#born of bread battle cards

[otaku-tyriq]

Born of Bread - Battle Cards (Main Characters)

Standard Cards

Special Cards

Secret party Member under the cut (major spoilers for Born of Bread)

[mysticalibra1994]

Naranja/Uva Academy Students (birthday headcanons)

Okay, so since I have a notebook that I've been taking some notes on for Pokemon Scarlet/Violet (mostly "Violet" for me) to get ready for it (especially the Mid-Term and Finals). And I couldn't help but hypothesize about the students (including the Team Star members) about their birthdays by using the dates of their special interests. [Florian/Juliana's birthday is my birthday since the Playable Protagonist's birthday mirrors the player's birthday, so they're excluded from this hypothesis. (this also includes their special interests)] [Mela's birthday was a bit of a challenge due to not having the game yet (I planned on buying it for my birthday).]

1.) Florian/Juliana - October 12th Special Interest: Taking notes. This is non-explanatory, but it's also what I've been doing to get these pieces of information.

2.) Nemona - February 27th Special Interest: Pokemon battles. According to the real-life timeline of Pokemon, the first Pokemon game (Pokemon Red) made its first debut in Japan on February 27, 1996. In chronological order, it was the game, trading cards, manga, and anime.

3.) Arven - December 29th Special Interest: Making sandwiches. Due to the shape/size of the bread, I assumed that it would be "Subway bread", but due to the location of Paldea and its real-life equivalent of it (Spain, Portugal, and Andorra), it wouldn't make sense historically. So, I had to do some research on the Sandwich (which is based on the Bocatas or "bocadillo") and it was a little touch and go for a while, but I thankfully narrowed it down... According to legend, a general named Tomás de Zumalacárregui (12/29/1788-6/24/1835) invented the tortilla de patatas during the Carlist wars. When the bread was added, the bocadillo was born!

4.) Penny - February 14th Special Interest: Machines/computers. According to Penn Today (no pun intended), the world's first general-purpose electronic computer was introduced into the world on February 14, 1946.

5. ) Giacomo - December 15th Special Interest: Music, Rock (DJ) Albert James "Alan" Freed (12/15/1921-01/20/1965) was an American disc jockey (DJ) who helped spread the importance of rock and roll music throughout North America.

6.) Mela - September 23rd Special Interest: Flashy costumes. So, here's the reason why this was a challenge; there were no specific dates on when "flashy costumes/outfits" were a thing. So, I had to look a bit deeper at her attire for easy clues. Luckily, there's her boot! More specifically, her "over-the-knee boots". In the Autumn of 1962, Balenciaga had a collection that featured "a tall boot by Mancini that covers the knee". To get the month and day, I had to look up the Autumnal Equinox of that year.

7.) Atticus - November 16th Special Interest: Vintage. This was a little bit of a challenge like Mela's. But after digging, I came across the one article of clothing was that known as the birth of vintage... The raccoon coat. More specifically, the issue of The Saturday Evening Post featured an illustration of several college men sporting raccoon coats on 11/16/1929.

8.) Ortega - January 19th Special Interest: Engineer/Mechanic. Okay, so before I read about Ortega being a mechanic/engineer for the Ruchbah Squad, at first I thought that his thing was Fairycore. Ever since, after a little bit of research, the man named James Watt (01/19/1736-8/25/1819) was a Scottish inventor and mechanical engineer.

9.) Eri - February 12th Special Interest: Wrestling. Okay, so this may contain a pun, but it's a part of Japanese history. John Graham Chambers endeavored to introduce and promote the concept of a style of wrestling that he denominated "the catch-as-catch-can style" of wrestling (aka Catch Wrestling or "Professional Wrestling").

[ramrodd]

Who Was Melchizedek & Why Does It Matter? | MythVision DocumentaryCO

COMMENTARY:

Melchizedek is a Magi, The Bible is one of four epic narratives that all got started at about the same time between now and the Step Pyramid,, including the Iliad and the Odyssey, The Aeneid and the lost Etruscan narrative that was subsumed by a literate culture, like the Druids into Christianity,  A;; four narratives converge at the Cross. Even time as measured by the great celestial movement by which time is usually recorded. 3760 on Enoch’s 7000 year Epoch became 1 BCE back-to back with 1 CE, This was a deliberate strategy of the Magi coming out of Persia, The numerology and astrology of Persia is different from the numerology and astrology of the Orient beginning with India. In Bei Ing I was born in the Year of the Pig, In Hamilton, Ohio, I an a Pieces with Gemini rising, In the 70s, I could have earned a comfortable living with numerology and cards as a  reliable psychic consultant in the District,: I began studying numerology as a figure of speech my freshman year of college and most of what I was doing you can learn with NLP and the wicca of Jesus, Go read The Structure of Magic, I was a casual disciple of a true psychic who was friends with Edgar Cayce, I have never the less never been able to reconcile the Year of the Pig to the Persian Zodiac. First you see it, Zen you don’t. However that happened whenever that was, the Magi were the navigators of time, Enoch was not a Magi: he was like a consulting engineer and interpreter of the Magi brain storming going on at that time, I think that the shift from the Orietntal zodiac to the Persian zodiac is cultural moment captured by the Parable of the Cave. In terms of numerology, the Magi invented the 60 base numerology the whole world uses to tell time, sunrise to su, where  nrise for Christians and sunset to sunset for 1st Cwntury Hebrews at this time time of the year, the vernal equinox, The Praetorian Guard told time with the 60 base numerology, The Magi went around the Mediterranian as stone masons to the Pharaoh’s, Thanks to Enoch’s 7000  year  grid, we can approximated the moment what ever it was the Magi were doing in the region began to get traction, Based on this presentation, it is clear to me that the Magi were doing the same thing all over the Med at about the same time: bread and wine and what  Jesus does in Luke 24:45. It never made any sense to me why Abram gave Melchizedek a tithe. Abram was all about boundaries, All those alters are like cats peeing to mark their territory, And, apparently, those alters ringed Mount Mariah, where Jesus took the place of Isaac just to prove that Genesis 1:1 is absolutely accurate: The Resurrection is Elohim the verb method for saying “Hi!” In terms of the Zen mind of Jesus, When friedrich nietzsche said “God is Dead”, he meant that Hegel proposed a method to abstract God out of metaphysical necessity, What  Nietzsche leaves out is that it is a consequence of Pauline Theology, as N.T. Wright interprets him, Pauline Theolog is what Jesus was bringing to Israel that Jerusalem rejected, The premise that Melchizedek gave a tithe to Abram is totally consistent with the Parable of the Talents. Based on you research, it appears to me that the bred and wine is introduced as a method to connect Yaweh, Queen of Battle in Genesis 14 to God, the Father in Genesis 15, In Genesis 15:5, God, the Father does to Abram what Jesus does to His Disciples in Luke 24:45,, In the leadership model of the Magi, God, the Father dazzles Abram and left his the working capital necessary to start a literate tradition, unlike the Etruscans and Druids, The point is this: Enoch’s 7000 year Epoch is anchored by the Book of Job in the year 3760 BCE as a count down to the historically measurable moment established by John 11:35.  The point is Melchizedek is a moment when the Magi intervene in the narrative arc from Job to the Cross by way of  Genesis 15:5 The second time the Magi intervene, historically, in that narrative trajectory is recorded in the nativity narrative of Matthew, when the Magi give a tithe to Jesus in very valuable and fungible capital investment, And we know the payoff, historically, began at 3760 of Enoch’s Epoch, Enoch’s 7000 yar Epoch is an epistemological bridge from the apex technology of the Stone Age that runs straight as a lase to Apollo 11 by way of Genesis 15:5. Melchizedek completes the Hellenistic ontology that becomes evident with the Archetypes of Jungian Psychology,     The Book of Job is the only book in the Bible that was composed by Elohim the verb to establish a point of departure in the demonstration of the necessity and integrity of Free Will in the separation of The Kingdom of God from the Kingdom of Heaven,  Jesus is God’s apology of the mistreatment of Job due to God being seduced by The Satan to torture Job to satisfy God’s ego. Your version of the tithing is correct. This corruption of the  record is not unique, but not for the reasons Bart Ehrman posits, The Bram tithe is a biblical foundation of the Prosperity Gospel of Mega Church Evangelicals. ’ The tithe of the Magi to Abram the Priest anticipates the tithe of the Magi to Jesus the priest. That’s the meaning of Melchizedek as the instrument of a divine transformation

[mailperson]

Got Born of Bread

Im not very far in but SO FAR the beginning is kinda like the few Paper Mario inspired games I’ve played where mechanically it’s just Fine. Definitely lots of stylistic praise, the battle system being a livestream and the options in battle being little trading cards is cool. Lots of visual polish I appreciate.

Feels like it’s just missing a teeeeny bit more substance in the game itself though, like it’s ALMOST there. Doing a better job than bug fables imo.

[fernthefanciful]

A princess is a creature of grace, poise, decorum. They are soft, gentle, patient. I, however, was none of those things, much to my parents’ despair.

 They only brought that upon themselves, of course. A firstborn daughter, a royal invitation to greet the new monarch not sent, and therefore an insult perceived by a powerful magical being. You know how the story goes. I was cursed and, in my story, there were no blessings to gentle it. No other wishes for my future, or what little she left of it. Just a creature of shadow and talon which appeared, damned the bright vision my parents had of my life, and vanished.

  My childhood was a moderately happy one, even with the dark cloud of the curse hanging forever in my periphery. My parents loved me. My sisters, when they were born, did the same. And I of course love them with all that I am. My parents hired tutors, made sure I learned what it meant to be a monarch, made sure I was prepared for a future of rule. They simply made sure my sister learned as well.

  “Just in case.” My father would say, his gaze flitting across the empty hallways as if something unseen was always listening, always watching.

  And when I got too restless, when the green of the forest and the blue of the lake called to me and I couldn’t help but give in to the need to run, to chase, they took me riding. We’d make trips, have picnics, run around on the heather-filled fields and watch the sky change her colour with the setting sun. For the longest time, we were as happy as we could be.

  My eighteenth birthday was a beautiful and clear full moon night. The air rife with the scents of fresh bread and roasted meats of the feast held in honour of my coming of age. Gentle and joyful music filled the ballroom as people danced and laughed all night.

In an empty hallway, as far away from people as I could get, I screamed and cried as my body tore itself apart. As the wildness that had always lived inside of me wanted out. The howl that tore from my newly changed throat was loud enough to wake the entire city.

  I should have been terrified. I should be lamenting the turn my life had taken, all the things I now no longer could do. I should have felt all of those things. But when I made my way out of the castle and into the forest, the ground soft underneath my paws, the silver moonlight a gentle caress on my fur, I couldn’t help but think that his curse tasted a lot like freedom.

  The wildness that had always lived inside of me, the parts that longed to shed the tight clothing and even tighter responsibilities of nobility, were torn from the inner shadow where I had hidden them and shoved into the light. The parts of me that wished to run, to hunt, to feast, finally had a chance to be free.

  Things changed after that.

  Now, people are wary, afraid. My parents try, they really do. To teach me to act normal, ladylike, human. It’s of no use. The wolf lurks under my skin, peering out of my eyes.

People whisper about how much of a waste it is, such a shame, that a curse has changed me so. They don’t see, they don’t understand. The wolf, the wildness, the hunger, has always been there. It is me, the deepest parts of my soul given physical form.

  Life goes on. My sister, perfect, composed, kind, steps into the limelight. Or is pushed, I should say. To placate those who question my place at Court. Meanwhile I am forced into the background. An animal in the shadows meant to be forgotten.

  My wolf balks at the idea of corsets, of rules, of restriction. Doesn’t understand the need for playing nice with nobles it doesn’t like. She’s a creature of instinct, simplicity, and therefore, so am I.

  I spend my days roaming the grounds, protecting what is mine. The people of the city avert their eyes as I go past. Whisper about curses and how they spread, about what it means for the Kingdom that their princess is now a different creature altogether.

My wolf claims the entirety kingdom as her territory and as I get older, I travel further. Checking in daily with the people on the far edges of the lands. The misfits and the outcasts. The ones with wisdom and magic who have been pushed towards the edges of the kingdom long before I was born. Hatred and fear pushed us all here, to the lands where the briar grows three men tall. Where the trees and the shadows move on their own and where the water of the lake is always smooth, no matter how fierce the storm.

I help where I can, chasing off the foxes for the farmers, climbing trees to hang fetches and talismans for protection, bringing food to those who need it most. Most time is spent drinking tea and discussing life with the old lady whom everyone calls ‘witch’. She teaches me all she knows. Things the tutors at the castle never knew to teach me. About the plants and trees that grow, the animals that roam deep within the forest. About life here, on the outskirts of society, and all the peoples and creatures that are part of it. Here, the people look me in the eye. They bow their heads in respect but never in fear. The bravest of the children ask to card their hands through my fur. The old woman laughingly gifts me a crown of twigs and burrs and rowanberries the colour of blood. Every time I’m in my human skin I wear that crown with pride.

  One day, deep within the forest at the edge of my territory, I meet her. The being who has brought all that was hidden within me to the front and then illuminated it. I shift back to human, standing before her, naked and open, but never vulnerable, thanks to her. I thank her for the gifts she has given me. For the freedom and power and strength. The look on her face when I name her fairy godmother is priceless.

  She smiles at me then, a flash of razor-sharp teeth. I bare my own fangs back at her. She asks me then, if I understand. How they are being treated. Those who do not fit in, those who are made of wildness and shadow and blood. How they are shunned because of what they are.

  She tells me this will change, once I am queen. When I tell her that I never will be, that my parents will never find a match for me, she simply laughs and tells me not to worry. After all, I have a fairy godmother now.

  She keeps close after that. Always watching, always near, but never interfering. Not unless I ask her to. So when war, inevitably, finds itself at our borders, I ask for her aid. I stand in the middle of the bloodied battlefield, staring at the incoming forces. The wolf in me is itching underneath my skin. She wishes to hunt, to kill, to feel flesh rip underneath her claws, blood filling her mouth as she tears them apart. So I call out to my fairy godmother, asking if she would join me for a hunt, before I shed my skin along with my humanity and charge forward.

  The battle is brutal and short. The enemy army is better trained, but not against the army of outcasts led by myself and my fairy godmother. Their swords and shields quickly fall against our teeth, claws and magic.

Afterwards, I greet my father on the battlefield. Bare and covered in blood. There is fear in his eyes, yes, but also respect. And, for the first time, trust.

  Things change once again. I am brought back into the castle, but nothing is the same. I spend most of my time in the forests, still, but I also find myself fighting. Training with weapons other than tooth and claw. Weathered old men, tutors, hired by my father to teach me all they know. I learn how much I don’t know, how much there is still to learn. I earn my scars, even if they never stay for long. I earn their respect, even if it is hard won. I am no longer alone, some of my people from the outskirts join me and never leave their princess’ side.

  It doesn’t take long before suitors come from all over the world, wishing to marry one of my sisters. Singing praises about the small kingdom that could so quickly put an end to war. That could tame monsters and wild things. Silly men, none of us were tamed, we simply chose to fight.

  My parents and sisters work hard to get the most advantageous matches. To make sure that both the kingdom and my sisters will continue to grow and prosper. Bargains are struck, feasts are had. One by one my sisters move away, happy with their chosen husbands. All of them are visited by a giant wolf at least once. They know to treat my sisters well, or one night feel the sharp tips of my fangs against their throat.

  Years later I am gifted another crown. It is a beautiful thing. Delicate golden flowers and bright shining gems. It feels uncomfortable to me the way all pretty things do. “It might not suit you,” my father tells me, “but you have earned it.”

“As you have earned your rest.” I tell him.

“You will be wonderful, my Queen.”

  Rumors start spreading, about the Wolfqueen, the Wild One, sitting upon a blood-red throne. About the Kingdom of monsters where beasts, fae and man live free. About the Queen with the Iron Heart, who turns away all who wish to court her, and kills all who dare more.

  It’s not that I do not want someone at my side. I do. I wish for the love that my parents share. That my sisters eventually found with their husbands. But all those who come for my hand, those who finally dare when I have no more free sisters left, come for just that. My hand but not my heart. They are all poised and polished. Perfect little princes who look towards the wealth of the castle but away from the wildness within me. They are afraid to meet my wolf’s cold, assessing gaze.

  Some even try to change me, to find the human underneath the wolf. They only try once.

  For years, I rule alone. Through another war, through a plague born of magic, through prosperity and abundance. My people always by my side but no one to claim my heart.

  But then, a commotion. A man, dressed in furs. No scars on his body, but plenty on his soul. His eyes glowing the same gold as mine in the gentle torchlight. A wildness in them that my wolf recognizes. A challenge that my wolf is eager to take, to rise up to.

  “Your Oracle told me to come here.” He tells me, “I asked for guidance, to find what my heart truly desires, and she sent me to you.”

  My fairy godmother steps up behind me, laying a hand on my shoulder. I can’t see her, but I know she is smiling a smile of sharp pointed teeth. No doubt the oracle he speaks of.

  “My Queen,” he continues, bowing deep, his eyes never leaving mine, “I came looking for connection, for freedom. I believe I will find it with your time and your company. Will you grant me it?”

  “And what, my prince,” for if my fairy godmother sent him, he can only be that, “will you grant me in return?” I lean forward, eager, hungry.

  “Loyalty,” he steps forward, onto the dais, “companionship and understanding.” He leans over me for a single, challenging moment, before kneeling before me, baring his throat. “Perhaps in time even love. But for now, the thrill of a hunt. Of a chase.” He grins, baring sharp fangs. A breath, and a beautiful black-furred wolf sits in front of me.

Oh – the hunt is on. A thrill goes through me as I shift, ready to run, to chase him down and claim him for my own. For if one thing is certain, it is that I am a wild thing, a Queen, a hunter, but never, ever, prey.

(First posted on my website)

[emerald-amidst-gold]

I am once again asking for more Fane x Solas fluff <3

71. Waking up and just laying in bed, admiring how calm and cute they look when they're sleeping in your arms.

AH! AHHH! Friend, you have chosen my bread and butter! My ultimate, favorite thing to write Fane and Solas because it's so tender and cute to my soul! Fluff for you! Fluff for ALL! *dances while throwing around flowers*

***

Fane was a dominating force. Immovable as a wall upon the field of battle, inherent madness and Veil-born rage mixing to create an indomitable force as it crashed and sliced with spectral claw and stagnant blade alike. Cool and collected when faced with the chessboard of war, commands concise and pragmatism deemed heretical and callous to some. Emerald and gold orbs baring down upon the enemies of an organization he had never wished to be apart of, but found himself leading, ancient ideology and phantasmal gavel knocking against the familiar stone, echoing to the Fade and back with the verdict of, 'Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.'. The dragon was feared by many, even as they knew not of his true identity, but Solas knew the truth. A truth so interwoven with complexity that it was misunderstood.

And that was that Fane, deep down inside, in blessed hours of solitude, was no more than a person who desired to be cherished, to be cared for, and that was what Solas saw now, as he lay on his side, just...watching a normally hard, scowling, but most of all, ethereal face born of love and devotion find respite amid a tumultuous storm, lips lax and brows unfurrowed.

"It is rare that I wake up before you, my dragon..", Solas whispered to the morning air, keeping his tone hushed enough so as not to wake a sleeping dragon. It was far earlier than normal for him, the sun just slightly peeking up over the lofty mountains of the Frostbacks, but he found, for once, he didn't mind being vaulted from his dreams and the Fade if he got to see this view.

Fane's face was calm, peaceful, ivory, but inked visage free of a sneer. Snowy hair was mussed more so than usual, making Solas reach up tentatively to try and tame an errant, short lock, but only let out a quiet chuckle refused to yield. Every aspect of his heart was tenacious it would seem.

"I wonder..", Solas murmured, shifting a bit to lay on his stomach, propping himself up with an elbow and resting his chin in his hand to peer down with quiet serenity at his slumbering heart. "..was it your love, you desire for me that shaped you, or was it your spirit? One so tenacious and bright as to bend the laws of magic and life?", he asked the air, shivering lightly from where the furs fell from his bare shoulders, but it only had him feeling warm as it reminded him of the snowy creature below.

A regal, sharp pointed nose twitch a bit, a quiet sniffle following it as a minor irritation invaded it, but it soon passed to allow a weary visage to find shelter once more, smooth and calm. Solas smiled tenderly, unable to resist the desire of lightly stroking the backs of his fingers against that very face he so adored, so cherished.

"Mm..", Fane hummed out gruffly, but showed no signs of actually rousing. Solas chuckled at that, taking his hand away to delicately trace along faded green ink, a pinch in his heart nearly ruining the blessed atmosphere of this chilly, dewy morning.

"You should never have known the weight of these shackles, my heart.", Solas whispered, voice tinged with soft sorrow as he continued to trace the vallaslin of Sylaise, the bearer having chosen them to hide his face, to hide his pain. "If I had only done things differently, then perhaps..", he trailed off with a sigh, stopping his path of painful memories harnessed in ink and snow. There was no use mourning what he could not change. His dragon was here, alive, and that was what mattered.

Even as the rest of the bore but a fraction of that life to him, to them.

A sudden warm grip against one of his forearms had Solas startling a bit, blinking as he tore from his typical musings to see two glittering, but still slightly hazy emerald pools gazing up at him, the gold that was normally prevalent like ebbing fireflies masked from sleep and quiet emotions.

Solas smiled a bit, sour mood slowly ebbing away like the sleep in draconic eyes. "Good morning, ma'isenatha.", he murmured in greeting, humming fondly as a lightly calloused thumb stroked his forearm. "Sleep well?"

Fane nuzzled into the pillow a bit, a semblance of a nod. "Sorta..", he muttered out, voice deeper than usual and rough, pleasantly, pleasantly rough. Solas began to card through snowy, short locks, worrying a tip between his fingers and smiling fondly as a content sigh slipped from pale lips.

"Every victory counts, vhenan.", he assured, leaning down to press a light kiss to a lax temple, holding the side of Fane's head reverently and using a minor, minor bit of magic to soothe a headache he knew was always there first thing in the morning. "Even if that victory is small; it is worthwhile."

It hurt sometimes that he could not do more for Fane's night terrors and trauma born memories, but the ward on his mind was potent and even Dreamer abilities made it oddly difficult to pierce that particular veil. Even so, they would find a way to dispel it and he would give his dragon the freedom that he deserved.

"Mm..", Fane hummed out again, slowly starting to doze off again as his deep breathing began to slow once more, broad, scarred shoulders rising and falling with the action. Solas chuckled, but allowed the man before him to sleep. It was still early after all. They did not have to be up for a few hours yet.

"Go back to sleep, ma lath.", Solas encouraged with a tender whisper, slowly guiding himself back down and resituating the covers over both him and Fane, the latter letting out a lazy, but grateful grunt. He made sure they were perfectly nestled before shifting closer to the beacon of heat, chuckling as a muscled arm instinctively wound around him, shutting his eyes to greet the call of sleep with willing consent. "I am not going anywhere without you. I promise.", he murmured as he laid a soft kiss against relaxed lips, smiling a bit as the gesture was lightly reciprocated before burrowing into a warm neck.

That was his vow; to never abandon the one that had broken barriers, real and imaginable, to reach him, to connect, to support him again. The path would be long, they could die, but not without seeing each other's face one last time as painful and as bitterly sweet it could be for they would both be lax, calm, and accepting as neither one found themselves alone at blackness' siren call.

***

Fluff and angst! *froths at the mouth* I AM SLAVE TO IT.

[eastertag]

double date gone wrong

@gordonthegreatesttracy gift for @godsliltippy

—

“This is Jeff Tracy of International Rescue. How may I be of assistance?”

Scott lets out a sigh, his father has been back in their lives now for eighteen months and this never gets old. Hearing his voice every day, listening to his stories from his eight years in deep space and just being able to go to him with any problems. Scott is no longer carrying the weight of four younger brothers’ problems on his shoulders.

“Dad, it’s John”

Scott’s heart skips a beat. John is supposed to be on holiday, a relaxing two week break away from the stresses and strains of international rescue.

“Go ahead John” Jeff replies, concern deepening the wrinkles in his forehead, his eyes focusing on the screen and the boy who has just popped out of the hologram projector on his desk.

“There has been a cave in up on the north end of the beach. Gordon and Penelope are both trapped and it is all my fault. We need Scott and Virgil. Now” John insists.

Scott is confused. How did that happen?

*TB*

Twelve hours earlier

“I could get used to this life” Ridley says to John as the pair lie under a shady umbrella on the beach looking out at the waves.

John smiles happily “I know what you mean, as much as I love Thunderbird Five just lying here with you makes my whole world feel complete”

Ridley smiles back and snuggles in closer, her head resting on his chest allowing her dark brown hair to flow loosely around her shoulders.

Yeah this is definitely the best holiday she has ever had.

The pair have just drifted off to sleep when a sudden shadow falls across them. Opening one eye, John groans at the sight in front of him.

“Hey bro, miss me?” a voice calls.

“No” John replies. “Why are you here Gordon?”

“Well Lady Penelope, you know, my girlfriend and I are here for a conference with the new ocean preservation society and I have been chosen to give the keynote speech” Gordon informs him, sitting down on the sand next to him and making himself at home.

“That does not mean that you are allowed to interrupt my afternoon, I took this vacation to get away from international rescue!” John reminds him.

“I was going to offer to take you to dinner, sort of a double date. I even swiped Scott’s credit card for the occasion but if you are going to be rude…” Gordon tails off.

“Okay fine” John replies, unwilling to miss out on a free meal!

“Awesome, meet me at the Grand Hotel in an hour” Gordon replies before walking away.

John makes it over to the designated hotel and is shown to a table set for four where Lady Penelope is sat awaiting their arrival.

Getting up she greets both warmly, smiling as she gives John a welcome kiss.

“Where is Gordon?” John asks looking around.

“You expected him to be on time?” Lady Penelope says with a grin.

Ridley is watching the friendly exchange with a dark look crossing her eyes. The pair are a little too friendly for her tastes. She reaches out and puts her hand on his shoulder possessively feeling anger rising up in her chest when he shrugs it off.

Does Lady Penelope need all five Tracys for herself? Surely she should be happy with the one she did snare and leave John for her?

“How many minutes late do you think Gordon is going to be?” Lady Penelope asks.

“Ten, shall we put a bet on it?” John replies laughing.

“Okay. I will say fifteen” Lady Penelope replies, she too is laughing.

“How about you Ridley?” John asks, turning towards her.

“Finally noticed that I am still here have you?” she says snottily.

“Excuse me?” Lady Penelope replies indignantly.

“Stop flirting with my boyfriend” Ridley says, her voice is low and menacing.

“WHAT?!” Gordon calls from behind Ridley’s head.

“She was flirting with your brother” Ridley says, rudely pointing to Lady Penelope.

“She has a name” Gordon says, equally rudely as he takes his seat next to Penny. “And she can flirt with whoever she wants, one I trust her and two she always returns to eat at home!”

John chokes on the bread stick he has just bitten into. “Ugh too much information Squid”

“What do you think we do at bedtime? Play paint by numbers?” Penelope adds grinning and wrapping her arms around Gordon’s shoulders and kissing his forehead.

John turns to Ridley. “See you have nothing to worry about, Lady Penelope has been one of my best friends since I was nine years old and we spent our first summer on the Island but her heart belongs to Gordon”

Ridley isn’t happy and she isn’t convinced, but she knows better than to show her hatred and jealousy of anyone who has the ability to take John from her and knows that she has to change the subject before the afternoon is ruined.

“What is everyone having for lunch? I hear they do really good lobster here”

Gordon untangles himself from Lady Penelope’s embrace to glare at his brother. “No. John you know that I am going to leave right now if anyone even think about eating an innocent lobster. The way they drop them into boiling water, I can’t John”

John does know. Remembering the time Gordon convinced Alan to break into a restaurant in California with him and free the lobsters back into the ocean still makes him laugh. The anger of their father and the unrepentant attitudes of his two younger brothers who only declared that they would happily to it again if they got the chance. Gordon doesn’t believe in killing and eating sea food! “Lobster is off the menu” he confirms with a reassuring glance at Gordon.

“Okay fine, I will have the grilled chicken salad” Ridley says after briefly studying the menu.

“Same” Lady Penelope adds.

“I will have the steak, rare, with the beer battered onion rings and chips” Gordon orders, tapping the screen in front of him to add his order.

“John?”

John is still reading the menu, nothing appeals to him but he knows sitting and watching his brother eat steak will make him hungry!

“I will have the steak too. Well done though, I don’t want it to still be mooing!”

The atmosphere starts to thaw out once the food arrives. Ridley watches Lady Penelope closely and she finds herself relaxing as she watches her with Gordon. Gordon is the one she really wants, maybe she did get it wrong.

“Hey John, can we get another bottle of wine?” Gordon asks. They have already consumed two full bottles and all four a little tipsy.

“Scott is paying, go ahead!” John replies with a grin.

“How did you get Scott’s card?” Ridley asks.

“Simple bit of swiping and using Alan as a distraction. You know when he was first born I thought that I would hate having a younger brother, but he definitely has his uses!” Gordon replies smiling before ordering a third bottle on the ordering app.

“Tell her about the time you talked him into painting Scott’s room pink” John says laughing.

“Oh yeah that was a classic!” Gordon laughs. “He was on a mission with Virgil in the artic. Something about the northern lights, I forget exactly what happened on the mission, but while they were away I had Alan paint Scott’s room neon pink. The trick to framing someone is to make sure you have an alibi”

“How to break the law, with Gordon Cooper Tracy” Lady Penelope breaks in.

“Ooh, I can use that as the title for my autobiography!” Gordon says.

Even Ridley laughs this time.

*TB*

“Okay so you guys stole my credit card and spent over eight hundred dollars on food and wine and Ridley got jealous, I don’t understand how Gordon and Lady Penelope getting stuck in a cave is your fault.” Scott is flying thunderbird one as fast as he knows how to get to their location while John tells the story.

“I am getting to it” John says rolling his eyes.

“Then get to it faster, what happened after dinner?”

*TB*

“Where are you guys going now?” Gordon asks.

“Well seeing as you interrupted our sunbathing session we are going back to that” John replies.

“Can we come?” Lady Penelope asks. “Make our double date last all day. It would be good to get to know you better Ridley”

Ridley allows herself a smile, she is feeling silly about her jealousy of the closeness between John and Lady Penelope. “It’s okay with me” she says happily.

“Can we build a sandcastle?” Gordon asks, once they have found a spot in the sun and have spread out towels.

“A sand space station” John suggests with a grin. Ridley nods enthusiastically.

“Can we make it a competition?” Gordon asks. His naturally competitive nature which helped him win an Olympic gold medal bursting out, his amber eyes are lit up in delight.

“Okay, but what is the prize for the winner?” John asks, he too has always loved a contest and he is not about to turn down a chance to beat a brother.

“The winner gets to decide where we are going for dinner, and can have Scott’s card to pay for it” Gordon fires back.

“You’re on fish face” John replies.

While the boys negotiate the terms of the competition, Lady Penelope and Ridley lie back on the beach towels talking.

“How did you meet John?” Ridley asks.

“We spent the summer together on Tracy Island when we were kids. That was the summer Gordon tried to feed Kayo to a snake and all they all got lost in a tropical storm” Lady Penelope replies.

“He tried to feed Kayo to a snake?!” Ridley exclaims in shock.

It is Gordon who answers her. “Yeah, but she deserved it. She was being mean to Alan and no one gets away with picking on my little brother but me. Toes passed away last year, but I went to visit him as often as I could after he got injured and had to go and live in a sanctuary in Australia”

“Toes?” Ridley asks.

“Yeah, I named him toes because he doesn’t have any” Gordon replies smiling.

John stops any further reminiscing by interrupting with the contest rules. “Okay we are ready. Rules are as followed apart from construction supplies you are not allowed to purchase anything. Scott will pay for the supplies. That is the only rule!”

Gordon nods, his teeth gritted in anticipation of a battle. “Sure, lets go. Pen RUN!” he shouts pointing over to the stall selling buckets and spades, while he wrestles John to the ground. “Eat sand Johnny!”

“Get off me!” John splutters, swinging his legs round and causing Gordon to fall who laughs as he gets back up onto his feet and looks around.

“Hey, where did the girls go?” he asks John.

“No idea, if you have frightened off another one of my girlfriends Fish-Face then I swear I will feed you to a shark” John replies rolling his eyes.

Gordon grins happily. “You know that is how I want to die right?”

“Excuse me?”

Turning round Gordon and John come face to face with Ridley and Lady Penelope who are both carrying bags with buckets and spades and looking at the boys as if they have never met them before.

“You want to be eaten by a shark?” Lady Penelope asks, her bright blue eyes are twinkling with amusement and she has momentarily forgotten their contest.

“Yep. If my death has to happen, then of course I want to be shark food!” Gordon replies. “My other life ambition apart from International Rescue and the Olympics has always been to be eaten by a shark”

*TB*

Scott is laughing despite the seriousness of the situation. His brother has always been crazy, but being eaten by a shark? Really Gordo?

“John, I am only minutes away now, please skip to how they got into the cave” Scott says, as he crosses over the coastline and starts to scan the beach for his brother’s location.

*TB*

Gordon and Lady Penelope’s “Sand Mansion” is a work of art. Virgil has always been the family artist, but Gordon has his own style that is shining through as he uses seaweed and shells he has gathered to make cladding and windows for the building. He has even added a moat and filled it with water.

Sitting back to admire his handywork, Lady Penelope runs her fingers through her hair, getting her nails tangled in her wet salty locks, but she doesn’t care. Not here with the only man she has ever loved. Watching with interest as the scarred muscles on his back heave with the effort of lugging buckets of water over for his moat. She knows that he is lucky to be here with her and not buried in a watery grave. Lying back on her towel, relaxing as the sun starts to sink down below the horizon causing the sky to glow and cast the beach in a red haze.

“Are you nearly done?” she asks him, aware that he has gotten carried away and isn’t even aware that she is still here!

“Nearly. But there is something missing. We need a flag!” Gordon replies, not even looking up from his masterpiece but jumping up onto his feet.

Gordon finally turns to Lady Penelope “Come on let’s go exploring for a flag”

Hand in hand the two walk past John and Ridley’s effort: a replica of thunderbird five including a gravity ring held in place with stray sticks they have found littering the sand.

“Hey it’s pretty good” Gordon says “Not as good as ours but not a bad effort big bro!”

“Thanks for the compliment Fish, where are you going?” John asks.

“To get some more stuff for the mansion, I would invite you along but you’re the competition!” it is Lady Penelope who answers him.

Ridley giggles. Finally realising that John and Lady Penelope are just friends, she can relax. John is hers and he knows it. Reaching out across their shared towel she curls into his side her head resting on his chest, as if the last seven hours have never happened. John has never been happier than he is right now. he has the woman he loves, and his brother is finally leaving them alone!

“Hey Pen, how about in here? we might not find a flag for the mansion but it is private!” Gordon says pointing out a small cave mouth in the hill at the edge of the beach.

Penny knows Gordon well enough to know why he wants the privacy! Grabbing his hand she drags him into the cave before throwing her arms around him and planting a kiss on his forehead her hands already moving to the drawstring on his shorts as she pushes him down onto the floor of the cave, neither caring about the wet and slimy ground as they are the only two people in the world.

“We can add this to the list with Thunderbird One and the Fire Flash” Gordon says laughing. “I thought Scott was going to murder us both when Virgil spilled the beans on that one!”

“Mmm. Have I told you recently just how much I love you?” Penny replies.

“No, tell me again!” Gordon replies with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

She doesn’t get the opportunity to speak however as there is a loud bang near by which sounds like a small explosion. Rocks rain down on both their heads and Gordon lies across Penelope desperate to protect her from harm. The cave is plunged into darkness as the entrance collapses. They’re trapped.

Finally the earth stills and she feels able to get up, only Gordon doesn’t move. His dark blonde hair has been dyed with the sticky red blood seeping from a wound in the back of his head. There is a brief moment of relief when she realises that he is still breathing but it doesn’t last long.

There are only two words running through her mind. Over and over again. Get. Help. Not wanting to move in case she causes further damage she manages to get to her phone calling the number that has never failed.

*TB*

John is starting to drift into a comfortable and relaxed sleep when he is suddenly bought back to full consciousness by Ridley’s urgent prodding.

“Wha’?” he mumbles sleepily.

“Your phone” Ridley replies, handing it over to him.

Flipping open the receiver Lady Penelope’s face pops out of the hologram transmitter. She has a cut above her right eyebrow which causes John to gasp in shock. “What happened?” he asks now wide awake.

“C-c-cave in. Gordon hurt. Help!” is all she can say, unable to stop the flow of tears.

John doesn’t ask for further details he is already on his feet, running down the beach, his bare feet burning as they beat down on the still warm sand as he races towards his brother’s weak life sign, followed by Ridley.

Coming upon the cave John let’s out a swear word he would never be brave enough to say in front of Grandma! It is buried.

*TB*

Lady Penelope is sitting on the floor, a deep cold has penetrated her heart and soul and she can’t stop shivering. Blaming herself for being so stupid for getting them into this situation she strokes a stray hair from Gordon’s face. His skin feels cold and his eyes are still tightly closed. Using the hand that isn’t stroking his hair, she takes his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze so he knows that he is not alone. That she has him, and she always will.

Gordon starts to squeeze back, his fingers closing ever so slightly and if she hadn’t been concentrating so hard she would never have felt them. This is the only way that he can let her know that he too is still with her.

*TB*

Outside in the warm evening air Virgil and Scott have arrived. Landing their respective Thunderbirds on the beach further away than they would have liked on John’s orders, as the ground around the cave is unstable and any further movement could cause even more damage.

Virgil drives a mole pod across the sandy terrain with Scott in the back up to where John is standing with Ridley.

“I have worked out the weak spots, use the drill through here” John tells them not even stopping to greet his two elder brothers. “I have spoken to Lady Penelope and Gordon has a serious head injury. You have to be careful in there”

“How did this happen?” Virgil asks. Looking around at the devastation on the beach, which has quickly been evacuated, and has been left covered in litter and stranded towels and beach umbrellas.

“According to the chief of police, there was a car crash, and the fuel ignited and caused the vehicle to explode. Luckily everyone was out of the car when it happened, but the shaking of the ground caused a minor earth tremor, which caused the cave in” John replies he knows that it was more complex than that, but he doesn’t have the time to go into details.

Virgil nods his face focused and determined on the task ahead of him. slowly he starts to drill at the solid rock formation in front of him, nervously he jumps at every noise, concern about further rock fall. The drill with the path John mapped for him makes the progress through the rock smooth and steady and in less than two minutes he is through.

He finds Lady Penelope still cradling Gordon’s head and to his relief his brother is awake.

“V-V-Virdy” Gordon stutters his whole body is shaking with the cold.

“No don’t speak, I will have you out of here and nice and warm and toasty soon just don’t move okay fish”

“Okay I w-w-won’t. Want to be e-e-eaten by a s-s-shark” Gordon mumbles, his eyes are glassy and unfocused.

Scott climbs out of the mole and starts to pull out a foldable stretcher. “Okay Fish you need to keep as still as possible, but this is going to hurt a lot” Scott tells him, as he slides the two halves into position under his body and clips them into position, apologising when Gordon lets out low painful moans as his feels his big brother manoeuvre his arms and legs before strapping him into place, leaving him feeling like he is in a straight jacket “Ready?” he asks but doesn’t give him time to answer as he nods to Virgil and they both pick up either end of the stretcher and place it on the flatbed attachment to the mole and lower the cover to keep him safe before they turn around and leave the cave which so very nearly became their tomb.

*TB*

“Jeff, they’re all going to be fine. Gordon is made from steel and you know he has been through worse. Stop fretting, Scott, John and Virgil know what they are doing” Grandma tells him, having watched her son pace the living room in frustration at not being able to help for the last hour. She too is terrified that something awful has happened, the longer the communications remain stoically silent.

“Why did I let him go? I should have known agreeing to let him go on that double date would end in disaster, from now on no dating off the island” Jeff decrees.

“But dad, I don’t even have a girlfriend how can I meet someone if I am not allowed of the Island?” Alan asks.

Jeff pauses his pacing and turns to look at his youngest son. “You are far too young to worry about that, you’re only eight”

Alan splutters indignantly. “Dad I am nineteen!” he reminds him.

Jeff is stopped from any further “decrees” when Virgil calls in. “Virgil, finally.”

“We have them dad, we are heading back to the Island. Prepare the sick bay” is all Virgil says before ringing off.

“You heard your brother, go” Jeff demands on Alan who scarpers from the room followed by both his father and Grandmother.

*TB*

Twenty-four hours later Gordon is sitting up in his bed propped up on several large white fluffy pillows, but he is in no pain thanks to a steady drip of morphine trickling into his arm. All four of his brothers are sitting in armchairs around him. there is a thick white bandage wrapped around his head, and he has been expertly stitched by Virgil and Grandma.

“Is this the first time I have fractured my skull?” he asks Virgil.

“Yeah, but it is not your first concussion so you young man will be remaining in that bed until I am satisfied that you are okay” it is grandma who answers him.

Gordon pouts briefly before he brightens up again as his sunny personality never allows him to remain down for long. “Can Penny stay with me?” he asks hopefully.

“You did say no more off the island dating dad” Alan reminds him.

Jeff eyes up his two youngest who are both giggling. “Sure, but you aren’t staying in the same room!”

“That’s okay we will just sleep in the cave in the cliff edge!” Gordon replies grinning as all four of his brothers simultaneously give him a face palm.

“I think on that note, we will let you get some rest” Grandma says herding his brothers out and leaving him alone where he snuggles down under the blanket and lets out a large yawn, the deep fatigue he has felt for the last day is bone deep and he can’t keep his eyes open for long.

Out in the sun Lady Penelope is sitting by the pool with Ridley, the small cut above her eyebrow has been covered with a plaster with dinosaurs on, which were chosen by Alan. “No offense Ridley, but I am never double dating with you and John ever again!”

[otaku-tyriq]

Born of Bread - Battle Cards (Standard)

Special Cards

Main Character Cards

[michaelbogild]

Lines by Joanna Newsom

No one knows what is coming Or who will harvest what we have sewn Or how I've been dulling and dumbing In the service of the heart alone

Oh, silent, constant driver of mine: wordlessly calling from the end of the line, where, even though each hour I ever loved must queue and dive, still, you will not take my heart, alive.

And darling we will be fine but what was yours and mine appears to me a sandcastle that the gibbering wave takes But if it's all just the same then will you say my name? Say my name in the morning so that I know when the wave breaks

I fell, I tried to do well but I won't be. Will you tell the one that I love to remember and hold me?

See, I got gone when I got wise But I can't with certainty say we survived

Stay with me for awhile, that's an awfully real gun I know life will lay you down as the lightning has lately done

All we saw was that Time is taller than Space is wide

What happened to the man you were, when you loved somebody before her? Did he die? Or does that man endure, somewhere far away?

I don't know if you loved me most, but you loved me last.

Meanwhile, I will raise my own glass to how you made me fast and expendable And I will drink to your excellent health and your cruelty, will you have one on me?

It was a dark dream, darlin', it's over The firebreather is beneath the clover Beneath his breathing there is cold clay, forever A toothless hound-dog choking on a feather

the records they left are cryptic at best, lost in obsolescence.

The old veil of desire, like vessels that we fired, fell thin as eggshells.

But stand brave, life-liver, bleeding out your days in the river of time. Stand brave: time moves both ways, in the nullifying, defeating, negating, repeating joy of life;

Anyhow, I sat by your side, by the water You taught me the names of the stars overhead that I wrote down in my ledger Though all I knew of the rote universe were those Pleiades loosed in December I promised you I'd set them to verse, so I'd always remember

I called to you several times while the change took place and then arrived all night And I died But all these songs, when you and I are long gone, will carry on

That the meteorite is the source of the light and the meteor's just what we see And the meteoroid is a stone that's devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee And the meteorite's just what causes the light and the meteor's how it's perceived And the meteoroid's a bone thrown from the void, that lies quiet in offering to thee

Hardly seen, hardly felt– deep down where your fight is waiting, down 'till the light in your eyes is fading:

There's a big black spider hanging over my door Can't go anywhere, anymore

Who asked you? Asked you if you want to be Loved by me? Who died and made you in charge of who loves who?

And I saw straight away that the lay was steep But I fell for you, honey, as easy as falling asleep And that right there is the course I keep

And the tilt of this strange nation And the will to remain for the duration Waving the flag Feeling it drag

Hey, hey, hey, the end is near On a good day you can see the end from here But I won't turn back now though the way is clear I will stay for the remainder

You froze in your sand shoal, prayed for your poor soul Sky was a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl And when the bread broke, fell in bricks of wet smoke My sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke

And it's my heart, not me, who cannot drive At which conclusion you arrived Watching me sit here bolt upright and cry For no good reason at the Eastering sky

bearing weight, taking fire, trading smokes, in the war between us and our ghosts.

And every little gust that chances through will dance in the dust of me and you, with joy-of-life.

We broke our hearts in the war between St. George and the dragon But both in equal parts are welcome to come along I'm inviting everyone

By the time you read this, I will be so far away Daddy Longlegs, how in the world am I to be expected to stay? In the night, in the night, you may hear me call Pa, stay your hand and steel your resolve, stay where you are, so long and tall

Our nature does not change by will In the winter, 'round the ruined mill The creek is lying flat and still It is water, though it's frozen

Our lived come easy and our lives come hard. We carry them like a pack of cards: some we don't use, but we don't discard, but keep for a rainy day.

Until the night is over, hold on, hold on Hold your horses back from the fickle dawn

I am easy Easy to keep Honey, you please me Even in your sleep But my arms want to carry My heart wants to hold Tell me your worries, I want to be told

There is a blacksmith and there is a shepherd and there is a butcher-boy And there is a barber, who's cutting and cutting away at my only joy

And that is all I want here To draw my gaunt spirit to bow Beneath what I am allowed

How I said to you, "Honey, just open your heart" When I've got trouble even opening a honey jar And that right there is where we are

My heart is a furnace full of love that's just, and earnest Now, you know that we must unlearn this

Squint skyward and listen Loving him, we move within his borders Just asterisms in the stars' set order

"Do you love me? Will you remember?" The snow falls above me. The renderer renders: "The event is in the hand of God".

And I been 'fessing double fast Addressing questions nobody asked I'll get this joy off of my chest at last And I will love you 'til the noise has long since passed

With your hands in your pockets, stubbly running To where I'm unfresh, undressed and yawning Well, what is this craziness? This crazy talking? You caught some small death when you were sleepwalking

And there was a booming above you That night, black airplanes flew over the sea And they were lowing and shifting like beached whales Shelled snails, as you strained and you squinted to see The retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry

You ranged real hot and real cold but I'm sold I am home on that range And I do hate to fold Right here at the top of my game

Then down and down and down and down and down and deeper Stoke, without sound, the blameless flames, you endless sleeper Through fire below and fire above, and fire within Sleep through the things that couldn't have been if you had not have been

You burned me like a barn I burned safe and warm in your arms

All the way to the thing we've been playing at, darlin' I can see that you're wearing your staying hat, darlin' For the time being all is well Won't you love me a spell?

And when the fire moves away Fire moves away, son Why would you say I was the last one?

And I rose, to take my shape at last, from the dreams that had dogged me, through every past, when, to my soul, the body would say You may do what you like, as long as you stay.

And, in your kindness, you put me straightaway in the cupboard with a bottle of champagne And then, later, on a train

Well I wish we could take every path I could spend a hundred years adoring you Yes, I wish we could take every path because you know I hated to close the door on you

And then a slow lip of fire moves across the prairie with precision While somewhere with your pliers and glue, you make your first incision And in a moment of almost unbearable vision, doubled over with the hunger of lions "Hold me close," cooed the dove, who was stuffed now with sawdust and diamonds

In martial wind, and in clarion rain, we minced into battle, wincing in pain; not meant for walking, backs bound in twine: not angel or devil, but level, in time.

The text will not yield, nor x-ray reveal with any fluorescence where the hand of the master begins and ends.

When cruel death debases, we believe it erases all the rest that precedes.

What’s redacted will repeat, and you cannot learn that you burn when you touch the heat, so we touch the heat, and we cut facsimiles of love and death (just separate holes in sheets where you cannot breathe, and you cannot see).

Here, the light will seep And the scythe will reap And spirit will rend In counting toward the end

All the livelong day If I have my way, I will love you But one can't carry the weight Or change the fate of two I've been waiting for a break How long's it gonna take? Let me love you

But it don't make no difference, now, and no-one's listening, anyhow, and lists of sins and solemn vows don't make you any friends.

I have got some business out at the edge of town Candy weighing both of my pockets down Till I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them And knowing how the common folk condemn What it is I do, to you, to keep you warm Being a woman, being a woman

And it pains me to say, I was wrong. Love is not a symptom of time. Time is just a symptom of love

Where i know that you can yield, when it comes down to it; bow like the field when the wind combs through it:

But though I tried so hard my little darling I couldn't keep the night from coming in

All along the road, the lights stream by. I want to go where the dew won’t dry. I want to go where the light won’t bend– far as the eye may reach–nor end.

I can't claim that I knew you best, but did you know me at all?

But it's mine. Or, at least, it's lent. And my life, until the time is spent is a pin-light, bent.

Though the long road begins and ends with you I cannot seem to make amends with you

In the folds and the branches, somewhere, out there, I was only just born into open air. Now hush, little babe. You don’t want to be down in the trenches, remembering with me, where you will not mark my leaving, and you will not hear my parting song. Nor is there cause for grieving. Nor is there cause for carrying on.

But inasmuch as that light is loaned, and, insofar as we’ve borrowed bones, must every debt now be repaid in star-spotted, sickle-winged night raids, while we sing to the garden, and we sing to the stars, and we sing in the meantime, wherever you are?

Rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes I heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it

Easy, easy You must not fear You must meet me to see me I am barely here But like a Bloody Mary Seen in the mirror Speak my name And I appear

And the little white dove made with love, made with love made with glue and a glove and some pliers Swings a low sickle arc from its perch in the dark, settle down, settle down my desire

In our lives is a common sense that relies on the common fence that divides, and attends, but provides scant defense from the Great Light that shine through a pin-hole, when the pin-light calls itself Selfhood, and the Selfhood inverts on a mirror in an Amora Obscura.

When I've been trying with my whole heart and soul To stay right here in the right lane But it can make you feel over and old Lord, you know it's a shame When I only want for you to pull over and hold me Till I can't remember my own name

Then in my hot hand, she slumped her sick weight We tramped through the poison oak, heartbroke and inchoate The dogs were snapping, and you cuffed their collars While I climbed the tree-house, then how I hollered

At night, I walk in the park with a whip between the lines of the whispering Jesuits Who are poisoning you against me

And what do you remember most? The line of the sea, seceding the coast? Fine capillaries, glowing with cars? The comfort you drew from the light of the stars?

Failing this, failing this, follow me, my sweetest friend To see what you anointed in pointing your gun there Lay it down, nice and slow, there is nowhere to go

it was dark out, I was half-dead I saw a star fall into the sky like a chunk of thrown coal as if God himself spat like a cornered rat

but honey it’s been a long time since I’ve come to any use. And it hurt me bad, when I heard the news that you’d got that call, and could not refuse.

But always up the mountainside you're clambering Groping blindly, hungry for anything Picking through your pocket linings, well, what is this? Scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus?

Come across the desert with no shoes on I love you truly or I love no-one

And when I cut your hair and leave the birds all of the trimmings I am the happiest woman among all women

You asked my hand, hired a band "In your heart is all that you need Ask and you will receive," it is said I threw my bouquet and I knocked 'em dead

Haven't you seen what I've seen? Don't you know what you ought to do? I was born to love And I intend to love you

The borders of the land that man has girded All double-bolted and tightfisted Until we reach the open country A-steeped in milk and honey Will you keep your fancy clothes on, for me? Can you bear a little longer to wear that leash? My love, I swear by the air I breathe Sooner or later, you'll bare your teeth

From the top of the flight of the wide white stairs Through the rest of my life, do you wait for me there? There's a bell in my ears, there's a wide white roar Drop a bell down the stairs, hear it fall forever more Hear it fall forever more

And no amount of talking is going to soften the fall But, like after the rain, step out if the overhang, that's all It had a nice a ring to it when the ole opry house rang So with a solemn auld lang Signed, sealed, delivered, I sang And there is hesitation and it always remains Concerning you, me And the rest of the gang And in our quiet hour I feel I see everything And am in love with the hook upon which everyone hangs And I know you meant to show the extent To which you gave a god dang

Beyond recall, you severed all strings to everyone, and everything.

And in an infinite regress: Tell me, why is the pain of birth lighter borne than the pain of death? I ain't saying that I loved you first, but I loved you best.

And though our bones they may break and our souls separate, why the long face? And though our bodies recoil from the grip of the soil, why the long face?"

I think you saw their flares and kept me safely unawares In your arms

But there is nothing I adore apart from that whore's black heart

But I took my fishing pole, fearing your fever Down to the swimming hole, where there grows a bitter herb That blooms but one day a year, by the riverside, I'd bring it here Apply it gently to the love you've lent me

See how the infinite divides: and the divers are not to blame for the rift, spanning distant shores. You don't know my name, but I know yours.

We are tested and pained By what's beyond our bed We are blessed and sustained By what is not said

The wandering eye that I have caught Is as hot as a wandering sun But I will want for nothing more in my garden, start again In my hardening to every heart but one

So, across the years and miles and through On a good day you can feel my love for you Will you leave me be so that we can stay true To the path that you have chosen?

But for now, just dance, darling C'mon, will you dance, my darling? Darling, there's a place for us Can we go, before I turn to dust?

I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain Little sister, he will be back again I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain Spiders' ghosts hang, soaked and Dangling silently, from all the blooming cherry trees In tiny nooses, safe from everyone Nothing but a nuisance, gone now, dead and done Be a woman, be a woman

I had a dream that i walked in the garden of Chabot, and those telescope ruins. It was there that I called to my true love, who was pale as millennial moons, Honey, where did you come by that wound?

Rushing, tearing, speeding home: bound to a wheel that is not my own, where round every bend I long to see temporal infidelity.

My mind is failing and my body grows weak My lips won't form the words I speak I'm floating away on a barrel of pain New York City won't see me again

Save up, up where the light, undiluted, is weaving In a drunk dream at the sight of my baby, out back Back on the patio, watching the bats bring night in While, elsewhere, estuaries of wax-white Wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped

Bleached the night with dawn deleting In that high sun after our good run When the spirit bends Beneath knowing it must end

Recall the word you gave: to count your way across the depths of this arid world, where you would yoke the waves, and lay a bed of shining pearls!

When the sky goes pink in Paris, France, do you think of the girl who used to dance when you'd frame her moving within your hands, saying This I won't forget?

Hey little leaf, lying on the ground Now you're turning slightly brown Why don't you get up on the tree Turn the color green the way you ought to be

Now the towns and forests, highways and plains, fall back in circles like an emptying drain. And I won't come round this way again, where the lonely wind abides, and you will not take my heart, alive. You will not take my heart.

I saw a rabbit as slick as a knife and as pale as a candlestick And I had thought it'd be harder to do but I caught her, and skinned her quick

I said a sort of prayer for some rare grace Then thought I ought to take her to a higher place Said, "Dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you And though you die, bird, you will have a fine view"

till we hear the telltale Boom, too soon– hotdogging loon, caught there like a shard of mirror in the moon!

There's an old trick played, when the light and the wine conspire to make me think I'm fine. I'm not, but I have got half a mind to maybe get there, yet.

It was dark, I was drunk and half-dead and we slept, knocking heads

And the moment I slept, I was swept up in a terrible tremor Though no longer bereft, how I shook and I couldn't remember And then the furthermost shake, drove a murdering stake in and cleft me right down through my center And I shouldn't say so but I know that it was then or never

Down in the valley where the fields are green Watch my luck turn, fro, and to Pluck every last daisy clean till only I may love you

I saw a life and I called it mine I saw it drawn so sweet and fine And I had begun to fill in all the lines Right down to what we'd name her

I wasn't born of a whistle or milked from a thistle at twilight No, I was all horns and thorns, sprung out fully formed, knock-kneed and upright So enough of this terror we deserve to know light and grow evermore lighter and lighter You would have seen me through but I could not undo that desire

A goose, alone, I suppose, can know the loneliness of geese, who never find their peace,whether north, or south, or west, or east

I'll hunt the pearl of death to the bottom of my life, and ever hold my breath, till I may be the diver's wife.

I call and call for the doctor but the snow swallows me whole with ol' Florry Walker and the event lives only in print.

This is blindness beyond all conceiving Well, behind us the road is leaving, yeah, leaving And falling back Like a rope gone slack

Bottle of white, bottle of red Helpless as a child, when you held me in your arms And I knew that no other could ever love me as you loved Love me as you loved but help me, I'm leaving

Dig a little hole not three inches round Spit your pit in a hole in the ground Weep upon the spot for the starving of me Till up grows a fine young cherry tree When the bough breaks, what'll you make for me?

But I saw the Bering Strait and the Golden Gate, in silent suspension of their golden age

And everything sloped like it was dragged from a rope in the mouth of the south below

Do you remember staring up at the stars So far away in their bulletproof cars?

I found a little plot of land in the garden of Eden It was dirt and dirt is all the same I tilled it with my two hands and I called it my very own There was no one to dispute my claim

[ramrodd]

Who Was Melchizedek & Why Does It Matter? | MythVision Documentary

COMMENTARY:

Melchizedek is a Magi, The Bible is one of four epic narratives that all got started at about the same time between now and the Step Pyramid,, including the Iliad and the Odyssey, The Aeneid and the lost Etruscan narrative that was subsumed by a literate culture, like the Druids into Christianity,  A;; four narratives converge at the Cross. Even time as measured by the great celestial movement by which time is usually recorded. 3760 on Enoch's 7000 year Epoch became 1 BCE back-to back with 1 CE, This was a deliberate strategy of the Magi coming out of Persia, The numerology and astrology of Persia is different from the numerology and astrology of the Orient beginning with India. In Bei Ing I was born in the Year of the Pig, In Hamilton, Ohio, I an a Pisces with Gemini rising, In the 70s, I could have earned a comfortable living with numerology and cards as a  reliable psychic consultant in the District,: I began studying numerology as a figure of speech my freshman year of college and most of what I was doing you can learn with NLP and the wicca of Jesus, Go read The Structure of Magic, I was a casual disciple of a true psychic who was friends with Edgar Cayce, I have never the less never been able to reconcile the Year of the Pig to the Persian Zodiac. First you see it, Zen you don't. However that happened whenever that was, the Magi were the navigators of time, Enoch was not a Magi: he was like a consulting engineer and interpreter of the Magi brain storming going on at that time, I think that the shift from the Orietntal zodiac to the Persian zodiac is cultural moment captured by the Parable of the Cave. In terms of numerology, the Magi invented the 60 base numerology the whole world uses to tell time, sunrise to su, where  nrise for Christians and sunset to sunset for 1st Cwntury Hebrews at this time time of the year, the vernal equinox, The Praetorian Guard told time with the 60 base numerology, The Magi went around the Mediterranian as stone masons to the Pharaoh's, Thanks to Enoch's 7000  year  grid, we can approximated the moment what ever it was the Magi were doing in the region began to get traction, Based on this presentation, it is clear to me that the Magi were doing the same thing all over the Med at about the same time: bread and wine and what  Jesus does in Luke 24:45. It never made any sense to me why Abram gave Melchizedek a tithe. Abram was all about boundaries, All those alters are like cats peeing to mark their territory, And, apparently, those alters ringed Mount Mariah, where Jesus took the place of Isaac just to prove that Genesis 1:1 is absolutely accurate: The Resurrection is Elohim the verb method for saying "Hi!" In terms of the Zen mind of Jesus, When friedrich nietzsche said "God is Dead", he meant that Hegel proposed a method to abstract God out of metaphysical necessity, What  Nietzsche leaves out is that it is a consequence of Pauline Theology, as N.T. Wright interprets him, Pauline Theolog is what Jesus was bringing to Israel that Jerusalem rejected, The premise that Melchizedek gave a tithe to Abram is totally consistent with the Parable of the Talents. Based on you research, it appears to me that the bred and wine is introduced as a method to connect Yaweh, Queen of Battle in Genesis 14 to God, the Father in Genesis 15, In Genesis 15:5, God, the Father does to Abram what Jesus does to His Disciples in Luke 24:45,, In the leadership model of the Magi, God, the Father dazzles Abram and left his the working capital necessary to start a literate tradition, unlike the Etruscans and Druids, The point is this: Enoch's 7000 year Epoch is anchored by the Book of Job in the year 3760 BCE as a count down to the historically measurable moment established by John 11:35.  The point is Melchizedek is a moment when the Magi intervene in the narrative arc from Job to the Cross by way of  Genesis 15:5 The second time the Magi intervene, historically, in that narrative trajectory is recorded in the nativity narrative of Matthew, when the Magi give a tithe to Jesus in very valuable and fungible capital investment, And we know the payoff, historically, began at 3760 of Enoch's Epoch, Enoch's 7000 yar Epoch is an epistemological bridge from the apex technology of the Stone Age that runs straight as a lase to Apollo 11 by way of Genesis 15:5. Melchizedek completes the Hellenistic ontology that becomes evident with the Archetypes of Jungian Psychology,     The Book of Job is the only book in the Bible that was composed by Elohim the verb to establish a point of departure in the demonstration of the necessity and integrity of Free Will in the separation of The Kingdom of God from the Kingdom of Heaven,  Jesus is God's apology of the mistreatment of Job due to God being seduced by The Satan to torture Job to satisfy God's ego. Your version of the tithing is correct. This corruption of the  record is not unique, but not for the reasons Bart Ehrman posits, The Bram tithe is a biblical foundation of the Prosperity Gospel of Mega Church Evangelicals. ' The tithe of the Magi to Abram the Priest anticipates the tithe of the Magi to Jesus the priest. That's the meaning of Melchizedek as the instrument of a divine transforma

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 20: Together

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Before they even made it over the threshold of the kitchen door, Emrys was upon them. “I’ve never seen such a sorry sight,” the old male hissed. “Blood and dirt and leaves over every inch of you both.”

He wasn’t wrong. And Emrys seemed to sense an easy victory. Their confrontation earlier had apparently only emboldened him. Not that Rowan was going to challenge the old male – Rowan deserved what he got. Not only for endangering all of them this afternoon, but for what he’d said to Aelin last night, what he’d said to her these past weeks.

Rowan could see Luca huddled by the fire, and the boy seemed alright. There wasn’t any visible damage anyways, and that was enough for Rowan. He wondered if the boy had told Emrys and Malakai about what had happened. He doubted it – Emrys was upset, but not that upset.

“No better than alley cats, brawling at all hours of the day and night,” the old male said, slamming two bowls of stew onto the worktable which Rowan sat before without a word of protest. “Eat, both of you. And then get cleaned up. Elentiya, you’re off kitchen duty tonight and tomorrow.”

Aelin was still standing in the entryway, and she seemed like she was about to protest, but Emrys held out a hand to stop her. “I don’t want you bleeding on everything. You’ll be more trouble than you’re worth.”

Rowan was already digging in to the warm stew. Perhaps it was just because of the near-death experience, or the burns currently throbbing on his arms, but it tasted even better than usual. Rich and tender and delectable.

Aelin sat next to him on the bench, swearing viciously, her face scrunched up in pain and anger. Rowan clenched his jaw. He couldn’t tell if the curses were from pain or irritation at Emrys’ declaration or if they were directed towards himself.

She stretched her right leg, wincing and cursing again. That had been the leg he’d kicked. A small measure of shame stole through him. It didn’t matter whether the curses were from pain or not – they were definitely for him.

“Clean out your mouth, too, while you’re at it,” Emrys snapped from the hearth.

A moment passed while Aelin seemed to settle into the bench, still wincing and looking at Emrys and Malakai as if she was planning on biting their heads off. Then she began to eat, and shifted back into her human form.

Emrys approached bearing a loaf of bread, saying, “Makes no difference to me whether your ears are pointy or round, or what your teeth look like. But,” he added, looking at Rowan, “I can’t deny I’m glad to see you got in a few punches this time.”

Rowan snapped his head up, meeting the old male’s gaze. His eyes seemed to say, You deserved far worse for what you’ve done to that child. 

Emrys’ voice was hard, but not cruel. More...stern, as he said, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough of beating each other into a pulp?”

Malakai stiffened, but Emrys went on in spite of his mate’s obvious anxiety. “What good does it accomplish, other than providing me with a scullery maid whose face scares the wits out of our sentries? You think any of us like to hear you two cursing and screaming every afternoon? The language you use is enough to curdle all the milk in Wendlyn.”

The atmosphere in the kitchen was tense, and Rowan knew they were all expecting him to be furious, to react in some way to the challenge the old male was setting. To lash out.

Instead, Rowan just lowered his head and mumbled an apology into his stew.

Surprise, and wicked amusement flashed through Aelin’s scent. Rowan almost thought he saw her lips curl into a fierce grin out of the corner of his eyes. But before he could glance up and confirm the look, Aelin stood and walked over to kneel at the old male’s feet.

She apologized profusely, to Emrys, Luca, and Malakai. For disrespecting their kindness, for hurting them with her careless words, for walking out on them that morning. Shame wafted through her scent, riddling it through with its noxious reek.

Malakai and Luca quietly muttered their acceptance, though Emrys only nodded. He was still wary. Hurt even. The grief from that morning had not yet left him, and though he had clearly forgiven her, it would be a while before everything was alright once more.

Emrys lowered his hand to help her from her crouch, saying, “I accept your apology, Elentiya. And I know you mean it, because I know who you are. All the elder Fae here do, for we knew your mother. She worked here in her youth. Fighting to convince the Fae of Doranelle that the demi-Fae should have a place in their realm.”

Aelin kept very still as Emrys spoke, and unlike Rowan, she didn’t seem all that surprised by the revelation. Though she was obviously discomforted by it, as she always was by the truth of her identity.

They ate the rest of their dinner in near-silence, and soon the kitchens began to fill for the evening, demi-Fae entering for the nightly meal and hearthside storytelling. Only a few did a double take upon seeing Aelin and Rowan together on the bench, their eyes glancing over their swollen and lacerated faces, covered in each other’s blood.

When Aelin stood to wash up after the meal, Rowan joined her, surprise coloring her scent and widening her eyes. He ignored it.

They washed the dishes together in quiet companionship, with only the sound of the swish of water and clink of china. But after only a few minutes of this, Aelin spoke, breaking the silence. “We had an adventure today.”

Rowan’s eyes shot up. She was looking right at Emrys, her eyes shining, and Luca was grinning with pure delight from the corner table. Malakai however, was not amused.

Malakai set down his spoon and said, “Let me guess: it had something to do with that roar that sent the livestock into pandemonium.”

Aelin’s eyes crinkled. “What do you know of a creature that dwells in the lake under …” She glanced at Rowan questioningly.

“Bald Mountain. And he can’t know that story,” Rowan said dismissively. “No one does.”

Emrys stared right back at him, his face tight with anger. “I am a Story Keeper,” he said indignantly, “And that means that the tales I collect might not come from Fae or human mouths, but I hear them anyway.”

Emrys sat down at the table, folding his hands in front of him and obviously settling in to tell the night’s tale. Rowan couldn’t help but feel skeptical. His mother’s story had been passed through his family – and tales of Brannon and Athril were frowned upon in Doranelle. No matter how wise this male was, he couldn’t know what Rowan did. Could he?

“I heard one story, years ago,” Emrys began, “From a fool who thought he could cross the Cambrian Mountains and enter Maeve’s realm without invitation. He was on his way back, barely clinging to life thanks to Maeve’s wild wolves in the passes, so we brought him here while we sent for the healers.”

Malakai murmured, “So that’s why you wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace.” Emrys gave his mate a wry smile, their eyes meeting in a shared look of love and deep affection. Obviously, this was how they had met, all those years ago.

Emrys continued. “He had a fierce infection, so at the time I thought it might have been a fever dream, but he told me he found a cave at the base of the Bald Mountain. He camped there, because it was raining and cold and he planned to be off at first light. Still, he felt like something was watching him from the lake. He drifted off, and awoke only because the ripples were lapping against the shore – ripples from the center of the lake. And just beyond the light of his fire, out in the deep, he spied something swimming. Bigger than a tree or any beast he’d ever seen.”

“Oh, it was horrific,” Luca cut in, his voice bright and excited.

“You said you were out with Bas and the other scouts on border patrol today!” Emrys gave Rowan a look that suggested he’d better test his next meal for poison.

Rowan kept his gaze even and level, and soon Emrys was once again lost in thought, absorbed by his tale. Though perhaps his face now had a slightly darker cast. Damn that talkative child.

“What the fool learned that night was this: the creature was almost as old as the mountain itself. It claimed to have been born in another world, but had slipped into this one when the gods were looking elsewhere. It had preyed upon Fae and humans until a mighty Fae warrior challenged it. And before the warrior was through, he carved one of the creature’s eyes out – for spite or sport – and cursed the beast, so that as long as that mountain stood, the creature would be forced to live beneath it.”

Emrys paused for a moment. Rowan had been wrong – Emrys knew whereof he spoke, even if he didn’t know the specifics. Didn’t know that it had been Athril and Brannon who had battled the monster, and cursed it. But perhaps Rowan could use this to his advantage.

“So it has dwelled in the labyrinth of underwater caves under the mountain. It has no name – for it forgot what it was called long ago, and those who meet it do not return home.”

Rowan stared directly at Emrys, his head cocked ever so slightly to the side. His chest ached slightly, the blood oath twisting as he pushed at its restrictions. Rowan glanced at Aelin, making sure she was listening, then asked, “Who was the warrior who carved out its eye?”

“The fool didn’t know, and neither did the beast. But the language it spoke was Fae – an archaic form of the Old Language, almost indecipherable. It could remember the gold ring he bore, but not what he looked like.”

Aelin started, her fingers reaching for the ring in her pocket. If she did not already understand, she soon would. The ring she bore was Athril’s, the sword Brannon’s. She would put it together, and could plan. Could figure out how to use this weapon he had given her – a weapon to bargain with.

It was all Rowan could do for her, all he could give her to defend herself against Maeve during their inevitable meeting. Perhaps, if she played her cards exactly right, Aelin could walk out of the city of rivers better off than she had entered it.

Rowan reached for a glass of water, the next dish in the long line of washing. He had forgotten just how mind-numbing the task was. But as he moved, the sleeve of his jacket shifted, and brushed against his throbbing wrists. The burns were even worse, the skin red and inflamed. He couldn’t hold in a wince, and he thought Aelin might have noticed.

But before either of them could say anything, Aelin to express remorse or Rowan to reject her sympathy, Emrys interrupted them, pinning Rowan down with a hard stare. “No more adventures.”

Instead of meeting the old male’s hard eyes, Rowan turned to look at Luca. Though the boy was indignant, his body tense with irritation at Emrys’ overprotectiveness, he was barely more than a child. And Rowan had nearly gotten him killed today.

“Agreed.”

But the old male didn’t back down. “And no more brawling.”

This time, Rowan met Aelin’s fierce gaze, uncertainty coursing through him. It felt as though he and Aelin had launched themselves over a cliff and into empty space, and he had no idea what the hell the bottom of the chasm would look like.

So he kept his face blank as he said, “We’ll try.”

···

Rowan went up to his rooms in silence, his every step burdened by the screaming pain in his wrists. But he refused to go the healers, nor to sneak into the storeroom where they kept their salves and tinctures. Or to heal the burns with his own magic.

Instead, he just trudged up the stairs, pushing open his door and collapsing on his bed, exhausted. He hadn’t slept last night, and the day had been long. Perhaps one of the longest of his very long life.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

His muscles refused to relax, his mind endlessly circling. The same images kept reappearing behind his eyes: Luca scrambling, his eyes wide with terror; the creature’s red eye appearing through the hole in the ice; and Aelin, standing barely inches from the lake monster, her shoulders set, half in a crouch, utterly defenseless but ready to protect the boy with her life if it proved necessary.

Aelin, not an assassin, but a warrior. A soldier.

Rowan lay awake on his bed for nearly an hour before he gave up and moved to sit in the chair beside the worktable. His fingers automatically reached for anything he could use to distract himself, and they happened upon the map of the western edge of Doranelle. The map of the area between Mistward and the sea, where the locations of each of the five dead demi-Fae were carefully marked.

But the ink swam before his eyes.

His wrists ached all the way down to the bones, but that wasn’t what distracted him. Instead he was thinking of the feeling of weightlessness that still coursed through him. As if he were falling, had lost his tether and was treading water, far out to sea. As if he were lost, and did not know the way.

Rowan didn’t think he’d known for a long while.

He’d wandered aimlessly for so long, traveling without stars or compass to guide him for so many years that he’d become numb to it. It hadn’t bothered him, the aimlessness, the purposelessness. He hadn’t even thought about it.

Now, it was as though a candle had been lit, the fog cleared. It was like he had been slowly brought back to consciousness after a long sleep, and now he had absolutely no idea where he was.

And all the while, Aelin’s fierce eyes, her smell, the very taste of her blood, echoed within him. A nagging, persistent reminder. I am here, I am here, I am here.

A soft knock at the door.

“What?” Rowan snapped, jerked from his brooding.

The door clicked open, allowing the intruder’s scent to waft into the small space. Once again, Aelin had decided to pay him a visit. It was like his thoughts had manifested her from the ether.

Only tonight, with this visit, Aelin’s scent was entwined with a faint, tentative guilt. A soft, cloying odor heavy on his tongue – like dust and rotten fruit. Entirely opposite to last nights’ intrusion.

She pushed the door open soundlessly, and made one short step into the small space. Rowan turned to face her as she took in every detail of his quarters, surprised to find that this time, he wasn’t infuriated by her imposition.

“What do you want?”

Aelin said nothing at first, her eyes roving over his bare chest, her face blank. She took in every detail of his tattoo, cataloguing his every scar. There was no desire in her gaze, only a mild curiosity. So Rowan tolerated her look, waiting until her gaze stopped to rest on the burns she’d given him, now aching red manacles around his wrists.

She tossed the salve to him. “I thought you might want this.”

He caught it with one hand, but his eyes remained on her. “I deserved it.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t feel bad.”

He turned the tin over and over between his fingers. He didn’t understand why she would care about his pain. “Is this a bribe?”

“Give it back, if you’re going to be a pain in my ass.” She held out her hand for the tin, but instead of handing it over, Rowan closed it in his fist, then set it on the worktable.

“You could heal yourself, you know. Heal me, too. Nothing major, but you have that gift.”

Aelin hesitated, her brow furrowed. “It’s – it’s the drop of water affinity I inherited from Mab’s line. My mother –” another pause, this time with a grimace of pain, “told me that the drop of water in my magic was my salvation – and sense of self-preservation.”

Rowan nodded, and she continued, “I wanted to learn to use it like the other healers – long ago, I mean. But never was allowed to. They said…well, it wouldn’t be all that useful, since I didn’t have much of it, and Queens don’t become healers.”

Aelin’s words tapered off, her gaze turned inwards, remembering. Rowan almost felt as though it was he who was intruding, though it was she who had come, uninvited, to his rooms twice in two days.

It was awkwardness that caused his next words to fall from his mouth, “Go to bed. Since you’re banned from the kitchen tomorrow, we’re training at dawn.”

Aelin turned without another word, but as she moved her scent filled with a deep ache, almost sorrow, and her ashes coated his throat.

Rowan had learned more about the princess this past day than he had in all of the previous weeks. Still, there was much to learn, much to uncover. But his picture of her was far more complete, far less impressionistic than it had been even yesterday.

She had given him a few of her truths, a few of the secrets she held close to her heart. And he had given her nothing in return. She knew nothing of him – not his age, his family, his purpose, his history. Rowan knew of some of the death that weighed on her heart, but she knew nothing of what weighed on his. Knew nothing of Lyria.

And it didn’t seem…fair, somehow. Didn’t seem like an even exchange.

Rowan felt that he owed Aelin, but it was more than that. He couldn’t bear for her to leave, for both of them to fall asleep that night, with these words still dammed up inside him. He couldn’t stand the thought of the princess not knowing, not understanding why. Rowan knew about her grief, but she had no idea that it was shared. That they both had been left alone.

So before Aelin could walk out of his room Rowan spoke.

“Wait. Shut the door.”

There was a pause, but then the door clicked, and Rowan heard the rustle of clothes and groan of wood as Aelin leaned against the entrance, waiting for him to speak.

He breathed deep. Once. Twice. Again.

“When my mate died, it took me a very, very long time to come back.”

A breath from behind him. “How long ago?” she asked.

“Two hundred three years, twenty-seven days ago.”

It was either fate or luck or the gods themselves that had Rowan first meet Aelin on the anniversary of Lyria’s death. Or maybe Maeve had planned it that way on purpose. He certainly wouldn’t put it past her.

Rowan gestured to his tattoo. “This tells the story of how it happened. Of the shame I’ll carry until my last breath.”

Cold understanding emanated from Aelin. “Others come to you to have their own grief and shame tattooed on them.”

“Gavriel lost three of his soldiers in an ambush in the northern mountains. They were slaughtered. He survived. For as long as he’s been a warrior, he’s tattooed himself with the names of those under his command who have fallen. But where the blame lies has little to do with the point of the markings.”

“Were you to blame?” a soft, level question. From one killer to another. Rowan turned slowly to face her, not quite all the way, but enough to give her a sidelong glance.

“Yes. When I was young, I was…ferocious in my efforts to win valor for myself and my bloodline. Wherever Maeve sent me on campaigns, I went. Along the way, I mated a female of our race. Lyria.”

It had been so long since he said her name aloud, so long since he spoke of her without someone flinching, or skirting around it, avoiding it like the plague. Afraid of Rowan’s reaction. But Aelin’s even gaze did not shift one inch.

“She sold flowers in the market in Doranelle. Maeve disapproved, but…when you meet your mate, there is nothing you can do to alter it. She was mine, and no one could tell me otherwise. Mating her cost me Maeve’s favor, and I still yearned so badly to prove myself. So when war came calling and Maeve offered me a chance to redeem myself, I took it. Lyria begged me not to go. But I was so arrogant, so misguided, that I left her at our mountain home and went off to war. I left her alone.”

For the first time, Rowan’s eyes met Aelin’s, and in them, Rowan could almost see her words from the previous night echoing through her mind. You left me.

Her face softened, but it wasn’t in pity. It was in understanding.

“I was gone for months, winning all that glory I so foolishly sought. And then we got word that our enemies had been secretly trying to gain entrance to Doranelle through the mountain passes.”

Rowan ran a hand through his hair, and scratched at his face. He had never given this story to anybody, had never needed to, and the words and images and memories cracked the ice in his veins and shot him through with acid.

“I flew home. As fast as I’d ever flown. When I got there, I found that…found she had been with child. And they had slaughtered her anyway, and burnt our house to cinders. When you lose a mate, you don’t …” he shook his head, his jaw clenched tight, his heart in his throat.

“I lost all sense of self, of time and place. I hunted them down, all the males who hurt her. I took a long while killing them. She was pregnant – had been pregnant since I’d left her. But I’d been so enamored with my own foolish agenda that I hadn’t scented it on her. I left my pregnant mate alone.”

Aelin’s voice broke as she asked him the question, that same question he had thrown at her in the woods that evening. “What did you do after you killed them?”

“For ten years, I did nothing. I vanished. I went mad. Beyond mad. I felt nothing at all. I just…left. I wandered the world, in and out of my forms, hardly marking the seasons, eating only when my hawk told me it needed to feed or it would die. I would have let myself die – except I…couldn’t bring myself …” the words trailed off, the memories almost overwhelming.

Rowan cleared his throat. “I might have stayed that way forever, but Maeve tracked me down. She said it was enough time spent in mourning, and that I was to serve her as prince and commander – to work with a handful of other warriors to protect the realm. It was the first time I had spoken to anyone since that day I found Lyria. The first time I’d heard my name – or remembered it.”

“So you went with her?” a wry question.

“I had nothing. No one. At that point, I hoped serving her might get me killed, and then I could see Lyria again. So when I returned to Doranelle, I wrote the story of my shame on my flesh. And then I bound myself to Maeve with the blood oath, and have served her since.”

They sat in silence for one long moment, both pulled deep within themselves. It was a companionable silence, one of shared grief and pain. A silence that Rowan had only ever shared with Gavriel.

Then Aelin spoke, her voice hesitant again. “How – how did you come back from that kind of loss?” Her face was open, her eyes wide. An honest, earnest question. One he had no answer to.

“I didn’t. For a long while I couldn’t. I think I’m still … not back. I might never be.”

Aelin nodded, her lips pressed tight, and glanced away from him and towards the window. Her scent roiled with that ancient grief, a sadness that marked her, aged her far beyond her years. Silver lined her eyes.

Rowan knew that her face was a mirror to his. That it always had been.

Aelin knew what is was to be crippled at your very core, understood the icy grief that coated his every word, his every step, because she had her own to match. And with that realization, with that inescapable truth, Rowan couldn’t help but trust her.

To trust this foreign princess with a small piece of his shattered heart. To trust that she would take it without grinding it into dust. That Aelin could see that deep, dark part of himself and would not look away from it. That perhaps, he no longer had to be so completely alone.

“But maybe,” the words escaped him quietly, softly. Aelin turned to look back at him. “Maybe we could find the way back together.”

“I think,” she said, “I would like that very much.”

The soft, tentative whisper was a brush of heat over his icy heart. The first rays of dawn over the snow-capped mountains. Deep in his chest, Rowan felt the aching warmth of hope yawn its golden head, the strongest he could remember feeling since the death of his mate.

Rowan held out his hand. “Together, then.”

For one small, infinite moment, Aelin hesitated, studying his hand intently. But then she reached out a small, scarred palm and took his outstretched hand in hers.

“Together,” she said, her voice defiant, yet soft.

Perhaps it was an illusion of the faint firelight, but as Aelin took his hand, Rowan thought he could see the gold in her eyes flicker and twitch, a living flame coaxed from slumber.

···

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

[courtorderedcake]

Hallow : ch xix - CSSNS 2019

“The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred & rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent.

Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King’s will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time.”

This is the history Princess Emma memorizes from the day she is born, paraded about and presented only with the highest protection. The palace is a cage she wishes to escape, desperately. Not careful what wishes she made, Emma discovers history is written by the victors - The Dark One has an entirely different version of the events that took place.

Read on AO3 here.

Rated E for explicit themes, Mature situations, and Fae fuckery.

Written for @cssns

Ch 19 / ?? - In which Emma makes her choice

Emma was seated to the right of Jasmine again when they began to dine, Killian seated to the Sultana's left. If Emma didn't currently feel a sense of absolute frustration beyond anything she ever had felt for that man, she would have wished him closer for the way the four men sat across from them leered at her. Raja patted her hand in a comforting gesture from his seat next to her own, his paws giant over her sweaty palms. His deep, soulful eyes read hers with sympathy as the dinner began. 

"So, Princess Emma, is it?" Jafar smiled widely, stabbing at the vegetable tart served to them as their first course. "Regale us on how you acquired such an illness while eluding capture in your family's overthrow. It must be a fascinating tale."

He smirked at her, biting a piece of asparagus viciously as she tried to keep an easy-going grin plastered on her face. The way he drew out words as if she was some shallow and simple girl made her skin crawl. 

"Oh, I'm not sure how I caught it really," Emma cut at the tart, making tinier and tinier morsels. "I only know that whatever it is, it's baffling the most talented team of healers I have ever seen."

"Well, it looks similar to an ink blot hex -" Hades began, but Emma shook her head, and he paused. 

"I know. That's what they thought at first, because of Killian telling them about the black bruising." Glancing at Killian, she saw him stop pushing food around his own plate with a frown and stiffen. All eyes at the table rested on his tightening shoulders. "He didn't know, and I was unable to explain that the bruising is a good thing. I was gifted a soot sprite blessing by an ally. Killian…" Emma hesitated as she saw him stab at his food, but Jasmine patted her knee gently to push her forward. "Out of fear of poisoning, Killian disposed of medicine given to me by an ally to combat the illness before I could take it. He threw their herbal remedy into the sea. These soot sprites have been helping me, and are one of the only reasons I am here today. It was a mistake that cost me precious time; as they treated the charm, it weakened. I got worse. Now they are praying it continues to last."

"Oh, Princess, I'm so sorry. I'm sure the Dark One must have not done it maliciously," Arthur said, frowning. "It seems as if you both trust each other quite a bit -" 

"We do -" Emma tried to interrupt, but Killian glowered at Arthur darkly. 

"The Dark One is right here, and had no bloody idea about a soot charm, herbal remedies, or anything these 'allies' of yours gave you to possibly kill you; if the Dark One had known, he gladly would have mentioned it on behalf of the Princess." His words were clipped and seeping with animosity. Emma swallowed hard, and Arthur looked at her with worry, eyes darting back to look at Killian. Their plates were taken away as more wine was poured and various cheese, fruit, and bread was provided. 

"Ah, a soot sprite charm. Interesting indeed that it's helping. That is effective for a very limited scope of illness," Hades nodded, rubbing at his chin. "Where did you find such an ally that could weave such inane magics?" 

A chill ran down Emma's spine, Hades eyes piercing her with a fixated precision. 

"Oh, we have been in the Mortal world. It's changed more than can be even explained," Killian shrugged, and Emma nodded in turn. Not a lie, but not an admission of where the Dragon and Kitsune base was, or that it still existed. Killian pressed on, a lazy, indulgent smirk settling on his features. "I'm sure you have not been recently?"

"No," Jafar sighed. "I've heard they have the most interesting machinations though."

"Their wars are what excite me, and luckily, you need not be there to experience it when you have recorded written histories," Hades smiled softly, propping his chin in his palm. "The beauty of the ever cycling world that is mortal pettiness."

"As if we Fae are much better," Ali mumbled. Emma looked at him, his dark eyes surveying the meat now sliding onto the table. 

Arthur laughed, clapping a hand harshly on Ali's back. "Quite right, quite right - Always the altruistic idealistic ponce, this one."

Ali frowned deeper, picking at his meal. 

By the time dessert began, conversation had become a sort of cyclical pettiness itself. Hades, Arthur, and Killian had begun a sort of verbal sparring over each other's intelligence as Jafar egged them on with a satin finesse, Ali pushed small bits of food around his plate while only looking up to gaze at Jasmine with a strange vehemence, and Jasmine herself gripped Emma's hand or thigh almost constantly as the men flirted or bragged incessantly trying to win favor. 

Arthur seemed the most genuine in Emma's opinion, his heart broken by his would be queen, and seeking a tender hand to cradle it. He talked about his many feats of heroism, his philanthropic efforts, the hopes of his great kingdom, and how he would bridge a kingdom together with his own. Emma herself was surprised to find that he wasn't completely unattractive, and he seemed to treat her and Jasmine with a good bit of respect. 

Jafar and Hades both seemed too dark and somehow deeply unsettling. There was something about them that made Emma feel as if they were predatory; a flash of tooth and spark on the eye that she could have placed in wolves. They both looked as if they were piecing together where the people around them were weak, waiting like snakes to strike. Hades seemed less confident than Jafar, warmer in a more personable fashion, but quicker to bouts of anger. Jafar gave Emma the creeps many more times over. 

Ali was the wild card. Surprisingly, Killian had exchanged not a single barb with him when he had spoken. It was as if Ali did not exist to Killian, although Ali himself seemed to be half present; he flipped between wanting to be there and desperately wanting to escape. Emma could understand the emotion, although it had been over a year ago since she had last dealt with that specific unease in royal matters. Was his kingdom without social etiquette? Did being outside of the United Realms mean you did not follow any social constructs? But then, Jasmine, Jafar, Arthur, and Hades seemed to know most of the stiffer mannerisms and propriety. 

It simply was bizarre how clearly Ali disliked the Sultana while he still fought for her hand. 

When they rose to take an after dinner libation, Ali trailed behind. Holding back herself, Emma watched him approach a servant clearing their plates. They began to argue after Ali seemed to say something to shock the Palace staff. 

"I don't care how much it costs. Do it. On my orders, and if anyone asks -" 

"M'Lord, I m-mean you no d-disrespect, but your orders m-mean little here. You would need -" The servant stammered, and Ali sighed, taking off his turban to comb his fingers through his hair with exasperation. 

"It was going to be thrown away, was it not?" Ali snapped at the man. 

"Well yes, but -" 

Ali took a step forward as the man cowered. "Then why -" 

"Omar, what is happening here?" Emma asked, and Omar bowed low with a sputter. Ali looked irritated, his eyes narrowing. 

"Princess, I am honored that you have remembered my name, but there is no need -" 

"I asked for the leftovers not being reused to be given to the hungry people I am sure must live in this kingdom," Ali gritted out. "It seems, however, that is too difficult - "

"It's m-much t-too good to waste on them," Omar stammered again, and Ali's eyes lit with a dark rage. He gripped Omar by the vest, and Emma squeaked out a warning. 

"Stop! Stop please!" Ali lowered the trembling man, who breathed a sigh of relief just as Jasmine turned the corner. Emma nodded at her, Ali still gripping Omar's vest as his fingers loosened. 

"Just what is going on?" Jasmine chided, her hands on her hips. 

"Ali wanted this food to be given to the poor living in your kingdom, Sultana. Omar was stating that it could not be done, and that it was too good for 'them', whoever 'them' is. I would hope no kingdom as opulent as Agrabah would have hungry people on the streets, but…" Emma trailed off, watching Ali step back with a look of surprise. 

Jasmine raised a cocky eyebrow. "If we do, I certainly have never seen them."

"Maybe you aren't looking hard enough then," Ali challenged, Jasmine's jaw dropping. 

"How dare you!" Jasmine hissed, but Ali only shook his head with a condescending smirk. "I look after this entire kingdom -" 

"You look over things alright, Sultana. You look over the things you don't see, because your guards remove them from your view. Although, since you spend the majority of your time here in your gilded towers, it isn't surprising that you have no idea how many go hungry," Ali sneered at Jasmine. She scoffed, looking at him with rage. 

"How would you even know? How dare you, how dare you -" 

"Take this food down to the streets then. Tonight. No guard clean up beforehand, just them protecting you while you serve hot meals. Let's go. Right now," Ali challenged, Emma's eyes going wide. 

"I - We - That's a logistics nightmare -" Jasmine said weakly. 

"If the food will be thrown away regardless, Jasmine," Emma smiled, batting her eyelashes. "I've not gotten a chance to see the market -" 

"Oh, not you too!" Jasmine groaned. 

"I mean, the worst thing that could happen is some food allotted for waste gets a few more hours of potential use. Please, Jasmine?" Emma watched as Jasmine fought herself internally before sighing. Whistling with two fingers, Raja appeared a moment later. 

"Sultana?" the Anisapi asked, eyeing Ali suspiciously. 

"I want this food brought down to the plaza square, and my seated box brought before it. I am about to prove this," She pointed at Ali, glaring as her chin rose in defiance, “Fool that he has no right to disrespect me when in the grace of my hospitality.”

“Fine, then, Sultana,” Ali challenged. Omar scurried off, and Jasmine turned in a huff to walk away. Before she could get very far, Ali called after her. “But what if I am right?

Jasmine whirled around, stomping back to him to poke a finger into his chest. “You aren’t.”

Ali grinned cockily, and Jasmine fumed. “Willing to wager?” he asked in a silky tone. “I bet you an evening with me that you, Sultana, the Seer of the Sands, are wrong.” Jasmine opened her mouth to say something, but Ali raised a hand. “And no peeking into the future to cheat, Sultana. No. I wager you are very wrong. I wager you have looked at your life, at Kings, Queens, and Royal fuck all, but never the poorest you rule over.”

Jasmine sputtered, and Emma watched helplessly as the viewing box was brought to them. As she stepped inside to escape the awkward tension rippling off the two, she heard Jasmine’s clear reply. 

“And when you are wrong, Ali of Ab’Dua, you will leave my kingdom to never return.” 

The viewing carriage, or 'palanquin', for the Sultana was lined in velvet, Ali seated next to Emma so Jasmine could stare him down from her seat as they approached the public square. Emma tried to focus on the sweet and spicy scents that drifted in through the small windows, or the colorful stalls that they passed as Jasmine and Ali bickered. It seemed everything they spoke about had them opposed to the other, from the size of Jasmine’s guard to their personal preferences on fruit. 

“Figs are pretentious, even to eat,” Ali sneered, as Jasmine raised an eyebrow with a smirk.

“You would know all about pretentious, as a spoiled, privileged, man-child -”

“Projection does not suit you, Sultana,” he replied coolly. Emma could practically feel the flame of Jasmine’s wrath, the heat of it as hot as the outside temperature. 

They arrived in the square in a silence that was thick with animosity, people scrambling to the shadows as if they were being chased away. Food was set forth as trumpets blared, an announcer stepping forward at the front. “The Sultana gifts you with this humble bounty, citizens of Agrabah. If you have not been fed, if you are hungry, step forward.” 

The square stayed silent, the bustle of the market dying within minutes.

“See?” Jasmine pressed, smiling slightly. Emma looked down at her feet, a strange feeling in her gut. 

Ali chuckled with a roll of his eyes. “I see alright. Your populace is terrified of you.” He stretched, cracking his shoulders and knuckles, then opened the door to the viewing box. The guards startled, but he gave a wave while he removed his fine clothes, leaving only a vest and trousers. 

“Ali, what -” Emma hissed, gesturing for him to return. He shook his head and offered his hand to her. “No! I can’t, people shouldn’t know I’m - “

At her protests, he rolled his eyes again, looking around. Spotting what he apparently needed, she saw him turn a corner. After a few moments he returned with a visibly shaken man who held several bejeweled veils. 

“Which one do you think suits this lady, good man?” Ali asked the man, who fumbled slightly. 

“The emerald, sir,” the man whispered. His forehead has begun to bead with sweat, and Emma felt intensely bad for him. 

“It’s beautiful. I’d be honored to wear such craftsmanship.” Emma smiled softly, taking it from his fingers. He flinched, but when her fingers gently took the material from his hands he relaxed. Ali placed several gold coins into his hands to pay, and the man’s eyes practically bulged out of his head. 

“I - This is too much -” he stammered, but Ali shook his head. 

“If you are hungry, if you have family that are hungry, or if you know anyone who is hungry: Please have them come forward. There is no ill will here. You are safe to do so.” Ali clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder, looking him straight in the eye. “If you are hungry, eat.”

The man glanced over Ali’s shoulder, looking at Emma and Jasmine. Jasmine sat frozen, staring straight at him. Turning on his heel, he pulled away from Ali and walked straight around the corner. Ali sighed, looking defeated. 

“Well, Princess,” Ali said sadly. “I hope you like your veil, and I wish you well. It’s a pretty parting gift seeing as I will soon be banished.”

Emma ran the silky fabric through her fingers, unable to look at Ali. She nodded, swallowing hard. It shouldn’t have made her feel so sad when he looked at her like that, but she knew without the blessing of the Sphinx he was right. He believed what he was saying with absolute certainty; Somehow he knew that there were hungry on the streets here. This was personal to him on some level. 

Carefully slipping on the veil, she stepped out of the box even as Jasmine protested. “I wanted to see the market, though. This may be my last chance.”

“Well, then we shall have to see the market.” Ali smiled, offering his arm. 

The market was beautiful, spices and shimmering draped fabrics displayed with care as callers barked out prices or pushed their goods in front of her face. Fish was plentiful, as were jewels, leather, and soaps, fragrances shifting constantly in the warm winds. 

They wandered through the stalls for an hour or so before Jasmine joined them, wearing a hooded brown muslin dress. Ali appraised her with a grin. 

"You rough up nicely, Sultana. You could be a street mouse any day -" 

"Don't you mean a street rat?" Jasmine snapped. 

"Oh no, you are far too soft and naive for that." He grinned, while her lips pressed into a thin line. "And street rats aren't generally as pretty as you are." 

Jasmine blushed, Ali saying the last bit with a strange absent-minded surety. Emma smiled, falling back as the two began to bicker over fig prices, the merchant looking on with amusement. She stopped to rest occasionally, watching them prod at each other. It reminded her of not that long ago when Killian had teased instead of running from her. 

" You don't want Ingrid to worry. That's so sweet." Emma teased, and he couldn't manage a scowl, only a slightly irritated upturn of his lips. "See, I'm right! Don't deny it -" 

"We barely survived the wrath of a Sphinx, and a Satyr. They say third time's the charm, and it would give Ingrid the utmost satisfaction to be a means to my end." A twinkle of mischief lit his eyes and Emma laughed out loud before she could help herself. 

"She did say she needs a new throw rug." Emma giggled into a coffee mug with a sideways glance. "We could take turns beating you." 

When they made their way back to the viewing box, they encountered a long line of shabbily dressed women and children, a few men here and there. Ali quirked an eyebrow, ushering them to follow him through an alley, leading them around the people waiting for whatever it was. Turning a tight corner, they came out into the public square behind a fountain. 

Jasmine's mouth dropped in shock as she saw the square full of people, some clearly in need of a healer and others skeletal. A pair of children in patchwork rags shared a loaf of bread between each other, both looking as if the wind could blow through their skinny bodies. 

"Ali -" Jasmine tried, her voice thick as she swallowed. "I -" 

"Sultana, I wish I had been wrong. Please know that now, before our wager ends," Ali said quietly, approaching her to put a hand on her shoulder. "With that said, I will see you tonight at sun down." He gave her a peck on the cheek, bowed slightly to both Emma and Jasmine, then disappeared into the crowd. 

Jasmine looked stunned as they climbed into the viewing box, guards appearing to take them back to the palace as quietly as possible. Emma watched the Sultana stare out the window, half smiling, knowing that she was planning on making changes to benefit her kingdom. 

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

  To say Killian found the Sultana's suitors annoying and disgusting would be an understatement. The time with them was torture, an exceedingly cruel and excruciating exercise in hatred. For one, both Jafar and Hades seemed eerily interested in his workings, bombarding him with unsubtle questions as if he was on display. They asked how the Darkness inside him worked, how its presence in his day to day life was made known, if he remembered his misdeeds, and if he felt remorse as if he would answer these questions in casual conversation. Instead he offered monosyllables, eye rolls, or simply ignored the question as if he was a petulant child. 

It suits you, you are a petulant fool of a boy. 

Then there was the fact that they were all pompous in varying degrees that were still largely high, with astounding vain and narcissistic streaks longer than the worst nobles Killian had met. All three referred to Jasmine as an object once alone in his company, as if they were speaking about the serving tray their liquor was served off of, Arthur only adding Emma in as an afterthought. Jafar treated anyone around him except the other two men with a callous disregard for their intelligence, and an outright malicious streak to boot. Hades was not only malicious, but talked openly about his hatred for women and multiple types of Fae he considered beneath him. Arthur should have been a Saint next to them, but his rapport with the two struck Killian as not to be mistaken for coincidence. If it wasn't forced, there was something to be said about what lurked below his composure. 

Topping everything was knowing that the so called 'Ali' was really the thief Aladdin, without knowing any of his intentions. What if they were in danger? Killian had suffered through this meal and now this after dinner dessert and drinks, while Emma had disappeared into the aether with no regard to anything. Again. What if she was a target? Or the Sultana, which could easily result in a wartime coup. He needed to get away from this group as soon as possible to regroup with Emma. 

The Darkness reveled in the chaos as Killian chewed his tongue, trying not to explode. 

"Yes. Do anything for that sweet princess of yours would you?" 

It's too bad you are responsible for killing her. Do you ever tire of making the wrong choices? Imagine doing everything in an effort to keep your little secret love safe, only to destroy her every step of the way. It's insidious, and I don't even have to help!

"Dark One!"

Killian looked up to see the three suitors looking at him expectantly. 

"I asked if your Princess told you where she, Ali, and the Sultana were headed!" Hades snapped, his voice cold. "You are the Princess’s lackey, are you not? Answer when I speak to you."

Killian grunted with a shake of his head. 

"It's as if you don't want a cure for…" Jafar purred, rubbing his beard and curling its ends around his long fingers. "What was her name again? Anya? Emma?" 

Killian’s eyes flicked over to stare at the grinning man, who leaned over, balancing on his staff. 

Jafar shrugged, both arms coming to rest on the curved golden head of the cobra as he continued to stroke his beard. "I'd hate for anyone to find out that the Dark One not only sabotaged an alliance that tried to cure your Emma before landing in Agrabah, but during their stay as well. Can you imagine?" 

The Darkness cackled in his head as he seethed behind an impassive stare.

Your Emma. If only they knew that she could never be yours without you obliterating her. 

"Honestly though Dark Thing, where did Emma and Jasmine get off to?" Arthur asked in a bored drawl. "Ali has one, someone should have a fair shot at the other; tis only fair."

"Ask a servant. I don't know, they were here, went to the kitchens, and then were gone with half of the guard. I assume they went to the market for whatever reasons," Killian bit out. "If you're so bloody inclined to see where they got off to, why don't you head there yourselves?" 

"Among the peasant scum?" Arthur asked as his face wrinkled with disgust. "Absolutely not. If I wanted to smell of camel dung, there are easier ways."

"Right, well. Then I'll excuse myself." Killian stood, giving a nod. 

"Yes, go fetch the Sultana and Princess, this behavior is silly. I can't do tests for this mysterious illness on a corpse. I mean, I could, but it doesn't seem preferential." Hades grinned icily and shooed Killian, the other men laughing. He left without complaint, heading down to the market with practiced ease. Taking a corner shortcut he'd discovered, he was surprised to hear Aladdin's voice. The man was arguing tersely with another as Killian stopped to listen. 

"I risked everything getting into the palace for you, and I got caught. They know to be on high alert, and if you think -" 

"Relax, Abu. She can't see us, we've cloaked the future from her."

"As if that isn't suspicious -" 

"It's not. She won't be able to tell. Djinn magic is the only thing that can take on Djinn magic. We have Djinn magic that I stole." Aladdin let a sly chuckle. "This job will be easy."

"It's not easy, and I'm not going to help you. Not when you're working with -" 

"Abu!" Aladdin hissed, and the Anisapi gave a series of scratchy chirps. 

"I'm out. I'm out, and I'm not risking it. I like the Sultana. I think today should prove she can change. What you want and what they want aren't the same," Abu said sadly, leaving in a scamper as Aladdin called after him. The Anisapi turned the corner around Killian without notice as Aladdin trotted behind. 

"Tough break there, uncommon thief," Killian drawled, pushing off from his lean against the wall. "Maybe betraying the Sultana and the Princess is not such a grand plan after all. Why are you here? You know you will be caught soon enough."

Aladdin laughed, clapping his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. "Not unless you say something. Which you won't."

"Oh? That's presumptuous of you."

"Yeah." Aladdin smirked, standing straight as his eyes glinted. "I know you are the reason that Emma is sick. You caused her illness."

"That's impossible. How could you possibly -" 

"The Princess talks. She talked to me in particular, desperate for someone after losing her best friend, who I assume is some type of elemental, and another close friend: namely, you." Aladdin smirked as Killian's jaw began to work. "It's very clear with a little bit of her sad back story of how you ended up in Agrabah. You were both close before you underwent some rite together, that no one can supposedly remember, then afterwards you avoid her and push a wedge between yourself and her. The question is, are you trying to kill her? Is that why you threw her medicine away and keep blocking her from getting better?"

"Of course I'm not trying to prevent her recovery, I never meant to hurt her!" 

Aladdin grinned, as Killian realized his admission. "So you did cause it."

"You - You great bloody -" 

"Ah ah, Dark One. Unless you want your princess to know everything, I suggest you listen to everything I'm about to say. She trusts me now, more so than you; and I can safely say now with certainty, you have feelings for her. Keep your mouth shut and I won't tell a single soul about what you did during the rite. Deal?"

"I have no feelings for her, and you have no proof - " 

Aladdin laughed again, examining his fingernails. "Neither do you. Shall I lay out your malfeasance, and hope for the best against my own?" 

"You -" 

"Deal?" Aladdin offered again, a sharpened edge to his voice.

"Deal," Killian grumbled, watching Aladdin turn away, his strides confident. They walked back to the palace in silence. Just past the gates they met the Sultana and Emma as they stepped from their boxed palanquin, Killian falling back as Aladdin moved towards Jasmine and Emma. Aladdin kissed Emma's cheek to her delight, earning a giggle as Killian felt a hot and unpleasant bitterness fill his body. 

Arthur stepped from behind a hedge, a rose in his fingers that he presented to Emma with a bow. Aladdin frowned as Arthur pulled Emma into the gardens, something unspoken passing between him and Arthur before they separated. 

Unease began to prick at the back of Killian's neck. 

Emma sat at the fountain side, her hair in a braid similar to what the Sultana seemed to favor, Arthur sitting next to her as they watched fish swimming. She looked relaxed, splashing her feet and laughing as Arthur animatedly told her something with large hand movements. Resigning himself to wait until the two separated to try to speak to Emma and at least get ahead of Aladdin or anything he could do, he returned to his chambers. 

He heard Emma return hours later as he studied Agrabah's constellations and their strange alignments, the sun long since disappeared from the pocket realm's sky. When he approached to speak with her, she was already in conversation with the Goblin from before, Iago. 

"What if it is him, Iago? These dreams have to mean something. I thought it was someone else, I thought it was… I thought it might be," Emma hesitated and he heard her sigh. "The man had different eyes than Arthur. They weren't - Arthur's eyes are green, with hazel gold. But everything else, the rough hands, the rings, the soft accent when whispering sweet nothings, the dark hair and bit of scruffy beard starting… Iago, what if Arthur is the one who keeps invading my dreams? The person I thought it was… it couldn't be him. He isn't kind, he is selfish and hurtful, and just… infuriating"

"You said that the man in your dreams makes you feel safe and loved?" Iago asked. There was a sound of something rattling, then a light clatter. 

"More than that, I loved him back. It feels as though I'm so close every time I wake up. I just desperately want him to be there instead of leaving me alone again. In the last one, he was… He kissed me. We kissed each other. I think - he saved me from something, but I don't know. Everything is so jumbled."

"The runes say that he knows your feelings, but is frightened. They say your dreams are leading you to love, and that he wishes to be with you as much as you wish the same. But… " 

"But what, Iago? Why are you frowning, what do you see?" 

"There's many obstacles for both of you. There's darkness in this man's past… And in his future. Be careful with your heart, Princess. Be careful who you trust it with."

"Thank you, Iago."

"My pleasure, and honor."

Killian swallowed thickly. His time was running out, she was remembering him more and more, Arthur a replacement in his stead. It broke him as the Darkness hissed, squirming to constrict his lungs. It paralyzed him as it drilled deep through his sorrow, then as if it was a corroding acid, began to burn away all of his once secreted feelings. 

When he was able to turn the corner by Emma's room at last, the Darkness crowed in its triumph, all love for her eradicated finally and for all time. 

Somewhere deep, deeper than the Darkness had ever dared to look, something within Killian burned . 

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

  The smell of flowers and soft breeze playing with her hair does little to lessen the heat of him holding her. 

"Is this a dream?" Emma murmured, pulling away slightly. "It has to be, because you, it can't be you. You're not here. You would never treat me like this, I would never forget if you did."

"Love," His arms wrapped around her tighter, his dark hair tickling her cheek. A calloused hand gently caressed the back of her head. "I will remember for you, and keep you safe. It's better that way." 

"Please, I know it isn't you." Heat was pouring from him, his arms too tight but still somehow so comforting. Emma could feel flame licking her as she pushed him away. "You're not like this. This isn't you." 

He took a step back, and the sadness in the blue of his eyes froze her. She shivered, missing his warmth against herself. Her chest ached, and the air had become thin as cold seeped into her bones. "Emma. I'm so sorry."

"Stop it. Just -" It couldn't be him. It wasn't, it couldn't be him. Not him, not those eyes that screamed secrets at her; not the way he looked at her now with such anger and hatred. It wasn't him. 

His shadow seemed to grow as he turned away. Emma reached for him, unable to control her need for warmth as it began to snow over the bright flowers in the garden. "It's better for you to forget." 

"No, please don't leave me!" The wind whipped around her, snow hitting her face like freezing needles. It blanketed the world around her, absolving it of color and sounds outside her teeth chattering. Her breath puffed in the air as she yelled his name - 

"Killian!" Emma sat up, panting under the plush blankets as she shook. A coughing spell hit her with force, and she rolled onto the floor from confusion, unbalanced from the sudden awakening. The floor was cold under her skin, sweat trapping her in the sheets. An attendant quickly ran in to help her up.

"Oh, Princess! I heard you call out, what - oh you are burning up, let me -" Emma heard the Elven woman sigh as doctors and a few more attendants swarmed the room. She took a stumbled step forward, caught as more gasps sounded and her own breath would not come. 

In the dark of unconsciousness, it was uncomfortable and painful, eyes fluttering open on occasion to see bright light shone into her pupils or concerned faces poking her with this or that. The Sultana made appearances, as did Ali among the other suitors, but him more than most. Killian only appeared behind her eyelids as she tried to escape the strange dreams that featured him front and center. Her brain and heart were just as sick as her lungs for him to be appearing with such emotion. 

In the quiet she listened, straining to hear any sounds that could be him, only conjuring more hazy images of the imposter that haunted her dreams. His laughter and the thrilling feel of his lips against her own were so much more than she had ever hoped for. When she heard the soft hum of a man's appreciation, her hopes grew high until Jasmine's whispers identified who had made it. 

"I'm scared for her, Ali. She's been a good friend, and I - what if you don't find a cure? What if no one does, or if Hades or Arthur -" 

"Jasmine, it will be alright," Ali whispered in reply. "You have been a great friend to her too. We'll figure something out. With Jafar gone, Hades is working overtime, and Arthur wants… He doesn't want to marry you. He has his heart set on Emma. We're working together to identify a cure."

"Thank you, Ali. I know I should not hope or show bias, but after our date… After everything , I feel very strongly that…" 

There was a soft sigh, and Emma could hear the sound of their mouths moving together as she tried desperately to fall away into the blackness. Their date must have gone well, if they were this enthusiastic with her as an unwilling, unknown audience. 

The idea of being kissed like that, or of comfort brought by someone in the name of love, pulled her back into dreaming. Temptation lay underneath her fingers tracing trails under a naval suit, or letting a firm hand linger on the small of her back while they swayed. Emma fell back into memories of waking up enveloped in warmth, the flutter of happiness that burst upward when she stirred and was immediately comforted by a gravelly voice. What has she done to ruin the way he smiled at her while they danced? Had it all been a dream? 

When it faded next, a rough hand squeezed her own, the owner's voice accented and quiet. Her heart beat quicker in anticipation. 

"Princess, your beauty is still undeniable, even now." 

Emma coughed, turning her head with slight difficulty to see Arthur appraising her. 

"You're awake! Oh, Princess, I'm so happy to see those beautiful eyes of yours." 

Emma felt a strange disappointment, but smiled back softly. "Wha -" The words broke off into coughing that left her clawing at her throat. 

"Water for the princess! Please!" Arthur shouted, sending attendants scurrying. "Emma, hold on my delicate flower. I've got you."

A servant brought water, Arthur snatching it from his hands to pour into her mouth. Emma pushed his hand away as she sputtered, spilling water over herself in the process. Taking a small sip eventually, she sighed, turning to look at him. He was frowning, wiping away water from his tunic with disgust. 

"I'm -" Emma felt her lungs constrict and her throat burn even from the smallest bit of speech. Her attempted apology stuck like a shard of glass she could not swallow, sending her coughing again. When she looked at Arthur for help, she was surprised to see him looking at her with anger as if he was disgruntled. When she collapsed back against the bed again, it was if she had imagined it. 

"Oh, you sweet rose petal. It's alright. I know you didn't mean to get water on my velvet. It's fine. Lay back, let me speak for you as a King would for his Queen." His face was soft, and he gently stroked her face with a cloth. Though he was a great relief as he spoke orders to the servants, doctors, and attendants, his words didn't comfort her; Something there unsettled her, his bright smile half heartedly returned as she pondered on why. 

Maybe it was in the way he spoke over her, even in their moments alone together, or insisted that she should rest her voice so he could continue his lengthy monologues. There was also his treatment of the servants and her doctors, his orders given sharply as he ignored them otherwise. A realization hit her suddenly about her discomfort: Arthur reminded her of home. 

He reminded her of the courtiers, the many nobles that her parents admonished or grumbled about for their treatment of people, and their attitudes in general. Her father had used his powers as King to block her suitors, but she had been flirted with by men like Arthur. She had not tolerated it then, but now it soothed her, and Arthur charmed her… 

If she did accept his proposal, she could return to normalcy. She could love him as long as his veneer did not cover deeper problems than the banality of nobility. Coughing again, Emma pulled up the covers around herself. 

"I've gotten myself some breakfast, and a grapefruit juice for you. I hope that you don't mind, I didn't know what you would like," Arthur said, accepting a plate of meat. He dug into it vigorously while Emma was given a tall glass with a straw. She eyed the liquid suspiciously. Grapefruit alone was a questionable breakfast, sour and entirely too much for a sore throat. Taking a sip, she gagged. 

Arthur didn't notice right away, too engrossed in his ham, bacon, and sausages. When he did notice, he sighed and took away the full glass. 

"What would you like then, little flower? Some yogurt? Pudding? Maybe a hot drink?" At the last suggestion, Emma nodded vigorously. Imagining silky hot chocolate or tea had her mouth watering. Jasmine had introduced her to a spicy mix of tea and something like cinnamon milk that had calmed her stomach but also made her feel invigorated. Trying to speak and failing with a squawk, Emma reached down to write down the drink for Arthur. 

"A Kay Tea? Kye? Chay? I don't know these foreign foods, maybe a nice hot water with lemon -" 

A servant interrupted, Arthur's eyes going steely. "Chai, a chai tea. It's popular here, and we also make a hot rice drink that is very good for -" 

"Did I ask you to speak?" Arthur gritted out, Emma pulling on his sleeve to get his attention. The servant shook her head, stepping back. "You deserve better than these strange commoner's peasant fare. I'll get you some actual tea." 

Emma shook her head, annoyed, but Arthur began to talk about his home and their varying teas. Emma's mind began to wander when he spoke about artisanal rose blends, thinking about a life in a strange kingdom. At least it was above ground, and had florals.

Tea was brought for them, and she took the tea cup carefully, examining the details. Taking a sip, she closed her eyes for a moment to savor the herbal taste. It wasn't what she wanted but it transported her home, to the marble floors and carved arches in the palace, the stone walkways and brightly lit rooms with their gilded mirrors. She could hear the rustle of skirts, clinking of spoons against small dessert plates, or the muted laughter of whatever nobility was presently sitting in front of her. 

Arthur smiled broadly at her as she opened her eyes, taking her free hand in his. "I did so hope you would like this better. You deserve the best life a royal woman of your pedigree can get."

Emma sighed at his choice of words, but a smile hadn't left her face since the first taste of his gift to her. Curling her hand in his, she managed to clear her throat. 

"I like it very much."

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

  Arthur left in the early afternoon, kissing her softly and leaving with another peck on the crown of her head. There was business to attend to, her cure to work on most prevalently. Emma had felt worse since her last nightmare, alarmingly feeling something move around her chest as if there was a sticky ball rattling within the cavity. The doctors were still perplexed, doing their best to keep the soot sprites alive as the true issue remained elusive. Emma needed a cure, badly. Every day, the time she had grew shorter. 

Despite it all, she resolved to hide it the best she could. Not willing to spend her weeks in seclusion or in bed, she wanted to keep her kingdom safe and be with her friends. They would be the family she could not have. They would have to help her finish what parts of her journey they could. 

Killian would get the shard, and Jasmine would take over the United Realms as a proxy ruler until a ruler was announced. Emma prayed whoever it was, her parents and the rest of her family would be spared for her failure. It was the best she could do in the worst case scenario that she was living. At least Killian would be free, and maybe even happily living his life. He could be with Ingrid and Anna, carefully seeking out where they could get a house somewhere with a bakery and a garden. Maybe he would laugh more eventually, or smile, even with the Darkness free to abuse him further. The thought of him baking some pastry with flour in his hair made Emma feel a bizarre mixture of happiness and deep sadness. 

Ignoring it was enough for now. With what time she had left, she promised herself not to fixate on the mysteries that made up Killian. 

"You shouldn't be here, darling," he whispers, holding her hand. They're both shivering, the water from the rain frigid and mostly ice. He tugs her forward as they climb, thunder pounding around them as lightning illuminates the woods. "Why did you come to my nightmare?" 

"You can," Her hand slips on a slick stone, feet digging in the mud. She's still barefoot from before. He pulls and she is again next to him, lifting her onto a rocky ledge. "See me?" 

"I always could. I couldn't do anything but watch, I can never do anything but watch it happen." Holding her while they both shiver, soaked through, he runs a hand through her hair to push the clinging strands away from her face. The wind is strong, making even her dress flap in its gusts. His arms feel safe, even as her bones vibrate the warning of impending doom. As if he knows, he holds her tighter. "I could see you. I could hear you, and I could feel your hand in mine or when you bandaged my side. I'm sorry you had to see this."

"Killian…" Emma whispered, his forehead meeting hers. "Killian, don't go. Please. Don't let it take you from me."

There's a great clap of thunder, shaking the ground and roaring like a great monster. Killian pulls from her, her hand still in his as he moves away. 

"I'm sorry. It's better if you forget."

The Darkness is in its full glory before them, Killian looking at her with those eyes as it sucks him in. Clamoring for his hand but held by unseen forces and howling winds, Emma tries to bring him back to her, tries to hold on and not let go. Wind swirls around her, spinning until she's unable to breathe in its vacuum and let's go of his hand as she falls. 

"Breathe! That's it! She's coming to!" Someone was speaking, and Emma took in a hiss of air that hurt to exhale. Shaking off dizziness, she stared directly into the worried eyes of a doctor, Jasmine, Prince Ali, and Abu. 

"What happened?" Her mouth felt dry, but her voice was back to a rasping drawl. 

Jasmine hugged her tightly, followed by Ali who easily wrapped his arms around both of them. He was wearing sleeves instead of just a vest, and Emma was about to tease them both for their matching formal dress, but stopped short. She held her tongue, examining the long, jagged, scars that ran up his arm. Confused, Emma tried to talk, but Jasmine put a finger to her mouth. 

"Hush," Jasmine admonished. "You were walking with us in my apartments, then you collapsed. Are you alright? What happened?" 

"Oh. I think I must have simply over exerted myself," Emma mumbled. Jasmine's eyes narrowed, and Emma shrugged sheepishly. "I'm still learning my limits, so I just needed a break I guess. I didn't have much of a breakfast with Arthur."

Ali pushed away, looking at her with concern. "You had breakfast with Arthur?" 

Emma nodded. "In fact, I had come here to ask when his meeting with cure researchers would be over. I'm curious about their progression."

Ali scratched the back of his head, exchanging a glance with Jasmine. 

"Why don't you come sit down in my quarters," Jasmine asked politely. Abu smirked, looking at Ali as they helped Emma inside with the Anisapi guarding the door. 

Inside the chamber was a massive bed and vanity, with a sheer and dark set of curtains blocking a large balcony. Jasmine and Ali helped Emma onto the bed where she laid back against the heaping pillows. 

"What's the bad news, then?" Emma whispered. Ali swallowed hard, and Jasmine looked at her with a sad smile. 

"How do you know it's bad news?" 

Laughing lightly at Jasmine's question, Emma cocked her head slightly. "When is it ever good news?" 

"Jafar is gone. He - he was disqualified for an attempt at… He's just gone," Jasmine stated carefully. Ali looked angry for a moment before taking a deep breath. 

"Where is the bad news in that?" Emma asked carefully. 

"He took all the research, and ruined Hades and Arthur's. They were struggling to find a cure without this setback." Jasmine looked down. "We don't know -" 

"I understand."

"Emma -" 

"I don't need to hear it out loud. I don't need you to confirm what I'm already feeling. Tell me something else instead." Grinning, Emma pointed between Ali and Jasmine. "Like how your date was."

Jasmine blushed deeply, and Ali laughed with a smirk. 

"It was very nice." Jasmine smiled, looking to Ali with clear affection. 

"It must have been for you both to make out in the room of a sick person. It was an interesting wake up call." Emma giggled, Jasmine's eyes going wide as Ali burst into laughter. She blushed a bright red as he tickled her with the ends of her braid. "You two look happy. Not to rush things, but if you like him, fuck this entire suitor nonsense. Choose him."

"Emma!" Jasmine choked, laughing. Ali curled an arm around her and sat, nuzzling into her side. "It's - I want to know someone. We are doing just that, and I like this. Is that not what you are doing with Arthur?" 

"I suppose," Emma said coyly. Ali stiffened slightly, and she leveled her gaze at him. "Maybe tell me about this date of yours, and why it was so very nice."

Jasmine wove the tale of a starlight ride by magic carpet across her kingdom, shared honeyed fruits and tarts with pistachios baked on top. Aladdin showed her beauty she had never seen before, his modesty shining through embarrassment while he blushed. He occasionally added in moments, both of them laughing at the inside jokes they shared. 

Emma felt the same pang of sadness even through exhaustion, the same doubts that twisted into fear in her stomach. She could never imagine this with Arthur, and certainly not with Nil. The only one that had ever made her feel close to the warmth Jasmine and Aladdin gave off was… 

His eyes were soft, and she wished that he could just remember more strongly than ever as thunder rumbled outside her tiny cottage. 

"Stay here tonight. You… You told me once that you hate thunderstorms. I don't know if that has changed, if this you does or not, but…" Emma begged unabashedly, half asleep in his arms by the fire. "Please."

Even in her exhaustion, she reveled in his proximity. Looking down at her, he smiled sadly. “I'll stay, I always stay."

"Even if I don't remember you at all, please don't go," Emma whispered, and he nodded. 

"I'll stay. I always stay." Killian whispered again, holding her closer. Emma was sure her heart was breaking, the truth in his statement clear as crystal. He believed it without question, but Emma had heard the same promise fall from his lips before. "I will stay."

Burying her face in his chest, she prayed this time it was not a lie. 

Emma woke in her chambers, attached to various equipment by strange tubing, spells or wards hovering above her that rhythmically swayed. She blinked, confused, looking around to see Arthur by her bedside once more. He was engrossed in a book, his dark eyes scanning the pages. 

"Anything… interesting?" she asked, with a cough catching her on the last syllable. He held up a finger and continued reading several moments longer, then closed his book. 

"No, I'm afraid not. Mostly Naval tactics for bracing a coastal kingdom against raids." Arthur shrugged slightly. "Nothing I didn't already know, and certainly not reading that you would find interesting. You need to focus on getting better and not pushing yourself with such difficult topics."

He pressed a finger to her nose gently as if his quip diminishing her intelligence was amusing, then placed his book aside to get better seated next to her. Emma bit the inside of her cheek, irritation at his dismissal making her wish she could argue. Her lungs burned from the effort of a few words; the conversation that she wanted to have would be far more than that at best. 

"I like… Strategic… Planning… I like… Battlefield… Tactics… They are -" 

"Sure, sure, my rosebud," Arthur interrupted, patting her hand as if she was a child. "Now, I'd like to talk to you about something actually important, something that matters. Please pay me attention?" 

Emma stared at him in frustration, giving him a grunt of acknowledgement. 

"You fell asleep in the Sultana's chambers, so they brought you back here. You're pushing yourself too hard." He squeezed her hand, and Emma felt conflicted once again. Although annoying and pompous, Arthur was trying. He was attempting to be kind. "You need someone to help you, and to share your burden with. Especially now."

A spasm in her lower body sent her coughing, the intense fit making her back bow. She was sure that her ribs were close to breaking from the strain. 

Arthur wiped her forehead dutifully. He sighed again as she looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. 

"My sweet flower beauty, my dream, my Emma… Will you marry me?" 

Emma's eyes shot open wide, her heart racing. She could not speak, pained gasps catching in her throat as she stared at the ring box in his hands, the giant sparkling diamond in its center surrounded by rubies. The immediate hatred of its gaudy settings almost eclipsed her need for air. 

"Need… to think -" she tried, and Arthur nodded. 

"I understand, but I have something you need to see before you say no. It's important." His smile faded. 

Arthur began to talk, and Emma's heart sank. 

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Pacing the floor and practicing what he would say to Emma had become Killian's only way of handling her strange schedules of late. When he requested her, or simply strolled by her quarters as he often did due to their proximity, Arthur or Aladdin were not far off. Either that, or the princess had taken to small walks or napping which he could not blame her for in her condition. There had been minor commotions that he had heard the tail end of, but when he made sure that it was safe he only found servants, attendants, and perplexed doctors scrutinizing his presence. 

"Hello, Princess," he began, still not over his anxiety at trying to broach his distrust of the suitors along with their timing. "I have something of urgency to discuss with you."

"I want nothing to do with you, and your mood swings. Poison another Princess, Dark One."

The Darkness sneered in a falsetto impression of Emma's voice, and he felt like a green lad again. His heart beat rapidly as he gritted his teeth and continued. 

"Regarding the suitors and their timing -" 

"Yes, fortunately they came so I could be relieved of your presence. Thank the Gods for it; Arthur is a wonderful catch."

"- I believe that it is due to a planned surveillance attempt, and that they are seeking out our weaknesses. I think they are planning something -"  

"Planning a ball, or an event for me to be paraded at. I'll be a figurehead once more! I'll be better off with him and you will never have your freedom."

"To do you harm. I know that I have made many mistakes." Licking his lips, he swallowed hard. "But I would never let harm befall you if I could prevent it. Your well-being, your life being safe…" 

Understatement, vessel. You are the harm she needs to prevent. Her well-being is worthless as long as you and her Goblin betrothed exist. Except that your fate is me and her fate is to die some broodmare. 

"It's the only thing that makes it possible to ignore the Darkness," he whispered, and in turn the Darkness growled in a low rumble of fury. "Please consider what I've said."

He practiced repeatedly, until a knock came at his door. A voice called out behind the wood, one of the servants. "Ah, sir? Your presence is requested by Arthur in the library. Are you able to -" 

Killian opened the door, brushing past the messenger as he walked straight to meet Arthur. It was a bold play on their part, but if he could talk to Emma first… He passed her room, noticing the lights dimmed within. Jasmine and Aladdin sat on a lounge, whispering to each other while an herbalist created a purple smoke that smelled of thick mint and blackberry. It poured over Emma, who behind the veil of her curtains did not move much more than a shuddered wheeze. 

He couldn't risk it now; Emma would have to understand the delay in his confessions.

The walk was brisk, his haste to hold off the Darkness, any other visitors, and her illness setting him in double time. 

The library doors pushed open, the deep purple walls within lit by a fire bowl resting in its center. Arthur sat lounging on an emerald and magenta couch smoking a hookah in large puffs, smiling broadly as he saw Killian. 

"Well hello, Dark One. Nice of you to join me, care for -" 

"What is it that you need, Arthur?" Killian growled. The room was filled with a light layer of smoke. "I have things I need to be -" 

"I thought you and I might share a celebratory drink and smoke. I hadn't gotten a congratulations yet and it's probably untoward without her actual confirmation, but…" He took another long drag of the hookah's hose, puffing out a long tendril of smoke. "I digress." 

Killian grunted, waving a hand in the air to clear his vision. "I have no idea what you're talking about mate, but I don't intend to celebrate with you. If you'll excuse me -" 

"I proposed to her. To Princess Emma, I mean."

Whipping around, Killian took a step forward, staring at Arthur with wide eyes. "You what?" 

"I proposed to her," Arthur repeated. "She's dying, Jafar is gone, Hades can't find a cure, Jasmine isn't interested in me, and Emma is. I'm not going to waste the opportunity to be considered a viable candidate to rule in her stead." He grinned, rubbing his beard in thought. "If I can get her to last through a marriage ceremony, that's all the better. If she can stay alive longer than that, I can claim loss of an heir by her untimely end. She knows it's in her best interest to accept."

"She won't. She'd never -" 

"She would. A servant said she asks for a Goblin to dissect her dreams that I am in. It's just a matter of time." Arthur smirked, leaning back in the chair. "It's alright to be jealous, Dark One. For all your fearsome reputation, the fact that you haven't drank your fill of her is surprising. If I was in your stead, I'd have left her wrapped around my fingers both figuratively and literally!" he laughed, and Killian stood abruptly, storming away. 

Arthur sprinted up behind him, still chuckling. "Come now, don't be angry, I was only joking. She's a fair maid if I've ever seen one. Even this illness can't dampen her beauty or how her body moves with so much…" He gestured with both hands, making two mirrored curving motions. Killian's teeth ground together, his muscles tensing. " Grace ."

"Arthur, mate, if you know what is good for you, you will -" 

"Are you mad about her dying? Is that it? I thought the Darkness in you would rejoice at that, especially since the shard is in the care of the Sultana." Killian turned on his heel, the Darkness heavy as it pushed up from the binds he'd tried to place on it. Arthur followed, at his side hounding him with his mockery. Covering his mouth with his hand, he mimed a face of false confusion and shock. "Oops. I guess you didn't know? And here I thought you and her were close."

"I will tear you apart mate," Killian snarled. "I will rend you limb from bloody limb -" 

"So that's it then. She's your weak spot, the Darkness isn't at rest. I had guessed it was on a thin leash chomping at the bit, but no. It's right under the surface if you know where to dig." Arthur's smile was wide now, his eyes dark. "How very, very interesting."

Hades appeared from the gloom, becoming corporeal from a column of dense, black smoke. "Can we drop the charade then? I'm frankly ready for this to be over."

"I'd rather wait for Emma's answer to my proposal, as now that the Darkness is awake I believe it will be a long while until our cover is blown. The shard awaits you, Dark One." Killian felt himself slipping further with each second, the undertow pulling him down while raising the Darkness from where it had laid in wait. It had control now, its prior mutterings nothing compared to its screeching at him as Arthur smiled. "You simply have to take the matters into your own hands." 

"My… Own… Hands…" Killian heard it speak through him, his panic rising as he lost control. "The shard. The shard ."

"Go. Get what was taken from you," Hades added before disappearing. 

"It lies in the treasure vault near the Sultana's apartment. Get what is yours, Dark One. Get what is yours and return to glory." Arthur gave a small bow, and Killian felt the Darkness pull him away, moving him against his will through the palace. 

"No! This isn't right -" he gritted, and held on firmly to a carved column. A servant stared at him as he passed, hurrying away much quicker when a fresh snarl rose in his throat. 

Get the SHARD. 

Get the shard and be done with this! 

"No, I - I can't -" 

How dare you deny me? I am your master, I am you! 

"I won't. I have to protect her, I have to warn her!" He tried to move his foot, but lurched forward instead. In an instant, he was before the treasury Arthur had mentioned, the magic on him fizzing from the internal power struggle. The door locks were enchanted, but the Darkness controlled his left side, his arm lurching forward to touch the lock. It clicked open within seconds of dark magic drenching it in full force. 

"No! Stop!" His right hand caught the door frame and held tight, the left side of his body pulling him forward as the right held back. He groaned in pain as the Darkness attempted to tear him in twain. "I will not let you, I won't!" 

He violently slammed to the ground, his left hand pulling him forward as his nails dug into the marble tiling. Several guards approached in concern but the black magic of the Darkness spun around him like a cobweb, dropping him in front of the pedestal that held the shard. He heard shouts of confusion from a small distance as his left hand made a flicking motion, barring the door with a screech of the locking mechanism. 

MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE AT LAST YES IT IS MINE - 

Killian wrestled with himself as his left hand desperately tried to close around the chain, throwing himself back with effort. He pushed back at the Darkness desperate to get it under control as it broke him, bent him, and refused his hold. 

Realizing with keen certainty there was only one way out of this, he took a deep breath, then let go of control. The Darkness grabbed a hold of the chain, shrieking its triumph, and Killian used its momentary lapse to move them. 

As he appeared in Emma's chambers and stretched to throw it at her, the Darkness became aware at the same moment as him that something was wrong, his body frozen with his arm stuck mid-throw. 

His eyes widened further to look at the grim faces surrounding him, all but a grinning Arthur wearing varying states of disgust. 

"Emma, bloody hell, I -" 

"As you can see, we caught him using Kraken ink. It temporarily causes paralysis, even on the most powerful of dark magic." Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose dramatically. "He went for the fake shard without a moment's hesitation, and then I believe his return to your quarters, Princess, was with the intention of taking your life." 

"No! No, I swear it, Emma. I swear I realized that I was out of control, and I was scared for you. I came to return it. If it's left where I can find it, the Darkness will never stop. You must hide it again -"

"A likely excuse now that he's caught!" Hades pointed out. 

Turning his eyes towards Emma, he realized just how long it had been since he had seen her. She was a gaunt caricature of what she had been with hollowed cheeks, the skin beneath her eyes darkened to the color of bruises. Her hair stuck to her face in stringy strands as her chest struggled to rise, and she breathed using a strange line of tubing in her nose with obvious effort. Her eyes were still bright jade, staring through him as they grew glassy and she tore them away from his own. 

"Emma, please..." His fingers twitched at the attempt to reach for her, his arms stuck by the ink’s magic. 

Emma shook her head, unable to look at him. 

"I am begging you Emma. Aladdin - Ali - is a thief and working with these two; I don't know why. I don't know what they're after, but they aren't working on a cure. Don't listen to a word -"

"Princess, I'm so sorry for this. I didn't want you to have to know the truth when I thought the Dark One and you were so close," Hades began. "There is no cure I can find, because… Well, because Ali discovered from the Dark One's own admission, he caused this illness in you."

"That's - Emma please listen to me, I never - I wouldn't." Killian felt his other arm twitch upwards, Emma's eyes downcast. "Please let me explain!" 

"No. No, I think you have done enough," Aladdin said, quietly. "You told me that you were the cause, and I kept your secret because I feared for the Sultana and the Princess’s lives. Now that it's out in the open, we can admit that we are no match for the Dark One's handiwork."

"That's not -" 

"Take him away," the Sultana hissed. "I want him in the dungeons, lock him in the best cell we have. Unless, do you have objections Emma?" 

"I…" Emma looked up, coughing for a moment as she stared at him with clear pity. "I have no objections." The whisper of her voice made him swallow hard, managing a small nod. 

He was led away, placed in the dark damp of a cell so much like the one he had lived in before, wondering again if this was the punishment he so rightfully deserved. 

[eulohani]

⟨ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐓𝐈 𝐑𝐀𝐇𝐌𝐀𝐍. 𝐂𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄. 𝐒𝐇𝐄/𝐇𝐄𝐑 ⟩ though the mist might prevent some from seeing it, 𝐍𝐎𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐈 is actually a descendent of Λ P Ή Я Ө D I Ƭ Σ. it’s still a question of whether or not the 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 year old 𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐉𝐎𝐑 from 𝐒𝐘𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐘, 𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀 has taken after their godly parent completely, but the demigod is still known to be quite 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 & 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄.

HELLO, i am just going to keep adding to this buttt it will be a bunch of rambly bullet points bc that’s what i’m best at, but this is my favorite muse noor, my baby demon, i’d love to plot over at lil leo#1807 on discord !!! 

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒 / 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵

full name: noor jade lohani pronunciation: nôr jeid low-han-ee meaning of name: 

noor — divine light jade — after the stone, representing wisdom, clarity, justice & courage

aliases: tbd age: 23 date of birth: july 23rd, 1997. place of birth: sydney, australia  zodiac sign: leo sun / taurus rising / scorpio moon species: demigod race: bengali  nationality: australian  gender: cisfemale sexuality: bisexual profession: streamer

height: 4′11 weight: 115 lbs eyes: grey hair: deep black build: athletic petite  voice: raspy & comforting, almost musical, hint of an australian accent traits: both of her ears are fully pierced, nostril & nippies, red dragon tattoo on her hand along with a few minimalist ones on her fingers, garlic bread on her left upper butt cheek, louise bunny ears just above her elbow on the back of her bicep ( w vincent having a linda one ), matching tattoos with scarlett ( the sun ), a mural full back tattoo

education: art history major.  literacy: 99.5% languages: french, latin, bengali, greek.  disorders: N/A. habits: biting her lip, toying with her necklaces, not able to stay still. 

positive: self confident, adventurous, fearless, loyal.  neutral: curious, determined, protective.  negative: flighty, private, manipulative, messy. 

moral alignment: chaotic netural  jung: ENFP enneagram: primary is eight four temperaments: sanguine tropes: spoiled brat, the final girl, damsel out of distress, dragon lady, fangirl, rose with thorns archetypes: the rebel tarot cards: the sun, the lovers, the empress, page of wands, ace of cups, seven of swords, nine of pentacles

compassion: 5/10. empathy: 7/10. creativity: 8/10.  mental flexibility: 7/10. passion: 10/10. stamina: 9/10. physical strength: 8/10.  battle skill: 10/10.  agility: 10/10. strategy: 10/10. teamwork: 7/10. charisma: 9/10. reflexes: 9/10.  willpower: 7/10. luck: 6/10.

𝐁𝐈𝐎 / background

noor was born to a very, very rich father who didn’t often pay attention to her but did make sure she was always occupied with something other than his time. she didn’t mind, never resenting he dad for it rather seeing it as a better deal in life for her

she was always taught to defend herself though, that was something her father was always ridiculously adamant about. noor took a lot of classes outside of school, physical and mental

when she found out who her mother really was, she understood why — and she often wished she had more fear than her father did. or even matched his own, slowly becoming more distant from him, feeling like a secret was hidden from her that could of been told long before she was ready to leave for camp

in school she didn’t really have friends outside of social events, so she confided in her studies and random lore she was interested in. this is when she actually became encapsulated in where she truly came from, her mother’s history, trying to find a way to reach the goddess but always falling flat in her efforts

after losing trust in not only her parents, but what she knew to be friends, she became more defensive over herself for truly anything, sometimes so much it drove her insane 

her mother finally came to claim her at thirteen, when happened upon a monster encounter that was too close to write off as a mere side affect. at first, noor was pissed, wondering why she hadn’t come for her earlier. in true aphrodite fashion, she barely gave her much answer but ultimatum and matching her ferocity. when she left for camp it almost felt like an escape, the one place she belonged & felt like she could relate to somebody. realizing there was nothing else for her, she stayed

noor adjusted immediately to campus, her major coming as easy as her tie to her mother, always wanting to pursue something other than general education in high school 

in the security of campus lines, she felt as if she had no reason to feel normal ever again, or like she had to meet other’s standards. she did everything she could to find quests, commit herself to her destiny as a demigod 

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 / tid bits

absolutely effortlessly candid, noor is really see through when it comes to her emotions. she can’t hide things, but often that’s one of her downfalls 

such a people person, she often knows someones deepest secrets when first meeting them because she gives off an extremely comforting energy 

wears & makes body jewelry, often on her waist / sternum / thighs: x

has trouble being wrong >:( 

she loves to LEARN !!!!! 

loyal yet selfish and Annoying

nature wh*re

loves to make people feel good but if she yells at you bc she thinks you need it that’s your fault 

MAYB intimidating ?? sometimes... yes

very 90s with her style, little tops big pants, little braids in her hair, necklaces always stacking gold on her neck 

big ol’ nerd, has gone to hella conventions, streams on the lowkey probably has a tik tok w hella followers strictly bc of that

4′11 

has made it her basic life mission to be apart of as many quests as possible, has only gotten one of her own but noor has charmspeaked her way to accompany more than a few demigods on theirs

sports duel daggers: x  

brat brat brat brat 

v traveled, v into film and such

smells like lemons and honey

noor has SOME sort of beef with every one of her sisters ( she is her mother’s daughter )

insecure lowkey

alexa play harry styles golden

  𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 | 𝐀𝐄𝐒 | 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | 𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖𝐒

[drunklander]

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 502

Watched this episode after winning Wynonna Earp trivia (fuck yeah, The Shit Tickets!) at a bar, put on by a queer af podcast, followed by going to see a queer af movie, and was all ready to get my Beauchamp fix... And it was like oh here’s a taste and a hint that we’re gonna end up in a story line similar to what we’ve already done multiple times, but now on to the menfolk.

For real though, this episode was like an OL greatest hits clip show. It had all the stuff we’ve seen before. A time traveler who wants to go home? Check. Rape PTSD? Check. A man being a dad to a kid who isn’t/might not be his? Check. That same man being the absolute worst? Check. Claire being reckless with future medicine? Check. Townsfolk questioning Claire’s medical knowledge in favor of the local Man of Importance? Check. Jamie trying to be on both sides at once? Check. A villain who seemed to have died the previous season and should have fucking stayed dead? Check.

We’ve literally seen all of this stuff before.

For a show that spent the first part of season two claiming to be a political drama and then last season claiming that they “weren’t political” I see we’re back to just leaning hard into politics that have direct parallels today.

No fucks left to give about the system Murtz is kind of my favorite Murtz. Like this dude spent his whole life living by a code and an oath and was fucked over by the system so many fucking times that he’s ready to just burn it all down. Curious to see how they walk the domestic terrorist vs. freedom fighter line with him for the rest of the season.

Got all excited about the bread title card because yay medicinal mold, but of course, the lead character was relegated to the B story.

Old timey medicine baffles me. Like the fact that bleeding someone was like a catchall remedy boggles the mind.

I feel rull bad for Mrs. Whoeverthefuck though. She tried.

Also, shit like this makes me be like, yo Claire, you sure you wanna stay here? Jamie’s really not all that and a bag of chips. But you do you, boo.

Speaking of Jamie, his hair looks really good. A thousand fruit baskets to the new wig person.

Lulz at Knox thinking the Gathering was about being loyal to king and country. Dummy.

Srsly though, Murtz Valmurtz is really getting under their skin. Is he like the *only* Regulator leader?

The convo between Knox and Jamie is literally as relevant today as it is in the 1770s. But yeah, the show IsN’t PoLiTiCaL.

The fact that fuckers think those at the bottom should be happy with their lot because “lol it could be worse” need to be punched in the face and taken out of power. Stat.

Also any time someone in power talks about civility as a reason not to rise up against injustice, I want to punch them. Because they deserve it.

I want to punch a lot of things.

This whole episode is very Les Mis, tbh.

Literalol at Claire covering dead guy’s face and not his body cavity before Bree comes in.

Aw Bree, why you gotta be a buzzkill? We were cheated of badass Doctor!Claire in S3. Let us have this.

Also, yeah, Claire, Bree’s fucking right. Which you’d think you’d know by now what with alL THE FUCKING TIMES YOU’VE BEEN CALLED A WITCH. AND NOW YOU’RE UPPING YOUR GAME TO LIKE NECROMANCY?!

Also the more she says no one will find out the more annoying it is because *clearly* someone *is* gonna find out and we’re gonna be back on the “she’s a witch!” “I’m not a witch!” “you literally have a dead guy in your closet!” merry-go-round again.

Today in most on-the-nose shots ever: How convenient that Marsali just happens to be doing some butchering right there, right then.

Petition for the show to go full Shondaland and just turn into a backwoods medical drama with Claire and Marsali, and all the others (cough the men cough) can fuck on off.

Tarring and feathering is like the old timey version of #AlwaysPunchAFascist but dialed to 11.

Oh the baggage behind Jamie saying redcoat man will someday wear his scars with honor that none of these fuckers know about...

Ok so clearly the English know that Claire’s a doctor so whenever shit hits the witchy dead dude fan, can we please have a quick resolution and not that dumb af “Claire goes to jail and of course her cellmate is a lesbian because Diana sucks at writing queer characters” nonsense?

Man Jamie is *not* subtle with this convo at the jail. Like Knox is right there and he’s just like hey buddies, I have people and we’re Scottish and y’know how we feel about protecting people vs. obeying the English.

I AM SPARTACUS FITZGIBBONS!

Aaand, naturally, the fuckwit preaching civility is the one to kill a man in cold blood. Rise up, motherfuckers. Rise up.

THANK FUCK ROGER IS A TERRIBLE SHOT BECAUSE IF THAT SQUIRREL DIED I WOULD LEGIT QUIT THE SHOW. RUN AWAY AND BE FREEEEEE YOU PRECIOUS LIL WILDERNESS FLOOFER!

Roger is, and I cannot stress this enough, the fucking worst.

He’s like look how shitty I am at being a soldier but then bitches about having to try to learn. And then he bitches about how dumb it is to shoot at squirrels as if being able to hit a squirrel wouldn’t make hitting a much larger thing, like a man who is shooting back at you, that much easier. And also, how the fuck does he think they get meat to eat? Shooting it, you twatwaffle.

And he’s like so fucking butthurt about being left behind. Like no shit, asshat. You’re bad at being in the past and have made no real effort and you whine a lot and are generally the worst. Of *course* you were left behind. Stop being emo about it and maybe actually try.

“He doesn’t respect me, Bree.” Yeah, no shit. Because you’ve done LITERALLY NOTHING to earn his respect. WHY ARE YOU SO TERRIBLE IT’S LIKE THEY’RE INTENTIONALLY TRYING TO MAKE HIM SUCK.

He also is like butthurt that his wife is a better shot than him when she gets the turkey he misses. How the fuck are we supposed to ship this. Ugh.

#BreeDeservesBetter

Oh Bree, sweetie, Jem won’t get hit by a car, but there are like eleventy million ways to die in the past. Just stick with the “you want to stay with your family” stuff.

Roger clearly doesn’t want to stay and is gonna pull a Fred and make Bree feel bad about wanting to all season, isn’t he. Fahkin’ doucherocket.

“I want to go but I’ll stay for you and look how magnanimous I am as I whine about it and make no effort to acclimate to the time.” Take your martyr card and shove it, Rog.

Shorter Jamie Fraser: “If you stand for nothing, Knox, what’ll you fall for?”

I’m already over Roger singing all the time tbh. Mostly because it reminds me that soon he won’t be able to do that anymore and we’re gonna be subjected to like half a season of him being more insufferable than he already is.

Wait, was Joan already born last episode? Or was there another time jump? Is Marsali preggers with baby #3? I lost track.

I love this scene between Claire and Marsali with my whole heart. Marsali especially.

CAN WE PLEASE JUST HAVE A WHOLE SHOW OF THESE TWO BEING ALL BADASS AND DOCTORY TOGETHER!?

Although, quick question, how fucking long is Claire planning to keep that un-embalmed body lying around in an un-refrigerated surgery/root cellar? Just curious...

Because you know someone’s gonna find it eventually and that’s gonna be a whole to do and I really need to stop being preemptively annoyed at plot lines that haven’t actually happened yet.

And with all this talk of plowshares and swords, I really am going to be singing Les Mis for days...

How long have these biddies been living on the Ridge? The fucking Leoch folks spent like a minute with Claire before they were like yep, she knows what’s up. These folks have apparently been here for months and are like loool, pass. They live in the fucking woods. You’d think they’d be more open to Claire’s brand of medicine.

Omg are they like the accidental antivaxxers of the Ridge?

#VaccinateYourFuckingKids

I mean, Bree, I think there’s some difference between Claire pretending to be a dude doc and telling folks to wash their hands and Otter Tooth.

Season 2 Claire and Otter Tooth on the other hand...

Ok so Jamie needs more men so that means next week is AHS: Beardsley Farm and then maybe (hopefully) instead of being like lol jk you can all go home, it actually goes right into the battle thing. Still not sure if they’re gonna do Roger getting hanged as the mid-season big thingy and then do the Bonnet nonsense in the back half or keep trying to do both of those at once.

Hey, Roger, pro-tip, next time you see Morag MacKenzie, maybe don’t fuCKING MAKE OUT WITH HER YOU FUCKING DUMBASS.

Claire’s totally right about how they should go back. Honestly, they should. But instead of talking with her like Claire is now with Roger, he’s just being all moody about how he’s bad at the past and wants to go back. You’re shooting yourself in the foot, broski.

Oh hey Husband the Quaker. And is that a fellow Quaker named Hunter with him? Are we gonna get Denny and Rachel this season?! Please and thank you that’d be great, I love them.

Murtz talking to his squad is full on Enjolras being like don’t worry fam, Marius will stand and fight with us. His place is there, he’ll fight with you.

The two very different but very similar ways Murtz and Jamie approach being Laird of their squads is fun to explore.

Bree lecturing Claire about changing the future by saving a few backwater hicks like Claire didn’t spend years trying to fucking change all of Scottish history is a bit rich. Like writers, we get it, you’re trying to be like oh snap, wait for the consequences of this bread!science! But like come the fuck on. We sat through all of season two.

“You’re a good dad, you know that?” Oh man, I’m getting that déjà vu about a shitty man getting kudos for being a good dad to a kid as if that negates all of his shittiness.

Oh hey, Bonnet’s back. Clearly we couldn’t have just let him die last season. Gotta drag shit on for longer than it has to. This is the [Outlander] Way.

If they were gonna keep him around as a villain, they shouldn’t have (in addition to all the other reasons) included him raping Bree. Jamie, Murtagh and Bonnet all making choices within and outside of the law to various degrees in order to make their living in the Colonies would be a really interesting contrast. But nope, gotta just go all in. BeCaUsE tHe BoOk.

Also I hate with the passion of a thousand fiery suns the Jemmy’s paternity stuff. Le sigh.

Remember in season one when the show was about Claire and she was in episodes for longer than 10 minutes?

I miss Claire.

[aslightstep]

some other ending begins

(This is trash but it's my trash. Post endgame fic crash. Messy, nothing makes sense, but behold my catharsis.)

He sees Rhodey, smiling but wrong, tears in his eyes. Peter is saying “we won,” he says it again and again but each time his voice shakes more. He is splitting apart at the seams and Tony wants to hold him together, can’t lose him again, but he can’t move.

His arm is so heavy.

Pepper is there. Pepper is there and she is smiling and oh, Tony has seen this smile before.

Oh, Tony is dying.

Morgan.

“We’ll be okay,” Pepper promises. His love, honey, all his darlings here together, everyone but Morgan, and she’ll be safe. She’ll be okay. Pepper promises.

“You can rest.”

There is Steve in the distance, Thor at his shoulder. There is Bruce, bounding through the air, closer every second. There is Clint, and T'Challa, and Scott, shaking the dust off. There is Nebula, and she isn’t alone.

There are the Avengers, and they are alive, and Tony has won.

Tony rests.

***

He does not die.

His body does, dies and calcifies where the gauntlet reached, withers before they can get him into a coffin. He watches, from green eyes and yellow, purple, blue, orange, red.

He never wished for this, but the stones take him anyway.

He drifts and he watches. Mostly Morgan and Pepper, sometimes Peter.

Steve leaves, and Tony follows for a time. He drops off one stone, then another, scattering Tony across time and space. He leaves the tesseract for last, and Tony knows before Steve does what’s going to happen.

“Live your life, Steve,” he whispers, and Steve shudders. Sighs. Hunches over and something inhuman wrenches out of his throat.

“None of that,” Tony chides. He takes a chance, reaches through the tesseract to nudge at Steve’s hand til it lands on his opposite wrist. “Be happy.”

09-02-1945, Steve presses in, and then he is gone.

Tony waits until Steve knocks on Peggy’s door, and then he lets go, drifting back to his daughter.

***

He is not always with Morgan. She’s strong like her mother and twice as clever as her father ever was. She’ll always need him, Tony knows that. He always needed Howard, too, even when he hated him. And he is there, in the smile on her face in the morning after a good dream, in the moments she wants to live in forever, in the perfect words that come to her mouth when the school bully gets a bit too mean.

She needs him, but she is strong without him, too. He trusts her, and he trusts Pepper’s promise. He drifts away sometimes, to the places Steve scattered him and further. Time ripples outward, branches begetting branches. He sees so much.

He tilts the Winter Soldier’s head in 1967 so he notices the Northern Lights so bright above him. He lives in the lights above Sam Wilsons bunk in 2011 so he and Riley can play one more round of cards. He whispers to Loki take a left, take a left and watches the god as he’s swallowed in his father and brother’s hugs as they return from their travels. Wanda and Pietro Maximoff are starving in 2007, and it is nothing to make then piece of bread they share fill them as much as an entire loaf.

He cannot do much. He doesn’t want to, either. But this is how he rests: he fixes.

***

Gamora is made of sterner stuff, and does not die immediately when she hits the ground on Vormir in 2018. Natasha is human, and does.

He holds their hands and pushes back their hair, and thinks of the two little girls he can hear sometimes, playing in the water. Thinks of Natasha’s soul brushing his.

Shellhead.

“You did it, you know,” he tells her body, their bodies. “You saved us.”

***

He goes back to check on Steve and his perfect world.

But Steve is not there.

***

Steve would take lifetimes to find, in this ever spreading tree their timeline has grown. Tiny changes upon tiny changes, too many to count, the farthest tips nigh unrecognizable from what he knew.

Back there, Morgan is grown. Peter is married. Harley is Iron Man, at Carol Danvers right hand, and the world moves on. Tony is gone, from legend to memory, at rest.

He wraps the covers a little tighter around Pepper and Morgan that night as they watch a movie on the couch, and then he lets go.

He will take lifetimes if it means Steve is alright.

It is not his Steve in the world where he never goes into the ice. His Steve is not the several happily, madly in love with Sharon Carter. He is not in the first reality that Tony encounters where he and Janet van Dyne are somehow contemporaries, nor the thirty third, by which point Hank Pym has been added to their numbers.

There are blue eyed Tonys, Tonys who are brothers, Tonys who are not really Starks at all. There is a Tony, young and bright eyed, on the edge of a time vortex he not dare approach. A Tony dying of cancer with a stone inside his head. A Tony standing tall in black and gold armor.

Steve is at his side. Steve is at every Tony’s side. But none are his.

***

(It is on his thirtieth world that Gamora slips away. At first he panics, wonders if he’s gone too far, until he looks down at the Gamora of this time, who had sacrificed her essence so her team may live. She takes a harsh breath in, color returning to her cheeks, and she is not quite the Gamora they lost, but…that Gamora is no longer lost, either.

On another, Wanda Maximoff cries out in loneliness to a world that won’t listen, and Tony feels as a piece of the mind stone breaks free, and Vision returns to his love.

He is cautious in the next world, and many after. Scared to lose Natasha. But when they encounter a world where Natasha Romanoff lives but isn’t whole, the red room gone terrifyingly wrong, he knows what she must do.

Don’t work too hard, Tony, she tells him, clearer than ever, a bell across the cosmos.

I’m resting, didn’t you hear, Romanoff?

Yeah, she says, and he can see her smile so clearly. You’re rested.

And then she’s gone from him. The Natasha of this timeline stands, stiff and ungainly, and the guards are screaming, but she’s already escaping. Heading to find her family.

Tony moves on.)

***

I’m not half as good as anything as when I’m doing it next to you, a Tony tells his Steve.

Every Tony needs a Steve.

***

You gave me a home, that same Steve chokes out.

You lead, I’ll follow, another tells his Tony.

Every Steve, apparently, needs a Tony, too.

***

Every Steve – oh.

***

He traces back, close to the roots. There is a reality, too similar to their own for his initial search. Steve, in the ice, then awakened 70 years later. Tony, vain and selfish until his own missile blows him up. Steve would never come here. There was nothing here he was missing.

But this world’s Steve goes down with the helicarriers. He is not the Steve that swims to the surface.

“Oh god Steve,” Tony whispers as he watches. A Tony – who looks like him, moves like him, jokes like him, is him – smiles as he sets down his tools, accepting the sandwich Steve has brought down to the workshop and the kiss that follows.

He never said-

He never did-

But he’s happy, Tony can see. They both are.

He traces their time forward. The civil war that never happens. The snap that never comes. There is a rather large blow up when Tony Stark meddles with his own DNA to stay a little longer, but a wedding soon follows. There are battles and anniversaries and celebrations and funerals. There is Tony’s funeral. Then there is Steve, opening an old drawer and making one last jump.

Their timeline in 2023 is a sharp shock. He feels Morgan and Pepper and Rhodey and Peter, but he isn’t sad. Pepper was right, as she always is. They’re okay, and Tony can rest.

Tony has rested.

Steve gives the shield to Sam and sits back. He rubs at his wedding ring. He’s dying very soon, Tony knows.

“Don’t you worry, Cap,” Tony says. “I’ll take it from here. You. You made me proud.”

Steve smiles.

***

There is a world, a reality at the far reaches, where Tony Stark is stillborn.

Tony watches as the doctors work over him, as Maria cries, as Howard paces in the hall.

This Tony Stark slips away, and for a moment he almost envies him. It was hard work. It had broken him more times than he could count, in more realities than he could count.

But no Tony Stark would have it any other way.

And there is a Steve here, resting in the ice. A Natasha, her soul as vibrant as before. Bruce and Thor. Clint, not born yet here. Pepper and Rhodey. And he’s not so arrogant to believe this reality needs him.

But the Avengers do.

(Steve does.)

He snags at Anthony Stark's fading soul. He wraps time and power and space and reality around him, holds on tight, and pushes. In the room, a baby breathes.

***

Tony Stark wakes up.

[buckyscrystalqueen]

The Difference: Part 1

Pairings: Mark Sheppard x Reader

Warnings: None??? Swearing must likely...

Word Count: 3204

A/N: So I’m back..... IDK Im outta shape on posting here, y’all.... hope you enjoy it, OK?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In your opinion, first dates were literally the worst, but with a very involved Greek mother and grandmother, a large, extremely loud group of Italian aunts on your father’s side, and a persistent twin sister, you didn’t have a choice but to go on them. Because God forbid you say no. That two letter word was like a grenade in your household. Your mother, who you currently lived with because you were a single mother, would instantly start praying for your soul before calling your sister to pray with her as well. Your father, who was a giant instigator no matter how much he denied it, would head upstairs to ‘stay out of it’, have a brief conversation with his mother, and the phone tree would be instantly activated. Within a matter of minutes, you had your Nonna and eight aunts in your room, reminding you once again, that a single mother of four quadruplet boys, needed a man in your life. 

So you simply went on the dates, used your one year olds as a ‘you don’t want me because I’ve got a lot of baggage’, and left before the waiter could even take your drink order just to sit in your car for an hour in silence. It wasn’t that you didn’t love being a mother. Shit, your boys made you a better person every single day. But there were four of them, and they were all a little over a year old now. And while you were so fortunate that they were all healthy babies, your second son, Luca, was born with Down Syndrome. Even with all the help your immediate and extended family gave you every single day, you still felt like you were drowning in dirty diapers and doctors appointments most days. 

“You’re Mark?” You asked, dismissively as you stopped beside the chair the hostess had pointed out to you in Fogo de Chāo, one of your favorite Brazilian steakhouses, and took off your jacket. He looked up at you and nodded his head once as you sat down and took a deep breath. “Alright, I’m sorry you wasted your time in coming all the way here. I’ll make this quick. I’m 29, single… obviously… I work as a contract linguist for Homeland Security in the Pentagon, and I’m the mother of quadruplets that are fourteen months old and who have no father. So, while you process that, I’m going to drink my water and then head out because usually by the time that information sinks in, men tend to either get a surprise phone call or they have to run to the bathroom only to never come back. I don’t give a shit one way or another. Again, sorry you wasted your time.” You picked up your water glass and took a long swig as your date stared at you and blinked a few times.

“Quadruplets…” He said in a British accent you weren’t expecting as you grabbed your jacket off the back of your chair. “That’s four, correct?”

“Correct.”

“What’s the gender split?” You actually froze with your arm in the sleeve and looked over at him, unbelievingly, because he was the first date to actually ask that question.

“Excuse me?”

“Four boys? Four girls? Mixture of both?” It was your turn to blink a few times in shock as you let your arm fall to your side.

“Four… boys. Do you actually give a damn, or are you just trying to get laid, here?” A huffed chuckled bubbled up from his throat as he picked up his napkin, and laid it across his lap.

“I’m genuinely curious. And I happen to be gentleman, thank you. I am a firm believer in the third date rule.”

“Oh, are you now?” You laughed as you took off your jacket again and draped it over the back of your chair. “You’re that cocky you think you’ll get to a third date with women?”

“Not in the least. I believe the accent alone gets me to the third date and I was raised to respect women.”

“So waiting until only the third date is respectful?”

“I never specified the length of time between dates, darling. This could be date one, but between now and date two, we could have lunch half a dozen times at work, since we both work for the Pentagon.”

“Those are dates.”

“Those are not dates.” He corrected as he got up to start with the appetizer bar in the center of the dining room. “I never said I’d pay for your lunches.”

“Oh, you’re slick.” You giggled as you got up to follow him. “You’re real slick.”

“I try.” He chuckled. “So a linguist, huh? What language?”

“Greek and Italian.”

“Wow. And.” He said as he looked over at you, impressed. “Two languages?”

“Since I was born. See, my mother is Greek. She moved to this country when she was two years old with her twin, my Yaya, and my Papou. So she speaks both Greek and English. Now my father is from Italy. He’s the oldest and he has eight sisters. Huge family. My Nonna and my Nonno moved to the states before my dad was born but, like my mother, he speaks two languages. So when my twin sister, Emma and I were born, it became a battle with my grandparents on which language we spoke. So we speak both fluently.”

“See, I’ve worked with your sister before.” He commented as he waited for you to finish with the salad bar. “She did some translating for me at the request of Ben…”

“Oh, so are you a lawyer with Ben?” He nodded his head as he set his plate down in his spot and pulled your chair out for you.

“I do have quite a few years on him but yes, we are colleagues.”

“Oh what, like ten, maybe?”

“You’re generous.” He breathed as he took the seat beside you and flipped his card over. “I’ve been with the NSA for nearly thirty years… and don’t point out your age here. Emma thinks it’s hilarious to point it out every time she comes into the office to visit with young Benjamin.”

“She’s a bitch.” You said with a nod as you ripped a piece of cheese bread with your fingers and popped it in your mouth. “You get used to it.”

“Now, are you two fraternal twins? Because you look nothing alike…”

“You know, it’s funny you ask.” You sort of mumbled around your bite, which you swallowed quickly. “We’re identical. But it’s like fifty fifty on who can see it. My mom couldn’t tell us apart to save her life, but my dad has no issue. Half my aunts can tell, half can’t. Our boss can, Ben can half the time but I think he cheats, you can obviously tell. My sons are an even split, too.”

“Are any of them identical?” You nodded and let out a small sigh, taking a minute to take a drink of water for a break.

“Two of them are.” You started as you looked over at him, knowing that this was the second hurdle to get over with dates. “My youngest, Theo and Thomas. Evan and Luca are fraternal. And just like me and my sister, it’s fifty fifty on who can tell them apart. My mom can and she’s super proud of that.”

“I know you have photos.” He said as he nodded at the waiter that was making his round with a skewer of hot, top sirloin.

“Oh, I have thousands.” You confirmed as you, too, agreed to some top sirloin while pulling your phone out of your purse. “But… just…” You sighed the slightest bit and lit up the screen of your phone. “Sorry, I’m protective.”

“I already know.” He nearly whispered as he put his hand on yours over the phone as the screen went dark again. “Ben has an old photo of them on his desk. When he suggested this date, he told me you’d be stand-offish to protect them, and he gave me a very brief reason why. It doesn’t scare me, darling. Your strength just makes me even more fond of you.” You looked up at him and nodded your head with a hint of tears in your eyes.

“Evan is the oldest.” You started as you lit up the screen again and laid your phone flat on the table. “He is my trouble maker. That little man can get into everything and anything in the blink of an eye. Then Luca is next. He’s my little miracle; I almost lost him twice in the NICU but he is such a fighter. I can’t tell you how many times people said I should have terminated him because he has Down syndrome. But he has taught me… so much more than any school or any thing could just in this last year, and he continues to teach me more every day. Theo, then Thomas are next. I don’t think they look anything alike…”

“Really?” Mark asked incredulously. “See they look identical to me, here.”

“Photos are a little harder with the two of them for me.” You agreed as you pushed your phone  across the table. “I have to take an extra second to really look. But face to face there is no question. They are two completely different personalities. All my boys are so different. And they all give me a run for my money.”

“Boys will do that.” He chuckled as he nodded at the next waiter, who had parmesan pork. “I think I can consider myself an expert and say that, as they get older, they will be even more of a handful.”

“You’re not helping here.” You giggled around a bite and behind your hand.

“You don’t think so? I think I am being extremely helpful.”

“No, now you’re just making me regret that I didn’t keep putting my coat on.”

“Oh, now why would you go and say a mean thing like that?” He asked as he put his hand over his heart. “Darling, that hurts. I thought I was doing so well.”

“Nope. You made it three steps forward and jumped eight back.”

“Bloody hell. I’m gunna have to try even harder, now. I love a challenge.”

——

You were actually pleasantly surprised with how your night went, and you were actually even more surprised that your date, which started at six PM, lasted through, an exorbitant amount of meat, salad, and cheesy bread, two amazing split desserts, and some absolutely amazing conversation. You pulled into the driveway at your house in Arlington at quarter to eleven, and you were only partially surprised to see all of the female half of your extended family waiting up for you.

“No!” You said as you walked through the front door with a shake of your head. “No, I’m not doing this…”

“(Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N) you sit down and you talk to us right now.” Your Yaya, Calliope, demanded in Greek as you walked through the front room of the house you grew up in.

“It’s late, Yaya.” You tried before your mom’s twin, your Aunt Selene side stepped in front of you in the kitchen doorway.

“You sit down and you tell us about this man or we will go down and wake those babies up until you talk to us, you hear me?” You sighed at her and rolled your eyes. It was moments like these where you disliked having a big family, because you knew that they would absolutely wake up your boys if you didn’t stop and spill.

“He’s very nice.” You started as you held on to the door frame to take off your heels. “Funny, charming…”

“Did you kiss him?”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Did you sleep with him already?”

“Did he pay for dinner?”

“Was he a gentleman?”

“OK, you guys need to just chill.” You said as you held your hand up and looked at the room of women. “I can’t answer six questions at once, in three different languages, at eleven at night. So here’s the run down. Yes, he paid for dinner. Yes, he was a gentleman. Emma wouldn’t have set it up if he wasn’t. No I didn’t sleep with him, yes, I did kiss him. Yes, he was very good at it. He’s got a British accent, he’s taller than me, he is divorced, he has no kids but wants and loves them, and he works as an attorney for the NSA with Ben. 

Now, I’m going to love on my babies, and go to bed because my lovely offspring love nothing more than to wake me up at the asscrack of dawn… sorry Nonna… Yaya…” You apologized as you held your hand up apologetically at your two grandmothers for swearing in front of them. “I love you all, and I will tell you more at family dinner on Sunday. Good night, go home, please. It’s bedtime.” You waved your hand at your aunts and grandmothers on your way to the kitchen, and they started collecting their things as your mother, Zoe, came running up behind you.

“Theo’s still up with your father.” She sighed as she handed you the baby monitor. “He didn’t eat much dinner…”

“Did you try laying him down with Thomas?” You asked as you stopped at the sound proofed basement door.

“He wasn’t having it. He just wanted his Mama.” With a huff, you kissed her cheek, and opened the door. 

“Thanks, Mom. I really appreciate it.”

“It was a group effort, baby.” She said as she pat your shoulder. “Sweet dreams.”

“You too, Mommy. Love you.” She repeated the sentiment to you as you stepped on to the landing leading down to the basement, which was your and Emma’s former play room when you were kids and was now the studio apartment you shared with your four babies. You smiled at the older man who was sitting in a Lazy Boy in the middle of the room by the bathroom as he stopped rocking and nodded his head hello at you. “Hi, Dad.”

“Hey… there’s mama, see?” You smiled at your little boy as he picked his head up off your dad’s chest and looked over at you.

“Mama.” Theo choked as he turned and reached out for you with tears in his eyes.

“Oh, little man. Come here.” You dropped your shoes on the carpet and tossed your purse and jacket on your bed so you could take your son from your father.

“His bed time bottle is in the fridge. He didn’t touch it and he ate maybe three raviolis for dinner. I’m going up to bed.”

“Thanks Daddy. I’ll see you in the morning.” He nodded his head, sleepily as he trudged up the stairs, as your current little cry baby buried his face in your throat. “Alright, Theo. You gotta go to sleep, OK? But you can lay with mama for a little while. Only a little while, then you have to go in your bed.”

“No.”

“You can try to tell me no all you want, baby boy but you are gunna go to bed in your own bed tonight. Mama needs her own bed.” You grabbed the green capped bottle from the shelf of the fridge in the small kitchenette that, as a child, you never understood its purpose, but you were really grateful for as an adult. You dropped the bottle in the warmer on the counter and reached back behind your back to unzip your dress with a sigh. Theo protested a bit when you walked over and set him down on your king sized bed by the stairs, and he crawled across the blankets after you when you walked over to your small closet between the four cribs to throw your dress in your hamper and put on PJ’s. He slid off the bed, which was just a mattress and a box spring on the floor for that exact reason, and toddled after you into the bathroom.

“Oh, now we’re just being annoyingly needy.” You sighed when he latched himself on to your leg while you took off your makeup and ran a brush through your hair. Theo simply continued to sniffle until you finished and finally picked him up again. With one final heavy sigh, you grabbed his bottle and flipped off the lights, which didn’t do much since you had night lights all over the room so you could see your boys in the middle of the night. 

“Alright, bed time. Bed time.” You let out a relieved breath as you sat down on your bed and leaned back against the wall. Once Theo was settled in your arms with his bottle, you shoved your jacket on the floor and retrieved your phone from your bag before it followed your jacket. You glanced at the screen out of habit, looking at your sweet boy’s smiling faces, and you smiled at the text from Mark from a few minutes before.

— Hope you made it home safe. I had a wonderful time tonight. Look forward to seeing you again. 

You unlocked the screen and hit the message with your thumb.

— I had a fantastic time. I’m really glad you convinced me to stay, even if that third glass of wine is making taking care of this needy little boy a little difficult.

You hit the camera icon and flipped the view toward you and your son. You choose not to care that you didn’t have make up or a bra on any more, and took the photo of you and the beautiful, blue eyed little boy laying against your chest.

— Oh the joys of being a mother.

You set the phone down on your thigh and started to hum, hoping that you could get Theo to fall asleep quickly so you could get a couple hours yourself. Your eyes fell closed and your head gently hit the wall behind you, and the small suckling sound your son made mixed in with the sound machine that helped Evan fall asleep better than anything you had tried became your lullaby. You and Theo had both started to drift off, when your phone buzzed on your thigh.

— Oh, poor thing. I hope he goes to bed quickly for you. Sweet dreams, (Y/N). Good night… I’m gunna guess Thomas.

You smirked and glanced down at the finally sleeping little boy in your arms.

— Nope. This is Theo. Good try, though. Good night, sweetheart.

You set your phone down on your pillow and very carefully stood up to put your son to bed. He fussed for a couple seconds when you pulled the abandoned bottle from his hand and laid him down, but he thankfully stayed asleep. After checking the other three babies, you dumped out the remnants of the bottle in the sink, filled it with water, and simply left it to deal with in the morning with the boys breakfast dishes. You were already half asleep when you trudged back over to your bed and you were sound asleep the moment your head hit your pillow.

Part 2