to turn his back on anyone. He might tell them to their face he thinks something they do is foolish but he’s the type to be there for whatever terrible idea it is regardless. He’s devoted to those he is close to, even if he’s just as likely to playfully push buttons as he is to do anything else.

A creature of the pack; he does not do well solitary. Quinn is afflicted by misery when alone and he does everything in his power to avoid it. His decisions are often questionable as it is but when it comes to finding a comfortable spot around others he’s a real master at worming his way into peoples’ graces because he is exceptionally earnest and accepting. He needs people, he’s lost everything else; being all alone is the worst fate he can imagine.

That doesn’t exactly extend to the idea of being pushed off onto some poor soul in the idea of marriage. It’s downright offensive, actually. Pack mentality, wolf mentality, puts a high value on the idea of connections and bonds, and mates, and frankly the idea of a stranger being expected to hold that spot? He’s still got his hackles up about it, that’s not likely to be an easy situation for anyone to walk into. He has every intention of avoiding it as long as possible.

Unpredictable tends to be Quinn’s main direction in life. He is a very sharp survivor and thinks on his feet faster than most, but his attention often wavers and he simply cannot help but fall victim to the extremes in his own emotions. Which means everyone around him has to suffer it as well, misery loves company after all. He’ll take whatever risk crosses his mind, what does he have to lose? He’s a hedonistic sort who never grew out of it, the only difference is now he has grief to haunt him and make the need to experience life all the more dire. Missing out on anything is a missed chance, he doesn’t want to leave any path unexplored.

Other wolves might know of him, the Blackthorns were rather distinct and a bit notorious for their odd ways of life. They also weren’t viewed in a very positive light and generally considered the last bunch anyone would want to trust. Those opinions don’t bother Quinn, but he does know that it keeps most other wolves at a distance. He doesn’t see rejoining a pack in his near future because he can’t fathom one would have him.

In spite of everything he’s not one to get too drug down by life, rather optimistic and unrealistic in his views that things will turn out good enough in the end. Sometimes it’s all he has left, that conviction. And why not? He’s seen what he thinks must have been the worst so things have to get better in comparison to what they used to be.

Oddly, even if he doesn’t look it, Quinn isn’t one to back down when cornered or his teeth are bared. He’s bolder as a wolf than a human, certainly, and he’s faster on his feet than he is strong but that doesn’t mean he’s a pushover by any means. It’s more the fact that he won’t stop, blood rage and blind intention, until he physically cannot take anymore. It’s the sort of brutal necessity that his pack taught; too often if other wolves challenged them it was with intent to kill. He very rarely uses that humanoid wolf form in a fight, or at all, finding it awkward to manage, and prefers to be fully human or fully wolf.

Quinn is a pack-rat. He adores collecting the oddest things and his tiny little apartment home is proof of that much; it’s a bit cluttered and something is nearly always falling over. He loses things more often than he keeps up with them, but it doesn’t matter much. He also has a fascination with books and amasses them, he’s probably read more than he can recall and is constantly curious over new stories.

Rather than take advantage of the usual comforts of his own apartment, Quinn still holds to some old habits. Growing up it was rare to stay one spot too long, even rarer to have much personal space. The excess of it, even though his place is small by most standards, feels strange. He still hasn’t gotten used to the exposed feeling of a bed, prefers to keep his matress in the closet and sleep there.

It’s usually up for debate just how it is he pays for his existence, but the truth is he’s good at finding ways to make ends meet. There’s few jobs he won’t take on, or hasn’t in the past, from the legal to the less than so degree, and he usually has enough in his bank account to stay on his feet comfortably enough. His morals are always a bit shifty though, so it’s not like answer to that question is always an answer he offers up.

Since he has little luck with other wolves Quinn has managed to end up with a few dogs, three to be exact, that share said apartment with him much to the disdain of his neighbors. The animals are actually rather well behaved, he has a way with them, and more often than not has them in tow if he’s near to home. An ancient pug named Gin, a mongrel named Bacardi, and a corgi named Vodka; they’re quite the interesting trio. He found them along the way and far be it for him to turn them away.

[ayakashiramblings]

Dawn & Twilight Faction reacting to a Demon!MC

@bitchyings

Here you go! Hope you like it! I couldn’t resist throwing in a certain game, LOL.

Prologue

“You toast people now as well. Congratulations and good-bye!”

Honestly, you were still processing what was being said to you, looking back and forth from him to his hellhound. It was even almost like Cerebus was offering pity in his puppy eyes. 

It had all started with an explosion following the latest defeat of a wraith. Your merry little band of burly ayakashi were witnesses to a blonde man suddenly appearing. Apparently, it wasn’t really a man but a devil. 

That you were starting to resemble. It seemed as if it was he first time leathery, onyx wings unfurled from your back and a forked tail swished back and forth. 

Oh, and of course, the horns sprouting from your head. 

And you screamed and screamed and screamed until your chosen Ayakashi swooped you into his arms.

Koga Kitamikado

They lock horns but it’s not in a negative sense. Rather romantic, honestly. 

It’s like leaning against each other foreheads and lightly bumping each other. 

For once, Koga doesn’t have to worry about accidentally impaling your skull.

It’s actually pretty cheesy and cavity-inducing at this point. 

Even Ginnojo has stopped blushing because it’s been THAT long. 

Of course, he does want to learn how you will cope with being a demon. At this point, he rallies the others around in helping you become a full-fledged one. 

Makes sure you get complete privacy whenever you want to reveal your demon nature because he knows the urge to be your natural self. 

Once he sees your newfound skills, he’d beam with pride at your ability to handle yourself – he likes a strong, confident woman.

That said, know that you can rely on him and everyone else. 

They were the last people to judge someone for what they are, and he especially increases his wariness around soldiers like Aizen who sought to destroy those different from the rest in the Capital.

He’s especially impressed that now you and Kuya can fight in tandem in the sky while pairing up with him on the ground. 

And on top of that, you’re still banishing wraiths? Sparring with him? Using horns as a weapon? Mark him as scared and... hehe... horny.

You can’t stop me. Fight me.

Kuya

“Wow, you have to do more work? That sucks.”

This man doesn’t even care about your new features except for the changes in your crowded schedule. 

You aren’t too sure how to feel about that. 

But remember, he recalls how he even became a tengu in this time from his human past life.

He does genuinely want to help you but tries to remain nonchalant about the whole affair in order not to freak you out.

So he is determined to treat you like normal. 

Maybe even help you fit in with the rest of the devils you may encounter. He doesn’t want you to feel left out like how he felt in his childhood.

As long as your tail doesn’t brush his feathers... and of course it does. 

Finally, you can use your wings. He had always wondered why you didn’t use them before. Wasn’t walking difficult?

Even Aoi has stopped lecturing at that point. Why Kuya? 

Seriously though, Kuya is ironically the most useful out of everyone because you do need to learn how to take to the skies and still battle. 

“I’m going to write a story about living 10 days with a devil but hopefully, we live together longer than that. Your wings are great as a blanket.”

Haruhito is honoured to be part of the ensemble.

Aoi

“I have a supply of holy water. Normal holy water, fancy holy water and rainbow-coloured holy water!”

I know Aoi, you’re the only one who gives me worthy and helpful rewards to increase my strength at the Milk Hall, unlike a certain employer.

So it’s to his shock that you recoil like he has stung you. 

Apparently, he did. 

Maybe he can give me Romance Sonnet Keys instead.

Feels so bad that he immediately prostrated himself for almost an entire day after being told he couldn’t offer you his arm for the one you burnt. 

Is so grateful that your new form means faster healing powers. 

In fact, he’s secretly glad you gained extra abilities because that means he doesn’t have to worry about you holding your own against opponents strong against divination powers. 

Because you have devilish skills.

Sometimes, you feel that becoming a demon means being associated with evil. After all, look at all the negative connotations hell has for the humans and the books they have.

Rolls his eyes so hard that you’re worried they will fall out of his sockets even as he places his hand over your heart.

“It certainly isn’t human but you’re still good. Still the same negatives and positives. Now stop and appreciate yourself or else I will.”

Actually learns how to summon you with whatever ingredients he has in the kitchen. 

Now Oji actually remembers them because it’s really adorable seeing his son and future daughter-in-law meeting each other once Aoi pours more salt than usual that it ‘accidentally’ ends up on the floor along with a bunch of ‘random’ items and a surprisingly well-drawn figure of your symbol.

Ginnojo 

Poor grandpa is so confused.

In the olden days, people worked so hard to banish any evil spirits. 

But? You? Are? Not? Evil?

He soldiers on. Does intense research, on his surprisingly large stock on demons and devils. 

Even learns English and other languages from Kuro and Koga so that he knows what spells will help you. 

Insisted he trains with you rigorously to keep you at physical peak. 

Rides a water wave while you are flying (badly).

Probably puts out whatever mess you made if you are too smoking hot. 

Like literally smoking hot with the fires of hell.

Actually weaves you a charm but not the usual kind to ward off all things that go bump in the night. 

It’s a charm of crashing waves and the land when the Shinsengumi took their last stand. 

“Because I’m standing by you, come hell or high water.”

Yura

“Milady, you shall always be the loveliest lady I know, no matter what.”

Look, this man has had his own personal sins to overcome. How the heck can he judge you?

If anything, it’s sort of comforting to know that not all of his demons are scary and sinister. 

Because you are his. And you certainly are lovely.

Will play whatever you want on his flute, anything to match your mood as a sort of rhythm to your new life together as not being human. 

But fully capable of the whole emotion spectre for humans.

You deserved to preserve whatever you have learnt in your life even if fate has changed because of what you are going to have to decide to become. 

A girl like you has taught him to see and fight beyond a cursed destiny and he will help you to confront a whole new world beyond even ayakashi and spirits. 

Frankly, the only sin you guys will be practising would be gluttony for sweets.

Still is the best man to go to for divination and hexes. In fact, he tries to see if your skills can be advanced with the new demon powers and develop the techniques. 

You guys even create a cute shared diary of sorts detailing each experiment and composing whatever silly/serious song comes to mind.

It might encourage him to remain in his adult form more to be seen as reliable/tease you like a bigger imp than the supposed actual demon girl.

Toichiro Yuri

“Yeesh, and you were positively in a tizzy over us being Ayakashi.”

Give him the middle finger. It’s ok. 

The Dawn faction and the rest of the Twilight sect has your back (and newfound wings... and tail... and powers)

To be fair, he cannot call you a boring human. 

He still calls you a silly girl though which is... strangely comforting. 

But really, you do worry him. He has seen people being possessed by wraiths and wonders if this means you have become more susceptible to them or not. 

He’d trail after you without even Shizuki, hiding as you, sure enough, guided a spirit out to the ‘Demon World’. 

His kitsunebi would be in his hands without him even realizing it, should he need to release them to help you with your work. 

It’s how gentle you still are that convinces him you will be fine.

Is also the best man to go to if you want to disguise and blend in even if your powers are on the fritz which might be the case.

Sure, he would probably demand to have milk tea with you every day but interestingly it is him getting Shizuki to prepare the beverage while he acts like his foxy self to you doing absolutely nothing.

He does have the connections and sources out the best help possible. Whether you want to continue being a demon or not, he will be beside you.

That, unfortunately, also means being able to play more pranks and tease you further.

“Why, you’d have to be a devil to refuse my... ow! Ok! I’ll stop!”

Actually starts finding out if your powers will help with breaking the seal and the Kitsune clan.

Even vehemently defends you should there be any dissatisfaction amongst the elders. 

“We have a demon for an ally and you all scared of her? Are you joking with me?”

Give him a hug. It’s ok. 

Shizuki

“So long as you don’t harm the Yuri household, we are fine. But in order for that, you must be alright.”

Look, frankly, Toichiro is more of a pranking demon. 

At least he knows you can control yourself. 

Appreciates your determination in discovering more about demons but would be cautious about your safety. 

Literally supplies you with whatever you need as a demon but only if you asked. 

Sure, he might have learnt that some demons want a blood sacrifice and apparently ‘gross’ things.

It’s a good thing he doubts that the same girl who cried over snakes having no legs with Kuro would really want that.

Smart move, buddy. 

Is actually a bit glad to think that you have toughened up but if you are sad about your loss of humanity, he.... will suck at trying to cheer you up.

Goddamnit Shizuki, I need snuggles, not a bloody schedule.

To be fair though, procrastination isn’t going to help anybody and nobody knows this better than the snow spirit. 

You better work it, human or demon.

Protects you from Toichiro’s pranks to the best of his abilities...

.... which isn’t much but he will encourage you to make use of your heightened senses to pick up on danger and kitsunes.

Wonders if you would be more willing to do nightcaps with him. 

Spoiler Alert: No. Not until he stops freezing everything in sight. Sure, you can now remove it but that doesn’t mean you WANT it.

Kuro

“Holy, wow, they are leather! It’s like hugging a...!”

“If you dare say it is a cow Kuro, I am dumping you.”

He is extremely fascinated if your eyes change colour when tapping into your demon nature.

Might be more open to you just so that you can open up to him honestly. 

Even if that means you suddenly really needing darkness and the light hurts your eyes.

Is he scared of that? Heck yes.

But he’s more scared of losing you to yourself... 

Or to any hateful humans who could exorcise you.

A bit psyched that you can fly. 

“We can do a flying act together!”

And honestly? These flying acts help ease you into more of your demon antics and habits.

You guys actually challenge each other to try various things, even if you are unsure if it will be detrimental to him. 

Especially if he hasn’t revealed what he is at that point. 

But somehow, he reminds you that it isn’t what you are. 

So long as you can be reminded of warmth with his embrace, you’re great!

But he does have to be more careful because you do have some sharp appendages.

It only took him 5 very painful tackles for him to realize that. 

And he actually bought protection gear just to continue doing that. 

Anything for a great girl like you!

Oji

“Oh thank god. Now we can really grow old together.”

One good thing about being a century old is that he has at least heard of the existence of demons from other ayakashis. 

Being 100 years old has taught him that everything has its expiration date.

You being a demon changes all of that. And for the better.

Yup, he’s spending all of his time reminding you... that you’re still you. 

So that also means you’re still his and he is yours.

AND... leaving poor Aoi up to his eyeballs with customers.

Leaving you to become a mama demon.

Like both figuratively and literally. 

“STOP BULLYING OUR SON!”

“D’aww, wasn’t he mine first?”

Still though, you can’t help but appreciate this old fossil and during ACTUAL break hours, you become more willing to open up and literally unfurl those gorgeous wings.

Will always introduce you to the friendliest of customers so as to ease you back to the humans because he knows you might want to still be connected to the Capital.

Hopes you have the stereotypical fire powers to help with the stove duties. 

C’mon. This guy has 100 eyes each with different powers. 

What do you mean he doesn’t start a food fight?

Aoi wanted to scream at his parents.

But you were practically beaming like an angel.

Gaku

“Thou hast brought the most surprising news. I mean, wow.”

Congratulations, you broke him and made Gaku revert to Elizabethan language in sheer shock. 

I nearly made Yura do the opposite of his speech style as well but then I realized his listed occupation is a hermit and he still doesn’t understand some figures of speech so...

But he and Yura are determined to treat you right.

This man becomes your literal arsenal.

Builds tiny gadgets that go well with your new traits. 

Need armour for your wings? He’s got you.

Suddenly your horns made an appearance when a cute guy said your hair looks nice? Not only does he cover it with a hat, but the hat also produces a punching glove!

A salty boy has enough salt to summon you honestly.

Sure, he’s still brusque and curt as ever but he figures you can take it. 

You literally developed new skin in a sense. Like, wow, you didn’t even get scratched by that saw. 

In the first place though, what the heck were you doing getting injured by a saw?

Some things don’t change. Like him patiently waiting for you to come around.

Or else he would sick Nachi on you.

Epilogue

Really, if I had to summarize their actions?  They love you still.

They always say that demons are the least pure of all beings. 

But the romance has always been simple and plain with not much to ask for. 

And you’d be fine.

[snowycrocus]

Frozen Fanfiction “Such a Cost” Ch.4/? Elsa Sacrifices her Magic to Save Anna

Start with part one and part two and part three first. 

“Take away my magic,” she tries again, urging, pleading. “For love.”

She hears a scream, a guttural cry, as the ice is ripped from her body. She feels her very soul torn to pieces, feels like her heart has been rent to pieces.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she hears her sister calling her name, feels her stiff, icicle-like fingers stroke her forehead and dance over her shoulders. She thinks that scream might have been hers.

The pain is too much, the loss too much to bear.

The world goes black.

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

“…..sa!”

“….lsa!”

“..Elsa!”

There’s a ringing in her ears that won’t go away. It’s hard to decipher the words over the cacophony, but they sound urgent, desperate.

She’s being shaken, her neck whipping back and forth but it barely registers over the stinging sensation buzzing through her veins.

It burns.

She must grimace and make some kind of gasping noise, because the shaking gets rougher and the voice is getting louder.

“Elsa!”

The burning sensation slowly fades, receding like the tide. Though she should be relieved, it feels….lacking, somehow. Empty.

She stirs, managing to come to a half-sit with her arm supporting her weight behind her, and looks up.

Her vision is swimming, but she makes out the shocked and startled expressions of the entourage in front of her.

Grand Pabbie’s rough features soften when he looks at her. His thick mossy eyebrows furrow and his lips press together.

Kristoff breathes out, drawing back a half-step in surprise. His eyes widen. “Whoa.”

It all comes back to her; a great overwhelming rush of remembrance and emotions, when her reeling gaze finally settles on her sister.

“Elsa,” Anna breathes, eyes wide. Her lip trembles, and she seems to gather herself through her distress before rushing to her sister.

Elsa is knocked back by the weight and force of Anna’s hug, barely catching them both from falling to the forest floor at the last second. She wraps her arms tightly around Anna’s waist, squeezing. “Are you alright?”

Anna startles at her words, remembering why they were here in the first place. She fans her hands out in front of her, noting the blue tinge to her fingertips that still remains.

The girls round suddenly on Grand Pabbie.

“It will go away with time,” he responds to their unanswered question, their worries clear as day in their scared and angry expressions. “You should be feeling the effects already, however.”

Elsa turns back to Anna and watches her sister still before taking a slow, deep breath that reaches all the way down to her toes.

Anna nods, grinning. “You’re right, I can feel the difference,” she agrees. She fingers the tips of her ears. “It’s easier to breathe, somehow.”

Elsa lets out a heaving sigh of relief and stands, gathering Anna into her arms once more.

“Thank heavens,” she breathes, stroking Anna’s hair and running palms over her sister’s arms. “I can’t lose you again.”

“You’ll never lose me,” Anna returns, snuggling into the space between Elsa’s chin and shoulder. “Even if we’re apart.”

“But we will never will be, now.” Elsa brings eager, elated eyes to Anna’s. “We can always be together now. Safely.”

Anna looks past her to tentatively reach out to pull Elsa’s braid over her shoulder.

“But Elsa,” she says, playing with the fringed locks at the end of the braid nervously, “I don’t want you to lose yourself.”

Elsa looks down to where Anna’s fingers play.

Her hair…..it’s brown.

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

Grand Pabbie confirms that it must have been her powers that caused the uniqueness of her appearance.

Elsa yearns for a mirror, but can’t help but feel relieved, almost excited, to see her new self. She had hated her hair, her appearance in general, ever since the accident when she was a child. The white-blonde of her hair, so distinctive, was just another thing that set her apart from the rest of normal society.

She had always felt like an outsider – from the townspeople of her kingdom, from those in high society, and, especially, from her family. With her parents gone, there was little family resemblance between herself and the parents she had lost. Only her mother’s high, rounded cheekbones and perhaps the shape of her father’s eyes.

And is her skin perhaps a shade darker now, even?

Anna grasps her hand firmly and Elsa squeezes it in response – she can do that, now, without even having to think about it, she reminds herself.

Forever!

The thought is joyous at first, but suddenly seeds of doubt begin to swarm in her mind. She pushes them away, frustrated that she of course has a negative thought when everything has just been fixed with nothing short of a miracle.

“You’re beautiful.” Anna smiles as she speaks but there’s a sadness behind it that Elsa can’t quite place.

She tries to muster up the unbridled joy she felt moments earlier but comes up with a mix of relieved elation and uneasy apprehension.

“You’re beautifuller,” she responds, and Anna’s face lights up with a cheeky grin.

“Thank you, Grand Pabbie,” Elsa says, returning to face the group. She’s still feeling shaky and exhaustion is beginning to set in from the high emotions and her ordeal. “I can never repay you for saving my sister’s life. Again.”

Grand Pabbie frowns and nods. “Such love that you both share is a rare and pure thing,” he says. He reaches out to grab a hand from each of the girls. “Take care of each other,” he tells them.

“If I may offer some last words of caution,” he continues, and Elsa’s heart jumps to her throat. Her magic may have left her but she is dismayed to learn that her anxiety bordering on paranoia runs deeper.

“Your Majesty.” He squeezes her fingers in his hand and she fights the urge to pull away. “Your magic is…was so strong, so much a part of you. That loss is not easy to accept. Proceed with caution and stay true to your love, for that is what will see you through.”

His words give life to the feelings of loss and sadness that she keeps trying to push farther and farther away. She struggles to banish them once more, trying desperately to ignore the fact that she is actually going to have to, at some point, face the facts: her life will never be the same.

Elsa’s head is swimming. She feels….funny, different, and can’t quite sort through all the emotions now running freely through her. Grand Pabbie’s words bounce around in her mind and she struggles to grasp their ambiguous meaning.

“Of course,” she nods, and releases her hand from his. She guides Anna and gestures to Kristoff to return back towards the castle.

“Oh! Your Majesty!”

The call from behind her makes her pull up short, sighing. She needs some sleep, some food, and some time to sort through the changes today has brought. She turns around.

Grand Pabbie holds out a looped cord of leather, tied off like a necklace, with a crystal dangling upon it.

“Take this with you,” he says, offering it to her. “Your magic cannot disappear, you see. It must be contained.”

The suspended crystal is white as snow, opaque in swirls and translucent in others. Something like blue smoke sparks and whirls inside, churning with an almost conscious intention.

Elsa slowly approaches, entranced by the sight of her confined magic. With every step the crystal swings closer to her, like static, propelled by the unseen force of the power raging inside.

She is held spellbound by the sight of it, barely in control of her body as if in a trance. She delicately reaches out a finger to touch, and the blue swirls inside dance and glow.

She makes contact.

‘Hi, I’m Olaf.’

‘Catch me!’

‘This place…it’s beautiful.’

‘Oh Elsa they’re beautiful, but you know I don’t skate’

Soft, powdery snowballs burst behind her eyelids. Ice slithers through her veins, up her arms, down into her fingertips.

Longing. The intense, sharp ache of longing stings her skin and aches so, so deeply in her chest.

She remembers.

And the worst part is, now that it is gone – now that the pulse thrilling through her veins is nothing but blood, now that her skin is nothing but flesh and not a set of sensitive points of contact for her power to seize upon – she can’t even remember what it used to feel like, cannot describe it. It wasn’t something tangible, something to put into words. So now that she can no longer feel it, it’s just….

Gone.

Gone.

Gone!

And what is she, without it? She feels empty, barren, purposeless. It was hard to breathe, sometimes, before. Like it all overtook her and she was nothing but a nameless, mindless vessel for the power. But now that she is just her- just Elsa - lacking, pointless – the void looms larger than it ever had before and she cannot tell if she’s lightheaded and seeing spots from the loss or from a lack of air in her lungs.

Warm hands on her cheeks bring her back.

This time, they feel different, though. She does not merely recognize that they are warm – she yearns for it. The warmth feels good. She wants more. She leans into Anna’s touch, breaking contact with the crystal.

Immediately she feels like she can breathe again – the swirling emotions, calling voices and oppressive pressure now gone that she is distanced from the crystal.

Anna removes her hands from Elsa’s cheeks, relieved to see that her sister seems to have broken out of her trance. “Are you alright?”

Elsa shakes her head to rid herself of the past moments, like a dog shaking off water. “I’m fine.” She takes Anna’s hands back and places them back on her cheeks, moaning softly in delight before sliding them down to her neck, her shoulders. “Mmmmm.”

“Elsa?” Anna doesn’t take her hands away but looks at her sister suspiciously. “What’s – what are you-”

Then she notices. Elsa is dressed in nothing more than her usual light day dress – thin fabric to keep out the heat; sheer, gossamer sleeves that do little more than cover skin for propriety’s sake. Elsa had eschewed heavy, weighted fabrics ever since The Great Thaw – but now, with winter just barely blossoming into spring, the quickly-approaching evening brings with it chill winds and temperatures dropping with the setting sun.

“Oh, Elsa,” Anna breathes. “You’re cold.”

Elsa doesn’t respond other than crossing her arms over her chest in a way that may have at one time been a protective mechanism but now is solely to keep in warmth. Her face flashed with something that Anna couldn’t quite catch – sadness? Fear? Anna removes her hands from Elsa’s delicate shoulders to rub warm palms over the skin of her sister’s unprotected arms.

Elsa gives Anna a grateful nod before responding to Grand Pabbie, who still holds the crystal out to her in the breezy air.

“I cannot take it with me. It….calls to me. I shouldn’t be around it, and neither should Anna.”

Grand Pabbie gives a gruff nod. “Very well. We shall store it here for you, for whenever you may need it once more.”

Elsa squints, her head tilting to the side with a questioning look. With her warm, chestnut hair the look is not as severe as it once was. “It will not be needed. My sister will always come first to me. You may….” she waves a hand vaguely to the distance, “discard it. What’s done is done.”

The three step away from the Valley of the Living Rock, eager to return to the castle and sleep. Hopefully the new day tomorrow will bring healing and stability.

“Ah, but magic such as this cannot be simply discarded.” The gravelly voice carries on the edges of the wind. “The events of today may be done, but we do not get to decide when magic is.”

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

What do you all think? I think I’ve left a clue there about what may happen at the end.... I’ll bet that a bunch of you picked up on it ;)

I am just blown away by all your comments, and thank you all so so much, they all mean the world to me and I get probably waaay too exciting reading each one. So thank you! 

Tagging those of you that commented and/or reblogged for the previous chapter- let me know if you don’t want to be tagged in the future. @the-magic-one-is-you, @above-d-clouds, @onepieceofartplease, @lelitachay, @thegeekogecko, @elsaannasnowqueen, @justlookatthosesausages, @a-frozen-kind-of-love, @habibi18, @frozen-heart101, @frozenartscapes, @thankfullyimgay, @everrealmdweller, @grrlgeek72, @maregnbue, @wandering-bard-from-the-id

[nadziejastar]

What would your ideal resolution for how the Lea/Isa subplot would’ve been handled in KH3?

If it were up to you, how would you have written the subplot between Axel/Lea and Saïx/Isa?

I know you probably have a LOT of questions like this, but how would you give a proper redemption and healing to Lea?

I went into more detail about how I think Isa’s story was originally going to be here, more about him being Subject X here, and about his redemption and post KH3 characterization here. Basically, I think Lea needed to use the power of waking on him, and fight his shadow self, like we did with Aqua.

I think Isa was a lot like Terra originally. He didn’t really need to be redeemed since he was never a bad guy. There was not even any time to give Isa a redemption arc, so I have to think that he was originally supposed to be just an innocent victim, like Terra was. He only needed to be rescued, then go back to being his true self. Then he can join the good guys in the epilogue no problem. In addition to those posts, there’s one more theory I have regarding the experiment where the apprentices lost their heart.

Eraqus: You must know, I care for you like my own son. If I could have my way, I would name you Master in a second.

Eraqus: But, how can I, when you are so obsessed with power? Terra, you mustn’t be afraid of losing. Fear leads to obsession with power, and obsession beckons the darkness.

Eraqus: You must never forget.

Terra: Thank you, Master. I swear…I will not fail you again.

Terra’s weakness was his obsession with power. Xehanort exploited this. However it was really more about his fear than about his desire for power. Fear of losing was really his fear of disappointing his master and thus losing his approval. This was why Terra wanted to be strong so badly. He had a fear of losing Eraqus’ approval and subsequently, his love. He tied his love with his approval. Eraqus told Terra to stop being afraid, but he didn’t realize he was the cause of Terra’s fears.

Xehanort: You see how powerless you are to save them? Savor that rage and despair. Let it empower you!

Terra: You will pay, Xehanort! Was my Master–no, my father, Eraqus not enough for you? Leave my friends alone!

And this is what made Terra succumb to darkness. Xehanort was able to turn Terra and Eraqus against each other due to Terra doubting Eraqus’ love. His mistake was giving Terra too much power to fight back. Darkness born of hatred and rage can make the person mentally strong—a bit too strong.

Xehanort: Your body submits, your heart succumbs–so why does your mind resist?

Terra was completely self-aware when he was possessed. He constantly fought back and it created a constant power struggle. The Lingering Will was his mind fighting back. Xehanort learned his lesson. He needed to create darkness born of absolute fear, despair, pain, and powerlessness. This would totally shatter the person’s psyche. After such trauma, their sense of self is entirely gone. He no longer has to put up with all the resistance of the mind.

Xigbar: No. That wasn’t “stuff,” it was a dream. The falling asleep part was definitely our bad. But we can’t put stuff in your head. Hey, I got an idea. Ask your heart. See if it’s got a clue.

Sora: Well…my heart was aching. That’s why I kept going.

Xigbar: Oh… Thank you, Sora’s heart, for pushing him right into our clutches. Aren’t hearts great? Steer us wrong every time.

They were trying to get Sora to experience so much pain that he mentally/spiritually shatters and goes to sleep. They know his heart is so powerful it won’t collapse. This is why he made such an appealing target for a vessel.

Xemnas: It’s about time you noticed. Indeed. A heart is never lost for good. There may have been variances in our dispositions, but a number of us unquestionably showed signs of a burgeoning replacement. Once born, the heart can also be nurtured. Our experiments creating Heartless were attempts to control the mind, and convince it to renounce its sense of self. But understand, one can banish the heart from the body, but the body will try to replace it the first chance it gets, for as many times as it takes. And so I knew, even after we were divided into Heartless and Nobodies, it was just a temporary separation.

He can’t get rid of the heart entirely. But he also can’t have the person putting up as much resistance as Terra did. So he decides that shattering their mind/soul is the only way to go.

It is my duty to expose what this darkness really is. I shall conduct the following experiments:

-Extract the darkness from a person’s heart.-Cultivate darkness in a pure heart.-Both suppress and amplify the darkness within.

So Xehanort conducted the mind control experiments.

Naminé: Sora will have to awaken these memories, but this is where they will sleep until that time comes. They are important…and yet, dangerous too.

Mickey: Namine, how are they dangerous?

Naminé: These memories, all of them are too painful. Handled the wrong way, they could damage Sora’s heart, even break it. That’s why I needed for Sora to find a way to face that kind of hurt. So I left the message for all of you.

Of course, this is risky. Too much pain causes the heart to break along with the mind.

The experiments caused the test subject’s heart to collapse, including those of the most stalwart. How fragile our hearts are! My treatment produced no signs of recovery. I confined those who had completely lost their hearts beneath the castle.

And this is exactly what happened to Ven and everyone else during the experiments.

Experiments of the Heart – Notes on Subject X, Excerpt 2

Subject’s memories have not returned, and our conversations remain less than lucid. My pilot studies used a handful of subjects, but none possessed the fortitude to endure them. Ultimately, all suffered the collapse of their hearts. I knew it would be a heavy blow to lose a subject as unique as him. Upon discovering the tests I’ve been conducting, my master demanded that I cease my work immediately and destroy what research I have compiled. Worse still, he ordered the release of my remaining subjects. He is gone. Where is Subject X now? Has “wise” Master Ansem hidden him away? Whatever the case, I will not be deterred. —Xehanort

All except one person. Subject X, who I think was originally Isa.

Xaldin: Our work here is done, Roxas. The beast’s weakness is clear.

Roxas: It is?

Xaldin: To hold something dear is to let it hold you. His heart is in thrall to it, don’t you see? And that, Roxas, is ample weakness.

Roxas: I’m not sure I follow.

Xaldin: Nor should you. You have no heart to love with. Come. We return.

His heart survived because he had such a strong connection to someone. Lea.

Axel: You’ve got memories from here in the Organization, right?

Roxas: Yeah… I do, don’t I? I couldn’t bear to lose my memories of you or Xion.

Axel: Well, see? There ya go. Everybody’s got something they want to hang on to.

Roxas: It’s scary to think I could lose you guys.

Lea kept him going in the darkness, but Isa was afraid of losing him. And I think Xehanort was able to exploit this fear.

Roxas: That still doesn’t explain what love is… Is love fighting to protect what’s most important to you? Where does its power come from?

Beast: Belle… I couldn’t bear to see you…or the other’s hurt. A master protects his castle… I don’t want to lose you.

Belle: I’m right here…

He couldn’t bear losing Lea. It was his weakness. And unlike with Terra, Isa was not a prospective Keyblade master. He was in a situation where he was completely helpless and unable to fight back.

Roxas: So he wasn’t fighting to protect the rose. He was protecting the people in the castle. Protecting her. She’s what matters most to him. But…Xaldin said it was the rose.

I think Lea and Isa felt the same way about wanting to protect each other. They were each others’ weakness. By threatening Lea, they could cause Isa a lot of pain.

Experiments of the Heart – Notes on Subject X, Excerpt 1

Subject was found in the castle basement shortly after dawn. Male, approximately fifteen years old. After seven days’ observation, he spoke his first words, but could not provide a name. Subject exhibits signs of profound amnesia. What fragments can be gleaned suggest that he arrived with another, though he cannot recall the name of his erstwhile companion. All efforts to explore those memories have met with a rejection response.

Isa was badly traumatized by something after he was taken by Braig out of the cell. I think they threatened to hurt Lea. And I think Isa had a mental breakdown, causing him to lose his self-awareness, allowing Xehanort to implant his heart in him. Then I think Ansem found him. He still remembered his friend, though he couldn’t remember his name. I think it’s because he desperately wanted to protect him.

Roxas: It’s not like I have memories from before the Organization. Don’t you remember? I acted like a zombie.

Axel: Right, that first week you could barely form a sentence. But come on, you’re still kind of a zombie.

I think he would have been in a similar state that Roxas was in at the beginning of Days. No self-awareness. Can’t remember anything or talk lucidly. He was a total zombie. But he was not totally broken. After a week of Axel showing him kindness, he came around and started acting like a normal person again. Just like how Terra and Aqua were able to get Ven to come around after they spent enough time with him and showed him love and kindness.

Recollections

Am I alive? I awoke in a cell, alone until the researcher came and asked me countless questions to uncover my identity. I had no answer to offer him. A friend…that is the sum total of my memory. I could not even recall my name. I was simply called “X” there. One day, a man came to take me from the prison. I could not see him for the darkness, save that he wore an eyepatch. Even now, I feel no closer to understanding who I am. —Unknown

I think Isa was similar. He had Xehanort’s heart and mind inside of him, but the process of being taken over is gradual. So he was still himself when Ansem the Wise helped him become lucid and started his memory experiments on him.

There is no doubt that the Heartless are deeply connected to the people’s hearts. Further study may unravel both their motivations and the mysteries shrouding the heart. As a start, I have built a device that artificially creates Heartless. By recreating the conditions that spawn the Heartless naturally, I should be able to produce them artificially. This device is the culmination of all my research thus far. The machine’s test run successfully created a Heartless. This may be a step toward creating a heart from nothing. The artificially and naturally created Heartless showed nearly identical traits. But the two types remain distinct for the purpose of the experiment. So, I will mark the ones that are created artificially.

While all this was going on, Xehanort created a machine that creates Heartless. This would be the Heartless Manufactory, where we see Leon fight in KH2.

What are the details of Ansem’s apprentices fall into darkness?Most of what had happened with Ansem’s apprentices before their fall into darkness is unknown, aside from what was touched upon in Secret Ansem Reports. And the mystery of “the plan that was decided on after Axel and Saix entered the Organization” that was talked about in the Secret Reports in Days still remains. According to Nomura there is still much about the Organization’s humans that has yet to be said.

The Heartless Manufactory is right next to the lab and the computer, the D.T.D. There was an experiment taking place, and Ienzo and Even lost their heart. Braig was confused when he had his stolen.

Cid: Talk about yer good timin’!

Yuffie: The MCP is wreaking havoc inside the computer.

Donald: Not again!

Cid: Accordin’ to Leon, anyway… He went on over to Ansem’s study to find out what all the ruckus was about. Turns out the MCP is using the data in that computer to crank out Heartless.

The computer is connected to the Datascape and Tron’s world. You have to be standing in that area to be transported. Leon yelled at Sora to run because he was standing there. It was also responsible for creating all the Heartless surrounding the castle.

Tron: A computer system—for processing data. This system is a copy of one created by a corporation called ENCOM. The original program was destroyed. But this copy was acquired by another User. The new User updated and customized the programs, renaming the system “Hollow Bastion OS.” He used the system for town maintenance, and to advance his private research.

Xehanort planned all of this in advance. He changed Ansem’s original program and renamed it “Hollow Bastion”. He wanted to plunge Radiant Garden into darkness.

Watching that foolish beast flail about only deepens my disdain for humans and their incessant need to be pinned down by feelings. We became Nobodies precisely to avoid the shackles of emotion. It was only later that we realized the scale of that loss: that some things simply cannot be done without a heart. Nonetheless, I see nary a pleasant thing about it.

Braig was shocked when Xehanort stole his heart, but Xaldin never acts like becoming a Nobody was unexpected. He said they chose to become Nobodies.

Xemnas: My friends! Remember why we have organized–all the things we hope to achieve. The strength of the human heart is vast. Soon, though…we will have gained power over it! Never again will it…have power over us.

And when the apprentices are recompleted, they’re all huddled inside the transporter area. I think they had some idea that they would become Nobodies in advance, even if Xehanort acted strangely and then turned himself into a Heartless. Perhaps everyone except Xaldin felt coercion about this, but it still seems the apprentices were in on whatever plan Xehanort promised them when they became Nobodies. That they’d gain mastery over the heart. Whatever was going on in this experiment turned them all into Heartless, then Nobodies. I’m not sure if Xehanort personally extracted all their hearts like he did with Braig, or if the machine turned them into Heartless.

The moon hung in the sky outside the window, a great glowing heart. Sprawled in bed, Axel stared at it without really looking, idling the time away before he had to leave on a mission.

“We will conquer hearts and make them our own. Hearts shall never again have power over us.”

For the past few days, he had been mulling over what Xemnas could have meant by that speech. Hearts having power over them? What was that about? Whenever Axel was whiling away the hours by himself, that phrase kept bouncing around in his head. He didn’t know what was so compelling about it.

Axel on the other hand, had NO idea what they were talking about, in the novel. Roxas and Xion didn’t either. And considering Saïx was obsessed with the Chamber of Waking, he didn’t seem to know that much about what was going on, either. And the only ones outside of that transporter area are Lea and Isa. I’m sure that was not random. Braig was by the computer when he lost his heart. Lea actually looks like he was running towards the computer. And it doesn’t look like he was running from outside of the transporter area. It looks like he came straight out of the Heartless Manufactory when he ran to the computer.

When he woke up after being recompleted, he was right next to the computer. Like he was desperately trying to stop whatever was going to happen and save Isa. But he collapsed on the way there and lost his heart.

If a strong-hearted person loses or is robbed of that heart, their body and spirit can live on as a Nobody. Nobodies have no hearts, but they retain their human memories, which served as a reservoir from which to draw human emotion.

And it looks like Isa was heading toward Lea in his final moments. Maybe after Lea collapsed and his heart was stolen, Isa ran toward him. I think Isa witnessed Lea lose his heart. That was his worst fear and it was actually happening right in front of his eyes. It would have been extremely traumatic for him to watch his friend get his heart taken and then start to fade away, like Even and Ienzo were. He thought Lea was gone for good.

It looks like he collapsed on his way toward him. In a matter of moments his heart is stolen, too. This is when I think Isa finally mentally shattered all the way. Losing Lea is way too traumatic. He goes to the Realm of Sleep. Then as a Nobody, all that was left was Saïx—Xehanort’s mind and heart with Isa’s memories. No more resistance from Isa’s mind or heart. Lea had no idea that his friend got Norted, so all he knows is that he became a Nobody along with him, and he remembers everything that happened to them that day in the lab. And Saïx has no idea he’s a Xehanort, either.

There’s WAY too many parallels between Terra and Isa for me to ignore.

Lea picked up Terra’s wooden Keyblade right after Terra leaves.

And Roxas becomes Axel’s ice cream buddy while he feels lonely. How do people think that Roxas had no connection to Ven or his heart?

Both of them had a purpose. 

Both of them stop attacking when their friend is in danger.

This is when Saïx should have done what Terra did.

Terra and Saïx are canonically the last two fights, according to the journal.Ven and Lea just happened to get knocked out when the Heartless swarm comes.Not a coincidence. Lea and Ven were supposed to use the power of waking.

I think Lea/Isa should have had a teary reunion like Ven/Terra did.

[duchessanon]

For the Love of Henri: Tome 5 - Kiss From A Rose

Here's what you missed: https://royalfandombible.blogspot.com/2019/01/for-love-of-henri-my-fanfiction.html

What you missed in summary: Prince Henri married a beautiful pauper girl named Philanthropina (Phily). Together they had baby Libby and adopted Prince George. His evil brother and sister in law were banished from the kingdom for their evil deeds. All was well until Henri decided to bid on Meghan Markle at a charity function. She then bid on the outcast Cambridges. Kate and Meg decided to come together to overthrow Phily.

---

At the footstep of the not £4 million cottage, Henri, Meghan Markle, Willy, Kate and Charlotte stood in anticipation.

Henri put his best stern face on. 'Now I must set some ground rules before we go in. My darling Phily will not be expecting any houseguests. You MUST behave, wear undergarments at all times and not use curse words. All that agree say "aye"'.

Everyone said aye apart from Charlotte who said 'aye aye me bastard'.

Henri gasped in dismay. But Kate, who was keen to impress Henri did the unexpected and disciplined her child.

'Charlotte, wash your mouth out! No Game of Thrones for you tonight'.

'BUSYBODY!!!' Charlotte screamed.

Just then the door of the humble cottage opened and a light so bright emerged. It was so heavenly that it took a moment to notice it was coming from Phily and her cherub of her baby daughter, Libby.

'Speak of the devil and she will come' Willy snickered, and Kate elbowed him in the nethers.

'Henri my love, is everything ok?' she asked sweetly. 'I heard a commotion'.

Phily was dressed the same haggard, brown ensemble she was wearing the day they met. She was not ashamed of her roots as a pauper girl.

'Yes my dear' Henri stuttered, kissing her soiled, hardworking feet. 'We have some visitors'.

Phily was no doubt surprised to see the Cambridges and a random beautiful woman on her door step. But she would never turn anyone away from her door.

'Come in brother, sister and unknown woman', she said selflessly.

During this interaction, Meg had been quietly observing. She needed to be smart if she was going to win over Henri's heart. But every one knew a way to a man's heart is through his nethers, so she touched him on the place she knew to be every man's weak spot - his back.

Henri was startled at the feel someone's hand on his back. No-one did that apart from Phily. But not in a domineering way, in a gentle, supportive way that never implied he was a cuckhold. He knew it could be no one but Meghan Markle. But instead of disgust, Henri felt that uncontrolable nether shudder.

As Phily welcomed the Cambridges, Charlotte greeted her brother George and Libby by rapping Nicki Minaj's 'Monster' while standing on Phily's self made, recycled, environmentally friendly dinner table.

"OK first things first I'll eat your brains Then I'm a start rocking gold teeth and fangs 'cause that's what a motherfucking monster do Hair dresser from Milan that's the monster do

Monster Giuseppe heel, that's the monster shoe

Big Lizzie is the roster and a monster crew

But really, really I don't give a F-U-C-K Forget Georgie, fuck Libby 'cause she's fake She's on a diet but her pockets eating cheese cake And I'll say bride of Chucky is Child's play Just killed another career it's a mild day

Now look at what you just saw This is what you live for Aaaahhh, I'm a motherfucking monster!"

***Musical interlude*** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yTkEpkGKgoY

The next morning Henri explained that their visitors were only there for 5 days as per the rules of the auction. Phily cooked up a sustainable breakfast and to her shock Kate offered to wash everything up.

'They really have changed' Phily said to Henri, who was weaving baskets for the poor with Libby. 'Even William is taking an interest in his son', she smiled in a motherly way.

Willy and George were weaving baskets next to the window, out of earshot.

'I hate this place!' George said sulkily 'they make me go to a pauper school that they dont have to pay for'.

'You dont say', Willy said smirking, his limited cogs turning in his brain. 'They took a school place from a pauper child, did they?'

'Don't even try it Pops. They offset it by building a new wing of the school with their bare hands and that stupid Phily volunteers as a music teacher too.'

'Ass lickers' Willy scowled. He really hoped he could get in touch with all the tabloids and plant negative stories.

Despite this setback, Willy was happy to see that nature had won over nurture and George had demanded to change his name back from Philip, and had not given in to doing any philanthropy.

Over at the kitchen sink, Kate had enlisted help from Meg with the dishes.

'Right bitch, how we gonna get rid that busybody Phily?' Kate said licking a plate clean and handing it to Meg to dry with Phily's wedding dress, which she had mistaken for a dishcloth.

'Well H will be a breeze, when I passed him after I'd taken a dump this morning, I saw him slap his nethers', Meg said sneakily.

Kate cackled, 'today's the day you make your move, I'll distract Phily, you get him to kiss you, George will take a photo and tweet it to Piers Morgan and we're done!'

'How you gonna distract her?' Meg asked.

Kate winked at Meg. At least she tried, but she couldnt wink so she just blinked instead. 'Watch and learn from the master'.

Kate stumbled into the basket weaving area, clutching her stomach, 'oooh ouch owwww ooooh'.

Phily ran over immediately. With her medical degree, she could solve any problem, 'sister, whatever is the matter?'

Just then, Kate pulled up her skirt, revealing a small head. 'I-i-i-i'm giving birth!'

'WHAT THE FUCK!' Charlotte screamed.

Willy stayed where he was and said nonchlantly, 'you're preggers again?'

'What does it look like dipshit! Sorry Phily I dont mean to curse, it's just painful you know?'

Phily tried to understand, but in reality pain during childbirth is the one thing on earth she couldnt relate to, for hers was pain free.

Ushering Kate onto the handmade couch, Phily went into full midwife mode, sending Henri to get warm towels.

Kate blinked as a signal to Meg and she followed him up the ricketty staircase.

At the towel cupboard upstairs, Meg began to sob.

'Oh dear, Meghan, what be the matter?!' Henri asked with a genuine concern that his brother could never muster.

Meg sniffed, pulling out her best acting skills, 'oh it's just so emotional seeing new life coming into the world'

'There there' said Henri, patting her on the arm.

'Oh H!' she wailed, falling into his arms. She puckered up her lips and launched at his mouth. But before she could land the kiss, Henri turned his cheek.

Around the corner, George snapped the photo using a camera he'd stolen from 'that cry baby' photographer Garther Tedwards.

Although Henri's nethers were now beating like the Beychella marching band, his love for Phily overwhelmed him.

'Stop Meghan Markle! I beg of you', he hollered .

Meg was taken aback by his rejection, 'I'm so sorry H! Please forgive me'. She fled down the ricketty staircase.

Kate was on the couch legs akimbo screaming expletives at Willy, who was now reluctantly sitting next to his wife to assist with the birth.

"FUCK YOU!!!! DID I ASK YOU TO SIT NEXT TO ME YOU BASTARD/BITCH???? FUCK YOU CUNTHOLE!!! FUCK YOU!!!"

Willy chuckled to himslef as he remembered Henri's ex girlfriend, the beautiful Jimmu, who had now somehow possessed Kate.

"IF THIS FUNNY TO YOU NOW??? BLOODY CUNTING BITCH!!! FUCK YOU CUNT!!! FUCK OFF & SHOWVE YOUR HEAD UP YOUR ASS YOU CUNT!!! FUCKING WHORE!!! NOW YOUR OFF MY NICE LIST YOU CUNT!!!"

Meghan held up an X sign to show Kate the plan had failed, which didn't help the situation.

Shortly after, Henri emerged with George and Garthur's camera, trying to explain why stealing was wrong. Curiously, the Cambridge children were the only children in the entire world Henri could not make like him.

After a few long minutes, the baby was ready to come out. Kate pushed one more time and felt something drop onto the couch.

'Is it out?!!!' she yelled.

Phily checked, 'no sister, you've just passed your bowels. Not to worry, keep trying'.

Kate was enraged that Phily would suggest this. 'All I'm good for is making babies, you think I dont know the difference bitch! YOUR BORN A PAUPER & YET YOU EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE YOU EWITH YOUR SHIT COMMENT??? FUCK OFF MOTHER FUCKER I DIDN’T ASK YOU"'

Phily, remaining calm, picked up the brown item with her bare hands, noting in her head that Kate should eat more fruit, and showed it to her.

Kate grabbed the excrement at once and threw it in Willy's face. This delighted Charlotte who danced around him in a circle chanting 'shit face, shit face'.

Finally, sick of being inside such a woman, the baby pushed itself out and landed in Phily's arms. 'William, Catherine - it's a boy', she beamed.

The Camridges faked happiness, but Henri and Phily were genuinely delighted.

'What will you call him?' Phily said, cradling the baby as Kate wanted to watch Real Housewives rather than hold him.

'Shit baby!' Charlotte suggested, but no one agreed.

'Well actually he could have a name related to his arrival' Willy said. 'How about Loo?'

'Loo is the British slang term for toilet' Henri explained to Meg.

'I have an idea!' Meg said. 'Louis - but like Loo - wee'. Kate shrugged in agreeement. 

'You want to name this cherub after a toilet and urine?' Phily asked, feeling sorry for the baby despite the fact he was biting her finger with his gummy mouth.

'You have a problem with my parenting decisions Phily?' Kate asked, almost threateningly.

'Never!' Phily gasped in horror. She would never dream of being so stupid as to judge a woman on what she named, or how she held her baby.

'Charlotte darling, why dont you sing a little song to celebrate Loowee's arrival' Willy said.

Charlotte immediately began a rendition of Lily Allen's 'Fuck you'.

"Fuck you Fuck you very, very much 'Cause your words don't translate And it's getting quite late So please don't stay in touch Do you get Do you get a little kick out of being slow-minded? You want to be like your father It's approval you're after Well that's not how you find it"

 ***Musical interlude***  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OK4fJhbRL1g

---

Two days later, while Phily, Henri and Libby were on an engagement, Meghan finally got a chance to speak to Kate again. She had been busy watching the Real Housewives marathon and telling Loowee to pipe down.

'What we gonna do about H?' Meg asked. 'He's been avoiding me since Loowee's birth'

'It's obvious he's not gonna ditch that halfwit willingly. We gotta get rid of her - for good! It's time for drastic action'. Kate pressed her engagement ring, she had a button installed in it so it would send a shock up Willy's ass when she needed him.

Willy came running, 'yes babykins?'

'Gimme your phone'.

Willy handed it over relutantly. Kate opened his messages and found his conversation with someone only identified by a Rose emoji. She texted quickly - 'get 2 Nott Cott now'.

Five minutes later there was a knock at the door. When Meg opened it, a woman who could have been a Kate impersonator stood before her. 

'Meg, Rose, Rose, Meg' Kate said, not bothering with formal introductions. Willy looked sheepish in the corner (allegedly).

Meg didnt know who Rose allegedly was but she didn't care. She just wanted to know how she could help her ensnare H.

Kate explained the plan. 'As soon as Phily gets home, we're gonna feed her an apple dosed with botox. Phily is allergic to anything superficial so she'll become drowsy. That's where Rose comes in. She's a witch and with one kiss, Phily will be gone.'

Meg considered the implications of killing the future queen, but came to the conclusion it was worth it.

And so the plan was set. Meg wrote 'you are so loved Phily' on an apple and Kate injected it with the botox she always kept in her bra.

When Phily got home, she was full of the joys of spring. 'We met the most wonderful disadvantaged people today', she beamed. 'I just love saving people'.

Henri smiled lovingly at his wife, 'and they love you, belle'.

'Speaking of love!' Meg said. 'You must take this gift'. She handed her the apple and Phily was touched.

'How wonderful! I will eat it later' she said.

'No you must eat it now sister' Kate said, wearing a full hooded cloak.

'But it's time for dinner' said Phily.

'So what, eat it!' George said impatiently.

'Yeh Phily, why you gotta be so busybody?' Charlotte added.

'Oh no I really shouldnt' Phily said innocently.

'Just eat the fucking apple!' said a voice from the window. They all turned around and Philpot was riding past on his horse and cart.

'Well if grandfather says so' Phily said. She bit into the apple and immediately felt a little faint as the botox hit her pure blood.

Elegantly, she fell into Henri's big, strong arms.

'Mon amour!' Henri yelled, carrying her up the ricketty stairs swiftly.

'Oh no, what has happened?' Meg said. Her acting ability really was wasted on Suits.

'There must've been something artificial in the apple' Henri said, laying her on their handmade bed.

'How could there be?' said Kate. 'It's from your very own Orchard For the Hungry'.

Phily was still breathing but was confused.

Henri was devestated at the thought that his orchard might be to blame.

'It's ok Henners, I know a great doctor that is THE expert on allergies'. Meg said.

Just then there was a knock at the bedroom door and Rose allegedly entered wearing a white doctor's coat.

'Here she is now, this is Dr Rose, allegedly', Meg said.

Henri didnt have time to question how she got there so fast, so just said in a panicked voice, 'Dr Allegedly, please help my wife!'

'Everyone who is male and under 2 years of age must leave the room' said Rose.

'No I can not leave her!' Henri wailed, falling at Phily's bedside.

George at once knew it was his time to shine because his father was too dimwitted to defuse this situation.

'Uncle Henri, please could you tell me again why one should never dress as a member of a fascist, murdering political party? I just dont understand why it's so bad' George said sweetly.

Henri knew at once that his greater calling was to teach George right from wrong. It is what Phily would want.

He left the room with one last glance at Phily who was humming 'Once upon a dream'.

That left Kate, Meg, Rose, Charlotte and Phily.

'Get it done Rose!' whispered Kate.

'In order for the enchantment to work, you must all join hands and sing the death kiss soundtrack, the underrated classic 'Kiss from a rose' by Seal'.

***Musical interlude*** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AMD2TwRvuoU

Rose kissed Phily on the lips, as the others encircled them singing hypnotically.

A pink mist left Phily's mouth and was inhaled by Rose. 'It is done'.

There was a moment of silence before Kate fell at Rose's feet and looked deeply in her eyes as she sang.

"You remain

My power, my pleasure, my pain.

To me you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny, yeah

Won't you tell me is that healthy, baby.

But did you know, That when it snows,

My eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen."

Meg gasped. She had been foolish. It was Kate who was allegedly having an affair with Rose, not allegedly Willy!

She didnt have time for that revelation now. She needed to check Phily was really gone.

Checking her pulse, she waited for a few moments until suddenly she felt it beat.

'Damn it Rose, she's alive!' Meg said, losing her temper.

'ARE YOU DUMB, BITCH??!' screamed Charlotte.

Rose rushed over from her alleged embrace with Kate, who had shed her cloak and was now in a real snake skin body suit.

She checked her pulse, and discovered Meg was correct. Her pulse was beating every 19.84 seconds - the year of Henri's birth.

'Oh fuck' Rose allegedly said. 'I've only heard about this happening in fairytales. When the love between husband and wife is pure, the kiss will not work to its full effect'.

Meg screamed into her hands. 'How can it be pure when H's nethers react to me?'

'That is simply a test from Jesu. The point is, Henri has resisted your advances, thus proving the purity of his love'. Rose explained to the room.

At this point, Charlotte lost it. She wanted to be back in her £4 million apartment, not this shitty dive.

'I don’t need a damn explanation about what she asked. Seriously do not act too smart about teaching me things. Asshole answer the question do not even try to be a bloody smart ass. Seriously pisses me off!!!' she yelled.

Rose looked at Kate quizically.

'A bout of Jimmutitus' Kate shrugged.

'What do we do?!' Meg said desperately.

'As long as Henri doesnt suck Phily's toe, the curse will remain in place and the princess will remain in a slumber forever' said Rose.

Kate stroked her chin, 'so technically, we could just SAY Phily's dead? As long as we keep any qualified medical staff away from her?'.

'I guess' Rose said. 'Can I go now?'.

'Yeah, bye', Kate said.

'How are we gonna keep everyone away from Phily?' Meg asked. 

By this point Kate was running out of patience with her co-conspirator and her incessant questions.

'HEY FUCKER, DID I ASK YOU ANYTHING???? DID I??? MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!!!' Kate screamed.

'Uh oh you've done it now' Charlotte sniggered.

Meghan was stunned, 'but I-i-i-i was just asking, we're running out of time'

'WHO THE FUCK ASKED YOU BITCH FOR YOUR SHIT OPINION??? BLOODY FUCKING BITCH!!! GET A LIFE!!!'

'Ok ok I'm sorry Kate!'

'MAYBE IF YOU HAD SHUT THE FUCK UP I WOULDN'T BE SCOLDING YOU NOW!!! FUCKER!!! Just shut up and let me think'.

Kate closed her eyes and thought for approximately 10 seconds. In the meantime, Charlotte took off her sock and stuffed it in Meg's mouth to stop any more questions.

When Kate was done thinking, she strode over to the window and flung it open. Beneath her was the sprawling gardens of Kensington Palace.

She took a deep breath and yodelled out of the window 'EUUUUUUGBEEEEEEEEEEEEEA!!!!!!'

Meghan wanted to ask who Eugbea was but she didnt dare.

Within 5 seconds, a figure came running up the lawn. Charlotte leant on the window frame watching the woman run 'urgh her dress is SO tragic'.

'Meg get over here, lean your head back like this', Kate said.

Both woman stuck their heads out of the window and their hair tumbled to the ground.

When Eugbea reached the bottom of the window, she said 'I think I should go up the stairs'

'SHOVE WHAT THE FUCK YOU THINK UP YOUR FUCKING ASS!!! Get up here!' Kate hollered.

Eugbea knew better than to argue and began climbing up the wall using the hair as ropes. Finally she made it to the top and clambered into the bedroom.

As soon as she saw Phily lying unconscious on the bed, she let out an inhumane wail. Phily was like the sister Eugbea never had.

'There there, let it out' Kate said, patting her back, suddenly kind. Charlotte stood underneath her catching her tears in her hands.

As usual, Meghan was perplexed so Charlotte filled her in whispering 'this is Eugbea, a blood princess. Blood princesses cry diamond tears so I'm collecting them to make a cage for Phily.'

Meg didnt understand how Charlotte had worked all of this out in the minute that had gone past, but she wanted it to work so bad that she too patted Eugbea's back.

Eugbea turned around nervously at the touch, 'w-w-who are you?'

'No time for that' Kate said, poking her in the eye.

Eugbea cried even more until there were enough diamonds to build the cage.

At once, Charlotte threw the diamonds in the air and they cascaded down in the shape of a dome around Phily, creating a solid diamond barrier.

Once they had ensured nobody could get through it by repeatedly shoving Eugbea against it, Kate pushed her back out of the window and slammed it shut.

'We ready girls? Put on your best sad faces'. They all turned their smiles upside down and Kate pressed her engagement ring.

Willy came flying up the stairs with the boys and Libby. Henri stormed towards his love.

'What is this!' he asked in dismay, looking at Phily through the dome.

Meg began to cry dramatically, 'Dr Rose did everything she could but it wasnt enough, she's gone!!!'

Henri fell flat on his back like a plank, 'NoOoOoOoOoOoOoooooooOOOO!'

Libby ran over and began to sing 'Memory' from Cats in a beautiful operatic voice (the musical version, not the movie one because Libby had refined tastes).

"Touch meeeeee,

It is so easy to leave meeeeee

All alone with the memoryyyyyyyy

Of my days in the suuun

If you touch me,

You'll understand what happiness is

Look, a new day has beguuuuuuuuun"

***Musical interlude*** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pm5w7gHEtJI

----

No public outcry was big enough for Phily. So the royal family decided to send her diamond tomb around the commonwealth via boat (not environmentally unfriendly jet) so her people could say goodbye personally. She was pulled over dying land on a horse and cart, and people threw seeds at her tomb instead of flowers. This meant that the land would become nourished once more.

Even when dead, Phily was working.

After 6 months of travelling, she returned to the UK and was placed in the Windsor Castle tomb with all the greatest kings and queens of England. Luckily for Meg, no one had noticed that Phily was indeed alive.

Henri was devestated but continued to work, alongside Libby.

The public love for Phily had meant that the Cambridges were provisionally forgiven and they moved back into KP on the condition that they undertook at least one engagement a year.

Meghan Markle had remained in Nottingham Cottage to support Henri while flying (not boating) back and forth to Canada to film her show Suits.

Meg had not tried to seduce Henri's nethers as she knew she must gain the public's trust first and act as a good friend.

But she couldnt wait any longer. Since Kate had moved home, she wanted nothing more to do with Meg, so she had concocted a new plan all by herself.

One evening, Henri was carving scultptures for the PPPCT - Princess Philanthropina Pauper Conservation Trust. Meg was in the kitchen roasting a chicken and wafting the smell towards Henri to replicate the cozy vibes Phily always managed to make.

'H, I was thinking for the 6 months anniversary of Phily's passing, we should have an event, the public need to be cheered up' she said, sounding philanthropic.

'A wonderful idea to think of the people of Britain and the commomwealth Meghan, what shall we do?'

'Mmmmmm, well what cheers the British more than anything?' she asked innocently.

'There are only 2 things that cheer Brits. Winning a sport and a royal wedding for a SENIOR member of the family', Henri said.

Meg smirked to herself, he'd bought it hook, line and sinker. 'We cant cheat in sport so maybe a royal wedding is our only option!'

'But we have no single members left that are loved enough' H said dumbly.

Meg rolled her eyes behind his back. 'Well you are single H, and no one is more loved than you!'

H gasped. 'I couldn't!'

Meg, wearing a British flag dress batted her eyelashes. 'Phily is gone and she'd want you to be happy. But she'd want you to make the British people happier'.

H thought for 1.5 seconds and decided she was right. He scolded himself for being selfish, Phily WOULD want him to serve the people above anything else.

'You're right Meghan, but who would I marry?'

'It's funny you asked because I found this in between Phily's reuable sanitary pads' she pulled out a ring box and opened it. Inside was a diamond engagement ring. 'Phily must have had it made, just in case this happened'.

H wept, 'oh my love was so kind!'.

Meg accidently on purpose dropped it on the floor and when Henri gallantly bent on one knee to pick it up, she yelled 'YES!'

'Um what?'

'YES I'LL MARRY YOU!' she grabbed Henri by the collar and pulled him into a hug, planting a big kiss on his perfect lips.

Henri was speechless. It seemed he had just proposed.

And just like that, Meghan Markle and Henri, the Prince of the People, were engaged to be married!

[razieltwelve]

Origin (RWBY AU Snippet)

Note: This is set in the same AU as Emissary, I Am Become Death, Thunder and Paperwork, Ice and Fire, and Apocalypse.

X     X     X

Salem languished in the prison Death had crafted for her. She had no idea where the supposed goddess and the others had gone, but her attempts to escape had all failed. The cage of bloody shadows around her was impervious to everything she’d tried, and with her powers all but gone, her options had been very limited indeed. Yet even if she’d still possessed her powers, she doubted they would have helped. Whether or not Death was truly a goddess, she was clearly something far beyond human.

Eventually, Salem slumped to the ground in a combination of exhaustion and helpless rage. The tears she wept were bitter and angry. Everything had been taken from her, but one day, she would find a way to get all of it back. For now, she would have to bide her time and wait. Eventually, Death or one of the others would make a mistake, and when that happened…

Salem slept.

And she dreamed.

X     X     X

“Fate can be truly cruel.”

Salem opened her eyes. The sight that greeted her was not one she had expected to ever see.

If Death had been Ruby in divine form, then the being that stood before her now could be no less than the divine form of what Salem had once been. Hair of molten gold and skin of platinum were lit by eyes of pure sapphire effulgence. Power and majesty radiated off the being in front of her, and Salem found herself kneeling without meaning to.

“Rise,” the other said, gently lifting her to her feet. “I would not have you kneel before me. Tell me, Salem of Remnant, do you know who I am?”

“A… a goddess.”

The other smiled. “In a manner of speaking. I am you, or a you that could have been. More to the point, I was the you that Death killed, a goddess just like her. She struck me down with all her strength, yet here I am, once again.”

“How can that be?”

The goddess smiled again. “Death is amongst the mightiest of the gods. Indeed in combat, she may well be the mightiest. When she slew me, she did not simply destroy my physical body. That could never kill a god of my power. Instead, she tore apart my soul, the spark of my divinity, and cast its fraying, broken pieces into the one place they could never return from nor heal in… the Void.”

“The Void?” Salem recoiled. Merely speaking the word sent an echo of terrible power through the vast, roiling darkness that existed beyond the light the goddess radiated. She twisted and turned. “Where are we?”

“Your body is where it was,” the goddess replied. “Death stripped you of your powers and imprisoned you while she and the others travel around, but I brought your soul here to the one place she cannot reach.” Goddess Salem’s lips curled. “The Void.”

“What… is the Void?” Salem would have panicked, but her divine counterpart radiated calm and majesty that banished all of her fears and doubts.

“It depends on whom you ask,” the goddess replied. “Most gods would say that it is the emptiness that existed before Creation, a primordial darkness that is home to a terrible power that hungers only to destroy. I thought so too once, back when I sought to harness its power. I failed, and Death killed me, or so it seemed. Yet, as the fragmented pieces of my soul floated through the Void, I learned something.

“You see, we were wrong. The void is not emptiness and nothingness. It is alive, and it is everything.” The goddess looked ecstatic. “There are countless stories of how the Many Worlds of Creation were born, but you are about to hear the truth. Do you think you can bear it?”

“I can.”

“Good.” The goddess gestured, and their surroundings changed. All was still and quiet, and then, ever so softly, Salem could hear a heart beating. “In the beginning, there was only the Void, and it was still and quiet. Yet, after a time, something within it awakened. It was a consciousness of some kind, an awareness, a sense of self. It was the first of all beings, and it has no name. Those who have learned of its existence simply call it the First.

“No one knows how long the First was alone, but in time it grew to understand what being alone meant, and it sought to create others.” In the darkness around them, Salem could just make out the shadowy outlines of creatures that reminded her all too much of the Grimm. “But its creations were flawed, bound to its will and linked to its power. Without those things, they would invariably fade, and they had no true thoughts or minds of their own. This was not what the First wanted. It wished not for servants, but for an equal, a being that was not bound to its whims. Instead, it wished for…” The goddess chuckled. “There is no word I could speak that could express the longing the First felt. It was akin to the thirst a man cursed with eternal life must feel when sentenced to wander the driest of deserts for all eternity.

“So one day, the First gathered a great portion of its power, and it tore that portion away from itself. That power ignited, unleashing a light so bright that even now all the stars in the sky put together are but a fleeting, infinitesimally small fraction of that radiance. The First reeled, for never before had it put so much power into one of its creations, and never before had it permanently split that power off from itself. But then it rejoiced. For from that power was born another being, a being that was the First’s equal. Thus did the Second come to exist. No longer was the First alone, and so the First rejoiced.”

Around them, there was an explosion of light and radiance. The darkness peeled away, and warmth and comfort filled Salem’s bones. A second heartbeat could be heard, beating in time to the first, and a feeling of indescribable completeness and contentment filled her.

“For a long time, the First and Second were content. They were as close as two beings can be, and all was good. The First could have stayed like that forever. But in time, the Second sought to create new life, just as the First had created it. This life would not require a large portion of the Second’s power. No, if the Second was a star, then each life it forged required but a tiny candle of its brightness.

“The existences the Second created were the Old Gods, beings as far beyond the gods of today as you are beyond the specks of dust on your shoes. The Second loved its creations dearly, and the First loved them too, for how could it not be pleased with them when they made the Second so happy? Yet it soon became clear that the Void was not a good place for the Second’s children, so the Second made Creation, or the beginnings of it, to give its children a place of safety and stability, a paradise of warmth and comfort compared to the cold and emptiness of the Void.”

“Death did not seem to know of this,” Salem murmured. “Why?”

“It is because of what happens next. You see, the Old Gods could not create new life themselves. That power had only ever been possessed by the First and the Second, and only the Second could create new life with free will of its own. In breaking off so much of its own power, the First had lost that ability but given it to the Second. In truth, the First did not grieve that loss, for it brought the Second such joy to create new life, and the First was happy, so long as the Second was happy. Yet as the aeons passed, the Second grew saddened on behalf of its creation who wanted nothing more than to have children of their own and to craft worlds for those children as the Second had done for them. But how could the Second give them that power?”

The goddess smiled, and it was not a nice smile. “Have you ever wondered why those four girls, the girls on that team, always seem to get in your way? Death spoke truly. We are all parts of something greater. Every single version of you that exists was once part of something infinitely vaster and more powerful. We are all but shards of an impossibly mighty whole. Once, long ago, Salem of Remnant, we were one of the Old Gods, and we loved the Second dearly.”

“Then… those four…” Salem thought of Ruby, Weiss, Blake, and Yang. “Then…”

“Yes. They are pieces of the Old Gods too, and the most favoured of all the Old Gods, the one the Second loved above all the others, was an Old God named True Death. And it was through True Death that the Second discovered a way to pass on its gifts. It would grant True Death the power to shatter its titanic soul. Doing so would not only shatter the Second’s soul, but the souls of all its creations. The fragments would intertwine and combine, forming new life that was both far more and far less than what had come before. The Second would die, but its creations would live and prosper, and they would have its ability to craft new life and new worlds. It would be the ultimate sacrifice - a single life that would give rise to all of Creation as it now stands.

“When the Second died, the Old Gods were destroyed. Creation shattered. Instead of a single world, there were now the countless realms of the Many Worlds. And instead of the Old Gods, there innumerable souls, each of them a fragment of the Old Gods, scattered across Creation. One life for everyone else’s. One soul to enkindle Creation.”

All around them, the darkness gave way to countless worlds, and the titanic looming figures of the Old Gods fragmented to reveal countless souls, all of them birthing different people across different worlds.

“By the time the First realised what was happening, it was too late. The Second was dead. In its rage, the First sought to destroy Creation, but the lingering power of the Second prevented it. Instead, the First was forced to send its own creatures into Creation, but they were driven back by the new gods, gods like Death. That is why the Grimm and their ilk hate life. They carry the will of the First, and the First has never forgotten nor forgiven what happened to the Second.” The goddess shook her head sadly. Where before the darkness had been filled with two heart beats, there was now only one… and the echo of a distant, anguished scream. “Death and Ruby were once part of True Death. The only difference is that Death has more pieces of True Death’s soul than Ruby. That is why one of them is mortal and the other is a god.”

Salem said nothing for a long time. “What does this have to do with me?”

“When I drifted in the Void,” Goddess Salem explained. “The First reached out to me, for it sensed within me the same power that had once struck down the Second. I understood its pain, and I understood at last why no mere god could wield its power. The gods are children of the Second. Yet in its wisdom and mercy, the First saved me and revealed a plan, a path to right all the many wrongs, to rebuild Creation in a way that avoids the mistakes of a past… and brings back the Second. You see, the First cannot control the power of the Second, the power that flows through Creation, to do that it needs one of the Second’s creations, but one that has known the power of the Void. That is why I have returned. I am no longer a god. I am almost an Old God, like the ones that existed when the Second still lived, and I have known the power of the Void.”

“Almost?”

“Remnant is special,” the goddess said. “When the Second died and its soul shattered, the fragments were scattered through Creation, giving rise to gods, mortals, and countless worlds. But not all the pieces were the same size. Perhaps the largest piece came to reside on a special world, one whose very name is a reminder of its importance.”

“That piece is here… on Remnant.”

“Yes. Your world is home to greatest remnant of the Second’s soul. The two gods you encountered in your past sensed that power and made use of it, but they did not understand what they were dealing with, for only an Old God, one of the Second’s firstborn, could ever hope to truly grasp that power.”

“And you have a way to become an Old God?”

“Why do you think I brought Death and the other gods here? The thunder goddess was a mistake, but those four, the Old Gods they were once, were amongst the most beloved and most powerful of the Second’s children. I will take their souls, both mortal and divine, and use them to ascend.” Goddess Salem paused. “But before I can do that, there is one last thing I need, and for that I must apologise.”

“Apologise? For what?”

“For this.” And with that, the goddess’s hand streaked forward. It tore through Salem’s chest and grasped her heart. Divine power and Void power exploded within her. “I am sorry, Salem of Remnant.” Goddess Salem smiled sadly. “But you are a part of me… the last part. To become an Old God, we must all be one. But fear not, your death will not be in vain. The suffering you endured will never happen again. The First and I will resurrect the Second, and we will ensure that the mistakes of the past are not repeated. We will build a better world even if it is out of the ashes of the old one.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

And that, people, is how the RWBY multiverse was created. One soul for many. One life for all of Creation. It sounds like a small price to pay, doesn’t it? I suppose it depends on who you ask. After all, can you imagine finally having a true equal and companion after so many aeons only to lose them? You’d be mad too.

Things are only going to get wilder from here.

You can find me on fanfiction.net, AO3, and Amazon.

[sage-nebula]

TDP - The Hard Way

An idea I’ve seen floated throughout the fandom is the idea of Claudia learning primal magic. I think most people can agree that it’s unlikely that Claudia will agree to give up dark magic without having something else (such as primal magic) to take its place. I think some of those people would even agree that Claudia wouldn’t be willing to give up dark magic without being absolutely certain that she could use primal magic first, because the idea of going without magic for a time is one she would consider inconceivable. The thing is, I think that having Claudia pick up primal magic right away (whether it’s before she agrees to give up dark magic, or immediately after) would be cheap storytelling that would do a disservice both to her character and to us as audience members. I think that if Claudia learns primal magic---and that’s a very big if---then it needs to come after a long, arduous arc that makes her earn it and work for it, rather than having it handed to her after years and years of using sacrifice and body parts to solve not only her problems, but also her minor inconveniences.

There are multiple reasons why Claudia needs what is essentially a long, well-written, and fought for redemption arc rather than having primal magic handed to her on a silver platter, but the first and foremost lies in the disregard she has for any life that isn’t human.

Primal magic is the natural magic of the world. The primal sources are divine sources that make up every aspect of the natural world and many, many beings within the world of The Dragon Prince. The sky is the air everyone breathes, the sun is what warms bodies and grows crops, the earth is the ground beneath feet, and the ocean is the majority of the planet, and so on. These primal sources are, in essence, life incarnate. Every being, from the mightiest dragon to the tiniest insect, is part of the cycle that creates life, and deserves the same respect even if they must die to provide food for another. 

But Claudia, as I’ve discussed in other posts (such as here and here and here), doesn’t have that respect for lives that aren’t human. She’ll cry out in alarm when she thinks Soren is about to kill Corvus (a man they had both marked as their enemy), but she smiles when she thinks Soren is about to murder Rayla in her sleep. She does squeal in fondness when she sees Azymondias for the first time, but she readily re-asserts that she does see Azymondias as a weapon that could kill everyone one day, and also cheerfully says they’ll take the red dragon back to Katolis “in pieces.” She also (and this is something she shares with Soren) refuses to call Rayla by name even after Callum has told her that Rayla’s name is, well, Rayla. Instead, she continuously refers to Rayla as “the elf,” which is a way of depersonalizing and othering Rayla. It makes it seem as though Claudia views Rayla as beneath her (and all other humans). She’s another magical creature from Xadia, in Claudia’s eyes. She’s another that can be killed and easily discarded, should the need arise (and considering that Soren was planning to attack and kill Rayla when Rayla put her plan into motion, we can certainly see that Claudia very much thinks Rayla should be disposed of, and likely doesn’t even see it as murder).

While all of this certainly makes Claudia an interesting antagonist (particularly when you consider that her usual demeanor is cheerful and quirky, because these two traits are not ones you’d ordinarily see paired with “has no regard for lives outside of a certain group”), it’s also a very big personality flaw that Claudia has to work past before she can ever be rewarded with something divine like a primal arcanum. As I mentioned above, the primal sources are divine sources of all life. Having access to a divine source of life should mean respecting that life, as Callum and the moonshadow elves do (because as Runaan said, “Life is precious, life is valuable; we take it, but we do not take it lightly”). As we see with the moonshadow assassins, this doesn’t mean that you should never kill ever, but it does mean respecting that your opponents are people, that their lives are valuable even if they’re your enemies. Rayla, for instance, has no qualms about calling Soren and Claudia by name. She acknowledges and respects them as people despite her (warranted) mistrust and dislike of them. However, they do not afford her that same courtesy. Claudia in particular has a callousness that Soren calls out (“You squish innocent creatures to make pancakes!”) that she shrugs off. Claudia may not be an evil person, but this callousness is not something that should be rewarded with primal magic. It’s something that she will need to work through, and work hard to work through, because this is likely a mindset that she has been raised with since she was very, very small (no doubt taught by Viren, but one that Claudia is still responsible for now since she is old enough to think for herself). This isn’t a mindset that can be shed overnight, and we should see Claudia begin to work through it and change the way she views things long before she has access to primal magic.

(As a sidebar: While she does genuinely love Soren and was trying to help him, the fact also does remain that she used dark magic to “fix” his paralysis for her own comfort rather than his, and that she never once asked his consent to do so. Claudia at least does have some respect and regard for human lives, but it’s also clear that she has no qualms about overstepping personal boundaries and consent if she’s doing what she thinks is best for the individual in question. By disrespecting Soren’s autonomy the way she did, it’s clear that her respect for humans has limits as well, and that’s another thing she would need to work on as a person to be deserving of primal magic.)

With that said, that isn’t the only reason why Claudia should not receive access to primal magic right away, if ever. While her callousness with regards to non-human lives is a glaring flaw (and one she would have to do a lot to make up for, considering all the body parts and beings she’s killed for her spells in the past), Claudia’s inferiority complex when it comes to her humanity is also something that bears consideration, particularly since I haven’t seen anyone else discuss it. When Claudia is making her case for dark magic to Callum, she says:

“We were born with nothing” is a very extreme statement, and one that is very telling of where Claudia���s mindset regarding her own humanity is.

The fact is, humans may not have been born with magic, but that doesn’t mean they were born with nothing. Humans were born with sapience, and the ability to recognize themselves as individuals and contemplate their place in the universe. Humans were born with opposable thumbs, with creativity and ingenuity. Step outside of the realm of The Dragon Prince for a moment, and think of all that humanity has accomplished in our own world. Humans built the pyramids. Humans developed space travel. And while that’s our world, there’s nothing stopping the humans in The Dragon Prince from being able to do that, too, if they put their minds to it and worked to it. The only thing impeding their progress is the fact that they’re currently in their own middle ages. All they need is time.

But Claudia looks at that and sees inferiority. There’s discussion due to the writings about Aaravos that perhaps some elves viewed human beings as inferior because they did not have magic, and we did see Lujanne be somewhat patronizing when telling Callum that he couldn’t do magic because he is “just a human.” But at the same time, we also see Claudia right here feel that humans were born with nothing because they couldn’t do magic. Claudia disregards every other accomplishment humanity has made, even in her own world, because it isn’t magical. Humans were banished from Xadia, but though many died on that trip, they still managed to establish five thriving kingdoms in unfamiliar territory---kingdoms that have been thriving for over one thousand years! Humans found ways to grow crops, to farm, to design and build, all without magic. Amaya not only has no magic, but she’s deaf as well, and yet she’s still an esteemed general in Katolis’ military. Ezran has no magic, yet he can empathize with and talk to animals. Aanya is a child with no magic, yet she’s able to rule her kingdom. Villads not only has no magic, but also is blind, and yet he’s still a successful sea captain, and so on and so forth. Examples of humanity’s ingenuity, skill, and ability are all around Claudia, both in wide-scale examples and in personal examples with people she knows . . . and yet she sees none of it, because it isn’t magical.

Before she learns how to use primal magic, Claudia needs to open her eyes and realize that humans aren’t inferior. She does have a respect and regard for human life, but she also seems to have some degree of internalized loathing for her own humanity. “We were born with nothing” easily translates to “I was born with nothing.” If Claudia suddenly found herself unable to use dark magic, there’s a high probability that her meltdown would be ten times worse than Callum’s ever was. This is compounded by the fact that Claudia uses magic for every single little inconvenience. If she is ever presented with the slightest bit of difficulty (for example, making pancakes that are light and fluffy), she uses dark magic to fix it. And if that doesn’t work, as it didn’t initially when she tried to cure Soren, she falls to pieces and panic attacks.

Therefore, before she ever gains the ability to use primal magic, Claudia needs to realize that humanity doesn’t need magic to be able to do incredible and amazing things. More specifically, Claudia needs to realize that she doesn’t need magic to do incredible and amazing things. One could argue the same could have been said for Callum, since his self-worth was staked on his magic, but the difference is that Callum wanted to learn magic so that he could be useful to those around him. Claudia, on the other hand, relies on magic to make herself feel special and to solve every little problem she has (as well as to sate the inferiority complex she has from being human). To that end, I believe that it would be far more meaningful for Claudia’s story if she not only gave up dark magic, but also never learned primal magic at all, and in that realized that she doesn’t have to rely on magic in order to be worthwhile, and that she was already born with plenty (creativity, ingenuity, determination, and so on). Claudia is not reduced to nothing if she doesn’t have magic, dark or otherwise. She already has plenty within her that she could use to be great, if she wanted to work at it.

Which of course brings us to the second point. As I stated before, Claudia uses dark magic to solve the tiniest inconveniences. Because she has so little regard for non-human life, it’s nothing at all for her to crush small creatures into dust to use them to make her pancakes fluffier if she’s not good enough at baking to make them that way naturally. But with that comes a price: Claudia is so reliant on dark magic to solve her inconveniences and problems that she has never learned how to solve problems without dark magic. When every spell she knows of to cure Soren’s paralysis doesn’t work, Claudia is reduced to a temper tantrum, and then to panicking. She completely falls to pieces, but she can’t think of any other way to come at the problem than dark magic. And while that is a large-scale problem, again, she uses dark magic to make pancakes because she presumably doesn’t know how without it. If Claudia loses access to magic, it will force her to learn the very valuable life skill of being able to problem solve without an magic (pardon the pun) Fix It button. Giving her primal magic right away would negate the need for Claudia to learn that skill, and would, again, stunt her development as a character.

Bear in mind, I’m not saying any of this out of hatred for Claudia. On the contrary, I think she’s a very interesting and unique antagonist (and make no mistake, she is an antagonist, and so is Soren). But I do think that for her character to really shine, she needs to go through a long and arduous arc. She needs to work for primal magic, not only to atone for the lives she has carelessly taken and used, but also to further her own growth as a person, because right now she isn’t ready yet. She has so much growing to do, and if she gets primal magic at all (and I honestly feel like I’d prefer if she didn’t), it shouldn’t be until the end of the series. Let her work at it, let her grow. Let her experience, for the first time in her life, what it is to not have an easy and convenient shortcut, but instead have to face a problem and difficulty head-on, with nothing but her own ingenuity and determination to back her up. It’s both what she deserves, and what she needs.

[starfaring-princelotor]

How would you care for you lover if they were pregnant? In the future of course if youre not ready for children now, but Id love to know how you'd look after them. Maybe if they even have more than one, would that affect anything?

Ah, children are the seeds of the future, no? Is it so impossible to think I have thoroughly thought about having a family to call my own? 

Pairings: Lotor x Reader

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing.  ★

Listen

LISTEN

You don’t understand how shook Lotor is when you say those two words.

I’m pregnant.

The Prince feels EVERYTHING.

Fear, joy, anxiety, worry, pride, oh my stars, he is so proud.

More importantly 

Lotor is fucking HAPPY.

Like his soul has ascended because surely this news?

Best thing that passed through his ears that he MUST have died from shock.

He doesn’t pass out, but he needs a wall to hold and steady himself.

Like that old man clutching his heart meme.

Is his situation ideal right now?

What with the war going on?

Voltron? 

Zarkon’s empire growing stronger and stronger? 

Lotor’s banishment?

No, not exactly suitable to raise children.

So, Lotor will MAKE it perfect for you.

It is not like he never thought about having children before.

In all honesty, he probably thought he did not have time to raise a child in a loving, caring environment.

Let alone find someone who would be willing to bear him a child.

He may be a Prince, but he is not liked by the Galra.

Heritage is important to him and, well, he wants his child to have a sense of belonging.

Not like he did struggling growing up.

What with how awful he was raised by Zarkon and Honerva.

Like fucking hell.

Lotor would NEVER raise his children like they raised him.

Fuck you dad, I’ll make my own family with love and support.

Lotor does not want his history, his past grievances, his war, to be on his child’s shoulders.

So, you know, he had planned.

Very carefully.

He took into account all of his royalty history and how that could possibly affect you and the child.

Every scenario he played out always started with you safely hidden away.

Somewhere no one could even hear about you and the baby.

Generals, continue my work without me. My love and I will be taking a leave of absence.

He does not give a reason for he should not need to explain at all.

I am sorry, but I really feel that Lotor would not even trust his generals to be around you.

10,000 years and he has enemies everywhere.

Does he trust them? 

Yes. 

To an extent.

Too close that if he were vulnerable, they would know where to strike.

That includes you.

But this is his child, his FAMILY, and although he considers his generals part of his family, too.

He wants to play it safe at all angles.

The risk is too high to keep you around others while your belly grows.

Again, Lotor’s paranoia and ingenious mind come into play.

He takes you to some isolated planet that has NOT been tainted by Zarkon yet.

It is not exactly cozy, but listen.

He will try to explain it to you.

Darling, my love, I know this is not the ship nor your home planet, but it is safe.

Please understand I want you and the baby to be safe at all costs.

You know what he really means.

I am a dangerous, wanted man.

There are dangerous people after me.

After you.

So yeah, some small house big enough just for you two and, soon, three.

Lotor is a proud soon-to-be father.

Almost…too proud.

I will teach them all I know, darling.

Fighting and surviving and loving and cooking and reading the stars and -

He also does all the typical things that come with pregnancy.

Feed you, take you out to get fresh air, all the mundane care.

Let’s you cry on him and he tries his best to sooth your worries.

Mostly just by holding you, possibly laying his hand on your belly just to remind him.

Remind YOU

This is ours?

Yes.

We will be okay.

Lotor gets fiercely protective.

Not to the point where his emotions will get in the way should someone choose to harm you.

No, now he is Prince Lotor, the analytical war-raised Galtean who is a force of nature to be reckoned with.

He shows no mercy, only a quick and absolute death. 

Though, during the deep, dark nights where he gets little rest.

Lotor just still can not believe it.

He had doubts in his early life that he might never have a family.

That is one reason why he just turned to working to find a way to achieve his other goals.

But now that this dream is up in his face?

This opportunity?

He will take it head on.

Lotor knows there will be…complications with the birth.

He brings the best Altean doctors from the Colony.

Doesn’t tell them where they are going, only that he requests their aid and, well, who are they to deny him?

However, he still will cut off any way they can communicate with anyone outside the planet.

Safety first.

The Prince even has the purest form quintessence with him, just as a precaution to help you should the pain be unbearable.

He is both Altean and Galran.

He has no idea how your body will handle his genes and yours.

Imagine his surprise when the good doctors do their check ups and tell him.

My lord, the baby is doing exquisitely well.

Oh, good, that’s one fear of his put to rest.

Every day your belly grows bigger and your ankles get sore.

If you are out on a fresh air walk and get tired, he will kneel on one leg and let you sit on his offered thigh.

Lotor, what are you doing?

You are tired, no? Come, sit. Rest.

Pat pat his thigh and you are actually humbled by how dedicated his is to your comfort.

You know he would even carry you back with ease should walking be too tedious for your feet.

He will massage your aching feet.

Lotor is a humble man while watching you nearly fall asleep from his relaxing thumbs kneading your heel.

I can’t say this enough.

Lotor planned the fuck out of this.

“Have you thought of a name-”

“Atlas.”

“W-wha-? Already? But what if its a -”

“Celeste.”

Lotor loves pressing his ear to your belly.

Whether to feel the baby kick or…

Perhaps if he strained really hard, he can hear the heartbeat

“Strong. Our child is going to be strong, my love, I can hear it.”

During all this? 

Sleeping at night, he is the big spoon.

All the time.

In fact, he is probably a little too suffocating in general, hovering around you at every waking hour.

Should you request time alone, he will do it.

By standing outside the door.

Like his entire being can not bear to be away from you.

Guarding, listening very carefully if you need anything.

He’s silent, so you do not detect him still out there.

Perks of star-faring race.

Now, the actual birth.

He is frantic, heart beating way too quickly in his chest.

Looking back, he probably wondered if he was having a damn heart attack.

I bet the moment your water broke, he raced to the doctor’s room and practically dragged them to you. 

Lotor is holding your hand the entire time.

“My love, my darling, my celestial Goddess, the keeper of my heart and soul.”

What he wouldn’t do for you to take this childbirth pain from you.

As much as he wants this, wants a child with you by his side, he knows this has not been easy at all for you.

But oh, when his kin is crying and wailing.

And he hears the doctors say “Healthy.”

Lotor is kissing your sweaty forehead, nuzzling you, praising you.

Thank you, thank you, my love, look. Our child…our family…

His heart? 

FULL.

His soul? 

FULL.

He knows things could have been worse.

Mixed species rarely come out perfect.

But with you?

Somehow, it worked. 

Was it your body? 

Your physiology? 

He did not know.

Did not really think too deeply into it right now.

Yeet those insecurities.

Especially when he’s holding such a small being in his large arms.

“Our child…has my nose. My ears…”

And when that baby peers up at Lotor for the first time?

He is smiling and utterly smitten.

This baby has his entire soul wrapped around one tiny finger.

Lotor sheds one tear, one jeweled star sapphire gem for his pride and joy.

Listen, Lotor is always calculating.

There is never a quiet moment in his head, especially now that he has a family that any enemy could hold against him.

But the moment his child falls asleep in his arms?

Everything in his mind is silent.

For once, he is able to just take in the sight of holding you and the baby in his arms.

He does not leave your side at all for a full month, too enamored at the scene of you cradling the bundle of joy.

It is the sight of his family that pushes his will and dedication not only for you, not only his child, but the future he needs to ensure for all three of you.

Stars and moon above, he is a father, and he will use all his skills he learned from 10,000 years being  alive to protect his family.