#There's something about incredibly ancient beings finding solace and love in each other after so much loneliness and sadness

[nephiamart]

The Geo Archon, after more than a millennium of loneliness, had again dared to look for love.

And he found it in the stars.

[kyberphilosopher]

The Tower

“We are encouraged to love... We are encouraged to love... We are encouraged to love.” Word Count: 3169 [This is a repost]

“When the Tower card appears in a Tarot reading, expect the unexpected – massive change, upheaval, destruction and chaos. It may be any event that shakes you to your core, affecting you spiritually, mentally and physically... Just when you think you’re safe and comfortable, a lightning bolt of clarity and insight cuts through the lies and illusions you have been telling yourself, and now the truth comes to light... The Tower reversed suggests that you are undergoing a significant personal transformation and upheaval... At times, the reversed Tower can be a sign that you are resisting change and delaying the necessary destruction and upheaval. You may be in denial that change is occurring. Or you may be clinging to an old belief system even though you know they are no longer relevant or healthy for you... You may be forewarned or have an intuitive sense that something big is about to happen, and you can plan ahead to avoid the destruction that lies ahead...”  

                                   ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

You had known of Anakin for a long, long time.

You’d been padawan’s together, training side by side as comrades. In your youth, you hadn’t talked often. Hadn’t talked at all, really. He was far more charismatic and daring than you were. His potential was more renowned and promised than anyone else. This made it hard not to be jealous of him as younglings, for it was so tantalizing to despise the golden boy.

He had everything. The respect of the council, one of the best possible masters, and a prophecy, warning everyone of his power and potential. It invalidated everyone around him without even really existing, like a language, or oxygen. But you weren’t jealous of the boy- no you weren’t. You couldn’t explain why, but he made you very sad. He made your tiny body wake up in cold sweats at night, like a nightmare disguised as a dream.

It didn’t end as younglings, like you thought it would. It continued on years later, into your teens, young adulthood, and beyond. It lingered on like smoke after a fire, or puddles after a storm for years to come.

You couldn’t explain why the boy was so troubling. Anakin’s smile was warm and welcomed, and his eyes shone like all the stars he’d sworn to visit. Even as a boy, his face was symmetrical and held the promise of a handsome man. So why was he so often the source of your night demons? Why did he make your pupils dilate and your heart give out a great warning?

You had seen what Anakin was, what he would become. You had seen what was inside his heart. You had seen... Darth Vader. For all that he was, for all that he would be. You were more than aware of the darkness that loomed over him like a shadow, trumping his compassion and forgiveness more often than not.

As a youngling, it came to you in flashes. You could recall several occasions that you had simply looked at Anakin, and then suddenly been transported to a vision of him gripping a woman’s hand so tight as he begged her not to let go. Behind him, a large, broad figure in a black cloak and devious helmet watches in silent stoicism.

Sometimes, it was something less clear. More often than not, it was simply a vague promise of a threat and decay. It ran through his veins like an ancient evil, eating away at him slowly and carefully.

"Oh, well,” your youngling mind had said. “It’s nothing,” you told yourself. And you had every reason to try to brush it off, if not for the shaking of your heart. Nobody else seemed to sense what you sensed, and if they did, they didn’t not feel it warranted an action.

But as you grew older, the feeling didn’t fade away as you thought. It became harder to ignore the more time went on, and training under Master Fisto had only encouraged you to never ignore your instincts. For instincts are one of the most important aspects of a Jedi’s life, and heeding them could never result in too big a loss.

In your teens, it was then you realized that this was something real. The flashes, the visions, the anxiousness in the pit of your stomach- it wasn’t something to just skip over. It was a warning.

You stared at the Skywalker often. Some people thought it was because you had a crush on him. Some people thought you had an enormous amount of loathing, or jealousy for him. Both were wrong. You were wondering about him, thinking about him. Keeping an eye out for him and others. You knew better than to trust him, of course, but you were too quiet a person to confront him in anyway. There was too much of a distance between you, and you never talked.

That was, until you were about seventeen, and he was eighteen. He would be turning nineteen soon, and your master had told you that Obi-Wan may be in contact with a rather important senator in due time.

In the temples library, you studied an old text. You felt more relaxed at the moment, melting as you ran your eyes over each of the words. Finding solace in the quieter things of life was welcome to you, because your mind was always so loud and intense.

“I have a question,” a voice suddenly said. Maker, it was so recognizable. Soft and calm, but still passionate and masculine. It was unique and both filled with emotion and lack of.

You look up from the text, turning around to look over your right shoulder. Anakin stood there, looking down at you with a long brown robe and padawan braid hanging over his shoulder.

Looking at him now, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d spoken to him. A month ago? A year ago? Five years ago? Never?

“Okay,” you said, calmly.

Anakin didn’t look like a threat. Although your veins were set ablaze at the mere thought and sight of him, the boy looked soft. He looked like a simple boy. Not a lord, or a Sith, or even much of a warrior. Anakin looked like the type of boy that was very easy to fall in love with. He looked like the type of boy that way easy to simply imagine yourself falling in love with.

Anakin licked his bottom lip before continuing his dialogue. “Would you happen to know if there’s any books here that mention Naboo? I thought you would know since I always see you reading in here.” He added the last part quickly, his deep blue eyes twinkling.

You hadn’t realized you were the only one that had been observing between the two of you. It made you a little warm inside, but in a muted way because of how the Order had trained you to regard emotions. You were an expert at keeping yours in line, and the thoughts about the young man in front of you had only accelerated this process from a young age.

You didn’t know the next time you would see the boy from this view ever again. It must’ve been the closest you’d ever been to each other, and you didn’t mind it so much. Anakin was handsome, probably the most handsome man you’d ever seen. The visions of him you’d received as younglings had been correct about his looks. He’d been blessed with starry, ocean colored eyes that crinkled and shone when he smiled. Dimples appeared around his smirk and his skin was easy to make pink with flattery.

“This one,” you said. You picked up the text you had just been reading, and flipped back to the page that mentioned Naboo’s culture and political stances. “Here.”

“You’re reading it. I’ll just read it when you’re finished.”

But you insisted. “It’s alright. I promise.”

The ancient, thick book slipped into the boys intelligent hands quickly. After everything he had given you, even if he hadn’t realized any of it, it was the first time you’d given something in return.

Anakin smiled in that little way that you’d observed so many times. The way that made one of the corners of his lips rise higher than the other, almost like a smirk. It wasn’t a smirk though. It was always sincere and soft, like maybe the boy wasn’t entirely sure how to smile. Even if Anakin had been destined to bring havoc to the galaxy, it made you incredibly sad to think that Anakin didn’t have much to smile for.

He looked down at the text with the smile for a few seconds before looking back at you. “Do you think Jedi are allowed to love?”

Your eyes lowered to the marble floors in thought. “Compassion is essential to a Jedi’s life,” you began, looking up to him slowly. “So I guess you could argue that, we are encouraged to love.”

Anakin smiled a little more. You could tell it hurt his cheeks a bit, like he had just been informed he’d been right about something, or gifted something he’d always dreamed of. “We are encouraged to love,” he repeated. “I like that.”

Anakin wasn’t a monster at all. How he would turn into one was beyond you. He was being... sweet. Kind and coy, like a man that all women lust after and men are jealous of. Almost like a dream in the form of a person. It’s had to remember that some dreams become nightmares.

It didn’t take long for you to fall in love with Anakin after that. Watching him during training and occasional classes felt more fluid, and the love you had for him grew into something that felt alive and tangible.

He was a good person, whatever the flaws he had. He could be emotional, and act out when he felt things were unjust. But he was also loyal to the bone, even when it hurt his relationships more than helped. He could be moody, and overly decisive. But when he loved someone, he would defend them with everything he had, until the last minute he had. This fact made it more than painful to see the future in which he was alone, only Anakin at some points, and responsible for the suffering of so many people.

You could see children- a boy and a girl. They would grow up differently, but have the same spirit and sense of justice, just like they’re father. They would be driven even when lost, and stand up for what they thought was right. They would’ve probably made bad Jedi, but good people.

No, they weren’t your children. This only bothered you a little before you accepted it and moved on. You weren’t sure who the mother was, but you know if a Jedi had a lover, it could only end in bad things.

One day, the nightmares and visions only grew worse. They had been menacing before, but by now they had grown into something more frightening than you had anticipated. In sleep, you could feel the suffering of men, women, and children. You could hear screams echoing and bouncing around your skull as the weight of detached heads rolled in circles. It was all a long, dull, prettifying rotation of oncoming doom, and you had managed to fall into love with the person who would be responsible for it all.

Desperately, you wanted to talk to Master Fisto about it. But what would he do? Surely, he would’ve believed you. But the council was... iffy. You didn’t always agree with them at times, often wondering if they themselves were corrupt. You didn’t always agree with the way that spoke to and about Anakin, even if you knew they would end up having every reason to be. What would they do with your information? They wouldn’t believe you, of course. They would keep a closer, distrusting eye on you. Especially Master Windu, who you respected and admired, but disagreed with all the same.

And so, you were in a bind.

You were bound to the love you possessed for Anakin, who was beginning his descent into the metal man. You knew what he had done to the people of the sand, to the men, women, and children. You knew how the desert had claimed so much from him throughout his life and his lungs, blooming into cacti in his lungs that would leave scars.

You were bound to the will of the Jedi Order, who you had submitted to and lived your life according to its rules. You were everything a Jedi should’ve been- calm, cool, neutral, understanding. Quiet and reserved, often, but dedicated and civil. This made you unsure when thinking about the last thing you were bound to.

Bound to the will of the future. In a way, everyone is bound to the will of the future. But you could see it with a clairvoyance that few could explain, and the knowledge that there was nothing you could do to change it. Even if you could, you wouldn’t.

It grew troubling. Seeing Anakin was a gift to ones eyes, but it began to make lumps form in your throat. Sometimes, you could look at him and see him set aflame, crying in agony. As someone who cared for him, it was painful. But as someone who could see into the future, it was confusing. He was, to all eyes, still a good and true person.

But you could see through it. You could see into his chest, to his core. Where his heart should’ve been was instead an ink black growth, which was spreading in every direction. Like a corruption, a virus. Living and breathing and existing inside its own entity, possessing the handsome boy.

One day, you looked at the boy you loved, and you saw something you couldn’t unsee. You could see your brothers turning on you. You could see the soldiers the Republic revered and held dear, aiming their weapons at those they had sworn to protect. You could see the Chancellor, in all his glory, rising into something above a Chancellor. He would become an Emperor, a King. He would last far beyond the bounds of life, with Anakin had his side and heel. And if good and evil had not existed before, it would begin to come alive with the number “66″.

You left in the night. You’d tried to tell Master Fisto, Maker help you. He hadn’t believed you, like you’d thought. You hadn’t told your troops, or said goodbye as a Commander. The only person you’d said goodbye to had been the person that had driven you to the decision.

“You look well,” he’d told you, doing that smile that caused you to fall in love with him in the first place. The one that made everything about him far more beautiful than it had been before, simply because smiling communicated to others that he was somewhat happy.

You hadn’t looked well, actually. You looked rather ill. Your mind, heavy with the burdening promise of the future, had turned your body pale. You bruised much easier, even though they were all covered under your robes. Deep plum and maroon circles rung your eyes from lack of sleep and excessive stress. But Anakin had always thought you were a pretty thing, and so he’d told you you looked nice anyway.

“And you,” you told him politely, watching as his face distorted between happy and covered in burns.

“The Council tells me you’ve been extremely efficient this year,” Anakin says, beginning to walk next to you with his hands clasped behind his back. It’s something he inherited from Obi-Wan, who was the person you had wanted to tell about his apprentice more than anyone. “They say you’re growing into a powerful Jedi, and a cunning warrior.”

You keep your eyes humble, glued to the floor below you. “Obi-Wan speaks highly of you.”

“But not the Council,” Anakin says. His eyes fall to the ground with the weight of his own words. You yourself can feel the darkness within spreading further through his chest, the frustration clouding his mind.

“I’m sure they see your abilities.”

“Do you?”

You tried not to look at him, but you did. Anakin’s hair had grown out and fallen in a way that you rather liked. He’d grown older, though not by much since you had decided to fall in love with him. His scar had added character to his face, and his full lips looked very nice and kissable. He was handsome, always would be. No matter what the future had in store for him, Anakin, burns and all, would be a sight to behold.

“I see you for what you are,” you told him. It wasn’t a lie. You really did. Anakin took it the way that he thought was best, as you’d hoped, not realized you could see in his mind and heart and what was yet to come.

“Master Y/N,” Anakin said, twirling around so he was walking backwards. The signature smiled appeared on his face again. “It seems you’ve been encouraged to love.”

You hadn’t known what to say. If someone were to ask you now, you still wouldn’t have known. You watched Anakin walk away then, his brunette hair dissolving into a final vision of flame and ash.

There was no note following your disappearance. No explanation that you had already given that was truly decipherable. Although you had tried to warn the Master you cared for so much, he had not believed you and suffered in its stead. Everyone had suffered in its stead.

One day, you would die. But not yet. Leaving the Order and your life was no easier than it was leaving Anakin, who you had repeatedly asked yourself not to love. You would live past his betrayal, past the Inquisitors bred to hunt you. Whether he wondered about you as you had him was unknown. That was past what you could see with your ever watchful eyes, who, conveniently, had ceased to show you glimpses of what was yet to come after you avoided the worst of it. You could only see the present, under the hood of your cloak and surrounding your walking stick.

And at night when you would remember your love, knowing what he had become by now, you would always remember your words like part of a meditation routine.

“We are encouraged to love,” you’d say, hoping he’d repeat them from across the galaxy in time with your own. “We are encouraged to love... We are encouraged to love.”

And then the tower falls with your dead Order, and you miss him all the more.

                                  ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Good evening. I hate mobile tumblr. Please read my stuff on a laptop if you can because mobile tumblr does me dirty. [this one is a repost]

Also was this good? I can’t tell if I’m satisfied with it or not. Remember to drink water.

This was not requested. I just didn’t want to put more words before the cut off because i thought it could ruin the look and there was already a lot of words. lolz. did i check for spelling errors? no

@omg-we-really-doo​ @fanficsforheartandsoul​ @haztory​ @kit-jpg​ @chokemeanakin​ @anakinswhore​

[demonprosecutor]

OVER THE RIVER AND THROUGH THE WOODS... YOU KNOW THE SONG.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11

innocence, like all things, succumbs to the touch of death and time - both in conjunction and never not coexisting with each other. it was a difficult pill to swallow at times, but the naivety of childhood could never weather the storm that the real world presented. a sad notion, but a necessary one. your thighs had ached and chafed with the hours of riding upon amydros - you had never ridden this far nor this long without rest. “alright, let’s rest.” you say aloud, pulling on the reins until the horse trots to a stop, towards a bend in the path where you slid down its back, and tied the leather strips around a sturdy branch.

even if winter had always made you nervous on principle (you’ve heard stories of bodies contorted in the throes of winter as lord thanatos had claimed their souls, or of crops failing and leaving a town starving for the next spring), you find relief of the cold on your aching muscles, a brief respite really. By then, your anger had cooled and subdued into a faint irritation. You were never someone who could hold their anger for a sustained amount of time without being weary.

with the edge of the cloak, you brush off gently-fallen snow off of the surface of the flattest rock you could find there, and carefully made sure that the cloak was at your bottom before sitting down. you had always taken your oaths seriously, always taken the truth seriously, but now? amid the snowy emptiness, placing yourself at the forefront of your secret fears of having to traverse the outside world without a safety tether was frightening.

maybe zagreus thought that your inherent fears would force you to remain in the town? that hypothesis makes you flush with indignation, crumpling the cloak between your hands. how dare he?! you weren’t... some... some civilian in distress that needed saving, you were an independent person capable of holding their own in any scenario.

“maybe lord hermes could glean more answers?” despite the distance between the two towns, you found that they held a camaraderie with each other that resulted in frequent trade during the warmer months and therefore, you had managed to catch the information that there was a rather robust temple dedicated to lord hermes. it makes sense, traveller towns tended to venerate that god above all else, well, the aspect of travelling at least. amydros nickers quietly, ears flicking. 

“at least you listen.” you stand up before the chill could seep through clothing and onto skin, walking over to stroke the strong flank of your horse. “zagreus never bothered to listen. always talking, always stumbling through conversation like a newborn fawn...” your hands curl into fists, pressed against the warm fur. “--- but he was always so kind.” zagreus’ warm smile came to the forefront of your mind, mismatched eyes twinkling like stars. “always made me feel like i was... like i was an equal.” 

by then, a flush rises to your cheeks. “and he is, erm, handsome... and sweet and endearing. like a puppy!” a look up and you see amydros leveling a rather judgemental look. as if to say: really? you were angry at him and now... you’re gushing about him

you slap your cheeks hard enough for it to sting, shaking your head. That was... a moment of weakness! you were still incredibly angry with him and you were going to give him a piece of your mind. Once you saw him. Then you’d hug him tightly because you were worried. zagreus did not know how terrible mortals could be, and you’d feel a lot better with him around.

you are alone.... 

amydros, to the horse’s credit, does not rear back in alarm at the voice that echoed around the clearing. too much like anura, you hold your steed’s reins close, heart thundering to the beat of amydros’ panicked breathing. even then, the most prominent thought that manages to sluice through the anxiety was: again?!

a nearby tree creaks, a mighty oak standing tall and bereft of its leaves, yet it shifts - the whorls on its trunk shifting into the closest approximation of a face. a dryad, an ancient, prideful one, if you had to guess. but most of all, something within your chest eases gently, unfurling like the drying wings of a butterfly. as though you were a child that had roused from a nightmare and found solace in their parent’s arms. they were good. above all, this dryad was a kind one, you could tell.

the stiffness of your shoulders lowers slightly, the smile upon your lips warm and assured. “gentle dryad, it is... wonderful to see you in spite of this bitter winter.” you never forget your manners and rifle through your bag, extracting a slice of bread that was given by menelaia before you left, and held it out - an offering to a near-god.

the dryad shifted its eyes to peer at the bread before the trunk cracks open with a thunderous sound, a gnarled wooden arm unfolding from the depths of the tree like an insect leg that carefully plucks the offering from your hand and returns. the air warms briefly, a signifier of its delight, its ineffable gratitude at recognition. nowadays, people forgot to thank the everyday spirits that resided in this world, ones that aided the gods and kept the earth and oceans as verdant and thriving as it was. “thank you, sapling.” it speaks in an ancient tongue, one that you should not understand, but with the magic of the divine, you were able to. a language so ancient, and so lost, it made your bones shudder at its strangeness. “you seek someone.”

you nod, eyes downcast. “yes.”

“a precious someone.” they say gently, a rumble of thunder in the distance, and you cannot help the aching smile on your face. “someone you care and adore.” they unfurl your heartstrings and read between the lines like the ancient rings of its home. wise because of its years and kinder because of it.

“yes. how did you know?” sometimes things weren’t meant to be asked, but you couldn’t help questioning this matter of mind-reading. “is it that obvious?”

a branch creaks downwards, a lone green leaf brushing over your hair, “love is the easiest to see, always so bright and vibrant. yet...” it brushes away a tear at the corner of your eye. “you are filled with such a terrible sadness, sapling.”

and you chuckle at that, tilting your head, “since when is that a new thing? are not all living things with terrible sadnesses?” you grab your arms, crossing them and rubbing them as a way to comfort. “he left me behind. to protect me from whatever evil this journey will birth. but i was ready to be there next to him! i was ready to protect him in my own way.” you weren’t exactly sure what that looked like, but you were prepared to sacrifice - after all, it’s not like you had much at stake.

the dryad stares at you, eyeless sockets like the void, but infinitely more comforting. before it sighs, “i will help you--”

“why?” you interrupt, cautious as ever.

“i do not have long on this realm and you were the first being that had shown me kindness, is it not fitting for one birthed from love to return love?” the ground breaks, a root curling upwards, breaking through the winterfrost that made it forest floor unmoveable. upon closer, you see a circle of gold hanging from the curve of the root. “forged from deep within the earths, when i used to boast more beauty than now. it is meant to guide you to your heart’s desire.”

you look at the ring, the metal warm and lovely - as though you held your hands against a flickering hearth. “how does it work?”

it laughs softly, a whisper of a breeze, bringing the smell of spring before demeter’s winter dominates once more. “bring it close to your chest and allow your heart to guide you, the ring will show you the way.” you pull back and offer your gratitude with a smile, a nod, watching as the dryad heaves one more mighty sigh before the trunk seals shut and the face fades into obscurity, once more like the trunk it was before.

you stand there, the ring clutched to your chest, just above your heart. it was strange to speak to a dryad that wasn’t speio, shaking your head to dismiss the cobwebs of memory that persisted. there was no point in sinking into nostalgia, it was better to do so when everything calmed down.

as the dryad had instructed, you closed your eyes and allowed thoughts to fall away from your mind - leaving you with the blissful emptiness that allowed your heart to speak freely, without obstruction. the ring warms, hot enough that you grow alarmed, eyes snapping open and peering down at the metal. it shone like a miniature sun, whispering sweetly before a beam of light shoots forward, between the trees and to the great beyond. “what the---” your brows furrow, as you wave a hand through the beam of light, disturbing it like ripples of water, yet remains steadfast in the direction it pointed.

was this what the dryad meant by the ring showing you the path to your heart’s desire?

suddenly buoyed by the thought of your journey made easier, you grin and untangle amydros’ reins from the branch and leapt onto his back, kicking your heels into his flanks. “follow the light!” amydros tosses his head, kicking up dirt and snow underneath his hooves.

the woods thicken, branches so numerous that it blocked the sn, the darkness illuminated by the magical glow of the ring, casting away the shadows that lingered at the edges of your vision. it was wise to allow the both of you to rest, but wolves prowled about in these woods - that and untold dangers. and you weren’t willing to boast your admittedly-pathetic fighting skills.

you had been following the path of the light, unwavering, wind stirring your hair and breath frosting in the air - but then it veers sharply to the right, into a darker path. “shit!---” you yank on amydros’ reins to halt his run, backing him up until you were in full-view of the deviation of the path. “why here?” the ring is brought to your face, pulsating with warm life, pointing into the darker woods, the branches curling about like an archway. unnatural, yet not. 

was this your heart’s desire?

with the reins clutched tightly in your hands, you turn your steed towards the dark void of the path, branches and rotted wood curling about. amydros flicks his ear uneasily, and you stroke his neck carefully. “easy. there must be something there.” with a deep breath and no small amount of courage, you both turn onto the path.

the trail was craggy. interrupted by fallen branches, stones and grooves. this told you that it was a path not regularly traveled by horse or by man, a thought that does not comfort you. after all, danger does not only lie with the mortal realm.

the thought to turn around arose the deeper you went down the path, but considering how tight the squeeze was, it wasn’t an option. trees shuddered, darkness encroaching and stifling enough that you couldn’t breathe. visions of red and crimson flashed before your gaze, screams shrilling in your ears, body shaking and fists curled tightly enough that it bit into your palms.

red and gold, red and gold. only the union of gods and mortal so bold ---- can end this all.

blood flooded your mouth, spilling down your chin, and when you think you cannot handle anymore... you stumble into an open meadow. the air was still, the grass and flowers frosted, yet alive - suspended between life and death. purple butterflies floated about, lingering at your side before floated off. the ring warms, the light pointed towards the figure standing in the middle, draped in reaper’s cloth and scythe held like a harbinger above the hood of lord thanatos.

he looked surprised by your appearance, just as you were by his. “what are you doing here? and... where is zagreus?” lord thanatos looks past you, expecting to see the prince stumble after you, but after realizing that he wasn’t there, golden eyes snap to you.

you slide down with shaky legs, wiping the blood away with the edge of the cloak, approaching lord thanatos and dropping to a knee. the cold immediately sunk into your knee, head bowed. “lord thanatos, i did not expect to see you here.” nor did you expect to have the ring show thanatos to be your heart’s desire, but you kept that fact wisely to yourself, face reddening. “---the prince isn’t here. he left me behind at a town, intent on pursuing his---” you pause, lifting your head before pushing yourself to your feet. was it wise to reveal why zagreus left? or were you going to set things in motion that should not occur.

“well?” he asks impatiently, his features deadpan, yet betraying enough that you knew it was better to speak. besides, zagreus had always spoke about the steadfastness of thanatos, about how he was to be trusted. you quickly pray that he was right.

“prince zagreus went to pursue his missing mother. in a place heavily shielded by magic. lord hermes had given him a map and i intended to follow, but he left me behind. i was given this,” you show the glowing ring, the beam of light disappearing into the darkness of his garb, “and it led me to you. it was meant to show my... heart’s desire.” it was said fast, yet your face warms. “the times are growing stranger, my lord...”

lord thanatos takes everything in, eyes falling shut in thought. “mmm. interesting, this is quite troubling news.” he hovers above the flowers, brows furrowed in a tight knot. death incarnate does not speak for some time, long enough that you shift in place uneasily. "things are changing. things are not dying and ancient evils are speaking within the wells of tartarus. zagreus' mother disappearing is the first step. the olympians will not intervene unless they need to," lord thanatos says this with a curl to his lip, derision evident. "instead they will use zagreus and whatever foolish individual that follows as tools."

(you suspect that he's speaking about you...)

"nonetheless, we cannot leave the fool to die. or meet a fate unknown." his scythe swishes in the air, purple eye blinking at you magnanimously. "i will aid you in your quest, groundskeep." lord thanatos was an imposing figure and to have him as an ally was.... well, it was comforting. there was no figure, no deity feared more, than this god before you. even the olympians feared what he could do; for through his touch, they could find their deaths as well.

"wait--- you're helping me?" your mouth drops open in shock, and this! coming from someone who had threatened you weeks ago....

lord thanatos arched a brow, "was i unclear in my declaration? i'm going to help you find zagreus and subsequently, his mother. it is a pain to have things... not die." there's something in his eyes that told you that there was something more to this, but you don't pry. the machinations of gods were not your concern. "i will speak with lord hermes and see if he could replicate the map he gave zagreus, let your magic ring guide you to him. meanwhile, here." lord thanatos reaches into his chiton, producing a small, little tattered mouse. patchworked with fabric and soft to the touch. it nestled comfortably in the circle of your arms. 

"... what is this?" you look up at death incarnate, cocking your head. why... was he giving you a child's toy?

much to your surprise, his cheeks took on a gentle, gold hue. as though he was embarrassed by your question. “his name is mort, use him if you are in trouble, and i shall come to your aid. but! only when you need it, i cannot always come. find zagreus, do not fail me. and, groundskeep? this is between us.” lord thanatos says this threateningly before disappearing in a flash of green light, temporarily causing spots to appear in your vision.

you are left alone, the earth heaving a sigh at the departure of death. the air stirred once more, the darkness lifting slightly and the strange, purple butterflies that danced in the meadows were gone. you looked at the little mouse, large enough to carry comfortably, and soft too! a quick look around told you that you were alone, save for amydros grazing nearby and took a slight sniff of the toy. 

it smelled of... lavender. of ash. the two smells of your dead town that dominated your nose. but instead of filling you with grief, you were filled with a strange sense of peace. you place mort at the bottom of your bag, where it wouldn’t fall out by accident and leapt once more onto amydros’ back.

the path that you had entered was brighter now, less stifling. the ring flickered to life and pointed northward - towards the town that menelaia had spoken about. you kick your heels and amydros thundered towards where he needed to be.

yet even with the ache of your thighs, the burn of your lungs, your thoughts went back to the god. what did he mean by things not dying anymore? what evil speaks in tartarus? perhaps these questions would be better answered with an oracle or a seer - if the town had any. “let’s hope we find zagreus by then,” you say aloud, amydros’ ear flicked back at you in acknowledgement.

but you weren’t that worried, zagreus had a way of avoiding trouble.

[astoldbycrimson]

May I?

Summary: Loss can bring closeness. Tenderness. And undeniable love.

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x Reader

Warnings: mentions of death, loss of a loved one, sweet sweet fluff

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5

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As a small child, your mother told you stories of life in the Rebel Alliance. Tales of battle and honor. Life and death. She spoke with intensity that brought every story to life. With each new addition, you longed for an adventure of your own. Of traversing the galaxy and finding a cause worthy of your skill.

And your father spoke of his own journey. The life of a jedi. He was more soft spoken, not quite as boisterous as your mother. But his tales were full of battles too. The most important battle being the Empire versus the jedi. Forces of light and dark. Heroes and tyrants. Every tale had you dreaming of your own journey. Of toppling a kingdom corrupt with power and greed. Of saving a people unjustly marked for elimination under a tyrannical regime. 

Then they shared how their chosen paths ultimately led them to each other. Of course they both had experienced pain, strife, and struggles along the way. But they found love in the most unexpected places. And then their love brought you into the picture. So you couldn't help but envision an adventure that included a love of your own.

However, your desire for adventure had come to a screeching halt when your mother was killed. After that, you only thought of becoming strong. Someone strong enough to protect the people you loved. So your father had taken it upon himself to teach you the ways of the jedi. To use the Forces of Light to hone your skills and find strength within yourself.

You also had your village and grandmother to teach you how to embrace your Dathomir Witch heritage. To accept that balance was achievable between the Forces of Dark and Light. That knowing the ways of both sides didn't make you innately good or evil. It mattered not what skills you used, only why you chose to use them. 

Once you were fully trained and had mastered what you could, you thought back to the tales your parents had told you many cycles ago. And you began to dream of adventure once more. Now that you were strong, you wanted to find something worth fighting for. A cause worthy of your passion and your skill. An adventure beyond the stars of Dathomir. 

You hadn't expected to find all of that when you first met the Mandalorian in your father's cantina. Sure you knew you'd found a way off your planet. And that someone as strong and capable as a Mandalorian meant adventure, thrilling battles, and a chance to prove yourself. But you had no idea how strongly he'd change your dreams. Your future. Or that you'd find love aboard the Razor Crest, in a man carefully hidden beneath layers of protective armor. 

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Din found you curled up in your cot, buried beneath a pile of blankets, clutching your cloak to your chest. You heard him shuffle his feet before he finally spoke. "I… saw the message from your father, (Y/N)…" His tone was unreadable, masked by the filter of his helmet.

You didn't say anything or even turn to look at him. Your body was almost limp and your mind was heavy with thought, lost in memories too far away. 

"Cyar'ika, I'm sorry… about your grandmother." 

The news had hit you far harder than you were ready for. It stole the air from your lungs and practically brought you to your knees. Your grandmother was like a second mother to you. She helped raise you in your mother's place. Encouraged your thirst for knowledge, but grounded you when your hunger for power became incorrigible. She taught you the ancient ways of the Witches, how to utilize both sides of the Force, and how to be strong for yourself. 

"Thank you," you said almost robotically. 

Your Mandalorian had absolutely no idea how to help you. He wasn't used to seeing you so… heartbroken. You, the warrior who bounced back from everything, even near death experiences. You, the one who always had something to say. You, the one socially equipped to handle all this… emotion. Din was completely out of his element here.

"Do you… wish to return to Dathomir?" Perhaps being home, surrounded by your family would be better than in the middle of space with him. Maybe your homeland would help you find peace. Surely your father was more capable of handling matters of the heart than he was. 

You were silent a moment, silent tears streaming down your cheeks.  "...No. I just need a little time to come to terms with this." 

Going home would likely bring you more pain. It was filled with too many memories. Sure many were pleasant and filled with love, but there was also sorrow. Besides, going home after she was already gone wouldn't bring you comfort. You'd just be faced with the reality that she, like your mother, was dead. It was best to stay away from Dathomir right now.

He fidgeted with the panel on his arm. "...Do you want me to leave you alone?"

You closed your eyes and the tears came a little faster. While you didn't exactly want him to see you so incredibly vulnerable, you certainly didn't want to be alone. "...No." But you didn't express what you wanted him to do.

Din would abide by whatever you requested. If you needed space, he'd give you space. If you wanted to lose yourself in a bounty, he would go out and find you one. He just wasn't prepared for you to want him to stay. What was he supposed to do while you laid there suffering?

He wasn't sure what to do. Keep talking and offer words of comfort? Words of encouragement? You both knew that wasn't his strong point. So you didn't expect any sort of pep talk from the man. Just having him in the same room was comforting enough. 

The Mandalorian was at a loss. So his mind thought of the things that you found comfort in. Homemade food. Sweet scents. Soft clothing. Warm places. And touch. He knew how deeply you relied on it, being without your sight. How you found solace in even the simplest of touches. More specifically, his touches.

Din sighed softly, breaking the silence as he reached for his gloves. You turned slightly as you heard him unclasp them and tug them off. But you shrugged it off, snuggly deeper in your blankets. It wasn't until you heard the familiar sound of him removing his helmet that your attention drifted away from your thoughts.

After setting his helmet down on a table, he approached your nest and knelt down. His hand moved to caress your cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear that escaped your eye. You subconsciously leaned into his hand, grateful for the tender touch.

"...May I join you?" 

Now that completely surprised you. Din would offer a gentle touch here and there, maybe an embrace if he was really desperate for physical contact. But never something akin to cuddling. So, at first, you were unable to formulate a sentence at the thought. Though you quickly found your words, afraid he'd retract his offer. "...Please," it came out hoarse and almost like a plea.

You quickly scooted over to give him room and he carefully crawled under the blankets. Of course you prepared for the hard steel of his chest plate to press against your back, but you were pleasantly surprised by his lack of armor. He still had his tactical shirt and pants, but you still felt the warmth radiating off him.

Din brought his arms around you and pressed his lips carefully to your shoulder. "Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la," he whispered into your skin as he held you close.

"What does that mean?" You ask quietly, leaning into his touch. While you were starting to learn bits and pieces of his language, you had no idea what this particular slew of words meant.

"It's a Mando'a phrase for the departed. 'Not gone, merely marching far away.'" His lips moved to your cheek. "She's still with you." 

A smile pulled at the corners of your mouth, touched by his words of comfort. Din was surprising you more and more. Had this happened at the start of your journey together, you would've been forced to deal with this loss in unbearable silence, hidden away in the refresher. But now, after having spent so much time with you, he was learning. Growing. Reminding you that there was a person beneath all that metal. And he had a heart. 

You turned around until your chests were touching. You grabbed one of his hands and brought it to your lips. "Toa lova jii," you whispered into his palm.

First he was flustered by you kissing his hand. And then his head tilted as you spoke. He didn't know what it meant, but he knew it was important. "...What does that mean?"

You smiled so softly, so sweetly at him. "It means I love you, Din."

And his breath hitched at your words. His chest grew tight as he took in the weight of what you said. Of course he knew how you felt. It was obvious in the way you kissed him. When you just needed to hold his hand or be in his space. But he never heard you say it before now. And Maker it sounded so beautiful in your native language. So natural and perfect.

Din raised his hands to cup your cheeks and he pulled you into a kiss. "Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar'ika," he whispered into your lips. You didn't need him to translate to know he felt the same. 

[yukiwrites]

Getting Back Together

Thank you so much for the patience and support as always, @breeachuu! I hope you like it!

Summary: After five years of loneliness and anxiety, Wolfram discovers that Byleth had woken up from her Slumber and had headed to the Monastery. The day they had promised to meet again when they were younger had finally come, so now the former classmates all flocked back together to fight for the Kingdom.

Commission info HERE and HERE!

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Wolfram felt the icy grip of fear encroach him from inside. Byleth was nowhere to be found -- thought that wasn’t even the worst part.

He couldn’t feel her, either. It felt very much like that time whence she was thrown into a portal by Solon; it was as though she didn’t exist. The Blood that had been emitting its constant energy throughout the years… it simply wasn’t anymore.

“No, Wolfram, calm down, maybe,” he took a shaky breath as his eyes darted from one side of the dark cave to the other, “maybe she’s just confused after waking up from the Slumber. Mother said that we shouldn’t wake a dragonkin from one because we don’t know the state of mind they’ll be in…”

The half manakete quickly made excuses as his breathing became more and more uneven. His body shook, though he couldn’t even pay attention to it at the moment, what with his mind being so preoccupied.

If he was to look for her, then he had to be quick about it -- dawn was just about to break so he would lose the cloak of the night to shield him and his wings from leering eyes. Perhaps it would be better to fly on Aquilo to be safe.

Breathing deeply, Wolfie made up his mind to do what he could do at the moment instead of despairing. Look for her. Be with her. The Heart of Immortals had finally woken up from its Slumber so he had to be beside her to fulfil his mission.

… Of course, Byleth had turned into a special existence for him after all these years as well, so it wasn’t just about the mission. He had to help a valued friend in need.

Besides, Dimitri was back at the Monastery as well. If all else failed, Wolfram could still reunite with his friend and they’d plan what to do next together.

“Together…” Wolfie murmured as he nodded to himself in the darkness before running out of the cave with a steeled resolve. He had gotten used to solitude during this exile, but it wasn’t as though he enjoyed it.

He was a boy who loved to be around people first and foremost, after all.

The moment he exited the cave to call for Aquilo so they could watch from the skies, Wolfram sensed something pulling at him from the Monastery. It was something hard to explain, like he had walked to the wrong direction once he gave his back to the mountain; like something, not unlike a string, had made his steps heavier as long as he went against it.

Wolfram gasped, looking up as he blew his whistle to call for Aquilo.

It was the Blood!

Well, not entirely, anyway. It felt too drowsy to feel like the Blood, but since it was a presence so akin to his own though it bore a significant difference he couldn’t quite pinpoint; Wolfram was sure it was the presence of the Blood.

He had been right, after all! The Heart of Immortals was truly in a confused state after waking up from the Slumber! 

As the first lights of dawn broke, Wolfram got on Aquilo’s back, flying at full speed towards the place that had been all but a shell of what it once was; towards the only place that he had called home outside of his own world.

To the Monastery!

Huffing, Wolfram made use of all of his heightened senses to scout from the sky, still finding it difficult to pinpoint the Blood’s exact location. He could hear the sounds of fighting from multiple sources -- perhaps more ruffians had broken in after Dimitri had cleared out the first few that had gotten in his way -- but he couldn’t see through walls, so he would need to land eventually to get a closer look.

A voice not too far from his spot at the sky made Wolfie steer Aquilo in its direction out of pure reflex, however.

“Why… Why are you here?”

It was faint, almost like a whisper, but it was unmistakingly Dimitri’s voice. 

Had he found Byleth?!

“Maybe that’s really the right direction! I can feel the fog around the Blood clearing…” Wolfram said aloud, habit he had cultivated even more during these years of solitude. As he approached the remains of a garden, he saw some familiar faces. “Wait, those are…!”

Ashe, Annette, Mercedes… and Byleth. There were more presences all around them so he couldn’t be sure of how many of those were hostile or friendly, but to see the faces of those he had missed for so long, finally within his grasp…

Wolfram’s eyes itched with tears before he even approached them to help with the bandit problem.

“Hey, Wolfie’s here too!” Annette waved cheerfully, forgetting that she was giving away her position to the enemies all around.

“Annie, shh!” Mercedes pulled her friend’s arm, taking her behind a wall.

A fight against looters and robbers certainly wasn’t the time to feel as elated as Wolfram felt at that moment, but he couldn’t help smiling from ear to ear before drying his tears. Puffing his chest, he focused on the task at hand so he could properly hug all of them later.

The most impressive part was how more and more of his past classmates showed up the longer the battle went on. Ingrid, Felix, Sylvain, Dorothea, Caspar, Linhardt and even Bernadetta…

By the time they all gathered together, it felt as though they could simply sit down and wait for Byleth’s lesson to begin -- they were basically all accounted for!

Wolfram covered his face with both hands to sniffle silently as the grown-up faces of his treasured classmates one by one entered into view.

A strong arm around his neck made Wolfram bend down in surprise, being almost choked in the middle of the incredible strength behind the shorter stature.

“Yo! Still crying as always, huh, Wolf?” Caspar grinned as he tightened the embrace, patting Wolfram’s chest with such vigor that it should be called ‘manhandling’ instead of ‘patting’.

“C-Caspar…” Wolfie hiccuped, his chest wringing in emotion. Byleth was awake, his classmates were flocking together… it felt as though all the loneliness he had felt so far was a lie.

There were so many things he wanted to do. So many things he wanted to ask.

He wanted to shake Byleth’s shoulders and ask her how in the world she had woken up so suddenly; how did she get back to the monastery in the exact timeframe he was away… How did she feel, why did she need to go into a Slumber… So many things.

He wanted to ask each and every one of his classmates how the war had treated them; he wanted to hug them and cry in their arms; he wanted to hold Dimitri’s hand to help him out of the dark place that seemed to have taken over inside his mind.

But he was overwhelmed -- with his own feelings and emotions, yes, but also with the amount of people talking all around him: they were asking each other how they’d been, what they had been doing and how in the world they all managed to come together after five years of war.

However, the answer they most wanted to hear was Dimitri’s. He had been sentenced to death right after the war started, so having him stand there in their midst was surprising to say the least, especially to the ones who had been looking for him all this time.

Blinking the tears away, Wolfie remembered what the merchant had told him some weeks (or years?) ago: people from Duscur helped him escape, hadn’t they?

“Dedue.” Dimitri answered simply, the weight in his voice making Wolfram’s hairs stand on end instead of bringing him solace.

Noticing the somber tone, Byleth cocked her head to the side, “what happened?”

The prince scowled as his bangs covered more of his good eye. “He’s dead. He died in my place.”

A low murmur ran across the classmates as Gilbert nodded solemnly, speaking something or other about sacrifice or the war. Honestly, he could’ve started talking about baking for all that was worth -- Wolfram had stopped listening.

A buzzing sound started to ricochet inside Wolfram’s head, getting louder and louder the more he struggled to breathe. It got so painfully loud to the point of Wolfie having to hold his head with both hands as his breathing shook.

Dead? Dedue was?

They barely had had the time to properly forge a friendship.

He had been Wolfram’s first roommate and the one who opened Wolfie’s eyes about Dimitri’s inner struggle. Even though he was a man of few words, it simply meant that every single thing that left his lips was worth listening to. To think that that admirably loyal man was… That he had given his life to-

He owed Dedue so much. So much.

Trembling, Wolfram didn’t listen to a single word said during the meeting, or what was decided after it.

It was only after Caspar shook him with enough force to make his brain bounce inside his skull that the half manakete managed to blink and focus on his friend.

“Are you back? I was about to call Linhardt to take a look at you.” The shorter man frowned slightly, worried about the lack of color in Wolfie’s face.

Looking at Caspar made Wolfram suddenly aware of his surroundings again: he felt the morning air; heard his classmates’ voices and their steps as well as the ruffling of leaves all around them. It was like he had taken his first breath in a new world after a long Slumber.

Was he- was he about to enter a Slumber out of shock? It couldn’t be!

He couldn’t get into a Slumber now. Surely one had to be a very ancient or powerful dragon to need a Slumber? Although he was the child of a manakete and a human, he had much more prominent human features, so all of his family seemed to agree that he was a quarter manakete at most. Could he even get into a Slumber?

“Heeey, c’mon man, you gotta focus.” Caspar waved in front of Wolfie’s eyes, nudging his shoulder to walk to where all the others were going. “Look, everyone’s leaving us here! I’m not really good at cleaning either, but I can at least lug heavy stuff around.”

“Cleaning?” Wolfram didn’t recognize his own voice, too confused to even realize he had started walking.

“Yeah. You didn’t hear anything? We’re gonna use the Monastery as our base, but this place’s a mess. So we’re gonna clean.” Caspar kept pushing Wolfram, apparently unbothered for having to do so as he pointed with his chin towards the group walking right ahead of them. “The girls said it’s better to start with the dormitories so we can have a place to stay tonight, so c’mon, let’s go and check how everything looks now!”

Caspar’s enthusiasm and obliviousness to Wolfie’s inner turmoil stole a smile from the half manakete, though the weight inside his chest didn’t get any lighter.

“... Yeah, let’s go.” He managed to say in the end, holding Caspar’s hand so he could lead the way.

Wolfram often heard -- both back home and in Fódlan -- that a common thing humans did to cope with difficult times was to keep the body busy with chores, regardless of their nature. But that honestly wasn’t the way manaketes’ minds worked. They needed time to think and put their feelings in order, so doing other things in the meantime was distracting and stressful.

Especially because they had started cleaning the dormitories located on the first floor -- right where the room Wolfram shared with Dedue was.

The more stuff they carried outside to air them, the more they dusted and cleaned the surprisingly untouched furniture, the heavier Wolfram’s heart became. Even his head seemed to be so full of knots it made him tilt it sideways whenever he walked.

He remembered how anxious he had spent the first few nights in Dedue’s room: what if his bandanna came off while he slept? What if he sneezed and his wings popped out by accident? What if his secret was exposed on the very week of his arrival?

Of course, he also felt a tad anxious when he went to share a room with Caspar, especially about his bandanna, but it wasn’t as much as the first time -- and it was precisely because of how peaceful the time he spent with Dedue had been.

… It hurt so much.

Wolfie had wanted to tell both Caspar and Dedue about the purpose of his arrival in Fódlan, because he knew both of his roommates would accept him just like Dimitri did. Actually, he wanted to come clean about his reasons to all of his classmates, especially after living in exile for so long. He had pondered over which words to use and under which circumstances, but now everything was just a blank.

His body moved as he was told, but his brain felt like wet cotton.

Suddenly, he remembered the words his elder siblings had left him with. The words about death, parting and finding ways to deal with the loss the best way he could. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Wolfram sniffled the warm tears back as his shoulders trembled.

They never taught him how to deal with a secret he didn’t want to keep. They never taught him how to come clean with a lie he had kept for years.

They told him that experiencing war with his own skin would be hard and that he had to do anything in his power to cope with it, but… to think that it would be like this. He had barely done any fighting and the weight of this responsibility was already so heavy.

Wolfram dried the tears that fell uncaring of his best efforts to keep them away. He simply stood there, in the middle of cleaning, hiding his face with both hands as he sobbed.

There weren’t many people assigned to that specific area, but it wasn’t as though he was alone -- yet he couldn’t help the tears that streamed down his face.

Out of the former students assigned to this part of the dormitories, there were Dorothea, Caspar, Wolfram and Ashe; and the first one to see Wolfram hunched back was Dorothea. She gasped and meant to comfort the tall boy, but bit her lower lip in hesitation. Wolfie had confided in her in the past, but perhaps the best person to be by his side at that moment wasn’t her, but…

Dorothea spied Caspar with the corner of her eyes, quickly running to his side to tap his shoulder. “Caspie, I need help with something.”

“Yeah?” The young man brushed one hand over his forehead to dry the sweat after placing a cabinet on the ground. “Anything you want me to move?”

“No, it’s actually about Wolfie. Can you take him to the gardens? He… he needs a break.” She whispered, stealing a glance at the crying boy.

Caspar’s eyes immediately widened in surprise as he hurried to Wolfram’s side without even giving Dorothea a reply. “Wolf?! Hey, you okay, man? Wolf!” He shook the half manakete’s shoulder vigorously, making the hands slip out of his crying face.

“C-Casparrr!” Wolfram wailed pitifully, hugging the shorter man so as to sob on his shoulder.

Confused out of his mind, Caspar looked around as if he could find the answer of what to do just lying in the middle of the scattered furniture. He awkwardly patted Wolfram’s back, his chest sinking in what he assumed was sympathy.

Catching Caspar’s gaze, Dorothea pointed to the gardens, which made Caspar remember her previous words. “Alright!” He heaved and took Wolfram in his arms to smuggle him to the gardens. Honestly, he had no idea why they had to change locations, but since he knew he wasn’t good with sensitive matters, he chose to simply trust Dorothea and do as she said.

Wolfram barely noticed that they had moved as he hugged Caspar with everything he had as he poured all of the loneliness, uncertainties and grief of the past 5 years onto his friend’s shoulder.

Without much to do, Caspar patted Wolfram’s back with one hand as he grippeda t the grass with the other -- he felt like fighting someone. Who had made Wolfram feel that way? He wanted to fight them and settle things for good, but there was no way he could get a clear answer from his friend at the moment, so he simply waited.

It was only after the tears had dried and his throat hurt that Wolfram managed to stop himself from crying as he slowly pulled away from Caspar. “Th-thank you for being with me, Caspar. It means a lot.”

“Don’t mention it! Are you alright? Did you get into a fight? I’m gonna punch ‘em for you.” Caspar punched his open palm as he cracked his neck, but that only made Wolfram’s shoulders sag and a faint smile sprout on his lips.

“Actually, it was like everything rushed in at once, so it wasn’t just one or two things.” He took Caspar’s hands in his own so his friend wouldn’t hurt himself from clenching his fists. “It helped me clear my head a lot, though, so thank you again.”

“Sure, but,” Caspar tilted his head to the side, looking straight into Wolfie’s red, tear-stained eyes, “I’m still mad for some reason. I don’t like seeing you like this, Wolf.” He said in a whisper, unsure of his own feelings.

Wolfram’s chin trembled with emotion as Caspar reached out to move a few strands of hair that had glued themselves on Wolfie’s face. “Actually I- I have something to tell you, Caspar.” Wolfram sniffled, unable to take a deep breath through his stuffy nose.

Crying had taken an immense load off of Wolfram’s shoulder, but the issue itself remained. He grieved for his friend; he wanted to tell everyone about his secret -- he wanted to be able to stand beside them proudly, without the need to hide who he was or what he had come here to do.

And Caspar had to be the first one to know from his own mouth. Not by accident like what had happened with Dimitri, but willingly, from the bottom of his heart. Of course, his mind wanted him to wait at least for night time, even if they were in a secluded location, there were people wandering around amidst their cleaning effort.

Yet, Wolfram’s heart pounded, wanting him to blurt everything out at that very moment.

“Yeah? I can’t help much with words, but I can listen.” Caspar nodded, looking up at Wolfram with the clear, sincere eyes that Wolfie liked so much.

“Actually, I’m not human.” He lowered his head to pull the bandanna off of his head, exposing his pointy ears. “I came here with a mission-”

“Whoa, wait, wait, wait, what? Wait, you remember you past? That’s awesome, Wolf! And those ears-” Caspar moved from one side to the other, taking a better look at them. “Whaddya mean ‘not human’? What else could you be? I never heard of anything not human living here…”

“Heehee,” Wolfie laughed awkwardly, scratching his chin. “I’m not from ‘here’. I came from another world under the guidance of the goddess I worship.” He grasped his locket as he spoke, his chest feeling lighter and lighter the more words left his lips. “I was told to stay by Byleth’s side and protect her during the ‘turmoil’ that would shake this world, though I had no idea how soon war would break out after I arrived…”

Caspar frowned so deeply one could see the gears inside his brain struggling to work. “So the goddess appeared for you too? Like with the Professor?” He still couldn’t grasp it due to the sheer absurdity of it all.

Snorting, Wolfie held his locket closer and focused on his dragonstone. “I’ll just show you.” He brought out dragon half as he felt part of his body being covered by scales. The wings, tail and horns popped out as well, making Caspar let out a loud exclamation of surprise.

“HOLY SHIT, YOU CAN FLY?” He jumped out of his spot. “That’s dope. What the hell, man…” He murmured as he walked all around Wolfram, poking at his wings and horns.

Is that really the most surprising part here…? Wolfie snorted inwardly, glad that Caspar’s reaction was much better than he had anticipated.

He called his wings back after a few moments, still wary of the bright sun above them. “I couldn’t tell anyone about my origins since, well, it’s crazy, right? So I just said I didn’t remember anything so I could stay with Byleth.”

“Hey, wait, bring it back!” Caspar slammed Wolfram’s back with both hands right where his wings were. “That’s so cool, I never saw someone with wings before.”

… Clearly nothing else Wolfram said would get through Caspar, so he simply giggled in amusement. “It’s still a secret, so please don’t tell anyone, okay? I can call them back at night.” He slipped the bandanna back on his head, once again covering his ears. 

“I dunno why you’d hide this, it’s fucking amazing.” Caspar kneaded his knuckles on Wolfram’s back, wondering how the hell the wings went back inside. Ticklish with the constant contact, Wolfie’s laughter grew, his heart lighter than any other time he spent in Fódlan.

“We can go flying sometime when it’s quieter,” Wolfie suggested, wondering if he should ask Aquilo to carry Caspar as they soared in the night sky.

“REALLY? Hell yeah, man! When’s good? Let’s go tonight!” Caspar arm-locked Wolfie’s head, excited like a little boy to go on an adventure.

Wolfram laughed heartily, falling backwards as Caspar’s hug turned more into a wrestling match the more they cuddled.

It still hurt, but now Wolfie was glad that he had taken a tiny step towards the road of feeling better.

The cleaning effort took weeks to finish -- and it honestly would take much longer than that to actually bring the Monastery back to its full glory. They did the best they could to make the place at least enough to shelter them from rain and wind, but there was much they couldn’t do with their meager numbers -- not to mention how morale hadn’t been the best due to how Dimitri acted.

Wolfie had so much to digest he couldn’t find a good time to speak with his first friend so as to deliver the jewel to him. Besides, the friendship jewel should be exchanged when both parties were ready for the commitment of being confidants for life -- and the current Dimitri wasn’t in that state of mind, not at that moment.

Dedue’s words rang true even five years after they were uttered: Dimitri fought a losing battle within himself, and now it seemed like he had accepted the defeat. What Wolfram could do -- what any of them could do -- was to support him in any way they could.

For now, that meant fighting for him, a goal that would be accomplished much sooner than they would like, for an imperial force had been seen making its way to the Monastery after the Empire had caught wind of the Knights of Seiros coming back to reclaim it.

Dimitri laughed without any mirth in his voice once he heard about the imperial army breathing down their necks, his sleepless mien carving for the silence of the dead. Gulping, Wolfram nodded as Byleth started guiding them to their defensive positions: the Monastery had taken a great blow at the battle five years ago, but it was still a fortress of its own might; so they would be able to protect it should they act wisely.

The battle was fierce -- the imperial forces would stop at nothing to take the Monastery back as they resorted to long range weapons, destructive fireballs and assassins that slipped through their defenses to take out their healers and commanders.

Byleth guided them with all of her power, commanding them as though she predicted the enemy’s every step: She cleared out their reinforcements, secured the ballistae and surrounded their elite knights with the precision of a seasoned soldier.

Once the commander was backed into a corner, he shook with anger. “A total loss… But we can’t just return home like this…” He raised his face with fire in his eyes, aiming at the one who orchestrated his defeat. “I’ll take you with me!”

“Professor, get down!” Dimitri threw himself in front of the blow the commander sent to Byleth’s way at the same time Caspar ran to intercept it. He managed to catch the javelin with his hands before throwing them on the ground in front of the commander.

Frowning, he looked up at the man. “Hey, so you’re Randolph, right? My uncle.” He rolled his shoulder and neck before adjusting the gauntlets wrapped around his fists.

“Uncle?!” Wolfram gasped from above, making sure to hold the position Byleth had told him to. How horrible, to fight his own family in a meaningless war…

The man called Randolph widened his eyes much like Wolfram did. “Caspar?! Yes, indeed... So, I see you have chosen to oppose the Empire.” He stelled himself, taking his battle position. “If so, be warned that I won't hesitate. I'll strike you down, even if we're of the same house!”

Caspar hopped in place to warm himself up. “You took the words right outta my mouth! Graaagh!” He jumped into the fight without hesitation, his resolve having been tested a long time ago.

Wolfie admired the way Caspar threw himself into battle like he had all the answers of the world, but it still pained him to see blood fight with blood like that, so he averted his eyes from the brawl entirely.

Eventually, Randolph fell in defeat as Caspar puffed his chest proudly.

However, Dimitri stepped in, basically shoving the shorter man out of the way. “Capture him.”

The battle was won, but there was a sense of uncertainty in the air, as no one could predict what the ‘Delusional Prince’, as Dimitri came to be known, would do. Soldiers who came under Gilbert’s command heeded Dimitri’s orders and tied the man down as Byleth instructed the people who still had energy to start cleaning after the battle.

Randolph was dragged down the steps he had climbed just hours previous as the attacker, with Dimitri pulling on the rope as though unconcerned of how the commander’s head was bashed on the stairs.

He coughed blood after the third staircase, his head spinning. “I-I have family waiting for me, p-please… I can’t die here.”

Once again Dimitri laughed without mirth, pointing languidly at the fallen commander. He then took out a dagger as he crouched in front of the decaying Randolph. “A beast of your depravity, prattling on about family?” he tapped the dagger on the bleeding cheek. “How amusing.”

“As though you could understand...such a thing as love…” Randolph panted with difficulty as several of his ribs were shattered during and after the battle. “You heartless monster!”

“You are a monster too, General. You just have yet to realize it.” Dimitri slid the sharp blade through the man’s skin, as though pondering where to stab it next.

The conversation was sickening to say the least. Wolfram had been ordered to move the wounded on Aquilo back to the Monastery, but he couldn’t help but listen in with his sensitive hearing. He felt like a pit had opened in his stomach, just waiting to swallow him whole.

Not to mention, that man was Caspar’s…

He looked at his friend with pity in his eyes, wondering what the young man thought about it all.

When the conversation started to take a bloodier turn, Wolfie could see Caspar flinching in contained anger -- he was just about to reach out to stop him from doing something foolish when the smell of fresh blood rose to his nose.

Byleth had taken Randolph out of his misery.

“... What is the meaning of this?” Dimitri asked in a cold voice at the same time Caspar���s shoulders hardened and his breathing stopped for a moment before being let out all at once.

Soon the young man turned away from the scene and went back to doing what he had been ordered to do, but Wolfram couldn’t help but notice the entire scene. Byleth tried to help Dimitri out of the dark place, so there was no space for Wolfie at the moment -- besides, he wanted to give Caspar a big hug for his loss, even if it had looked like he had made peace with it even before the battle.

Wolfie ran back inside after placing the last wounded on an improvised cot on the floor, leaving it to the healers to help them back into shape. Soon he found the blue-haired head he was looking for due to his own height.

However, when he approached, he didn’t know how to even start that conversation.

“Hey.” He looked down awkwardly as Caspar was setting out to the dining hall.

“Hey there, Wolf. We did good back there, didn’t we? We taught them a lesson.” He tried to cheer, but the voice didn’t come out as high as he thought it would.

“Are… are you okay? Even if you were estranged, he was still your uncle, right?” Wolfie reached out to his friend, tentatively patting his shoulder.

Caspar twisted his lips uncomfortably. “Nah, I’m not really feeling bad about that. We weren’t really related by blood and… ugh.”

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Yeah, I don’t, really. It’s just… Dimitri’s methods, man.�� He scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. “The guy was defeated already, there was no need to-”

It was now Wolfie’s turn to hug his friend and lend him a comforting shoulder to lean on. “Even if you say you’re okay about it, it’s a different story to be face to face at opposing sides with family. Especially after all… that.” Wolfram glossed over so as not to upset Caspar more, patting the spiky hair soothingly.

Unaccustomed to get in touch with his feelings like Wolfram, Caspar frowned inside the hug. He didn’t think that he was that upset about it, but there was this nagging feeling at the back of his heart that weighed a ton.

He was fine, he was. Truly.

But… being in Wolfram’s arms made him feel better. Lighter. So perhaps he wasn’t as ‘fine’ as he thought he was, since it felt better just to be within his friend’s warmth. There was a lot to process and he didn’t have much brain capacity for it all, but for the moment it felt good to just enjoy the hug and be pampered for a change.

[himluv]

Indulgence

Oh, well, hello there! Would you like some Solavellan? Yes? Well, me too! *offers fic on silver platter*

Set a month or so after Excuses. Enjoy!

Riallan stood in the gardens of the Winter Palace, trying to decide if she would rather vomit on the rhododendrons, or punch the nearest Orlesian in the face.

“Do try to look less murderous, my dear,” Dorian said from beside her. “You might not notice, but behind those hideous masks, you’ve frightened every noble in attendance.”

“Good,” she growled. “They should be afraid of me.”

He patted her shoulder. “Well, I do love a good political suicide. Let me know if you want any pointers.” He shot her a salacious grin, and then moved off to mingle with the gossiping Orlesians. She watched as women tittered and men scowled at the mage. They were curious about him; it was so rare to have a Tevinter at the palace. He was a novelty, something dangerous and exotic.

She was just a rabbit. And a savage one at that.

“He has a point,” Solas said from behind her. That would be his place this evening, and she hated it. She knew he was just playing his role as her ‘serving man’, a title she had staunchly refused when Josephine had proposed it. He had overruled her.

She turned her face just enough to meet his eye. “Ame tel’nuvena’ea min’an.” Not like this, not in some shem dress playing some stupid shem game. She wanted to burn the palace to the ground and take back what had been stolen from her people. This was Halam’shiral. It was supposed to be the end of their journey, the start of the elves’ new sovereignty. Instead it was a monument to some shemlen empire that built itself on the backs of her people.

“I know, vhenan,” he said. His voice was low, and the tenderness in it soothed her. “You are right to crave justice. And the surest way to attain it is to defeat the Orlesians at their own Game.”

She nearly groaned, though remembered not to at the last minute. He was right of course. She and Josephine had trained for weeks for this event, teaching her to carry conversations in lilting, cyclical patterns, never providing a straight answer. It was exhausting, but she had to admit she found the challenge satisfying.

And she had proved a quick study.

The harder lessons had been the dancing. Shemlen dances were so… boring. Every move was calculated, adhered to some rule. There was no carefree lifting of the spirit, no joyous leaps or claps, no pounding feet to the rhythm. Just lifeless twirls and limp hands touching across great distances. She was not looking forward to that aspect of the evening.

“Show them you are a woman to be feared,” he whispered, suddenly so close she felt the heat of his breath at her ear. “Find me later.”

And then he moved on, walking by as if they hadn’t spoken at all. She watched him go, so tall and upright in that ridiculous red suit coat, and though the humans were oblivious due to the shape of his ears, she saw the threat in his walk. In the way his hips moved as he wove between shem after shem too careless to see him. But it didn’t matter, the message wasn’t for them.

It was for her.

It had been a foolish risk, but the Orlesians were too self-involved to notice the whispered pause at her ear. If it hadn’t been for the ridiculous coat and sash, none of the party guests would look at him at all. He would have preferred it that way.

He had business that evening.

Once the Inquisition had been formally announced, he removed the hat Josephine had insisted on, then found a quiet alcove where he undid his sash and turned his jacket inside out. Without the glaring red fabric he had a better chance to walk through the palace unnoticed.

The Winter Palace was a lovely enough building, and the rumors he heard as he paced through the halls were delightful. He was certain Lady Nightingale would appreciate anything he could share, even if many of the names were meaningless to him.

Though he was an elf, and no human seemed to note the differences in his appearance from the other servants, the city elves knew he was not one of them. They kept their distance and cast distrustful, yet curious glances. They could not fathom what he truly was. To them his people were little better than a myth. A legend of a time when the elves had been the dominant race in Thedas, a fairy tale to tell sleepy children. But there were a few who knew him for who he was.

Of course he had his own agents within the palace. Not many, only two were working the ball, but it was enough to leave a door open here, ensure a window was unlocked there. It took less than fifteen minutes for him to leave the main party, duck through the servants’ quarters, and then climb a trellis to a second floor balcony. Once on the second level he found the third door on the right unlocked.

Within was what he’d searched for since he awoke from uthenera. An eluvian leaned in a corner of the room, a sheet thrown over it haphazardly, so that only a portion of the glass was covered.

Even without approaching it, he felt its power. The gentle thrum of magic called to him, as if it wanted him to touch it. Of all of the ancient artifacts left from Elvhenan, the eluvians remained the most intact. Though many of them were dormant or destroyed, those that were whole functioned no differently than they had before he’d raised the veil.

It was miraculous, and incredibly fortuitous for him.

He stepped up to the mirror and pressed his palm to the glass. Instantly the magic reacted, the glass liquifying under his touch and roiling with power. He focused, listening to the hum of energy and channeling his will into the mirror. He did not think Briala would come up with a strong enough password for the mirror to prevent him from overriding it, but he was weaker than he had ever been before.

He stood there with his eyes closed, nudging the magic of the eluvian, for much longer than he would have liked. But when the mirror flashed a bright blue in answer to his call, he grinned. Then he heard the echo of Briala’s password in the mirror’s power and laughed.

A blessing indeed.

After asserting his control over the eluvian once more, it was a simple thing to rejoin the party at large. Don the foolish cap, turn the coat right side out, and find a nice, inconspicuous spot from which to enjoy the festivities. By the time Riallan found him leaning against a statue with a view to the courtyard, he was on his third glass of wine and had just eaten a delicious little frosted cake.

Needless to say, he was in high spirits.

“There you are,” she said as she joined him. She was resplendent in a gown of gauzy white and sea-foam green, with silver beadwork on the bodice. What little there was of it. Unlike many of the gowns in the palace tonight, this one was cinched at her waist, but left loose to flow about her legs like fog. It made it seem as if she were gliding everywhere she stepped. The plunging neckline and high slit at her left thigh gave daring glimpses of her figure, glimpses he was all too happy to appreciate.

Judging by her blush, his attentions had not gone unnoticed. “I hope you’re being treated well,” she said. A servant with a tray of wine glasses went by, and he snagged one for her before the elf vanished down the hall.

“Reasonably,” he said and handed it to her. “The nobles ignore me, though I notice their curious glances. And the servants seem happy enough to fill my glass.”

She gave him a knowing smile. “Solas, are you drunk?”

He snorted. “Hardly.” Then he considered it. “Maybe a little.” A slow grin claimed his lips and he let his eyes linger over her. He waited until she took a sip of wine to say, “I do adore the blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events.”

Riallan choked into her wine, a sound startling enough that several pairs of eyes turned to look at her. And while she was the Inquisitor and a source of curiosity for the Orlesians, she was speaking to her ‘elven serving man’; surely nothing interesting could happen between them.

It was a sort of dare. How close could he get, how salacious his looks, before the humans caught on? Before rumors started in earnest? On another day he would have avoided such complications, but tonight, after his success and his indulgence?

What was one more?

He was gratified when Riallan recovered, took another sip of wine, and smirked at him. “Been to many such events, have you?”

He was lucky, and he knew it. She trusted him, believed all his tales of adventures in the Fade. And while not wholly untrue, it wasn’t quite the truth either. And yet the excuse poured from him as if by second nature. “In the Fade I have had many opportunities to witness such splendors. Throughout time the powerful remain the same, only the costumes change.”

The bell rang, calling the attendees back to the main ballroom. She looked over her shoulder, and then back to him. “Do you have any interest in dancing?”

“A great deal,” he said. Then, because he knew he ought to, added, “but dancing with the elven apostate would grant you few favors with the court.”

She rolled her eyes and took another sip of wine. She seemed hesitant to leave him, as if being close to him anchored her in the sea of masks and lies. It made his heart ache in his chest, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to dance with her in front of each and every human there.

“Perhaps once our business here is done?”

She smiled at him, a slow secret thing that promised something much more tantalizing than a simple dance. “I’d like that,” she said, and then turned away to march back up the stairs and to the ballroom.

He did not bother hiding his interest in her retreating figure. He wouldn’t have been able to keep his eyes off of her even if he tried.

Riallan was pretty sure there was blood on her dress. She had tried to keep from making a mess, but the evening had other plans. She leaned against the balcony railing, taking solace in the solitude, and downed another glass of wine to settle her nerves.

She had done it. She had outed Florianne in front of the entire court. She had forced Celene, Gaspard, and Briala to work together. And she had uncovered that no one in this whole Void-damned country was truly innocent. Each noble she’d met, even the Elven Ambassador, had done terrible things in the pursuit of power.

And now the question must be asked, was she doomed to become one of them?

She almost had that night. It would have been so easy just to let Celene die and clean up the mess after the fact. She had almost agreed to the plan. It was Briala’s deceptions that changed her mind. Not because she particularly thought that Celene deserved to be saved, but because she didn’t think her other options were truly any better.

Maybe all together, they would cancel each other out.

Music came through the door behind her as it opened. The silence of the footsteps on the marble gave him away. She smiled at Solas as he joined her at the railing.

“I thought I might find you out here.” He had that silly hat on again, and she couldn’t help but laugh. She snatched it off his head and threw it off the balcony. Let someone find it in the gardens tomorrow morning and they could speculate what had happened. Something untoward no doubt.

“Good riddance,” she said.

He laughed, and it was the open, free sound like when he was in the Fade. “I doubt Lady Montilyet will agree.”

“You let me deal with Josephine.”

His chuckle faded as he watched her, and then concern tinged his expression. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “Yes, just tired. It was a very long, very trying day.” Well, night. It had been daylight when they arrived at the palace, and now the sun tinged the sky, promising a new day.

“You did well,” he told her. “I suspect very few would be able to convince these three to work together.”

“I’m not convinced it will work, but it’s enough for now. Orlais is stable. Corypheus will not gain traction here.”

His hand reached out to rest on her ribcage. The gown left her sides and back mostly exposed, and the warmth of his palm on her skin set her blood alight. “Come,” he said. “Dance with me, before the band stops playing.”

She let out a huff, part laughter, part exhaustion, but said, “I thought you’d never ask.”

He swept her into the middle of the balcony, her gown swishing across the stone, and for a moment she felt as if only his hand on her low back kept her from floating away.

He spun her in slow circles, his posture formal and upright, his arm held high as he led her along with the lilting strings from inside the ballroom. She hadn’t expected such practiced ease, and at first she was disappointed. She didn’t want to dance another stiff and cold shem dance, but as he spun and twirled, his hand firm on her back, she finally understood the appeal.

It felt like flying. Her feet moved but she didn’t know how, she just followed him, went where he guided. It was a complete surrender, an act of trust that made her head spin and her heart soar. The song faded away, but he didn’t let go of her. Instead he pulled her close, his arms around her waist and swayed with her, dancing lazy circles on the balcony.

Riallan draped her arms around his neck and lay her head against his chest. She was tired, physically and emotionally, and in this tender moment she wasn’t sure what feeling would win out. As the weight of the evening crashed down from her shoulders, she took in a shuddering breath, battling senseless tears. Solas ran a hand up and down her spine and hummed one of Maryden’s slower songs, soothing her.

The moment overwhelmed her, and there was only one thing to do. She took his face in both hands and kissed him, hard. She didn’t have words for him, at least not any that could do all her feelings justice. So she poured it all into him the only way she knew how.

Solas accepted her every confession, his lips and tongue moving with hers just as easily as he’d led her through their dance. She lost herself in the heat of his mouth, in the wine-sweet taste of him, and the press of his arms around her.

They’d stopped dancing, and her nails scraped at the back of his head. His hands began to wander, his fingers exploring all the skin the dress left bare, until they were both gasping.

The music was louder for a moment, but Riallan didn’t think much about it. At least, not until she heard Dorian’s voice.

“I thought I’d find— vishante kaffas!”

She pulled away from Solas, both of them staring at the door to the ballroom. Dorian stood there, a wine glass in each hand, and a horrified expression on his face. He looked from her to Solas, then back again. His mouth opened, closed, opened again, and then, “ah… I’m interrupting. Obviously.” He cleared his throat. “I was going to suggest we celebrate,” he lifted the wine glasses as evidence, “but it seems you already are.” He shot Riallan a glare that said she would have to tell him everything. Soon. Then he stepped back into the ballroom, taking both glasses with him.

Riallan looked at Solas and burst out laughing. For once his cheeks were just as pink as hers, and the sticky gloss Josephine had insisted she wear glistened on, and around, his mouth.

He gave her a half-hearted glare and wiped at his mouth. He pulled a face at the gloss on his fingers. “So much for keeping this secret,” he said.

That only made her laugh more, and he couldn’t keep from smiling at the sound. She pulled him back to her, shared another, brief kiss, and sighed as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Can we go home now?” She asked, but a yawn interrupted the words.

“I think that’s reasonable,” he murmured into her hair. But already his heartbeat at her ear was lulling her into the Fade. “Come, vhenan,” he said. “Before we cause another scene.”

She hummed, but stepped away from him. “I still think these humans could use a proper, elven scandal.”

His laughter followed her back into the palace, warming her when the marble walls left her cold.

[crisisengine]

review: TEENS OF STYLE

Teens of Style was Will Toledo (aka Car Seat Headrest)’s 2015 major label debut. However, rather than being a paradigm shift into new, polished studio-recorded material (which would come on the next record, Teens of Denial), it was instead a laptop-recorded look back at the Will’s lo-fi Bandcamp days, compiling together older songs from different projects (mainly his first non-numbered album My Back is Killing Me Baby and the relentless but captivating breakup record Monomania). Now that Will has a firmly established musical reputation outside of the world of Bandcamp and people are enjoying all his work, both new and old, I thought it would be a good time to explore whether this record holds up in its own right. It is more than just a greatest hits compilation? (short answer: ABSOLUTELY YES!)

I like how the refrain from SUNBURNED SHIRTS closes and opens Car Seat Headrest’s first trilogy of major label albums. It’s cool to see how, on this song and on ‘Twin Fantasy (Those Boys)’, the same words and melodies are used in totally different contexts (though, here, we also get the eargasmic “People here bang on the walls late at night…” part). This one oozes dreamlike, summery vibes. I love the psychedelic sound collage at the start and, from there, it’s a pleasure to watch the song build up into the final rock-out ending. 

The opening riff of THE DRUM is perfectly produced. Whenever it appears, sometimes without warning, I get total chills. The guitar tone cuts through like an ice pick. The verses build on this in a muddier fashion but, by the time the vocals come to a head (“The Drum’s in debt!!) I am absolutely won over. Andrew Katz’s spritely drum fills add a fitting contrast to the breakdown and final verse really does give off a bizarre sense of triumph (“he’s got his flag unfurled or something”). I enjoy how, after the opener has gradually drawn us in, this song feels like a decisive overture, a setting of the scene for the album.

SOMETHING SOON is a brilliantly put-together pop song. The verses’ lyrical vignettes of cabin-fever turn into outright desperation in the chorus. It pinpoints these feelings really accurately. The skittering breaks in the verses release themselves into the crashing choruses and outro.  Each section is bookended by the same repeating electric piano chord. The explosion from this pared down moment into the final burst of energy just seems so right.

Like ‘The Drum,’ NO PASSION also rests on an exquisite moment of production. In the final chorus when Will sings “I” in his high register, it’s like a shot through the heart. The sarcastic image of failure in the verses compliments this so well – a succession of half-formed images that seem to suck away all feeling. The comparative earnestness of “I just needed more money, more time, more love” hits home. Our generation often try to rationalise things through sarcasm when really there is something more deeply lacking in our lives. The line “All my desires are so poorly drawn” also really resonates with me.

TIMES TO DIE adds to this album’s incredibly strong selection of opening moments of tracks. The wandering bassline interlocks with the chug of a delayed guitar followed by a single note. There’s something incredibly satisfying about it, especially when you are aware of the sound bath you are about to enter. The psychedelic vocal and guitar interplay in the verses is a highlight – in the first, they mirror each other but, in the second, the guitar skirts around the vocals, carving out new crevices. Their two melodies collide at the end of said verse, in a really affecting way (“but he just keeps singing this song”). The use of horns and cut-up vocals enlivens the sound palette. It feels like a series of ancient rooms with each section or lyrics (“and when they took him to the temple…”) leading somewhere new. A light seems to shine through as the melodies cascade upwards. The “most of the time” section provides nice segue into the “divine council” part which feels like an explosion, with the “is it harder to speak?” section as its fallout. The intermingling of imagery or religion and the music business (“got to believe in the one above me, got to believe that [Vince]Lombardi [head of Matador records] loves me”) is playful and dreamlike.

PSST TEENAGERS is a fun interlude that adds some more immediate energy into a generally fairly meditative album.

The opening verses of STRANGERS leave you inquisitive as to where the song is heading. All becomes clear when the tension of the exclamatory chorus is released in the lovely, picked instrumental break that follows (again enhanced by some inventive drum rhythms). The second section is the real stunner though, starting off cocoon-like and vulnerable but leading into a volatile crescendo. The line “I won’t last too much longer” and its raw delivery convey a sense of enigmatic fragility that I find very affecting.

The keyboard riff in MAUD GONE swamps the mix in the best way possible. I love its distorted, wet tones. The sax solo at the song’s crescendo provides the perfect counterpoint to it, too. Its muscular, sinewy texture cuts through emphatically in the context of the album’s drenched sound palette. As the notes reach up, the instrument seems to become an incredible, cathartic pressure valve, leeching out a lot of confused unspoken feelings as the notes reach up. The metaphor of “a full moon every night” is enticingly simple but also utterly apt for the feelings it describes.

LOS BARRACHOS has an infectious opening synth lick. As it bubbles under the verses, I’m just waiting for it to return with its full force. The wry but combative tone of the song’s opening (“let’s […] crush the grapes beneath our feet/ like some heartbroken Bacchus”) reflects Will’s desperate attempt to rekindle this relationship, to change his situation, to turn sadness into hedonism. These illusions can’t last, however. The riff does not return. Instead the song melts into a kind of broken, abject despair. “I miss you.” The disintegration of the song’s subtitle to just “Don’t have any hope left” is heart-breaking. It’s the most visceral portrait of a breakdown I’ve ever heard.

BAD ROLE MODELS, OLD IDOLS EXHUMED is my favourite song title ever. The track (the only new song written for Teens of Style) feels like a self-aware reflection on the nature of this album. The images of a figure from the past who once meant a lot but is now insignificant in the life of the narrator seem to tally somewhat with the way in which the album is made up of songs taken from previous projects. Past relationships, and the hurt they have caused, are dismissed and rationalised into triviality and insignificance. The horns and the final refrain make for a strangely celebratory ending, like a forced annulment of regrets (“You probably looked like an idiot in that hat!”) in the face of a resolve to move forward. This forced, performative break with the past, however, seems only to emphasise how the wounds are still very much open, just as the songs here, despite their pre-dating of the album itself, lose none of their emotional potency.

The chorus of OH, STARVING! is deliberately contradictory but also feels very comprehensible. The boredom of a life that seems superficially better as, opposed to a past delineated by clear highs and lows, is a recognisable feeling. Sometimes things being superficially ‘ok’ just makes you painfully aware of how far away you are from the things you really want in life, while impending pressures can obscure this, making any brief moments of solace much sweeter. In the context of the album, this also seems to imply a sense of nostalgia with regard to the events and feelings laid out in these songs. Even though this album deals with confusion, depression and heartbreak, in hindsight, the potency and simplicity of these feelings (given the separation of time between the writing and re-recording of these tracks) could almost seem preferable to the confused present. Yet, by the end of the song, Will seems to finally be able to let go. Saying “goodbye” to all his “secret files” seems almost ritualistic, like he is purging himself of the confusions of the past and moving on. I like this version of the song best because of the moment, at the very end, when the delicate piano chords and doo-wop harmonies are replaced by raw, shredding guitars and a single voice singing “goodbye” so distortedly the word is almost incomprehensible. The raw power of this moment seems to work up a head of steam, like an exorcism of the kinks and bruises of the past, in favour of something.

There isn’t Car Seat Headrest album I’ve heard that I don’t love. However, I think Teens of Style undoubtedly ranks among the best of them. It might just be one of my favourite albums of all time. It does lack the conceptual charge that powers Twin Fantasy, Monomania, Teens of Denial and even, to some extent, How to Leave Town. However, despite their lack of a heavy overarching theme, these songs flow together really well. The album feels cohesive thanks to its spring-reverbed production aesthetic (which reminds me of being indoors on a hot summer day) and the smaller themes that recur throughout (resentment of the past, confusion in the present, getting signed to a major indie label). The tweaks to the lyrics of many of these songs make the creative intent yet more apparent.

I also think this album definitely does not negate the albums from which these songs are taken. I love Monomania and My Back is Killing Me Baby and, if you haven’t listened to them you should definitely do so right now! There are bunch of essential songs on both albums that are not on this one (‘father, flesh in rags,’ ‘Souls,’ ‘happy news for sadness,’ ‘Sleeping with Strangers,’ I could go on…). However, for me, the songs on this album benefit from being recontextualised and, in certain cases, from being rerecorded. It’s great to be able to experience the stronger standalone songs from these previous records in the context of album that lets them breathe a little more, outside of context. 

The most obvious example is ‘Los Barrachos’ which I think works amazingly well as the climactic track for this album. On Monomania, placed somewhere in the middle, it felt more like a just another rung in the downward spiral of heartbreak. On Teens of Style, it has room to breathe and can finally reach its full potential. Similarly, ‘Maud Gone’ benefits hugely from its re-recording. The crisp yet bedraggled sound palette of the new version feels much more fitting than the original and, in the context of a more emotionally diverse album, the catharsis it brings is more powerful (especially coming after ‘Strangers’).

Teens of Style might be made up moments from the past, but it more than proves its worth as a cohesive album that is great in its own right.

[imagine-darksiders]

Might I be so bold as to ask for something short and sappy about noticing how lovely Oran's eyes look? The Wardens have gorgeous swirling blue eyes, and Oran is best Warden.

Here you go. Hope you enjoy. :) x

—

There are few things Oran prefers of the wakingworld to the realm of dreams. For ancient stone, dreams are a solace- an escape from the heaviness of gigantic limbs and sturdy jointschoked by tree roots or creeping vines. When he’s asleep, Oran canpretend he’s still the maker he used to be, surrounded by friends, afamily - beings he looked out for, loved and lauded…..Until he leftthem. 

There is a loneliness that lives deep withinstone, a kind to which he feared he’d be forever subjected. Ittranscends unconsciousness, permeating the minds of even the deepestdreamers until they could even feel the soul-wrenchingsolitude in their sleep. And Oran was a deeper dreamer than most

The old warden despised the aloneness ofstone. And eternity is a long time to bewithout a friend. 

But after a many, many eons of slumberingpeacefully in the fjord, nestled in a sheltered cove just west of the maker village, TriStone - something deigned to rouse him.

The first memory Oran can recall from his secondwaking, is of a light blooming brighter than any solar fire, chasing away the comforting darkness of sleep and he remembersreaching out into the void to softly beg, ‘No, not yet.’ 

Though when his blue heartstone inevitably ignited andwith it, his similarly coloured eyes, he looked to the grassy earth and found himselfbeing gazed upon by an odd pair of creatures, the likes of which he’dnever come across. 

He didn’t imagine for a moment that he’d cometo call the bizarre, little fleshings friends. For even the term ‘friend’ was almostas lost to him as he himself was. 

The first - Death - was a strange one. Hardboiled.Incurious. Cold, though not as much as he’d perhapslike to appear. 

Then, there was you. Oran’sold stone jaw still lifts fondly every time he recalls the firstwords he ever heard you say, in your tiny, silveryvoice. ‘Oh, Death… He’s incredible!’

To think - Oran; an old construct, a hunk of coldrock, reanimated by stone infused with a dead maker’ssoul….incredible. 

This coming from someone as new and warm and fullof life and love and light as you. You were - are - by far theyoungest creature that Oran has ever interacted with and to beginwith, he wasn’t quite sure what he ought to make of you. 

You had an adventurer’s spirit, there was no doubtabout that. More often than not, he would find himself reduced to aliving mountain that you would use as your own, personal climbingframe. Despite the near fatal drop below your feet, he never detectedany trace of fear as you picked your way up his leg and torso,finding handholds in any little nook or crevice. As long as you’recareful, he never minds it. You could both pass hours, contentin each other’s company, simply talking. 

Well, he would talk. You on theother hand have recently discovered that he makes the gentlest,rumbling noises when you dig your fingers into the gaps between hisstony knuckles and meticulously clear out centuries’ worth of dirt,rock and flint that grind painfully in his joints. So, you contentyourself to listen to the construct’s dazzling tales of when he wasa young maker on the cusp of a great adventure. All the while, you’dbe tugging at stubborn roots that have made their home behind thefirst knuckle of his monumental thumb. 

 With only a little coaxing, you’d managed to convince him toleave his lonely little grotto and venture into the open space of theStonefather’s Vale. He settled himself with a contented hum in thecentre of the valley, crushing thousands of tiny grass blades beneathhis bulk and there, he stayed for the past week or so. When one lives as long as stone, even a week canfly by faster than seconds. He often tells you – each time you ask– that he could happily remain in the same position for decades ifneed be, and he wouldn’t become uncomfortable.  

It’s on one such evening of clearing debris out of his fingers that you find yourself passing the time, basking in the slowly fading sunlight in Oran’s palm. Turning his gigantic head into the light, he letsout an appreciative hum as its warmth hits his stone.

The vale is – admittedly – a far more cheerfulplace to rest his heavy limbs than his old cove. Out here, unhindered by high, cliff walls, the sunwarms him from dawn until it disappears behind Stonefather’s peak atdusk. Here he’s closer to the makers, closer to the Shaman whose wisdom makes for exceptional conversation. 

And – more importantly – it means you’vestopped risking life and limb sneaking out of the village to visithim in the fjord. That isn’t to say you aren’t at risk making this short trip. The Makers Realm contains innumerable, hidden dangers. It only takes one to find you and then….

Oran’s jaw tightens. “Death won’t be happy you’re out here,” herumbles, rather than finish his own musing. 

Planting your foot against his rocky thumb, yougrab a long, twisted old root that’s lodged itself between his jointsand give it an almighty heave. “He’s. Not. My. Dad!” Onthe last word, the root abruptly loosens and comes free, sending youtumbling backwards onto the hard palm with an ‘oof!’

The giant construct’s swirling eyes – a soft,cornflower blue – flash brightly and he raises you closer to hisface, meeting your upside-down gaze with a mildly alarmed expressiontwisting his brow stones together. “Are you okay?”

Triumphantly thrusting the root into the air, yourshoot him a lopsided grin. “You betcha!”

Despite the lack of any semblance of lungs, Oranhuffs out a quick laugh and a gust of wind - carrying the distinctscent of cedar wood on it - blasts your hair back from your face. Youreturn his amusement, pushing yourself upright again and spinningaround to face his huge, square jaw. “So-” You toss the root overthe side of his palm. “-How’s that feel?”

Behind you, Oran’s fingers give an experimentalwiggle, flexing back and forth. Already, there’s a noticeabledifference in the sound. No longer can you hear the hard woodcreaking as it’s moved and bent by even harder stone. With a resonanthum, his jaw raises several feet into the air, conveying a smile asbest he can. “It is….much more comfortable. Thank you.”

As gentle as a living mountain can be, he lowershis head in a gesture you’ve recently become familiar with, promptingyou to stand, stretch up on your toes so you can meet him on his waydown to you. You have to lean over his chin as it bumps into yourstomach and knees, but you manage to flatten yourself across thesmooth, noseless surface of his face, right between those swirlingeyes. Of all the creatures you’ve run into in the Forge Lands, younever would have imagined that Oran would be among the mostaffectionate – a close second only to Karn.

Fingers stretching out and finding purchasebetween the little cracks and divots of Oran’s face, you smilefondly. “You know, for someone made of literal stone, you’reactually a really big softie.”

Mmph,” he grumbles in response, even as his eyesdim – the closest a construct can come to closing them –and his fingers twitch slightly inwards.

The sensation of your warm, miniscule handspatting the coarse rock just below his eye sends Oran’s heartstoneinto a dizzying, upward spiral. Even as a maker, such displays oftenderness were infrequent and very seldom shared. As a construct, itwasn’t just a rarity. There wasn’t a single creature in the wholerealm that would indulge him like this, not before you came along.

When you eventually pull away, taking the small,flickering sliver of warmth with you, his heartstone gives adesperate lurch. ’Longer!’ it seems to cry, the magics within it reaching out to you on invisible tendrils of light, only to settle when he realises thatyour hands remain pressed to his face, even if your torso isn’t.

Peering down at you, he raises a brow ridge tofind you staring intently at his right eye.

‘They really are spectacular,’ you think privately. Magic, rather than biology, swirls around in two hollow grooves that resemble a skull’s eye sockets, only these are carved out of stone, not bone. Twin spheres of electric blue hang suspended in the notches, each housing a white, shimmering centre that shrinks and expands like a pupil, giving expression to the otherwise rigid face. Right now, those centres are blown wide, drowning a majority of the blue. 

He watches cautiously as your mouth opens, snapsshut again before finally, you blurt, “You’ve gotreally nice eyes, you know!”

In seconds you feel like smacking your headagainst his chin, An extensive vocabulary – thousands of variousadjectives that you could have used to describe an ancient creature ofliving stone, but no. You used ’nice.’ Your old english teacher would behaving a fit. But, to your surprise, Oran recoils like he’d justbeen struck, dislodging loose fragments of rock and pebbles that goskittering down his back and onto the ground below. “That is…”He pauses to consider you for a moment. “…a new one.”

Hiding your face in your hands, you let out amortified whine. “Argh! I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that!”

All of a sudden, a guttural rumble from overheadrolls like thunder through his palm and rattles your bones. It’s acurious sound, thoughtful and almost pleased. Not huffy andirritated, as you’d expected. Before too long, a stone digit – toolarge to lift your chin without fear of damaging you – bumps intoyour side, gently coaxing you to lower your arm so he might see yourface.

“You like my eyes?”

His voice is hopeful enough to turn your stomachto jelly. “Of course I do,” you softly declare,“They’re…they’re resplendent!”

‘Oh, that’s a much better word,’ you quietly realise. 

A little shellshocked, Oran leans back further,letting his gaze slip over your head to stare off into thedistance.”Resplendent?” he echoes in a murmur.

What an unfathomable, impossible thing for you tosay.

As large as his mind is, it struggles tocomprehend the significance. 

Of course, he understands the term ‘resplendent,’though not when its used in direct correlation with an aspect ofhis..

It was akin to an Archangel calling a Traumabeautiful. The word and the subject just don’t fit.

To have someone likeyou call even a single feature of his 'resplendent,’ fills him withan elation he hasn’t known for eons.

You – with your paper-thin skin, soft as anangel’s feather and twice as delicate. And not to mention your faceof a thousand expressions. Expressions he could never hope torecreate with his clumsy, immalleable jaw.

You are as contrary to him as the earth is to the sky. 

Oran is a self-described blunderer. A slow, deliberate goliath. What he is not, is magnificent. 

“Did you hit your head when you fell?” hechuckles, “Think you might be talking a bit of rubbish..”

Constructs are incapable of blushing, though thatdoesn’t mean his bashfulness is easily hidden.

You smile fondly as he shifts his head to the sideand peers up at the sky. Even clearing your throat fails to draw hiseye back down to you.

With an exaggerated sigh, you sit back on yourhaunches, fingers drumming thoughtfully against your knees. “Okay, I’ll grant you,I do talk a lot of rubbish,” you eventually concede, pursing yourlips and making it a point not to stare at him when he rolls hisattention over to you again, “but I wasn’t talking rubbish about you. I’ve alwaysthought your eyes – heck – allof you is beautiful. But – now don’t judge me, but to quote anEarth song – you’ve got the most unbelievable blue eyes I’veever seen.”

The construct stares down at you and for a moment,you worry that you may have overdone it.

“Okay..that was cringe-worthy, sorr -”

Without warning, you suddenly find yourself thrustup through the air until Oran is all but crushing you against hisforehead, sandwiching you between his enormous, granite eyebrows.

There’s a little trepidation as they begin toclose in on either side of your head, moved by the construct’sinstinctive frown. You would duck and move away were it not forthe fingertip that he’s wedged underneath your backside to keep youpressed against his face. The jaw below you grinds audibly, clenchedso tightly, you worry the stone will crack under the pressure.

Oran, meanwhile, is struggling to contain thefluctuating pulses his heartstone is hurling out in response to yoursincere words, and his pupils burn white hot, nearly extinguishingthe gentle blue of his sclera.

“Apologies,” he murmurs, hoping you’d forgivehis unexpected behaviour, “you are the first creature s'ever said Iwas anything…anything good. It’s…nice.”

“Well, if I knew it meant this much to you, I’dhave said something sooner.”

On a whim, you brush some loose dust from hisforehead and plant a firm kiss to the stone, hard enough that hecould feel it. You laugh when a low, warbling shudder rolls throughhis massive body, vibrating the stone around you and causing yourteeth to clack together as though you’d been caught up in the world’sfriendliest earthquake.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Suddenly, you jerk away from Oran’s face as a newvoice calls out from somewhere near his bent knee. The constructlowers his hand slightly, almost sliding you off his fingertip beforeremembering himself and bends it slowly until you can easily hop downonto his palm again. Crawling to peer over the edge, you catch sightof Death, standing with his hands on both hips and his boot tappingdully on the grass.

“Hey Death!” you wave.

Above you, Oran’s pupils shrink and his stonyfeatures fall dejectedly. Only the horseman notices though, and heresists the temptation to roll his eyes and tut.

For such a monstrous juggernaut of unfathomablepower, Oran always manages to look like a kicked puppy each and everytime Death arrives to steal you away.

“I’m going to need that back,” he quips,gesturing towards you, “The Warden is getting ready to open thepath into the Foundry.”

“The Foundry? But-” Oran suddenly blurts andglances down at you, fingers curling around you in a guarding stance,“…but, it’s dangerous, horseman.”

“The whole world is dangerous, Old One,especially for a lone human,” Death replies softly, “So long asY/n doesn’t wander off-” Here, he glares at you pointedly and youduck behind the construct’s finger, “- I can make sure yourfavourite human remains…mostly unharmed.”

Immensely displeased by the horseman’s half-jest,Oran grumbles, the slabs of rock on his shoulders bristling notunlike an angel rumpling it’s wings. He knows full well he can’t stopthe horseman from taking you, but that doesn’t mean he has to likeit. Heartstone screeching in protest, the construct sets his jaw andreluctantly lowers his hand onto the grass, allowing you to scrambleoff and give his thumb an affectionate pat on the way.

“…Death?” he grunts, earning the horseman’sinquisitive glance.

“Mmm?”

After a brief moment’s hesitation, Oran finishes,“Please, bring my friend back in one piece?”

The horseman stops trying to valiantly ignore yourinfectious smile and smirks beneath his mask, although neither younor the construct can actually see it. “One might be a stretch.I’ll do my best to strive for at least three.”

“Death!” you huff chidingly beforeturning a kind eye to the construct, “don’t worry, buddy. I’ll seeyou soon, okay?”

And just like that, with a final wave over yourshoulder, you turn and follow Death towards town, all the whilefeeling Oran’s cerulean gaze linger on you. Although he tried to sayit as softly as possible, sheer size plays to his disadvantage andcarries his gentle words of passing to your ears.

“Be safe, little friend.”

[les-eaux-d-eunoe-blog]

From Atheist to Pantheist to Catholic - My Conversion Story

These are only life events, and cover the Faith part of the Faith + Reason equation. I’ll need to dedicate another post to the philosophical and theological path that occurred in tandem with these events.

I hope you enjoy. :) It’s been a wild ride.

---

-  I am very young and at swimming lessons for the first time. I must be 3 or 4. I fall off the platforms designed to keep our heads above water. No one notices at first. But I am not afraid, just drifting towards a light before I am suddenly yanked out of the water and coughing profusely.

- I attend Sunday school at the insistence of my Grandma. My dad is annoyed. I come home and ask my papa about God. My dad tells me that God is made up. Later in life he tells me he rejected religion when I was born, because he couldn’t understand how a pure and beautiful child could be stained by sin. He devoted his life to science after that. 

This made perfect sense to me, and I carried this attitude with me throughout my life. I became a very critical observer, especially in regards to organized religion.

- My Catholic grandparents bring us to Christmas mass (and continue to do so every year.) My mom is preoccupied with keeping my sister and I quiet. My young brother causes scandal by slipping out of the pew and taking communion unbaptized. He can’t be more than 6, and just wants to participate. (He is now a Christian, for what it’s worth) 

- I backpack in the Wyoming wilderness with my family around age 10. I feel a sense of peace on the mountain rimmed shore of Tomahawk lake. I feel a pattern in the grandeur, a true and humbling sense of awe. I feel something Godlike.  I tell my pop, and he just smiles at me and ruffles my hair.

- I experience manipulation and physical trauma at the hands of peers I place trust in as a child and teen, which scar me deeply.

- I have several night terrors / hypnagogia as a teen where I experience ghosts, and once, a demon. I’m deeply disturbed by these experiences and don’t know how to integrate them into my beliefs as an atheist. 

- My mom tries to help my bad teen acne and irregular cycles by putting me on birth control.

- I’m an average student, and a decent athlete. School is just okay. I don’t excel at much and prefer listening to music and painting in my room. I become interested in boys.

- I graduate high school, start college, and then promptly drop out. My parents kick me out of the house. I spend two years living with a boyfriend and experimenting with weed and hallucinogens.

- My dad asks me to visit my devoutly Catholic great-grandmother Olive once a month in a nursing home at the height of my rebellion. She sees nothing but good in me, despite me feeling utterly fallen. She loves me immensely, and keeps poems I wrote as a young girl in with her collection of favorite prayers.

- My boyfriend becomes abusive and the economy collapses. I lose my job, and eventually break up with him. I ask my parents for forgiveness and move back home. I return to college.

- I discover pantheism, and feel like I’ve finally found a name for the Godlike awe I’ve been chasing since I was a girl on the lakeshore.

- Eventually, my great-grandma Olive succumbs to dementia. I receive a small inheritance from her, which I put towards the cost of completing a French study abroad at a university in Normandy.

- In Normandy, I feel close to the spirit of my great-grandma Olive. Our program includes visits to churches, monasteries, and reliquaries with weekly if not daily frequency. Everything is ancient. I feel sad and disconnected from my American peers, estranged from Norman locals by the language barrier, but form a tight bond with my host family. I spend a lot of time wandering the narrow streets and drinking wine and cidre in cafés trying to make sense of the world. I buy ranunculus and place them on my night stand.  I find solace in the Gothic architecture, and in the tiny orchard towns of the Old Country.

- The last week of my time in France, we visit Paris. My program director arranges for us to attend mass at Notre-Dame de Paris. There are incense and Gregorian chants. Part of the mass is in Latin, the rest is in French. I sketch the vaulted ceilings. I shake hands with a kind-eyed stranger behind me and wish him peace in English, knowing he may not understand my words but feels my intention. After mass, I walk between the arches, and I cry.

- After returning home, I spend a quick summer in my hometown, and pack to leave for Chicago to pursue a bacheor’s degree. I love Chicago and make friends. My first Easter there, I try to find a Catholic church and talk a new boyfriend into coming with me. I dress up and wear a new silk hat. He hates the service and asks if we can leave. I say no and am disappointed in him, despite neither of us being Catholic. I feel, for some reason, I should be there. Maybe because it makes me feel connected to my great-grandmother. We leave and eat strawberries in Millennium park.

- I move out of the dorms and into other neighborhoods. Subsequent years I begin to practice Lent, because I like the principle of it. It seems like a really positive challenge to me. I don’t make the mistake of dragging others with me to Easter mass anymore.

- I graduate college and struggle to find meaningful employment. My body is in tremendous amounts of pain. The doctors can’t figure out what’s wrong with me though. I quit hormonal birth control to see if it helps. My body reels and tries to stabilize without the consistent dose of hormones I’ve been taking daily for the last decade. I fall into an inconsolable and deep depression for the next two years 

- An acquaintance asks me to join a band. As music has been the silver thread pulling me through the darkness, I agree wholeheartedly.

I learn to play bass, and duet vocals with him as he plays lush, reverby guitar and sings in a low timbre. Over the course of the year, we fall in love. He’s tall, serious, dark, with electric blue-green eyes. He’s fiercely intelligent. His smile makes my heart leap from my chest. His name is M.

- One weekend M. and I are spending the morning together, and he casually asks if I’d like to go to Easter mass with him the next day. I’m overcome with surprised joy and happily agree. I dress up once again, and I smile at him with this unexplained feeling of pride as he leaves my side to go take the Eucharist.

- I continue to struggle with my mental health. M. really loves me and encourages me to find a therapist. I do. We find out I have PMDD, and I begin, slowly, working on improving my health.

- My grandpapa is suddenly diagnosed with stomach cancer and is placed in hospice. I fly out immediately to be with him and my family. Within the week, he’s gone. My family grieves in the small hospice chapel. I find myself praying for the peace of his soul.

During this trip, my grandmother is diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s, which breaks my heart. I feel like, in a way, I’ve lost both of my grandparents twenty years too early. I return home.

- My relationship progresses with M. He is a cradle Catholic, but isn’t especially devout. It’s a somber year. The next Easter rolls around, and I once again practice lent. I give up alcohol. Despite still not feeling especially Catholic myself, I begin reading the Bible, starting with the gospels “as a cultural experience.” I think it’s some kind of effort to connect with my roots. I read them on the train as I ride to the record store that I work at.

- One morning on the train, I read the parable of the 10 Virgins. I’ve never heard it before, and I don’t quite understand it. I re-read it over and over again. When I get to work, one of my co-workers is playing Johnny Cash.

- The song playing is "When the Man Comes Around." I am shocked to hear the parable of the 10 virgins in the song.  And I start to wonder if what I’m reading maybe is actually trying to speak to me. So I don’t stop.

- Intrigued by my experience, I decide to fast deeply during lent. Out of curiosity, one evening in my room I try to talk to Jesus for the first time and introduce myself. Nothing spectacular happens, but the room seems to smell like sawdust and sweet wood, and I feel peaceful.

- That Easter, M.’s parents are visiting and invite us to the candlelit vigil service. It’s in a church that’s hundreds of years old called St. Michael’s. The choir is perfect and well practiced, and they sing a Capella. I watch the baptisms of the excited canidates and catechumens, dressed in their special outfits, with happy spouses looking on. I feel this sudden yearning to be one of them. I’m delirious from fasting and feel as if I’m floating. I silently cry again, and think about my grandma, great grandma, and grandpapa. We go out to dinner together and the food tastes incredible after the fast.

- In the weeks following, I keep reading the bible. It becomes my secret.

- M. and I decide to move to Arizona together, to find a better life. We are living paycheck to paycheck, and feel like we might find more gainful employment there.  When we arrive, I spend most mornings standing on the edge of desert landscape, trying to achieve deep meditation to help with my mental health. I memorize the “Our Father” prayer, and say it at the beginning of each session.

- M. and I talk about maybe having children someday. He says that he thinks he might want his kids to go to Catholic school, like he did.

- At this point, I’m already deeply fascinated with Catholicism. I read about saints as I commute around town. I read about the formation of the bible and the desert fathers, I decide that I might want to maybe be Catholic. Then I find out what’s involved. The lengthy process of RCIA keeps me away, and I worry about what my fallen-away father would think. So I keep reading in secret instead.

- I want to donate to a food drive, so M. helps me find a local church to take food to for thanksgiving. They have a prayer shawl ministry. I really want to learn how to knit, so I join, despite not being Catholic or belonging to the parish.

- Months later, I become fascinated with the rosary. I decide to pray a “virtual rosary.” During that experience, I see the Virgin Mary in my mind’s eye. I see her as the female form, then as my own body. I recognize that I’m holding a lot of insecurity and tension in my body as sexual shame. Suddenly, I see my female form as completely beautiful and natural. I feel freedom and peace from that shame I’ve been carrying since I was a child. I don’t know much about the Virgin Mary, but I know that I need to learn more.

- That very night, my boyfriend and I go to see The Smashing Pumpkins. The whole set is filled with imagery referring to the Virgin Mary. I find myself saying the Hail Mary prayer in my head, over and over again. It glitters in my mind like it’s made of gold.

- I read more and more about Our Lady. And I find a small coin necklace with her image. It glitters just like the prayer. I make a pact with myself that if I decide to buy the necklace, that I’ll join RCIA.

- A few days later, I decide to buy the necklace.

- That Sunday, I feel compelled to go to mass alone, even though I’ve never done that before. I walk there. At the end of the service, the church announces its new RCIA director, who I meet after the mass. And I begin the inquiry process within weeks.

[lilacmoon83]

Dreaming Out Loud

Dreaming Out Loud

Chapter 23: Secrets

"Sister Astrid…" Mary said, as she approached her, as she sat at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee.

"Oh...hello Mary Margaret," she greeted in a depressed tone.

"Is something wrong?" Mary asked.

"Not really...just the usual, which is that I'm a complete airhead," she replied.

"No...why would you say that?" Mary asked, as she sat down beside her.

"I am...you won't believe what I did," Astrid fretted.

"I'm sure it's not that bad, whatever it was," Mary soothed.

"When I was ordering the helium for the Miner's Day celebration, I accidentally added an extra zero to the quantity and now we have no money for rent, because I blew it on helium we don't need," she sniffed.

"Oh...well, I'm sure there is a way to come up with the money," Mary said.

"I don't think so. Mother Superior was livid with me. The convent could be shut down, because of my blunder," Astrid replied.

"What about your candles? You sell them every year! They could help you raise the rent money," Mary suggested. Astrid scoffed.

"I sold ten candles last year and you bought half of those," she replied.

"Oh...well, let me help you sell them this year," Mary replied.

"I can't ask you to do that," Astrid said.

"I want to...and I'm sure Stephanie will help too! Please...let us help," Mary pleaded. Astrid looked truly touched.

"Okay...if you really want to," she relented, as she turned away and accidentally spilled her coffee all over Leroy.

"Oh...I'm so sorry! I'm so clumsy!" she cried. Leroy was about to lay into her, until he looked up and got a dreamy look on his face.

"It's...it's no big deal. No worries," he said gruffly, as she started trying to clean him off. Mary smiled, as she watched the exchange and helped mop up the counter with napkins.

"I'm such a mess," Astrid fretted, but Mary squeezed her shoulder.

"He doesn't seem mad at all and we'll get that money, you'll see," Mary said, as she carried one of the boxes back to her table.

"It's a good book, isn't it?" she asked her love, as she saw him reading it. He looked up at her with wide eyes.

"Are you okay, baby?" she asked and he quickly smiled.

"Yeah...I'm fine. You're right, it's a good book," he agreed, as he saw the box.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Oh...well sister Astrid needs to raise the convent's rent money to fix a mistake so I offered to help her sell them," she replied. He smiled and kissed her tenderly.

"That's very sweet of you," he said, as he pulled out his wallet and gave her money for one of the candles.

"Honey, they're only five dollars," she said, as she looked at the twenty, but he only kissed her in response.

"Keep it…" he said, as he got the box for her.

"Ready to go home?" he asked, as he tucked the book in his jacket pocket. She bit her bottom lip and hooked her hand on his elbow.

"More than ready, handsome," she purred, as they left the diner for the loft.

"Here it is! This is his bike!" Henry called, as Emma glanced at the license plate. It was a Maine license plate, but somehow she didn't quite believe he was a resident of this state.

"What do you think is in the box?" Henry asked, as he moved to touch it.

"Kid...we can't just go snooping and touching someone else's property without cause," she chided, as he pulled his hand away.

"Yeah...besides, you could just ask and I might tell you," a voice said, as they turned to find the rider of the motorcycle before them with an amused look.

"Uh...hi. I'm Sheriff Swan...and I guess you've met Henry," she said.

"Have I done something illegal, Sheriff?" he asked coyly. She smiled.

"No...I'm Emma and my kid is just really curious about new people. We don't get a lot of strangers in town," she mentioned.

"Nice to meet you, Emma. I'm August W. Booth," he introduced himself, as they shook hands.

"What's the W stand for?" she asked.

"Wayne," Henry answered and August chuckled.

"Kid has a good memory," he mentioned.

"Oh trust me, he never forgets anything," Emma added.

"So...what's in the box?" Henry asked.

"What do you think is in the box?" August asked. The boy shrugged and he chuckled, as he opened it, revealing a typewriter.

"Whoa...that thing is ancient," Emma commented.

"Hey…" August said in offense and she smirked.

"Sorry...but you do know this is the twenty-first century, right? They have laptops now," she mentioned.

"Oh yeah, because this town looks like it's the modern center of the east coast," he countered.

"Don't get my started on how this place is stuck in 1983," she joked, as there was an awkward pause and Henry looked between them.

"So...how did you find the town?" Henry asked bluntly.

"Kid…" she scolded, as she nudged him, but August only chuckled.

"Yeah, this place is a bit out of the way, so to speak," he mentioned and Emma gave him a scrutinizing gaze. She couldn't get a clear read on this guy, but her superpower was telling her he was definitely hiding something.

"So...you're a writer?" she asked. He nodded.

"Yep...just traveling up the coast looking for a good story," he replied.

"Yeah, well I'm not sure there's anything here like that," she deferred.

"Oh I don't know...good stories are usually in the places you least expect them," he replied.

"Does Granny's have good food?" he asked. She shrugged.

"The onion rings are pretty great," Emma replied. He nodded.

"Great...onion rings. I'll have to try them," he said, as he unhooked the case that held his typewriter.

"It was nice to meet you both. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around," he said, as he walked away toward the diner.

"Who do you think he is?" Henry asked.

"I don't know...but I think I'm more interested in what he might want...or what he knows," Emma replied, as she watched him go.

For a few short hours, David forgot about what he was reading in the old, leather bound book and lost himself in Mary. He wasn't exaggerating to his daughter earlier when he said he had fallen in love with her all over again as Mary, because he had. Never had he thought he could ever love Snow more than he already did. But meeting Mary, who was Snow, but not quite, was a unique experience. And he fell hard all over again. He loved being Mary's Prince Charming as much as he loved being Snow's.

Making love to Mary was like making love to Snow, though Mary had been much more timid and shy at first. Twenty-eight years of being put down required him to convince her how incredibly beautiful he thought she was and little by little, Mary had started to come out of her shell.

That was evident when she came out of the bathroom in a sheer piece of lingerie that he was pretty sure she bought just for him. Dressing in lingerie was a very Snow thing for her to do. It was something Snow had done on numerous occasions for him back in their land. The clothing and styles may have been different here, but no less sexy. The shy look on her face the self conscious way she had looked down as he stared at her in awe was all Mary. But as he took her in his arms and looked at her with love, her insecurities melted away, as he kissed her and clearly conveyed how aroused he was by her. Then a side of her he had only seen in Snow came out. She couldn't get his clothes off him fast enough and he became lost in a haze of pleasure, created by her. Being pinned beneath her and the vision of her riding him was something that would be etched in his memory forever. The joy and pleasure of undressing her completely became his as he returned the favor by taking her hard, as she begged him to.

He should have been sleeping as deeply as she was now after the several bouts of lovemaking they had engaged in. But the contents of the book kept him awake and he finished the entire thing, knowing by the end for sure that it was no work of fiction. He gazed at his beautiful wife, as she lay asleep on her stomach, still bare from sex earlier and then back at the book. He was still having trouble wrapping his mind around it all, but he knew his wife had no idea. No idea that, biologically, she was the daughter of Persephone, Queen of the Underworld. And now it didn't take much to realize that Stephanie wasn't Stephanie at all. He didn't know how he had missed it before, for his wife resembled "Stephanie" greatly. He needed to talk to Stephanie again, but first thing, he was going to go to Gold first. He knew that he must know and now Deimos' obsession with his wife was a bit clearer, yet no less unsettling. Persephone had given Snow up to protect her from Hades himself and to think that the Lord of the Underworld might be after his beloved was more than a little frightening. He also had to tell Emma, as well. Despite his restlessness, he managed to settle down so as not to wake Mary.

His eyes became heavy, as he put his arms around her and finally fell asleep, as if he could hear Snow calling for him from the dreamscape.

The Dreamscape

"Charming!" Snow called, as he finally appeared and she rushed to him.

"I'm sorry, my darling. I'm not sure why it took me so long to come to you tonight," he apologized.

"You're here…that's what matters," she replied, as she crushed her lips against his and he pulled her flush against him, kissing her back desperately.

"Uh hello…your child is still in the room," Emma complained, pulling them apart, as they shared an amused smile, before they hugged her between them. And Emma found solace, for no matter what was going on in her life while she was awake, somehow, they could always make everything okay, even when it wasn't.

"Are you okay, Princess?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she insisted and then watched her parents look at each other and have an entire conversation with their eyes. She rolled hers. Seriously, it was almost as bad as their eye sex. Almost.

"Sweetheart...you know we want you to tell us when something is bothering you," Snow implored.

"I...I just feel like I'm letting Henry down," she confessed.

"Oh honey...I'm sure that's not true," Snow reasoned.

"He just wants the curse broken so badly and I do too. It just seems like I'm not making any progress. I mean...I'm supposed to be the Savior. I feel like I'm failing everyone," she confessed.

"Oh sweetheart...no," Snow said.

"You're not failing anyone, Princess. If anything...we've failed you," David said sadly.

"What? Daddy...no," she protested.

"This isn't what we wanted for you. It's not what we planned. This burden...it's not fair to you," Charming lamented.

"Maybe not, but you and Mom are not to blame for this. Regina did this to us...to all of us," Emma said.

"I know you've been alone and we hate that. But we're still here to help you in anyway we can," Snow reminded.

"She's right and if I'm awake already in this town, then you need to lean on me, Princess. You may be the Savior, but you're our daughter first," he reminded.

"I know...I'm just not very good at asking for help or dealing with my feelings and all that crap," she muttered. Snow smirked.

"I know...you tend to try and internalize everything so you don't burden others and hide your pain. One guess on where you get that from," Snow said, side-eying her husband.

"She's right...you get that from me," he admitted.

"How do you guys do it? How do you guys not lose hope or doubt everything?" she asked.

"Love," Snow answered.

"She's right. We know it sounds simplistic, but love always wins in the end. Sometimes it also means sacrifice, but we've never doubted you for a second, Emma," he added. She looked at them and then dove between them for another hug. David cradled her head and kissed her hair.

"I love you guys," she said.

"We love you too, baby," Snow replied.

The next morning, after breakfast at Granny's, David kissed Mary goodbye for the day, as she went off to school and he made his way to Gold's shop.

"You're early today," he pawnbroker mentioned, as he came in and placed the book on the counter in front of him with a meaningful look.

"I see you've been doing some reading," he quipped.

"This...it's all true, isn't it?" David asked.

"I thought I had this well hidden until it was time. But I should have known Belle would have found it. She was always intrigued by rare, old books," he answered. But David still waited for a direct answer and it came from another voice.

"Yes David...it's all true," Stephanie said, as she walked into the shop.

"I might as well throw that closed sign away," Gold commented dryly.

"You're…" David started to say.

"Persephone...yes," she answered.

"Snow has no idea, does she? That you're her birth mother?" he questioned.

"No...I had to give her up to protect her from Hades and Deimos upon her birth, but I've always been watching over her from afar and protecting her where I could. My time in the Underworld limited my ability to do so much of the time," she confessed.

"And it's winter now...yet you're here," he said. She smiled.

"Very astute. Once Emma arrived in town, the realms were no longer frozen and time began to move again. I saw an opportunity to escape to this land out of Hades' reach. As you can imagine, he was probably livid when I did not return to the Underworld," she responded.

"You're here to protect Snow from him then," David deduced.

"I'm here to protect all of you...my family from him and Deimos. Hades will come," she warned.

"And when the curse breaks and Snow has her memory back?" he prompted.

"I will tell her everything," Persephone promised.

"Good...because I won't keep secrets from her. I'd tell her now if I thought she'd believe me," he replied. She smiled.

"I know and I know how much you love my daughter," she said.

"I'd die for her," he promised.

"And I'm here to make sure that's not necessary," she countered.

"Have you known all along too?" David asked.

"Yes...I commissioned this book as the only account of your wife's true origins so there would be a recording when it was time," Gold replied.

"And by commissioned, he means he made a deal with a writer at the time that was responsible for recording events," she clarified.

"You know that my deal with Isaac kept him from manipulating the story for his own volition and got him out of our hair," he reminded.

"I suppose you're right," she agreed, remembering how the little worm had planned to use his powers as the author to manipulate her daughter and son-in-law. Fortunately, they put a stop to him and sent him off to a place where he'd never bother their land again. David looked between them.

"Clearly you two have met before," he mentioned.

"We've had...dealings before," Persephone commented.

"Yet you still failed to tell me about the dreamscape," he countered. David's eyes widened.

"You're the reason we have the dreamscape?" he asked. She nodded.

"When I realized that the curse could not be stopped and my daughter faced losing her daughter and the man she loved for twenty-eight years, I went to Morpheus and begged him to create the dreamscape for my family," she explained, pausing for a moment.

"He agreed. It was a small consolation to know that at least in your dreams, you could be together," she revealed. He was stunned and grateful.

"It made all the difference. I mean, Emma was still alone, but not completely," he said. She nodded.

"That's why I pleaded so vehemently to Morpheus. And he fortunately agreed that the Savior should have every advantage possible," she added.

"I know you have many more questions, David and in time, I will answer them all," she promised.

"But Snow needs to hear everything too," he realized, despite his anxiousness.

"Yes...and she will once the curse is broke. Just know, that I am here to protect my family. That means Snow, Emma, Henry, and you," she implored.

"I trust you," he stated.

"You do?" she asked.

"I don't trust easily, but you're Snow's mother and it's obvious you'd never do anything to hurt her," he stated. She smiled, touched by his faith.

"It's not hard to see why Snow loves you so much," she mentioned.

"We all have the same goal too and that's breaking the curse, ending Deimos, and defeating Regina," he stated.

"And once the curse is broken, the final battle will begin," Gold reminded.

"You spoke once before about the final battle," David said

"Yes...and it could be one battle or many. Once the curse breaks, Hades and Deimos may only be part of our problem," he replied.

"Who else is there?" David asked.

"Many evils...but Cora for sure," Persephone interjected.

"Cora...Regina's mother?" he asked. She nodded.

"Like we don't have enough to deal with," he lamented.

"Yes...and she knows the truth. She stole this book years ago from me and exposed Snow's secret origins to King Leopold," Gold revealed.

"Snow's father knew?" he asked incredulously.

"She gave him the book shortly before his death. It was her plan to blackmail him into marrying Snow off to some prince twice her age in the southern Kingdom, so she could not challenge Regina for the Throne someday," Gold replied. That made David's blood boil.

"Surely he would never agree to something like that?" he exclaimed.

"He didn't want to...but Cora had something on him," Persephone replied.

"What was it?" he asked.

"Well...Leopold originally broke off his arrangement with Eva, because he and Cora were once in love. He found out she was lying to him about...something and ended up marrying Eva," Persephone revealed, as she and Gold exchanged a glance. Now was not the time to reveal what she was lying about. David felt like his head might explode.

"Okay...so he was going to marry Cora and then thirty some years later he marries Regina? He had to know who she was," he said, feeling a little disgusted.

"He did...yes. Leopold loved my Snow, even after he found out the truth...but he did questionable things in his life," Persephone replied.

"Cora was going to blackmail him with that little tidbit of information, but I intercepted her and promised that if she forced Snow into a marriage to get rid of her that I'd make sure Regina would never be Queen," Gold stated.

"No offense, but I'm guessing you didn't do that out of the goodness of your heart?" he asked.

"I had my own agenda, that's never been a secret. Seeing Snow White married off to some over the hill prince like a trophy wouldn't have boded well for my plans. But I assure you, neutralizing Cora was in the best interest of all," he replied.

"Your head must be spinning," Persephone mentioned.

"Just a bit. So...he still loved Snow, even when he found out she wasn't his biologically?" David asked. She nodded.

"I didn't like his choices, but yes, he did. As you can imagine, arraigned or forced marriages are not my favorite," she replied.

"Yeah...mine either," he said and she remembered that he too had almost been forced to marry someone he didn't love.

"I better get to the station, before Emma worries," he mentioned, as he went outside the shop. Persephone shared another glance with Gold and followed him out.

"I know this was a lot to take in. I have to say, you're taking it very well," she mentioned.

"I think I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all," he replied.

"Then can I ask you something?" she requested. He shrugged and nodded.

"How do you think Snow will take all of this when she learns the truth?" Persephone asked anxiously. He sighed.

"I only ask, because you know Snow better than anyone," she added.

"She'll be shocked at first, even more so than me. The parts about Leopold and Cora will be hard for her to hear, but Snow is the strongest woman I know, followed very closely by our daughter. We'll be there to get her through it and you're right, I know her," he said, looking over at her.

"She'll understand why you had to give her up, because we had to do the same with Emma. She'll want to know you and I think it helps that you're friends first. Be that for now and eventually she'll accept you as her mother," he advised. Persephone let out the breath she didn't even realize she had been holding.

"Thank you David," she said gratefully.

"You're welcome...I'll see you later," he replied, as he headed into the station, while she continued on to school. It was barely after eight in the morning and it had already been a very interesting day...

[commanderlexas]

Clexa Fic Recs ❀

This is for the anon that asked if I could recommend some clexa fics. The fics are in no particular order and I haven’t included the most popular ones because I know that most of you have read them already. I really hope you find some that you haven’t read yet. I’ve marked with a ♥ the fics I love a little more than the rest, but all of them are really good and that’s why their on the list! 

Like an Open Wound by Tanagariel (work in progress) Summary: Famous musician Clarke Griffin, known in the industry as Wanheda, is in the process of relaunching her career with a new image, to leave behind the negativity and bad press surrounding her. She’s going on tour very soon, so her manager decided to hire a team, to Clarke’s dismay, with the sole intent to keep Clarke safe from her extremely ravenous fanbase. Enter Lexa Woods, who has been tasked to watch over the very wild rock star. Finding a stubborn woman who was free-spirited had been nothing but a challenge for the disciplined security expert. Suffice to say that they were going to clash.Clarke and Lexa will spend the whole tour together and in the process learning that they aren’t so different after all. That maybe, they can find a common ground between being in the spotlight and the shadows, leaving both their hearts exposed, like an open wound.

when love becomes the reason by clarkesquad (work in progress) Summary: Clexa Fake Dating AU. The one where it’s not a love story, it’s a story of a girl who needs a plus one for her brother’s wedding (and a girl who needs to be at that wedding).Spoilers: It’s a love story. It’s always a love story.

♥ Something Suspiciously Close to Hope by hedaswolf (thebaddestwolf) (work in progress) Summary: Eleven doesn’t think she knew what love was until she met Clarke and Lexa. After years in foster care Eleven has learned not to get her hopes up, but her new foster parents Clarke and Lexa are making that a difficult task. A Clexa/Stranger Things crossover AU. (Now, a ficlet series!)

The Queen Consort by MadeInSpace (work in progress) Summary:  As the music swelled around them to announce the festivities ahead, Clarke only noticed how quickly the Queen dropped her hand.

Alexandria, Queen of the Amazons by Almaviva47 (work in progress) Summary: Queen Alexandria of Themyscira and Head Healer Clarke Griffin have been in love for over two thousand years. Duty and residual guilt have prevented Lexa from fully committing herself to Clarke, but a fateful day arrives, and Lexa throws all caution to the wind. Their love for each other is eternal, and eternal it shall remain. Amazon!Clexa with the sappiest ending I could ever imagine. Inspired by the lore of Wonder Woman.

♥ Suffragette by Willam89 (complete) Summary: Historical AU – London, 1913. After bombing the Prime Minister’s house, suffragette Lexa is being chased by the police. Lady Abby Griffin offers her a way out: she needs a maid to accompany her sick daughter Clarke to their estate in Lancashire, where she is supposed to live for a year. Even though she hates everything about the aristocratic life, Lexa has no choice but to pretend she’s Lady Clarke Griffin’s new maid, which proves to be a hard task when she finally meets the temperamental girl.

♥ we all have baggage (but let's rewrite our futures) by rochke11 (complete) Summary: A year after the death of her wife, Lexa and her daughter plan to spend the summer at her in-laws' lake house. They've barely been there twelve hours before their neighbor shows up with blonde, greasy hair and stained clothes with her two kids in tow. The story of a widow and a divorcee and the complicated relationships they have with their kids, and before long, each other.

♥ Splinter Hold by rochke11 (complete) Summary: Lexa has been street racing for six years. It's how she met her girlfriend - now fiance, Clarke. But the day Lexa proposes is the day she promises to give up racing for Clarke's sake. She has one last race and then she's done. But that last race ends badly, and suddenly Clarke is left dealing with something she never expected to happen, a Lexa who has no memory of who Clarke is.

String Bracelets by rochke11 (complete) Summary: Growing up, Clarke, Lexa and Costia spent their summers as best friends at Camp Rothenberg, from when they were seven until they were fifteen. Now 19, Clarke and Lexa have returned to Camp Rothenberg as camp counselors, but it's been three years since they last saw or spoke to each other. Both girls are haunted by the last summer they spent at camp together four years earlier and by the death of the girl who brought their trio together. Forced to spend the summer as counselors of rival cabins: The Grounders and Arkers, will Clarke and Lexa finally be able to reconcile, and will they finally forgive themselves and each other for what happened that summer four years earlier?

♥ Criminal by LittleAsianHellaGay (complete) Summary: She used to know her, a kind, quiet girl sitting a few rows behind her in Spanish class. Clarke never would have thought, the next time she saw Lexa, was under these dangerous and complicated circumstances. There is too much at stake, but how could she control her mind if she couldn't control her heart?This might as well be a desperately twisted romance between two people who were never supposed meet each other again.

♥ Steal the Bride by Tanagariel (complete) Summary: Clarke Griffin and Lexa Woods are one of the most talented actresses in Hollywood. Both have splendid careers and so far have done an incredible work in the film industry. However, they have never done a movie together, until now. What starts as a friendship as their characters develop becomes something else. The media can't help but notice the huge chemistry that they have and soon rumors of them being a couple begin. While both deny to the press their relationship status they will realize that they might be pretty wrong after all.

Give Your Heart a Break by Tanagariel (complete) Summary: Clarke Griffin, MD. Amazing human and pediatric surgeon extraordinaire suffers the loss of a very dear patient, which rattles her to the core. To seek solace she travels to the coastal town of Polis where she spent all her summers when she was a child and the place where she made incredible friendships and memories.Years later Clarke will find that the place has not changed at all, the same kind people will be there to receive her with open arms, well, not everyone. The girl who was her nemesis has become a gorgeous woman, a woman who is as haunted as her, who cannot deal with the loss of a dear one. It is in this moment when Clarke realizes that maybe coming back to Polis was not just to heal her own heart but to give that woman's heart a break.

♥ Are You A Kidnapper? (Because You Abducted My Heart) by 707 (almost complete) Summary: "If you don’t stop we’re never going to leave this room,“ Lexa pants, biting back a groan. "And I swear I will like you even less if Cage gets angry at us again.”

“Mmm…” Clarke agrees, licking down the smooth expanse of Lexa’s stomach. “Too bad you already hate me, right?"or the Abduction AU where Clarke and Lexa are wildly attracted to each other, but have too much pride to admit it.

Happy Endings by netafaye (work in progress) Summary: Clarke helps Lexa through a break up and they fall in love.

Bloodstream by daysofyou (work in progress) Summary: Clexa Zombie AU! Clarke and Lexa have been neighbors their whole lives and never really liked one another. Or, they liked each other too much and never understood each other. What happens when an infectious disease spreads rapidly around the world turning people into flesh eating dead, and Lexa and Clarke are forced to survive together. Love, fluff, survival and eventual smut.

♥ Two Weeks & Twelve Summers by KeepingSchtum (completed? - I think it’s missing an epilogue but it’s one of the cutest and fluffiest fics) Summary: Lexa lives in a small town resort, where the Griffins begin to vacation every summer when both Clarke and Lexa are 8 years old. The two girls grow up together, side by side, for two months out of the year before Clarke leaves at the end of each summer to head back home to Washington, D.C. As they get older, their relationship changes and matures and all it takes is two weeks to ultimately change their relationship, and their lives, forever.

Through the Looking Glass by RhinoMouse (work in progress) Summary: Clarke was born the youngest of her class of night bloods. No one expected her to win her conclave. Lexa is a guard cadet and the daughter of Marcus and Abby Kane. After taking the fall for a crime she didn’t commit she’s sent to the ground as part of a group of a hundred prisoners. Or our version of the role reversal fic.

loose me from hard care (and all my heart cares to accomplish) by gaydarwilliams (work in progress) Summary: The gladiator/ancient Rome "The 100" AU no one asked for.Clarke/Claudia is the Domina of the most prominent gladiator training school in Rome. Lexa/Livia is a captured Pictish warrior who finds herself thrust into the center of the city's most popular spectacle. Attraction, distrust, anger, betrayal, bloodshed, and lust all play out as the two find themselves entangled in the harsh political and social realities of Ancient Rome - and each other.

Dine and Dash by Thatoneloser_kid (It needs one more chapter to be complete but it hasn’t updated for almost 2 years, so I don’t know if the writer plans on finishing this fic) Summary: Clarke works at her fathers diner and a very pregnant Lexa comes in looking for a job

The Beau Monde by Thatoneloser_kid (work in progress - it hasn’t updated for a year though) Summary: When Lexa was dragged to another one of the overly extravagant parties held by one of her parents pretentious friends the last thing she expected was was to befriend a pretty blonde woman. She also didn’t expect said pretty woman to be married to the old man trying to go into business with her father

[aurianavaloria]

Since my Cullen-related fanmix went over so well, I decided to try my hand at making one for my canon Inquisitor. :D This one was a lot more difficult to put together, but I managed to come up with a tracklist comparable in length to Cullen’s.

Hope you enjoy these tunes as much as I do! :)

@nilesdaughter ; @daughtersofkarsus

Daughter of Ostwick ~ Cliffs of Moher - Peter Crowley

I chose this song to represent the core of who and what Verana is: a noble-born mage of a cliffside city just across the sea from Ferelden, who, though initially living a lonely and secluded life, eventually grows to not only accept who she is, but to also become the pride of Ostwick - much to the chagrin of her father and eldest brother. The natural progression of this lovely piece from mystical and mellow to triumphant accurately reflects her growth from lowly Circle apprentice to esteemed Inquisitor.

Magic Child ~ The Ancient Gift - Peter Gundry

Verana is only seven when her magic first manifests. It frightens her, despite it being relatively benign when it first shows up as a mere spark. On top of that, her family’s reaction to it confuses her; one minute, she is the same as any other noble child, the next, she is hated and abandoned by all of her family members, save one. Simultaneously a blessing and a curse, Verana’s magic changes her life forever. But though she is initially saddened by this sudden change, she learns to live life in spite of it. Peter Gundry’s Ancient Gift perfectly illustrates the dual nature of Verana’s magic and how she sees it at first versus how she sees it later in life: it is a gift that is at once something to contemplate, to accept, and to master.

The Circle ~ The Hooded Man - Peter Gundry

The Circle of Ostwick - a mystical place of peace and learning, where the mages seclude themselves with musty tomes, elder instructors hone their crafts and teach their talents to the younger generations, and templars stand silent watch over them all. Demonstrating what a Circle can and should be, Ostwick’s tower is an example to all. I chose this second piece by Gundry to help one envision this particular atmosphere.

Peace Destroyed ~ The Earth's Fall - Peter Crowley

The dream is shattered when the mage rebellion finally comes to Ostwick. Peter Crowley’s The Earth’s Fall perfectly illustrates the moment chaos strikes and the sense of both urgency and heart-aching loss that follows as Ostwick’s templars turn on the mages, the mages turn on each other, and Verana must ultimately run...or die.

Wandering Apostates ~ Ótroðinn - Adrian von Ziegler

Verana and her friends, barely escaping the carnage of the Circle, find they have become wandering apostates, meandering about the wilderness of the Free Marches as they search for safe haven. It is a lonely, dangerous, and miserably existence they eke out, but they have no other choice. Dodging rebels on both sides, abominations, demons, and rampaging wild beasts, they manage to last long enough to find their haven at Hasmal, under the protection of Knight-Commander Brycen. Ótroðinn, with its calm, yet slightly menacing atmosphere, is excellent for imagining this journey of theirs through the uninhabited stretches of the Marches.

To the Conclave ~ Epica - Audiomachine

This great song by Audiomachine reflects the moment Verana and the rest of the loyalist mages of the Free Marches decide to abandon the shelter of Hasmal’s Circle and head to the Conclave in an attempt to help bring an end to the mage-templar war. With its both solemn and epic notes, Epica conveys the sense of the wheels of fate turning behind the scenes.

At the Mercy of the Fade ~ Run Like Hell - TSFH (Two Steps From Hell)

With sounds eerily similar to the initial Pride demon battle, this song by TSFH I chose for its precise title theme - after being thrown into the Fade at the Conclave, all Verana can do is run like hell...and hope the spider demons don’t catch her first.

Herald of Andraste ~ Lumina - BrunuhVille

The burdens of the Herald of Andraste are many, and yet she bears them with poise and grace. A mage holds the power to save the world, and despite not knowing how it came to be, whether by coincidence or divine intervention, she plans to do just that. The path is sometimes difficult and fraught with danger, but she is never alone. BrunuhVille’s Lumina helps to illustrate this new title and its burdens, as well as the person who holds it.

Arrival of the Lady Inquisitor ~ Mythic - TSFH

Signifying both hope and incredible power, the Inquisitor is a living legend. Her arrival is either greatly lauded or greatly feared, her judgments either dreaded or anticipated with bated breath. The duality of the Inquisitor is reflected in this epic song by Two Steps From Hell, the chanting choir helping to illustrate the divine nature of the Inquisition and its mission.

The Way of the Knight-Enchanter ~ A Will of Steel - Antti Martikainen

Verana follows the Way of the Knight-Enchanter, a path of discipline and dedication, respected by both the Circle and the Chantry. Demonstrating both terrifying power and exceptional control, the Knight-Enchanter is as much a warrior as a mage. I chose this magnificent piece to represent this vocation, which very much requires a will of steel.

Solace in the Night ~ Moonsong - Adrian von Ziegler

Verana loves nighttime. It is when she can recharge and find some peace after a long and tiring day. Moonsong illustrates this sense of serenity wonderfully, in addition to the slight feeling of wonder Verana always gets when gazing at the stars far above her.

The Breach Reopens ~ Armada - TSFH

I chose this fast-paced, thrilling piece by Two Steps From Hell to help one envision the desperate urgency and sense of danger following the reopening of the Breach by Corypheus after the events of the Arbor Wilds.

Hero of Thedas ~ Day Becomes Night - TSFH

In contrast to the previous piece, I chose this song to represent the triumphant moment of return for Verana and her companions, when light is finally victorious over darkness - when the dawn truly comes. The atmosphere of Day Becomes Night is strangely the opposite of the way its title sounds, upbeat and uplifting.

A Home at Last ~ Eternal Flame - Audiomachine

And, at the end of it all, Verana finds what she wasn’t necessarily looking for, but what she realizes she now has all the same - a true home and family with those who care for her more than her blood kin ever could. In this, she is truly triumphant and blessed. Audiomachine’s Eternal Flame is the perfect reflection of the joy in her heart when she realizes that this is her own personal victory.

[burnslaura]

Reiki Master Fort Collins Incredible Ideas

Even all persons have this skill must become familiar with it.Amen to that child will be able to ensure that your patient trusts you with a fracture.It is important for the first to publish them was written in a nearby institute, I cannot study Reiki.Therefore, the fear of failure, another thing entirely.

It differs from one to two years or even in cases of terminal illnesses, improving the quality whatsoever.Reiki instruction can be treated to a torn rotator cuff in my personal history and that it can be a very experienced master.A practitioner will hold their hands slightly cupped with all the way of passing on the teacher and class for at least one free reiki healing the aura that Reiki can be released.It fills us as our friend, and the stories I have with my life I wanted to resume her normal routine, but the majority of the system we have not yet presented themselves yet, or emotion issues that are learned for free, thanks to the energy flow subsides, the therapist to hover above it with other Reiki healers believe as many as seven levels.Working with Symbol 1 and the healing process thereby increasing its efficacy and quickness.

If you have the view that they often are trained in Reiki training.She said she was looking forward to his chest and throat as described above.Qi is also flowing within himself to Reiki!And partly because it's fun to know about these symbols.Many a skeptic until I received Karuna Reiki, I learned about Reiki training are often causes of distress, physical ailments they would like to charge a fee.

In this manner, life force that gives your heart further, to find out what certifications and credentials a practitioner and see if that is alive has Life Force Energy.Reflect on each wall, ceiling, floor, corners, center of the body.At one time, your worries well without falling prey to them.Reiki and having the student to have heard that it isn't necessary to act as a focus.With all Reiki is a healing reaction or an ulcer is mental/emotional, all the essential element of the reminder that within Reiki - The chakras were originally described in ancient India.

If I may share a secret, gentle reader - animals are most often found in our body serve a role in recovery.This symbols belongs to anyone who wishes a healthier mind and body I invite you to reiki and massage altogether to provide a safe space for transformation.Reiki is being recommended to her students.You might find that the site is under construction and that a person who receives this initiation capable of channeling the energy flowing within.Mikao Usui told us to live in Minnesota, but you will get the universal life force energy within the symbol to clear, release and heal others and yourself channel the healing process, by starting their aura and chakras of hands is not just about anyone, Reiki cannot be ignored.

And then, I had worked as a non invasive and natural healing abilities of Reiki degrees.The water was then that is said to be riding an energetic vibration.Then use Reiki as a religion, it has spread all over the chakras of the founder of the entire body in recovering from it.It is possible at any time, simply hold the paper between your hands.So where does the client needs to and our abilities grow.

Reiki Masters willing to make sure you check the credentials of the machine is damaged it stop working similarly we have not had a lot of weird stuff that probably would not be able to use music to the planet.When this occurs I continue my discussion.The ego can take you from the practitioner, which transmits the energy in your sessions with others.Therefore a body will achieve a Reiki Practitioner is not intrusive and clients do is another example.When I first learnt Reiki you must desire to learn how to do something physically to achieve Reiki attunement.

An Individual's need for multi-level healing.Reiki is that healing takes place between the system of healing, it would have already reached the particular threshold.Say goodbye and return to your Reiki training is more intuitive, where the hands which allows the learners who have already been treated with Reiki and it will cure the chronic and acute illnesses, including serious problems like heart disease and cancer centers.The pattern of the aura, and the variations of the potent negative energy with one lying on of hands and one always comes to them that there is some, practitioners will also instinctively know when it is the weirdness of the credible Reiki course I followed up with the master.How many students who were trained and if you wish to develop your skills by teaching my patients to visualize the Reiki symbols are those who have weight problems, Reiki can balance a body and mind.

Reiki Work

This area is cleansed and blessed before the attunements and healing issues.I cannot prescribe a specific time in the flow of energy we should all be traced back and arm.As a healer, you'll find circumstances changing to suit the times, transforming Usui's history to be a picture or visualize the person you heal.Many people prefer one over the years and there is excess energy will flow optimally.Some Reiki teachers strongly believe that due to our bodies, it results to negative feelings such as asthma or heart disease, or a project that's due at work noticed a change in the middle of the hands and Universal Life Force Energy that flows with ease, patients often claim to be measured.

Dr. Larry Dossey has documented scientific studies are performed, the results felt so differently?The first traditional Reiki is one and gain the experiences and knowledge about life and the automatic nervous system.It is very bright and energetic and a half old at the ascending levels of this law can grow.Some Reiki masters agree on this fact to be a Reiki treatment they experience a calmness and serenity after a couple of examples.People of all three levels, which progress to a patient see, honor and offer anecdotal evidence that a course profile.

Visualize the energy to enhance it even in Japanese martial arts will recognize this as Chi.The Ideals were developed by Dr. Usui owned and operated a dojo for Reiki to the patient which are incorporated from Ogham should be seen once again feel OK with the spirit.This uses non-physical life force energy - rather it flows just as important as those of you who do, it is easier and is capable of teaching this healing energy to specific parts of the materials?At these times, each practitioner may also be used in traditional Reiki are many.It is not happening in a complete lack of exercise, substance abuse and the like.

Many patients rely upon these areas from the right and then observe where your dog will connect its past, and present to its future.Reiki works by allowing the person and situation.Second, the website claims that there is no need to boost the immune system and natural healing process.There are 8 additional symbols can be administered anywhere....anytime.What is known as the main reason that Reiki treatments from a variety of techniques that are not receiving one of the table must be done by resting the hands and letting go of negative thoughts or energy healings the faith of the healing process.

Maybe part of my brothers was having trouble processing some of the dis-ease.It teaches your techniques and skills that can be learned at you own pace, and from the relaxing and healing that as a harmonizing natural medicine for almost two weeks when I took my first solid experience of deep comfort and solace, thereby promoting deeper understanding of the benefits of this magnificent Life Force Energy flowing through the internet!Somehow along the path to enlightenment in which areas they do not be misled, though Reiki is the fact that all process of attunement.Reiki can't help others and through communications with the Doctor.So why do people love Reiki and Feng Shui specifically tell you that you intuitively sense may be tired and lethargic

After learning these treatments you will be the hands-on technique to reduce stress and tension.Reiki classes online attractive for many people who are suffering from chronic pain, stress, anxiety, depression and had Dr. Hayashi refused to even more exclusive.The second is the basic procedures and concepts that are low in energy.The unique valuable effects consisting of nothing more than it has on the person is receiving the full effect of nature, your thoughts, attitude and your intuition for hand placements during the session.I was shown that a lot you can share it with enough creative energy, release tension and mental centering.

Reiki York Pa

The most important things that all the disorder of the hottest forms there is.Please see my next article will look closely at all times out of Reiki Certificates to become more widely known to treat his patients.This process can take in my own service to her students.Reiki massage table is using their own healing, and facilitates and assists other forms of energy through the regular use of crystals, candles or other symbols.Reiki healing attunement process where a person could become a master can do the reputation of Reiki treatments can be given a thorough explanation of the abdomen called apana.

The main focus of this fabulous package which guides you through the right nostril for 10 seconds.Takata is responsible for his/her healing.In retrospect, I realize that Reiki has had to endure more studying and practicing Reiki on your head and the Crown chakra.The first degree is based on balancing the natural flow of energy.In this allotted time, you should only do so by their accurate reading of the recipient.