#but maybe i’ll just read sea of fertility instead

[szczylpierdolony]

oh andddd the runaway horses copy my sister got me in nyc IS THE RIGHT COVER YAAYYYY

[claudiarya]

Hey guys, I’ve written a post RoW fanfiction. I warn you that it has a death trope in it, so beware.

You can also read it on Ao3 as well. 

Count words: 5990

Hope Suite

They didn’t know the moment when it all went wrong. Had it been when Kaz had accepted the job? Had it been when Inej had left Pekka Rollins alive, or when they had kept going despite all the adversities, they had encountered? The events of the last days were starting to become a blurring reel, that had done nothing but confuse them. What had started as a fairly easy job for the queen of Ravka, it then had turned out to be a major standoff with their enemies, which was putting not just one country, but the whole world as they knew it in peril. Maybe it had all gone downhill when Jarl Brum had managed to escape his prison cell at Hellgate, aided by one of his most trusted Drüskelle, his mind already too corrupted by the former General’s manipulations.

By the time he had been set free again, and had sought revenge against his detested neighbors, specifically against the witch queen and her monstrous husband, Inej, Kaz and his crew had already been too involved with their task to worry about it. How could they have known that once out, Brum was going to use everything in his power to bend Ravka? The Fjerdan man was aware that he couldn’t compete with its ruler, so he had worked out a different strategy entirely: if he couldn’t hope to win in a direct confrontation, he was going to annihilate her and her subjects from within, even if it would cost the destruction of his own country and more…

They didn’t know how Brum had gotten the information, but he had travelled to the mountains and had somehow liberated a certain shadow summoner from his sacrifice of eternal of pain, well before Zoya could do as she had planned. The shadow summoner in question had disappeared without a trace, only the Saints knew where he could have gone to hide away.

Needless to say, the darkness and its vampiric actions had started to spread again, at twice the speed. It looked like a ravenous beast had been set lose. It had extended in other countries as well, a silent and unannounced menace ravishing everything in its wake, that terrified even sailors at sea. If that wasn’t enough, Brum had also found out about Dirtyhand’s ‘involvement’ with the queen, and had made an ally with an ex Barrel boss, who had lost all his fortunes and power to a teenage crippled kid. Two powerful and dangerous men driven by their thirst for revenge had revealed themselves to be even more unstoppable than any of them had originally believed.

***

Inej remembered when Kaz had asked her to take a short leave from her sea voyages, to run one last time with him and the other crows in this task in which her skills at gathering information were going to be fundamental. Jesper had, of course, already accepted his friend’s proposition, and if at first Wylan had been skeptical, he had ended up joining the crew for the job. Perhaps for his natural instinct to follow wherever the gangly sharpshooter went, or maybe for the fact that he had made friends with the King consort, their shared love for science and ‘infernal gadgets’, as Kaz would call them, a fertile ground for common understanding.

“I won’t force you to do anything,” he had rasped to her while sitting on the roof ledge at the Slat to watch the tepid Ketterdam sun slowly blinking into existence in front of them; their intertwined fingers a testimony of how far they had already conquered together. The only thing that hadn’t won yet was their insomnia.

“Your particular set of skills is needed for this job, but I understand if you don’t want to be dragged into this,” Kaz had continued, and she had known he had slightly turned his head in her direction, as she had kept her eyes on the dawn.

After a while and still no answer from her he had sighed.

“Inej, what I’m trying to say is that we need you. I need you. I don’t think I can do this without you, so please tell me now, so I can send back a definite answer to Her Royal Pain.”

The Suli girl had marveled at his words: she didn’t think she had ever heard Kaz admit out loud that he couldn’t do something without the help of someone else.

“I’ll do it,” she had exclaimed, now turning her gaze on his stone-carved features. “But on one condition: I want Queen Zoya to help me fight against the slave trade in Ravka, and I want her to promise me that human traffickers are going to find the justice they deserve in her country.”

Kaz had squeezed her hand, the look in his eyes an oath to himself as well as to her.

***

Inej clutched her hand on her injured arm. She could feel the blood on her palm, as she watched Kaz keeping at cane point the last of the men who had tried to kill them. Their lead for the relic of Santk Feliks’s heart had taken them here, in an obscure abandoned, or so they thought, monastery on the Ravkan coast, right on the border with Fjerda. They had found out that centuries before, the order of religious men inhabiting the place had been the resting place of the only remaining part of the Saint. An easy reconnaissance job, an easy trail to follow. But ever since the spreading of the blight, of the Kilyklava, nothing had been easy.  It was as if for every movement they made, their enemies were ten steps ahead of them. Inej had never seen anyone outsmart Kaz like that. Usually, he was the one who had everything under control, who could predict every outturn, every maneuver his opponents were going to make. But instead, everywhere they had attempted to gather information, they had encountered a setup of sorts: mainly the place they had intended to scout, burnt to the ground. Had they a spying traitor in their mix? Inej had never seen him more on edge than she had in the last month, but now they had passed the pretense of this being another job. It had stopped being that when the world hab been threatened by an unstoppable force and Pekka Rollins had entered the picture. It was personal. And she suspected that he was also trying to keep true to the promise he had made her.

Inej had thought they had planned this out so carefully, she was sure they would not encounter any unpleasant surprise this time. After the too many (not) coincidences, they had started scheming their way for the hunt of the heart with only the four of them and Nikolai and Zoya, who had had to, although begrudgingly, leave out the Triumvirate and their closest friends from this particular matter of international importance. How was it possible then, that their traces had been tracked even here?  Kaz and Inej had offered for the job, a quick break in into the abandoned archives of the monastery, while Nikolai, Jesper and Wylan would wait for them on the Volkvolny to pick them up and leave after they had completed their task. Perhaps a smaller party was going to attract less attentions, their rouse of a devoted young group of people had served them well in the little town around the old holy building, and they had played their parts too well that Inej had forgotten for an instant that they had a bigger goal in mind. She was never going to forget the easy talk, the laughs they had shared around the table of the little tavern they had resided in, her hand clasped together with Kaz as a sort of lifeline for the both of them; her head resting delicately on his chest as they were lying down on the little bed they shared.

The four men that have been sent to kill them had caught them by surprise. Again.

Kaz had just uttered “We’ve got what we need, let’s go,” when the first thug that had tried to sneak up on him. Inej had made a quick work of the assassins, if her knives embedded in two of the men’s throats were of any indication. Despite that, one of the others had managed to graze her arm with a bullet, when she had momentarily lost her focus because the remaining one had kicked Kaz’s bad leg, eliciting a sound of pain from him. If only Jesper and Wylan had been there with them.

As she hobbled to where he was standing, Inej realized that Kaz was shaking from the effort of not to keel over in pain, his hand gripping the crow’s head of his cane so tightly, she feared he was going to snap it in half.

“Kaz...” she started

“You’re bleeding,” he rasped, diverting his gaze from the man to her, for the briefest of moments.

“It’s nothing,” she said. But she could see that he wasn’t really convinced, and with a soft grunt, he fished from his pocket a handkerchief and handed it to her, before asking to the person on the ground.

“How did you know we would be here?” his eyes two unforgiving coals.

The hired assassin didn’t answer at first but gave away in a little chuckle instead. Suddenly Kaz, still balancing his weight mostly on his good leg, brought down his cane on one of the man’s own legs. His scream of pain echoed around them in the old room.

“It doesn’t feel good, does it?” he said. This was Dirtyhands himself, any trace of the young man he had been with her at the tavern, vaporized.

“Now, tell me how you knew we were here, or I’m going to break every bone you have, and we both know how pleasant that is.”

The man chuckled again, but then he started talking.

“At times one shouldn’t look for spiders,” he said with a sickening grin. “At times, it’s the little insects nobody sees or cares to check because they’re believed to be harmless that tip the scales.”

Inej could see Kaz’s mind trying to figure out the man’s words, his gaze distant.

In that moment she realized that she was never going to tire to see that look on his face. Nor any other looks for that matter. Wobbly, the boy in question turned to her, he took the kerchief she had been pressing on her wound from her hand, and before she could realize what he was doing he tore it a bit and tied it around her bloody arm.

“Let’s get out of here,” he stated, wincing visibly as he made to move towards the door.

The man started laughing again as if Kaz had said something so funny he couldn’t control himself. Inej was on him before she could think. A knee on the thug’s sternum and her blade pressed to his throat.

“What’s so funny?” she inquired, looking down at him with disdain. She was tired, and she wanted to bring Kaz back to the Volkvolny, to get his leg looked properly after.

“In the end, you really are nothing but two delusional kids,” the man said, and Inej could feel his voice reverberate from under her knee.

“Stop speaking in riddles, or I swear to all the Saints known I’ll cut your throat right this second.”

He raised one hand in a gesture of mocking surrender. “Let’s just say that nobody is leaving this place alive,” he conceded.

“What do you mean?” asked Kaz from somewhere behind her, his tone menacing yet on guard. The tip of Inej’s knife scraped the man’s throat when he didn’t immediately answer back, two droplets of blood slid down the blade.

“This place and the whole town are about to be razed down by bombs and cannons. General Brum’s ships are approaching. They wanted to make sure our precious king consort and his flying machine didn’t leave this place unscathed. There’s no escaping your tragic fate now.” He snarled. His voice couldn’t conceal the hate he had for Nikolai, so he must have been one of those Ravkans from the West, unhappy with who was ruling over them now.

“No,” Inej said softly, and shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re lying!”

The man’s eyes lit with a manic light. “The world shall end in flames and darkness before being ruled by Gri –” He never finished his sentence, as Kaz brought down his cane once again, this time on his head.

The silence that followed could have lasted a minute or an eternity, Inej couldn’t be sure.

“Kaz,” she started again while standing.

“You need to leave. Now. I can’t walk, I think my leg is broken, but you need to leave me here and run from this place.” Kaz said, turning to look at her, the desperation palpable in his voice

“I’m not leaving,” she approached him. “We need to warn Nikolai. Tell them all to leave.”  

“Inej – ”

“Either pick up the comm and call them, or give it to me, Kaz. We’re only losing time like this.”  Her tone was unmovable.

Without any more protests on his part, he took out the little ingenious device Wylan and Nikolai had come up with. It permitted them to communicate even from quite long distances.

“Crow 1 and 2 to Too Clever Fox, do you copy?”

For the briefest of instants only there was only the sound of static, but then.

“Too Clever Fox here, I copy you. Kaz? What’s going on?” came the king’s voice.

“Nikolai, listen to me: you have to leave. Now. Get the Volkvolny and depart. This monastery, this town is about to be razed down by bombs. They knew we would be here; Brum’s ships are approaching. You – ”

“We’re coming to get you,” Nikolai interrupted him.

“No, there’s no time for that. You have to leave here now, or it will all be for nothing.” He looked at Inej then, his eyes searching hers in the dim light of the room with evident resignation.

“No! Kaz, Inej, no, we’re coming and we’re all surviving this.” Another protest from a different voice, Jesper’s.

“No! You have to listen and be quiet. I know where the thing we’ve looked for is. It’s hidden somewhere under the little place you train your soldiers. I also know how they’ve been able to predict our every move. Bugs. Check the war room for devices of the sort we’re using right now.”

“I will,” was Nikolai’s response.

There was another brief pause of static, Kaz spoke again, before he could be interrupted

“Jesper, Wylan,” he said. “The Crow Club and everything else is yours and Nina’s. You’ll find all the documents in my office back at the Slat. Do with them whatever you think it’s right.”

“Kaz, please we still have time, we can come and get you.” It was Wylan’s voice now that came from the other side.

Inej got closer and circled the hand in which Kaz was gripping the device with her own. “Wylan, you have to leave. Right now, ring the alarm bell of the town and go.” She started and then said:

“Guys… find my parents, tell them – tell them what happened, and that it was all for something better. We love you.”

Another anguished call for their names echoed around the room they were standing.

Inej took a breath a finished what she meant to say. “Nikolai the Wraith… take good care of her, and don’t forget our promise.  When you see Nina and Zoya tell them – ”

She couldn’t finish the sentence the threat of tears pricking her eyes. Luckily the privateer answered back.

“I’ll tell them, and I promise everything we did by far will not be in vain. Thank you, my friends. We will never forget what you did for Ravka and for all of us.”

Kaz and Inej could also hear the subtle sounds of distress of their friends, their family. She realized in that moment how much all of them meant to her. Funny how life had a tendency to remind you how deeply you loved someone when you’re about to lose everything.

Kaz brought the device back on his lips and in a clear voice said: “No mourners…” and before they could hear an answer coming from the other side, he had already thrown on the ground the device and smashed it with the tip of his cane.

The movement made so that he lost his balance. He would have crashed on the ground if Inej hadn’t been there to prevent the fall. She brought his arm over and shoulder and steadied him.

Kaz looked at her intently, his face turned in her direction, his eyes scanning her features and she knew what he was about to tell her even before he spoke the words.

“Inej, you can still make it, you’re fast, you have to run and save yourself.”

“I knew you were going to say this, but if you think that I could ever leave you behind you’re sorely mistaken.”

He did not relent, and as stubbornly as ever he removed his arm from around her shoulder, he gripped his cane with all his might so as not to fall again and faced her.

“Inej, please. Run now. Live. You have so much you still have to give to this wretched world.” Kaz Brekker never said please, never. Yet here he was, a broken boy standing in front of the girl he had grown to love.

“I can’t do that,” Inej simply replied while shaking her head in denial.

“It was all my fault, and you can’t pay my foolishness with your life, I won’t allow it. It’s not worth it. I’m not worth it.”

She took the short distance separating them and put her hand atop his on his cane.

“None of this was your fault, you have to get that straight. We’ve done something good, we helped our friends, our countries. And you’ll always be worth it to me.”

At her words she felt his breath hitch, but still his eyes held behind them a strange resolution.

“I can’t be the reason why you die here today, why can’t you understand that?” Kaz’s voice cracked, perhaps with the effort of holding back his desperation. Inej brought her free hand up and gently cupped his face with her palm. Her thumb grazed his cheek in a loving gesture.

“I’m not afraid to die, Kaz. But I’m terrified at the idea of a life without you in it. So, no. I’m not leaving, not now, not ever.”

***

As they stumbled outside the musty room of the monastery, Kaz with an arm draped around Inej’s shoulder for support, the Autumnal sun had started its descent. The soft orange and purple hues of the rays reflected on the sea surface, and the waves created a gentle melody. Inej couldn’t help but think that this was the Saints’ way to lead them onto their next job, their next adventure…

They dragged their feet until they were near the shore and lowered themselves down. For a moment that felt like an eternity, they gazed to the horizon, the sheer but peaceful resignation palpable in the air.

When Kaz clasped her hand and looked at her, she remembered a conversation she had overhead between the boy and Zoya.

They had adjourned their meeting after having gone over their plan again, everyone had stepped out of the room except for Kaz and Zoya, who had prevented him from exiting with a question. Curious as to why he hadn’t joined her outside, she had stayed behind the closed door, waiting in the long corridor. She had known that Kaz, and probably the queen too, were aware that she was there, but she hadn’t cared much.

“Just out of curiosity, why are you doing this Mr. Kerch rat?” she had asked, her voice reverberating even outside.

“I thought it was pretty obvious, Your Highness. It’s for the reward.” He had replied in that wry tone of his that she knew drove Zoya crazy.

“Oh, but I don’t think it’s just that.” Even without having been inside, Inej could picture the other woman taking one of the positions she had learned the queen preferred. Arms crossed and a frowned expression to better look down on him. In the crows’ time at the palace, the two Suli women had formed an easy and quiet friendship. The captain of the Wraith had helped her queen to reacquaint herself with her Suli heritage and Inej had even told Zoya that once the situation was over, she was going to bring her to her family caravans, to spend some time amongst their people. They had become sisters at heart and by blood.

“Enlighten me with your glorious knowledge then.”

Kaz had always liked playing with fire, but he was always walking a fine line with the sovereign of Ravka. Perhaps he wanted to see how much she could take before she decided to strike him out of existence on the spot.

“When you saw that this was getting dangerous, that it wasn’t going to be an easy job, you could have easily dropped everything and return to Ketterdam with you crew. Why didn’t you? Why stay when you knew the risks?”

Inej had heard genuine interest in Zoya’s voice that didn’t bore any resentment.

“I don’t know what you want me to answer.”

“Try with the truth, I know it’s hard for you, but indulge me. I know you’re not doing this just for yourself and your own benefit, as shockingly as it may seem. You’re still here for Inej, for the promise we had sworn to keep.” The queen had said as if she had found out the deepest secret of the man standing before her.

“Let me get this straight,” he had rasped. “I’ll always do what’s best for me, but I’m also a man of my word and I made a promise.”

There had been a few seconds of absolute silence, in which probably Zoya had studied him with those piercing blue eyes of hers.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but under certain aspects we’re not that different you and I. Your prickly behavior can only last so long, Kaz, but eventually you’ll have to let go. I’ve learned that even the thickest thorns have their purposes.”  The queen had said with a wisdom that at times made Inej wondered how many lives the queen had already lived.

“Ah, but here’s where your wrong, Your Excellency. In this scenario you’re comparing me to thorn wood, while actually I’m just barren land on which nothing grows.”

His lapidary answer would have been enough to render speechless anyone, but not Zoya the Grisha queen of Ravka. In her spectacular talent at having always the last word she told him: “You’ll realize that you can’t keep up this cold demeanor forever. I just hope it won’t be too late when you do.”

***

Inej squeezed Kaz’s hand tighter and looked him straight in his brown eyes, a shade lighter in the orange sun. From a distance they heard the sound of bells. Their friends had managed to give the alarm, she only hoped they were already on their way back to the palace. The tolls were shortly followed by another sound: propellers guiding the Fjerdan ships to face the town and the monastery. With a small smile grazing her feature she told him said.

“You were wrong. You were wrong that time when you spoke with Zoya.” If at the beginning of her sentence he had seemed confused, now she could see he understood what conversation she meant.

“You’re not just barren land, Kaz. You managed to build something from nothing, you survived all those terrible things in your life and in the process, you managed to grow, to thrive, to do something good for Ravka and your friends. I’m sure your brother would be proud of you. I know I am.”  He didn’t reply.

The rumbling of the aircrafts was almost cacophonic, in contrast to the peace they had basked in not a few minutes ago. Despite that, it was as if the two of them had been placed in a protective bubble of their own, in which not even those machines of war could destroy.

Perhaps it was the lightening, but Inej swore those were unshed tears glinting in Kaz’s eyes. In all the years she had known him, she had never even seen him get emotional or choked up about something, but here, now, on this shore with her, Dirtyhands was doing just that.

“I’ve never wanted for it to end like this – his shoulders shook as he held back a sob – for us, to end like this. Inej, believe me when I tell you that if I could go back, I would do so many things differently. If I could go back, I would start to show you how much I admire you, how much I love you so much earlier than I did.”

Inej’s hand found his face again. The tip of her fingers skimmed his lips in such a tender gesture that they parted under her touch.

“There’s no need for that, Kaz, I already know. And it doesn’t matter how early or late you started. You show me you love me every day.” Her limb continued on her exploration: she touched his brow, his eyes, his cheekbones. “I propose a deal: I’ll find you in the next life Kaz Rietveld, and even there I’ll be waiting for you perched on your windowsill feeding the crows.”

Still looking at her straight in the eye, he let go of her hand, removed his gloves discarding them on the sand and rubbed her disheveled braid between two trembling fingers.

“The deal is the deal. I’ll find you there then.”

The rumble of the ship cannons had reached a deafening peak as their beams struck mercilessly on the monastery in an unescapable trap of fire.

Before the very end, the two held themselves up on trembling knees and embraced the other. A small smile of resigned happiness on both of their faces.

“Stay with me,” Kaz whispered, and unlike another and far time her answer was clear.

“Always.” Inej swore.

Saints protect us both, was the last thing she thought.

And then there was nothing but searing light.

***

In Os Alta the feast on Sankt Nikolai was fast approaching, but even if she was the queen Zoya didn’t feel much festive. The white, still landscape of her country at this time of the year was an accurate representation of what she had been feeling ever since they had managed to find the heart of Sankt Feliks, save Ravka from the plague and its enemies with another peace treaty and bring the Darkling – or Aleksander as he insisted to be called – back to the little palace where they could control him. She knew they were taking a risk, but it was safer to have him closer than not knowing where he was. It had been a hard decision, but she wasn’t going to murder him in cold blood, she was not going to turn into a monster, as he had in his lust for power. In his loneliness.  

When everything had come back to a pseudo- normality, when she had had time to think and just be, it was then that everything she had been holding back for the sake of her country hit her with tenfold the force.

Zoya had understood that keeping emotions bottled inside you, was going to eat you alive in the longer run. It was something she was learning every day, and that she was willing to change, if only a bit. She had started letting go in the small gestures of affection she shared with Genya, in the loving words she had with Nikolai, in the playful banters she occasionally allowed herself to have with the rest of her friends. Her family.

And so, as the Grisha queen strode towards her garden, the winter sun barely a strip on the horizon of a new morning, she couldn’t help the tears that fell down in two cold streaks down her face. Zoya brought an arm up to dry them, the sensation of the thick wool of her winter kefta both prickly and a reassurance.

She opened the door of the little corner of her world. Nobody entered this sanctuary except for Nikolai, since she hadn’t allowed anybody else to see her soul from that close. The structure her king had built for her always managed to leave her speechless. The glass and iron were combined in perfect harmony, and when Zoya worked in it by day, the sun would cast and create a series of little mesmerizing rainbows. However, what would always speak to her were the walls, painted by Alina. The roaring dragon flying, the little fox, the ship resembling the Volkvolny mastering the sea, the colors and symbols of the Grisha orders were her most trusted companions during the solitary hours of her gardening.

It was there where Nikolai found her, tending to her plants and flowers. She heard him enter her safe haven, and she supposed he had come out to her when he had awoken and hadn’t seen her resting beside him.  He approached her and kneeled beside where she was on the ground, a rather small pot between her hands. Nikolai knew that when she was working here like this, he would have had to let go of his privateer side, and just be the man she had fallen in love with and married. In short, he needed to be her anchor.

“Those are nice flowers,” he said, pointing to the little thing with red petals. A genuine interest coloring his voice.

“They’re wild geraniums.” Was Zoya’s noncommittal answer. Her eyes hadn’t looked up at him.

“And what is that other sprout beside the flowers?” Nikolai prompted her again, indicating the smaller, yet visible plant growing alongside the geraniums. It looked like it was enveloping the geraniums in an embrace, its green leaves a stark, yet so right, contrast with the red of the petals.

This time she raised her gaze, and her blue orbs found a pair of comforting hazel ones staring back at him.

“It’s ivy.” Again, she didn’t let herself go into any sort of explanation.

“I remember you with a vase like this when you left for the Suli caravans.”

So, he had noticed, of course he had. Zoya was always taken aback by the fact that when it came to her, Nikolai was even a closer observant than he already was.  

As soon as everything had settled after the whole ordeal, she had decided that she was going to be the one to bring the news to the Ghafas. Her and only her with no escort and no Nikolai in tow. She had told him that she had to do this particular thing alone, and he had just hugged her and encouraged her to go. It had been a spiritual journey of sorts; one she had promised her other Suli sister they would take together…

“Yes,” she said in a whisper. “They were Inej’s favorite flowers. I brought a pot to her parents when I visited the camps. It was the least I could.” With her hand she showed him other three little vases with the same brightly colored flowers and green little sprout of ivy on the side. “Those are for Nina, Jesper and Wylan. It’s their present for Sankt Nikolai.”  

“Zoya,” he started. She knew they’ve been over this before, and yet she couldn’t seem to let her sense of guilt leave her.

“They knew what they were doing, it was their choice.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t make it any easier, Nikolai. When I met her parents – she shook her head – they treated me like their own. Like I was family. I’ve never felt so accepted, so… seen in my life, except for when I’m with you. And yet I’m part of the reason why their daughter has been taken away from them. They both have been taken away from them.” A small moment of silence, and once again she couldn’t stop the little tear escaping the corner of her eye.

“I just don’t understand how there can be such kindness after so much loss.” Zoya wondered out loud.

“It’s the nature of human beings, and also our strength.” Nikolai said. “Even after losing everything, we find it in ourselves to get back on our feet and fight for something new, something worth all the suffering.” He dragged himself closer to Zoya with his arms and then raised a hand to cup her cheek, gently steering her face in his direction. His thumb brushing away the stray tear marking her face.

“As long as there is life, there is happiness, Zoya. There is hope for a brighter future. And that’s exactly what Kaz and Inej had brought us: hope to build something better from the ashes.” He paused and behind his eyes she could see the same emotions that had been haunting her, testimony of the fact that he too had been grieving his friends.

“Don’t let your sorrow squander the hope they enabled with their sacrifice, because you wouldn’t be honoring their memories in that ways.”

“Oh, Nikolai,” she exhaled before throwing her arms around him with such a force he momentarily lost his balance. “Thank you!”

“Any time, my queen. I’ll always be here.” He promised.

“And besides, you know how much I love when I’m being all smart and wise. I couldn’t let this occasion to show it to you slip by.” He finished with a much brighter tone. Zoya softly chuckled, something she hadn’t thought being capable of mere months ago and told him with fake exasperation.

“Of course, you couldn’t. It’s your modesty I fell for after all.”

They remained in each other’s arms for an indefinite amount of time. The only indication of the time passing was the sun which har finally risen, and now was beating on the glass panels of the garden. Zoya continued tending to her plants, all a part of her in some capacity, as Nikolai watched her in a comforting silence, seated on the ground and with his back against a small tree.

“Why the ivy?” he asked her all of a sudden. His eyes returning once again on the pots near him.

“It can grow even in poor soils and although it requires more time for it to bloom than other plants, when it does its resilience it’s unmatched.” Zoya saw Nikolai nodding in understanding.

“I also found the meaning behind it fitting,” She added.

“What’s the meaning?”

“It symbolizes the constancy of love.”

There was a brief silence in which she saw him taking in the information.

“It is as fitting as it is beautiful,” he said, while he rose to his feet and brought her closer once again, placing a soft kiss on her dark mane.

As they left to go back to the palace, hand in hand, Zoya thought to herself that in life there were people whose souls were connected and strung in ways that couldn’t be explained by logic. She looked at Nikolai walking alongside her and smiled softly to herself, sure she had found the missing piece of her complicated puzzle in the golden boy beside her.

Her gait hadn’t felt this light in months.

In a glass garden, in a country ruled by a powerful Grisha queen with the heart of a dragon, a plant of geraniums and ivy grew stronger by the day, forever entwined in their embrace of constant love for the other.

[elsewhereuniversity]

Finding Joy

Her safename was Joy.

That worried people, when taken with her bubbly personality- the laughter that filled the heart, the smile that lit a room, blue eyes sparkling over freckled dimples. The silly hoodie, with huge blue ears that were taller than her head- “Easier to find me in a crowd, that way,” she’d said, and well, it’s not like she was wrong. More than once, the blue ear tips weaving through a sea of shoulders was the only way to find Joy, short as she was. The iron bell around her neck only helped a little- it’s ringing often swallowed by the noise.

Joy fit her, really.

And that was why they worried.

Her RA had spoken to her about it, of course. “Are you sure you want to go with Joy? You know the point is that they’re not supposed to fit, right?” And Joy had nodded in complete understanding, smiling brightly. “I read the introductory packet- if it starts to fit too well, I’ll change it, I promise! But I’m not too worried about that.” Another bright smile. A name, cautiously, added to the floor register. (Written in calligraphy, sprinkled with salt, locked in an iron drawer. Maybe Clip was paranoid, but she wasn’t losing any students that way ever again.)

The first meeting with the Gentry came a month in. Accidental, of course- she hadn’t been watching the trail they’d been following, locked in an animated conversation with her friend about the robotics project she’d been working on. “-so I’ve got it measuring soil conditions every three hours, now, and comparing it against the plants showing optimal growth, to match them- I think I can set up pre-programmed routines, with some more data, to keep soils on a prepared regime! The hard part will be getting the fertilizing-”

The rest of that sentence would never be heard. What was heard was a shout, crashing sounds, and a loud pair of dual thuds.

What was seen, was the gentleman who’d been crashed into and knocked to the ground, golden hair in disarray, blinking dazedly- and Joy, on top of him, where she’d crashed into the man, her papers scattered around her.

(Off to the side, her friend wasn’t sure whether to start filming or to grab Joy and run. She might have been too busy laughing, though.)

Joy had sprung away, then, like she’d been burned. “Oh my gosh, I am so- are you okay? Do you need to go to the nurse, did you hit your head? I should have been watching where I was going, my bad!” Snatching up her papers, she offered a hand down to the gentleman, who, still disoriented, took it, and pulled him to his lanky feet. Golden eyes blinked down at the girl, as he brushed dirt off his coat, clearing his throat.

“That will not be necessary, I assure you, miss…?”

“Oh! Right, Joy, you can call me Joy, I’m so- no, wait, I’m not supposed to say that, right, right.”

A gentle huff of laughter. A hand brushing dirt off a blue coated shoulder. “It suits you. No harm, no foul, as you children say. Run along, now.” A dazzling smile in return, as she ran off to catch up with her friend. Distantly, he could hear them chattering. “Dude! That was one of Them! Are you okay, you didn’t say anything you shouldn’t have, right?” “I’m fine! It’s fine, don’t worry about it, he wasn’t mad.” “You told him your name, though!” “Don’t be absurd. I told you, it doesn’t fit, that’s the whole point.”

Days passed. Her roommates watched her like a hawk. Weeks- caution started to ease. Months- and when October rolled around, it found the two girls sprawled out under a tree on the grounds.

“Coleslaw heard you crying the other night- what was that about?”

A shrug. Her stylus traced over her tablet, tracing out details. “Just a call from my godfather, no big deal.”

“You’re still homesick?”

“I guess. More than I thought, anyway.”

“Well, you know, fall break’s coming up soon. Maybe you can go visit?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

The conversation had turned, then. To the party coming up, a masquerade hosted by the drama majors- of course.

An idea took root.

Joy wasn’t much one for dancing- too small, she’d laughingly tell anyone who asked, “My partners would have to bend double to meet me!” It was an exaggeration- but not, to be fair, by that much. She contented herself, instead, drifting around the room, giddy in the face of her classmates happiness, and possibly the double-shot cookie-mocha she’d snagged from the snack bar.

It was because of her drifting that she saw the girl being led off by the golden haired gentleman, away from the courtyard, to the path leading to the Forest. Following wasn’t a decision- her legs moved almost of their own accord.

The pair went into the trees.

Joy hesitated, for half a breath- then lifted her chin, eyes flashing steel, and marched in after them.

The gold eyed gentleman grinned at her, across the ring of mushrooms. His hands rested on the shoulders of the girl he’d taken, her eyes wide and watery as she stared at Joy.

“Give her back. She isn’t yours to take.”

Teeth showed behind the predatory grin. “She came willingly, little butterfly. Stepped into my arms, to save her guardian from himself, wouldn’t you know? A life for a life. Her life, to save his from the bottle.”

Of course she’d made a Deal. Well, two can play at that game. “I’ll barter for her.”

The grin turned sly. He leaned forward, resting his chin on the girl’s head. “And what would you have to offer me, bold little butterfly? I told you already- a life for a life. Are you so willing, to trade your freedom for a stranger?”

A breath of hesitation. His grin grew. “Perhaps I’ll be generous. I’ll take your godfather, then- unless you’d care to give me your true name, Joy?”

Joy led the shaking girl through the forest, plucking her iron butterfly clips from the trees they’d marked the way from as they passed. Their absence had been noticed, by now- Clip’s eyes lit up in relief to see both students emerging down the path, Joy’s shawl wrapped around the other girl, and one of the girl’s friends ran forward to greet them, nearly tackling her in a hug. Joy stepped back to let them have their reunion, moved over to her RA. Looking up at Clip, she smiled a bit, sheepishly.

“Is it too late to register to stay over break?”

“So what do you think? Are you really going to join the Knights?”

The student traced her pen over the lines of the sign-up sheet, tip drumming against the page. It was already most of the way filled out- the reasons, the class schedule, the dorm number- there was only one thing left to write down. The question got her gaze to lift, and she nodded.

“I think so, yeah. I mean, I’ve already rescued one classmate- imagine what I could do with some support.”

“You mean imagine what they could do, with a few more engineering majors.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to. I’m definitely looking into the blacksmithing elective next semester, I’m gonna build us armor.”

A laugh answered that, and her friend reached across the table, shoving her playfully. “Well then what are you waiting for? Hurry up and go turn it in!”

The student formerly known as Joy laughed, a sound like bells, as she wrote her name into the final blank. “Alright, alright! Come on, come with me- maybe they’ll know where to pick up a sign-up sheet for the Scribes for you.”

“Alright, I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Blue ink glittered as it dried, Iris written in gentle swoops across the top of the page.

x

[btsslowburnfic]

Chthonic Love Chapter 12

Summary:  A Greek Mythology AU featuring Yoongi/Suga as Hades and reader as Persephone. Olympian ruler Namjoon has delivered you, Persephone, as a gift for his brother, lord of Death, Yoongi

Chapter Summary: Your library date is interrupted, leaving you to question some things

AN: a tad angsty. Pain is a part of growing, yes?

Previous Chapter here

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

The two of you had combed through the stacks quite thoroughly by the time lunchtime rolled around. You had acquired a few legal texts in addition to finding some interesting horticultural books. The books were sprawled out along a large wooden table on the first floor of the library. Most of the morning had been spent in comfortable silence with you and Yoongi each bringing books back to the table, looking for more, and continuing the process over and over again.

The door opened with Lethe and another woman carrying trays. “On the table please,” Yoongi mumbled from his seat, gesturing to an empty space next to him.

“Very well my Lord. Just so you know. Penthos was asking about you sir. He did not wish to disturb you, but he would like to speak with you.” Lethe sat the trays down, taking them from the other silent woman.

“Thank you Lethe,” He responded, not looking up from the book he was reading. The two women took their leave while Yoongi continued reading. Finished with the section, he tore off a piece of parchment and put it between the pages to mark where he had stopped. He ran a hand along his chin in thought. Most of the books had been vague and unhelpful. Not surprising since this wasn’t a law library. He looked at the trays of food. He often forgot to eat. As an Olympian he didn’t really need much in the way of sustenance, but he was fairly certain Earth deities required it.

“Persephone,” he lightly called out. He wasn’t sure where you had ended up. Not getting a response, he pushed back his chair and wandered over to the middle. THe library was big, but not so much that it would be difficult to find you. “Persephone.” He called once again, up the stairs.

 You looked up from your seat by the window. You had gotten lost in what you were reading. You looked at the page number, committed it to memory, and sat it down. You walked over to the railing and saw Yoongi near the main table. “Yes?”

“Lunch is here,” he gestured to the trays on the table.

“Oh. I didn’t even hear anyone come in.” You remarked as you descended the staircase. “Good. I’m starving.”

Yoongi smiled, pleased with himself that he guessed something right about you. He pulled out a chair for you, causing you to blush slightly. 

“Such good manners today. Are you trying to impress me?” You teased him.

“Something like that. Is it working?” He asked shyly, shaking his hair out of his face. He sat down across from you.

You laughed but didn’t give a response, instead you went for the food immediately. 

Yoongi took some food to be polite. “Did you find anything?” 

“No.” You paused while chewing. “I put like three legal  books in the stack and then I found a book about plants of the underworld and started to read it. Did you know the Underworld can actually support plant life? I mean, without me keeping it alive actively.”

“I didn’t. It was dead when I got here. There was the Sea, the Desert, the Caves, and the Mountains.”

“You sir are going to have to take a vacation and do some traveling. The book I read says that some of the mountains used to be volcanic and the resulting ash is actually a somewhat fertile soil base.” Your passion for plant life was clear as you shared these facts with enthusiasm.

“How old is this book you found?” Yoongi raised his brows in surprise.

“I don’t know, but I’m guessing it’s one of the few Underworld books you didn’t write. I’ll go grab it.” You started to get up.

“No, it can wait until after lunch. I’m curious but I’m not in a hurry.” He responded easily. “I guess I don’t know everything about the Underworld.”

The two of you heard a knock at the door. Yoongi straightened up. You hadn’t noticed how casual and relaxed he was while talking to you until you saw the stark contrast. “Enter.” He said, his voice monotonous and firm.

The doors opened, revealing Penthos on the other side. He walked into the library. You suddenly felt your heart rate speed up.

“My Lord. I finished my task from the other day and have news to report.” Penthos’ eyes swept over you for a brief second and then found their way back to Yoongi.

“Which task?” Yoongi asked boredly.

Penthos shifted uneasily on his feet. He looked over at you again. You raised an eyebrow this time, causing him to quickly avert his gaze. 

“Perhaps I should submit my report later.” Penthos said, starting to back out of the room.

Yoongi’s eyes opened wider, “No.” He paused and gestured across the table. “You interrupted me and Lady Persephone. You will give the report now.”

“I apologize my Lord, I had no idea Lady Persephone was in here or I would not have come to give you a report.” He responded quickly.

Ah. There it was. He didn’t want to say whatever he had to say in front of you. You smirked. You weren’t sure yet if Yoongi had put the pieces into place yet. You continued to watch the interaction play out. 

“And yet here you are. The. Report.” Yoongi repeated.

“Yes sir,” Penthos took a breath before beginning. “The catacombs remain intact. Arachne and her children guard the Eastern and Southern Caverns. The golems are mostly in working order. A few seem as though they have rusted over time. I recommend sending for Hephaestus to come and repair them. The timeline on this of course depends on if and when you think they would need to be used.” He paused and looked over at you for some reason. You continued to stare back. He looked away as he began to speak again. “Additionally, The Northern passage is in need of repair. Several natural cracks have begun to form over time. Something will need to be done to keep anyone from tunneling in from the North, under the mountains.” 

Yoongi had picked up a quill and taken a few notes while this was occurring. Meanwhile you were mulling over in your head why Penthos was reluctant to present a report on the Palace’s defenses. Oh. Right. He thought you were a traitor. The word played through your mind again and you found yourself growing more and more angry. Traitor Traitor Traitor.

Yoongi looked up from his paper and over to you for a moment. You felt his gaze on you and you looked away from Penthos for a moment. “Persephone, can you please go grab that book you were talking about?” He asked you quietly. It took you a few seconds to register he was speaking to you, his voice was much quieter and more delicate than it had been a moment ago.

You got up and headed up the stairs to get it.

Yoongi turned back to Penthos. “Very well. I will send for Hephaestus and the two of us will walk the catacombs tomorrow to see what there is to do about the Northern passage.” Yoongi paused and lowered his voice, “Do not interrupt me in the library again. Do you understand?”

Penthos pressed his lips together tightly, his fists balled up behind his back. “Yes sir.”

“You may leave.” Yoongi commanded. He quickly got up from his seat and headed up the stairs. He saw you standing over by the window and closed the distance between the two of you.

You turned around, slight panic in your voice. "I’m sorry, I couldn’t bring the book, I’m...” you opened up your hands which were covered in blood.

Yoongi sighed and reached out,“I know. You started to grow thorns out of your hands. Didn’t you notice?” He asked as he took your hands in his and started to wipe the blood off on the edge of his shirt.

You looked at him in shock. How had he noticed, but you hadn’t?  “Stop you’ll ruin your shirt.”

Yoongi looked at you concerned, “I have a million black shirts. It’s fine.” He continued to apply pressure. “Why isn’t it healing? Can’t you heal yourself?” He asked, examining the cuts.

“No.” You laughed dryly. “Isn’t that weird? I can bring animals and people back from almost being dead, but when I get hurt, there’s not a lot to be done. Why is this happening? " You don't really expect an answer. 

“You were angry at Penthos.” You can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement. You remain silent as Yoongi moves your hands slightly against a different part of his shirt. Your face reddens as you accidentally brush up against the skin of his stomach. “That’s why you grew the thorns. You were angry and staring at him.” Yoongi looked up from your hands, his almost black eyes softened as he said,” I don’t think your plant powers are meant to be weaponized, especially if you can’t control your powers.” 

You felt so stupid. What kind of goddess didn’t even notice that they had plants growing out of their body?  You felt like you were being scolded and you wanted to cry. “I know. I didn’t do it on purpose. Like I didn’t grow the vines on purpose. You added quietly, “My powers behave differently down here. This never happened back on Earth.”

 "We can figure it out." Yoongi said, his deep voice laced with worry. 

You frowned as you kept your eyes on your hands. You felt bad that you kept messing things up. Yoongi shouldn't have to deal with this. “Let’s just find a book that will send me home so I can stop messing everything up.” You removed your hands from Yoongi’s. “I’m Sorry.” You walked quietly down the stairs and out the door.

Yoongi stood there for a minute unsure of what had just happened. That’s not what he had meant at all. Shit. But if the Underworld was causing your powers to behave in a way that was hurting you and other people, maybe you should go back to Earth. Yoongi pouted. But he didn’t want you to leave. Don’t be selfish. She said she wants to go home. She only said that because she doesn’t want to hurt anybody. Yoongi felt the thoughts in his head going all over the place. Ugh. It was time for the afternoon reaping. He ran his hands through his hair and down the staircase.

He made his way out of the library. He didn’t see Lethe in the great hall. He walked over to one of the servants who was dusting a chair. A chair? Really? He thought. Oh well. “Excuse me?” The servant froze and then turned around. And then proceeded to do a 90 degree bow. Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Please find Lethe and tell her to check on Lady Persephone.”

The servant looked back up at him in silence. “Can you speak?” Yoongi asked. They nodded yes. “Ok. That’s all. Find Lethe and tell her that? Yes?”

The servant let out the tiniest “Yes sir.” ever. Good enough. He headed out the door and to the reaping.

----------

As soon as you got to your room you started to cry. You had done a really good job so far of taking all of this kidnapping in stride. You had even tricked yourself into thinking that maybe you could stay here for a while without anything growing wrong. Hell, an hour ago  you found a book saying that plants could grow here. And if plants could grow here, maybe you could survive here too. Maybe Yoongi would have let you stay. But you can’t stay if your powers couldn’t be controlled. You had already hurt Yoongi once and you hadn’t even noticed earlier when you had hurt yourself. If Yoongi hadn’t stopped you, you might have hurt Penthos as well. You started to breath faster, feeling panicked. What if you hurt Lethe? Or Yoongi again? You couldn’t forgive yourself.  Up until a few days ago you had never hurt anyone.

You paced in your room. Hoseok wasn’t going to do anything. Maybe you could just leave. You could transform yourself into a tree or a rock on the mortal realm where no Olympian could find you and live happily ever after. You scolded yourself, knowing that these plans were unrealistic and borderline crazy. You sighed and threw yourself down on the bed. You heard the door to your room open.

Lethe walked in, “Hello Persephone. Yoongi asked me to check on you.” She said quietly from the doorway. This caused you to cry even harder. 

“Oh dear.” She shut the door behind her and walked over. “May I?” She asked, gesturing to the bed. You let out a sad, strangled sounding affirmative sound and she sat on the bed next to you.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened. I mean...I’m nosey so I want to know. But you don’t have to.” She said as she ran her fingers through your hair. You let out a snot filled laugh.

“My powers keep hurting people.” You cried and held up your hands. They had stopped bleeding, but there were cuts and scabs all over your hands.

“Oh my. I’ll be right back,” She said. You assumed she went to get water and bandages. While she was gone you settled into more of a gentle cry than a sob. She returned and sat down the basin and rags on the nightstand. 

“What upset you today? When I was in the library everything seemed fine.”

“Penthos.” You responded, too upset to care about your manners. “He hates me. He thinks I’m a traitor. He didn’t want to say anything in front of me because he thinks I would give a shit about the defenses of the castle. I didn’t choose to come here. Why would I care? And I really like everyone here except him, so why would I do anything?” It all spilled out of you. “I keep messing up and hurting people.”

Lethe took a moment, washing your hands. “You’re a sweet girl [y/n] . You’re kind, and warm, and soft-hearted. The Underworld wasn’t created for sweet girls. It’s hard. And it’s dark.”

“See? I have to go home. I can’t stay here…” you sobbed.

“Wait wait. I wasn’t done.” Lethe continued over your crying. “But it just means you have to be strong. It’s hard to be the light in the darkness. It’s harder to react with kindness than with harshness. And that’s how I know you’re strong. You can blossom wherever you’re planted. You can control your powers if you just remember that you have a choice. There’s room for you in the Underworld if you choose to stay, I’m sure of it.”

Your crying had slowed down so you could listen to Lethe.

“And besides, Yoongi needs you here.” She added. 

You snorted. “Yoongi does not need me here. I tried to kill him the other day and now I’ve ruined one of his shirts with my blood and I almost ruined a priceless antique book as well.”

Lethe finished bandaging your hands and took a deep breath. “He likes you. You know that, right?” 

You don’t say anything at first. Did he like you? You hadn’t thought too much about it. You knew he was nice to you. “I don’t know.” You said quietly.

Lethe looked at you like you had two heads. “You two hold hands. On a regular basis almost.” She squeaked out.

You felt your cheeks grow red. Now that you thought about it, it had happened on a few occasions. “He’s just being nice.”

“Uhh….no. He’s nice to me. He like, likes you.” She rolled her eyes and moved the basin over to the dresser by the door. “I’m sure you two can figure out what’s going on with your powers. If you want to leave that’s understandable, but don’t let it be because of a miscommunication or something like that. I have to go and do laundry. Change out of that dress, it’s got blood on it. Come on...no more feeling sorry for yourself.” 

You appreciated that Lethe was acting more like a big sister or mother to you than a servant this afternoon. That’s exactly what you needed. You sniffled some more and headed behind your changing screen. You threw the dress over and onto the floor.

“There we go. Now get cleaned up and remember, everyone else loves having you here. Got it?”

“Yes,” you agreed begrudgingly. 

Lethe reached around the screen with a new dress in her hands. You took it. “And Yoongi likes you.” She added.

You remained silent.

“You don’t have to agree to make it true. I’ll be by later to check on your hands again.”

“Thank you,” you responded, grateful for the screen to hide your blushing. Did Yoongi like you? Like, like you? You wondered and found yourself replaying several of your interactions over the past few days. Maybe he did.  NEXT CHAPTER 

[elizabeethan]

Try Something New, Darling

Part 3/6 of my season 3 canon divergent series It’s About Bloody Time (AO3) 

Read part 2 (AO3)

Read on AO3

Summary: Emma Swan considers herself to be a fairly intelligent person. She was able to survive on the streets for years as a child and teenager. She was able to support herself after being released from jail at age 18. She sustained a prosperous job as a bail bondsperson. She had a nice apartment in Boston. She broke a damn curse and found her family. So yes, she considers herself to be a fairly intelligent person.

So why has she been acting so stupid?

Emma Swan considers herself to be a fairly intelligent person. She was able to survive on the streets for years as a child and teenager. She was able to support herself after being released from jail at age 18. She sustained a prosperous job as a bail bondsperson. She had a nice apartment in Boston. She broke a damn curse and found her family. So yes, she considers herself to be a fairly intelligent person.

So why has she been acting so stupid?

Early Friday morning after her birthday dinner, when she woke up feeling nauseous again and consequently ended up with her head in the toilet, she did consider going to the doctor. No bout of food poisoning should have lasted this long, and she never had a fever, so it probably wasn’t the flu. But when she opened up the cabinet under the sink to get the mouth wash and saw a box of tampons, it all came crashing down on her at once. The realization that she should have needed to use those very tampons over a week ago. The realization that she still doesn’t need to use them now.

Because guess what? When one takes a week-long trip to a magical realm and forgets to bring one’s birth control with them, one should then avoid having unprotected sex.

Absolutely stupid.

And so here she stands on this bright and sunny Monday morning, in the family planning aisle of the local drug store (please, as if this was planned), hoping to whatever god might be listening that Grumpy doesn’t see her and make one of his famous announcements to the whole town.

(She can picture it now. Terrible news! Terrible news! The Savior got knocked up by Captain Hook!)

Should she have done this sooner? Probably. But she chose instead to spend a week and a half after putting the pieces together hoping that she would miraculously get her period, and all this worrying would have been for naught. Now that her period is very late, she figures it’s probably time to take a test.

She finally opts for a two-pack so that she can remain in denial for a bit longer by taking the test again, then grabs a third just to be safe. False positives are a thing, right? Once she’s been rung out, as awkwardly as possible, she exits the store and shoves the box into the large bag she brought with her before she makes her way to Granny’s. If she’s going to pee on a stick three times in a row, she’ll need some fluids. And if she’s about to find out that she’s been knocked up, she’s going to need some comfort in the form of hot chocolate.

“Hey Emma!” Ruby calls from the kitchen when she arrives, hurrying out to meet her.

“Hi Rubes,” she responds, trying her hardest to plaster on a smile. She’s been chewing on her bottom lip so much lately that she thinks it cracks.

“Hot chocolate?”

“Please.”

“Want me to bring it over to Lover-Boy’s table?” she asks with a smirk, and Emma freezes before turning around in the direction Ruby was facing and sees Hook, dressed still in his modern wardrobe and sitting alone at a table nursing a coffee.

Shit. Not ready. Back up. Abort mission.

Of course, Ruby must have spoken too loudly, because Hook glances up and catches her gaze before shooting her an earth shattering, ovary exploding grin.

The very grin that she’s been evading for over a week now.

Rather than answering Ruby, Emma takes a deep breath and swallows the lump in her throat, then heads over to his table and takes a seat across from him.

“Hi,” she greets shakily.

“Morning love,” he responds, his smile faltering the slightest bit at the tone of her voice, but still successfully killing her from the inside out. “Finally feeling better today?”

Fuck, she thinks. Leave it to him to inadvertently guilt her for avoiding him. Not by accusing her of doing so, but by evidently understanding why she’s been so absent. Now is certainly an opening for her to tell him what’s going on, or what she suspects is going on. (Who is she kidding, though? There’s almost no doubt in her mind that she is currently carrying his child.) “Not that much,” she finally says.

His face falls, brows drawing close together and mouth sporting a perfectly kissable pout. “No? Have you been to the doctor?”

“Not yet.”

“Emma,” he starts seriously as he glances back down at his mug, but whatever he says doesn’t reach her ears. When she looks up, she sees Neal making his way into the diner from the inn and she freezes.

She’s still reeling from last week, and she’s been avoiding him too. The more she looks back on it, the worse she feels. How could she let him do that? She knows that she should’ve been strong enough to shove him away before it became what it did.

It shouldn’t have gotten so out of hand. Does she tell Killian that Neal technically kissed her? It’s not as if it could hardly even be considered a kiss, and it’s not like she kissed him back, but still. Doesn’t he have the right to know?

“Like now, for example,” she finally hears him say.

“Huh?”

“Precisely my point, love, I was just saying that you seem distracted. Emma, something is clearly bothering you. And whatever it is—”

“I’m fine.”

“—whatever it is,” he says more pointedly, “please just know that I’m… I’m here.”

She draws her brows together and finally meets his eyes with hers when Ruby sets her mug of hot chocolate down in front of her with a wink.

“Whatever it is, I’ll support you in any way that I can, however you’ll let me. You can tell me anything.”

Shit.

One glance into his deep blue eyes and she knows that he’s telling the truth.

“Killian…” she starts, sighing, reaching down for her mug and pulling it up to her nose.

While she may have had every intention of talking things through with him, or maybe asking if they can talk in private later, she takes one whiff of her favorite drink and knows that that isn’t going to happen.

Her eyes widen and her face must pale immediately. She feels her whole body start to shake and sweat as bile rises to her throat. She puts the mug down too urgently, sending the hot beverage sloshing over the sides, and stands with such force that the table is shoved towards him before she’s up and running to the lady’s room.

She bursts through the door and doesn’t even have the sense to lock it— in fact she’s lucky that it was unoccupied— before she’s over the toilet and heaving into it, despite her stomach being empty. She knows she should be trying to eat something in the morning, but she can’t stomach anything, and it doesn’t seem to make any sense anyway when she’s heaving up anything and everything less than an hour later.

Once she finally finishes evicting everything she’s ever eaten, she sits back against the wall and closes her eyes, taking in a few breaths before she opens them and reaches for some toilet paper to wipe her mouth and nose. It’s only once she starts blowing her nose that she notices Killian standing to her left behind the closed door.

“Fuck!” she jumps, accidentally blowing her nose with so much force that she can feel it in her eyes.

“Emma, what the bloody hell is going on?”

She slowly and unsteadily stands up and tosses the soiled tissue into the toilet before she quickly moves to flush it in hopes that he didn’t see its contents, then says, “I told you I’m fine.”

“But you’re clearly not fine, love. You’ve been avoiding me. And you couldn’t even smell your hot chocolate without being violently sick.”

“Please don’t say the word chocolate right now.”

“And it looks like the hot chocolate might’ve burned your hand.”

“Killian.”

“Emma.”

“I’ll go to the doctor,” she concedes as her stomach jumps. “I will. I just… I have to do something first.”

She’s never seen him look so worried and defeated. “What can I do?”

“Nothing, you’ve done enough,” she says snidely and then regrets it, knowing that it’s unfair of her to blame him. Afterall, she did tell him that she was taking a magical pill that would make it near impossible for him to impregnate her.

Turns out it only works like magic if she uses it. Curse her evidently insanely fertile self.

He sighs, “let me at least get you some water, love?”

She sighs, too, and a sea of familiar guilt washes over her. Finally, she quietly responds, “that would be nice, thank you.”

She knows that she needs to go to work soon anyway, so when he comes back, she chugs the water and hopes that it’ll go through her by the time she gets to the station.

~~~~

Emma Swan is pregnant. By accident. Again.

At least she’s on the other side of the cell this time around.

She took all three tests, and all three read positive; two produced that second pink line and one clearly read the word pregnant before the two-minute timers she set on her phone even went off. She doesn’t want to leave them in the trash can at the station for fear that someone may somehow find them, so they're sitting in her desk drawer. With her head laying on her crossed arms, she stares so hard that she practically burns a hole through the top of her desk above the drawer that contains them. So far today, she’s gotten exactly no work done.

“Make any headway on that paperwork?” her father asks ironically as he enters the office. She had asked if he could take on patrol so that she could get caught up.

“Kind of,” she answers quietly, fearful that her voice could give out at any second.

“Hey,” he starts, taking a seat at his desk across the room from her. “I wanted to talk to you about… about last Thursday.”

“What about last Thursday?” she asks, sitting up slightly and finally peeling her eyes away from the drawer of secrets.

“I wanted to… apologize. For the way I acted at your dinner. About… about Hook.”

She raises a brow in surprise, pursing her lips and nodding her head lightly. She supposes that this day actually canengender more surprises. “Wow,” she says simply.

“I know I may not be his biggest fan, but Snow and I talked, and we realized that it must be pretty helpful for you to have someone you consider to be a friend right now.”

She nods softly, considering this. “Yeah, it is.”

“I guess you can’t be sharing everything with Neal, huh?” he asks in jest. She draws her brows in now, confusion likely written all over her face. “Just a joke,” he chuckles. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell our significant others everything.”

Woah. She physically backs herself away from him. “Neal? Neal isn’t my boyfriend,” she’s cut off by the ringing phone, which David almost immediately answers, humming and nodding at the person on the other end.

“Another moose in the road,” he eventually says. “You wanna take this one?”

She huffs violently at her inability to fully correct her father but nods, needing to get out of the office and into the fresh air. She can also take the opportunity to go home and get some crackers. She gets up quickly and grabs her huge bag, opening the accursed drawer and using her own body to shield the image of her shoving in the positive tests from her father’s view.

~~~~

The moose found his way home without her help, so she heads back to the loft sooner than expected and finds Mary Margaret occupying it.

“Hi honey,” she says with a sweet smile from the kitchen.

Emma drops her uncharacteristically massive bag on a table by the door before calling back, “hi.”

“Want something to eat?” Emma nods and makes to turn around before her foot kicks into the leg of the table and sends her bag, along with its contents, flying to the floor.

All of its contents. Wallet, phone, keys, and three positive pregnancy tests.

“Whoops! Let me help you get—”

“No!”

She hears Mary Margaret gasp loudly before she shuts her eyes and shoves her hands over her face. She’s suddenly feeling nauseous due to anxiety rather than pregnancy, and she almost laughs at the irony.

“Emma, are you—” she doesn’t finish her thought. She doesn’t need to, because when Emma peeks out from behind her fingers, she sees Mary Margaret holding a test in her hand. The one that spells out the word pregnant, clear as day. “Oh, honey.”

Normally, if she wasn’t full of raging hormones, she would have handled the situation with grace and perhaps a bit of sarcasm. But alas, these are not normal times and she is, in fact, full of raging hormones. So, what does she do? Why, the only thing she seems capable of lately, aside from vomiting a peeing frequently. She starts to cry.

Of course.

She doesn’t move her hands away from her face because she immediately begins to feel the clenching around her heart, her throat practically closing and her eyes burning. Tears begin to fall immediately and she chokes out a sob.

Her mother’s disappointment was clear in her voice, and Emma can’t even think about what she’s doing before she sinks down to the floor, pathetically holding her middle.

“Emma!” she exclaims with a soft chuckle, suddenly in front of her and holding onto her elbows. “Emma, up off the floor! It’s alright, you don’t have to cry!” Emma can’t bear to hear what she has to say, because she knows that she’s being judged for getting pregnant by a man her parents hate.

“I—” she starts, but can’t finish, another sob wracking her body.

“Emma, it’s okay, this is a blessing! You two are going to make fabulous parents together. And Henry will be a big brother!”

“You think—” she chokes, “you think so?” She can’t imagine this to be true. Since when did Mary Margaret start to approve of Killian? Emma supposes she hasn’t been as discreet as she had hoped with all of her sneaking out, because apparently Mary Margaret knew all along.

“Oh sweetheart, I know so!” Emma nods, sniffling and wiping tears off of her cheeks. “Was it… planned?”

“Hell no,” Emma scoffs with a roll to her eyes. “None of this was. It all just sort of… happened.”

“When did it… start happening?”

“On the way back from Neverland,” Emma says softly, pathetically. Mary Margaret nods, a sneaky smile crossing her face.

“Well I just know that you two—” before she has a chance to finish, there’s a crash and a scream outside and she’s cut off.

“Ugh,” Emma exclaims, blowing her nose with a tissue that Mary Margaret had reached for. “I should check on that.”

“Just,” Mary Margaret starts, a worried look playing at her features. “I know you're the sheriff but please be careful. I’m assuming you haven’t been to the doctor yet?”

“No,” she shakes her head, “you're right. I’ll be careful.”

“And take some crackers, they’ll help settle your stomach.”

~~~~

She freezes when she steps outside. And then she laughs at her own little joke, because she’s standing on a narrow sheet of ice that leads in a trail down the street— in the first week of November. And while Maine is pretty cold, she doesn’t think it’s that cold.

She follows the trail down Main Street, sleeve of Saltines in hand, and thinks that it’s leading to the edge of town when she feels the earth tremble. When she looks out by the harbor, she notices a thick white wall rising erratically from the sea. So much for no emergencies in Storybrooke.

“Swan!” she hears, and she turns to see Hook running out of Granny’s towards. “Swan, you alright?”

“Yeah,” she says, turning to the harbor again. “Not sure what’s going on, but I’m assuming something’s happening around the town line.”

“Are you heading out there now?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me go with you?” he asks desperately.

“Killian…”

“Please Swan,” he starts, his eyes doing that thing again where he looks sadder than anyone she’s ever seen. “I just saw your father heading towards the Queen’s office. You need backup, let me help you.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s also fighting off a smile. “You aren’t even on the force.”

“Make me an honorary deputy, then,” he says with a flirty smile.

“Stop watching westerns. How do you even have access to TV?” He shrugs and she rolls her eyes. “Fine, let’s go,” she responds in haste, turning back towards her Bug.

They spent the ride relatively quiet, and she’s glad that he doesn’t ask her again how she’s been feeling, but she knows she probably should’ve taken the opportunity to tell him what’s been going on. Then again, maybe driving into an unknown and potentially dangerous situation isn’t the best time to tell someone that they're about to be a father.

By the time they reach the town line, she can see the white wall standing tall and preventing anyone from leaving.

“What the hell?” she wonders out loud as she steps out of the car.

“My thoughts exactly, love.”

They walk around for a few minutes, taking in the scene and pretending they know what they're doing. The wall is at least 30 feet high and, while she has no idea how thick it could be, she knows it would likely be foolish to try and get through it.

Kicking a fallen piece of ice, she sighs. “I don’t know.” She tucks her hands into the pockets of her brown leather jacket and pulls it closed over her belly. It’s freezing over here by the wall of ice.

“Aye, love. Very mysterious.” Before she knows it, he’s next to her and looking up, squinting so she can just see a sliver of blue. “Guess I should’ve brought some champagne.”

She chokes on her own breath before looking up at him. “What?”

He smirks. “We have the world’s largest ice bucket here. And I was planning on asking you something.”

She freezes, turning to him and facing him head on. “What?”

“I wanted to ask you,” he starts, stepping closer to her and reaching his hand up to her face and brushing a piece of hair away. “If you would do me the honor of joining me for dinner.”

Wouldn’t it be ironic if she began vomiting right now?

She doesn’t. Although she does feel her heartbeat quicken and her body suddenly feels hot, especially in her stomach.

“Killian,” she says hesitantly.

“I know, I know.” He reaches down towards her collarbone and gently touches the chain around her neck, pulling the dangling diamonds out from beneath her shirt and smiling. “But I don’t think much needs to change between us, darling.” Boy, does he have another thing coming, she thinks. “And I know things are complicated with your family, but you did say that you would consider it, so maybe I just hoped to remind you to. I know what I want, love; I want you. I just hope I’ve made that clear and that you might feel the same way for me.”

And really, it’s not like she could’ve had any other response. He’s made a perfectly worded, perfectly timed speech, so of course her pregnant self starts crying.

“Oh, no love, please don’t cry. It’s alright,” he starts, wiping a tear away as his face falls. “If you—if you don’t want that with me, it's alright.” She thinks she hears his voice catching in the back of his throat and starts crying a bit harder, a sob escaping her lips. “If that’s why you’ve been distant…”

“No, Killian, it’s not that, I just… I do. I want that.”

“Aye?”

“Yeah,” she responds, and she sees his eyes lighting up. “It’s just that… well, there are things that… something happened, Killian, and I don’t know if you’ll feel the same way when you find out that—”

“Emma!”

No.

“Emma? Emma! What the hell?” Neal is shouting as he parks Mary Margaret’s station wagon and gets out. Wait, Mary Margaret’s station wagon?

“Neal?”

“Everyone, remain still!”

Everyone turns to the source of the new voice and jumps. Out of nowhere, a beautiful tall woman with a long blonde braid and an icy blue dress emerges from the ice wall.

Her presence certainly wasn’t very commanding, but she appears to be the one who put up the massive wall of ice around the entire town, based on the trail following her, so Emma figures it’s probably a good idea to listen to her.

“Hello,” Emma says cautiously with a sniffle, backing away slightly and closer to Killian.

“Emma, we need to talk.”

“Neal, does this look like a good time to you?” she snaps.

“Your mom told me.”

She falters, freezing in place again, and it really can’t be good for her body (or for the baby?) for her heart to be stopping and starting like this.

“What?”

“Everyone needs to halt immediately!”

“Emma, love,” Killian starts, and she turns to him with desperation in her eyes.

“She told me congratulations on the baby. Emma, what the hell is she talking about? If we did anything on your birthday, I was really drunk. You need to tell me if anything happened—”

“Baby?!”

“Neal!”

“Stop!”

Before she knows it, the ground is shaking again, and while she initially started to take a step towards Neal, possibly to beat him up, she’s now spun around. She’s heading towards the unpredictably enigmatic woman with her hands up as the terrain continues to shake. “It’s alright.”

“Stay back! Everyone be quiet! I need to find my sister!”

“Okay,” Emma says, taking another step. “We’ll help you.”

“Emma, come back, love!”

“It’s okay,” she starts to say again, but the earth is shaking harder and suddenly she’s being knocked to the ground as another wall is upraised around her.

~~~~

Emma doesn’t quite fall unconscious, but she thinks she might have come close. Her ears are ringing and her head is pounding, but she’s finally starting to see things clearly around her. She’s definitely inside some kind of ice cave, and as if that wasn’t apparent enough already, she starts to shiver. A leather jacket with some leggings is certainly not an ideal outfit for this kind of sudden and unexpected weather change.

She pulls the jacket tightly around her belly again, hoping that she can maybe protect the baby from the cold. Looking around, she sees the woman standing a few feet from her, looking somewhere between angry and scared. “Hello,” Emma starts. “What’s your name?”

The woman startles at the sound of her voice and makes eye contact, and Emma is certain that she can see fear in them. “Elsa,” she answers firmly.

“Elsa, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Emma.” The woman nods brusquely before spinning around nervously. “I just found out today that I’m pregnant.” It dawns on her that the first time she utters the words out loud is to a stranger who could very easily kill her.

Elsa turns back towards Emma, the anger and resolve in her face evaporating completely. “You did?”

“Yes. But the father doesn’t know. Or, I guess he kind of just found out. But I’d really like the opportunity to tell him myself.”

She nods again, her hands ringing together. She’s clearly scared and nervous, and whatever she built the ice wall for was just an act to show them that she’s powerful. “The man in the dark clothes?”

Emma smiles at her and nods, though she’s starting to shiver harder. “That’s the one.”

“Well then what was the other man doing? He seemed angry.”

Emma sighs and rolls her eyes but lets out a chuckle. “He is. He and I were together 12 years ago, and he doesn’t seem to understand that it’s over.”

Elsa rolls her eyes as well. “Most men don’t seem to understand much.” Emma lets out a snort and nods in agreement as her teeth begin to chatter. “My sister was supposed to be getting married. Her betrothed and your husband seem very similar in their nobility.”

“Oh,” Emma says in surprise. “Hook isn’t my husband.”

“Oh, sorry. Well, either way, he clearly loves you.”

Rather than answer her, Emma shoves the thought as deep as she can and chuckles nervously, changing the subject completely. “You said you were looking for your sister?”

“Yes.” The tenacity is back.

“Well, I’m the sheriff here. That means I have resources that can help you. I just need to get out of here first. It seems like you may have trapped us in here by accident, but do you think you can let us out?”

She stills and appears to think Emma’s offer over. “You can really help me find Anna?”

“I’ll do whatever I can.” She certainly can’t guarantee anything, but she’s starting to like this Elsa, in a weird, possibly Stockholm Syndrome type of way.

“Alright, stand back.”

When Emma focuses back on the wall, she can hear shouting. She can only imagine what a mess Neal must have made by now.

Elsa seems to focus too, and there’s suddenly a loud buzzing hum and a forceful light coming from her hands as she points them towards the wall. A hole big enough for Emma to crawl through forms quickly, and she can hear the shouting grow louder.

“Emma!” she hears Killian call, and she walks towards the hole and crouches down before starting to crawl to the other side. He’s crouching too, and once she reaches the outside, she takes his hand and falls into his hold. He breathes out a sigh of relief, as does she, and helps her into a standing position and holds her body tightly to his. She feels warmer already.

“Are you alright, love?” he asks into her neck, and she closes her eyes and reaches her hand up to his hair and nods. “I was so worried.”

“I’m alright,” she says back quietly, taking time to steady her breathing and warm up against his body heat.

He notes that she’s still shivering— she’s surprised that her teeth haven’t cracked from the force of their chattering— so he steps away from her slightly and he removes his own jacket and places it around her shoulders, rubbing up and down her left arm. His eyes meet hers intently and she smiles.

“It would seem—”

“Emma, you okay?”

She groans. Looking past Killian, Emma sees Neal looking both furious and worried at the same time. Killian’s hand slides from her arm, but she catches it in hers before he can remove it from her.

“I’m fine. I’m gonna go to the doctor.”

“Let me take you,” Neal says in a commanding tone.

“No, Killian’s taking me.”

“I am?”

“Yes.”

“But Emma, you and I need to talk.”

“You're right, Neal, we do. I’ll start. I really don’t appreciate you coming over here and screaming about things that have nothing to do with you. Nothing happened on my birthday, unless you count the fact that you basically assaulted me. And even if anything did happen, that was a week ago. Do you even know how reproduction works?” His face is priceless, and she feels a sense of relief wash over her as she finally stands up for herself. “I can’t believe that you came out here and announced my pregnancy before I had a chance to,” she mutters. She feels Killian’s hand tighten around hers for a second before he lets it fall, and when she turns to him, his face is blank. “Killian, I’d like it if you and I could talk in private,” she says to him more softly. “Neal, don’t talk to my mom about this.”

~~~~

The car is completely silent for a few minutes once Emma starts driving. She fights the urge to glance over at Killian several times before she finally gives in, and she immediately wishes she hadn’t. In the second she’s able to look at him, she’s met with his anger and frustration that she knows must be rooted in the regret he feels. She knows this must be difficult for him to process, and now she’s dragging him along with her to see a doctor. She doesn’t even know if he’ll want to be in this baby’s life, so she’s realizing that it’s selfish of her to force him along.

The truth is, she never really thought of her other options. She knows that, realistically, she doesn’t have to have this baby. But the thought to abort or abandon it never crossed her mind. She can’t do to this baby what she did to Henry.

Killian doesn’t have to worry about that, thought.

“Killian—” she starts, but it’s as if the sound of her voice elicits something in him.

“What did he do to you?” he asks. His voice is so low and dark that it makes her feel nervous.

“What?” She looks over again and sees that he’s staring straight ahead at the changing leaves.  

“On your birthday. You said he assaulted you.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, her feelings of compunction growing stronger in the pit of her stomach. “It’s not really a big deal, I was being dramatic. He was drunk. He grabbed me and then he knocked us over onto his bed and tried to kiss me. But it was only a second, Killian. I didn’t do anything with him, I swear.” He’s quiet for a second, and it’s the longest second of her life.

“Fuck, Emma, what the hell?” He’s looking at her now, and in the brief second that she glances at him, she sees fire in his eyes.

“I’m sorry. But nothing happened, I promise. He just tried to kiss me for a second and I pushed him away.” Her palms are sweating on the steering wheel and her heart is hammering in her chest, her stomach twisted and her head pounding.

“I’m not mad at you, love. He attacked you! How are you so equable over this?”

“It’s like I said, nothing happened. I pushed him, probably bruised a kidney, and I got the hell out of there. I didn’t do anything with him.”

“I don’t care about that, Emma. I’m not mad because I think you did something with him. I can’t believe that you were put in a position where you had to defend yourself like that! And against him!”

“What do you mean?” she asks hesitantly as she pulls into the lot of the hospital and parks her car.

“I mean… I mean he’s the father of your child and he’s behaving in such a predatory way towards you that you felt that you needed to bruise his kidney and flee.” She’s silent. She knows now that he’s angrier with Neal than he is with her, but he sounds so livid that it sort of feels like she’s being scolded.

“I’m sorry,” she finally says quietly, because she honestly doesn’t know what else to say to placate him.

“Please don’t say that, love,” he asks, more like begs, as he finally turns away from the scene ahead of him and looks at her. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like you need to apologize. You don’t, darling, truly.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “But do you know… fuck. Do you know how many thoughts ran through my head in the ten minutes that you were in that cave?” She knows that he’s asking hypothetically, but she shakes her head anyway. “I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.”

“That can’t be true,” she scoffs. He’s been alive for centuries; she knows he must have felt scared before.

“Of course it is, Emma.” He turns away, his face hardened and his brows drawn together. “Within a span of thirty seconds I find out that you're pregnant and that it might be Neal’s, then you disappear into an ice cave and I have no way to get to you.”

“It’s not,” she starts immediately, stunned by his statement. “It’s not Neal’s.”

He turns again, and she realizes now that she hasn’t actually said the words to him. She hasn’t really had much of a chance to say them out loud at all.

“Emma,” he says, his tone begging again, and it causes her heart to clench so hard that her fingers start to tingle.

“I’m pregnant.” His face nearly crumbles, his brows drawing close together while somehow still looking more worried than she’s ever seen him. “You’re the only person I’ve been with—I mean, you're the only person I want to be with. The baby… it’s… you're the father, Killian.”

He doesn’t say anything, and she thinks she may have done the impossible and stunned Killian Jones into silence. He reaches across himself and picks up her left hand in his right and draws it up to his mouth, pressing his lips to it firmly and keeping them there. She can feel his breath coming out quickly and forcefully, as if he has to remind himself to breathe, and it feels like he’s seconds away from breaking down.

“I realize that this is a lot to take in, and we’ve never had a conversation about whether you're even staying in Storybrooke.” She has to push the words out of her mouth, knowing that they need to be said. “But, if you don’t want to be in his life, then I’m giving you an out.”

“What?” he chokes out. She didn’t think she could watch his face fall any further.

“If you want out, just say the words. I know this wasn’t the plan for us.” He scoffs and her heart drops to her stomach, but she holds herself together in preparation for his words.

“If you think I’m going anywhere without you and this baby, then you are absolutely mad.”

“Really?” she asks tentatively, looking up from their hands to meet his eyes.

“Aye,” he breathes out. “I’m sorry, love, if I’ve ever given you the impression that I would abandon you like that. I was planning on staying here as long as you would have me anyway, before all of this.”

“You were?”

He smiles at her, the kind of smile that she sees in her dreams, and nods. “Did you say his?”

She smiles a bit, too, and nods back. “I don’t know the sex yet, it’s too early. But I’ve always seen myself as a boy mom.” He breathes out a laugh now.

“Mom,” he repeats, squeezing her hand and kissing it softly.

“Dad,” she teases back, and she smiles because now she’s affording herself the privilege of imagining him with a little bundle in his arms.

“You were in that frozen cave for a bit. We should get you checked, aye, love?”

“Aye,” she responds, and he chuckles and kisses her hand again.

~~~~

When they're finally called in, after mountains of paperwork and questions and what feels like hours of waiting, Emma lies down on the exam table while Killian sits stiffly on the chair near her head.

“Bet this isn’t where you thought you’d end up when you woke up this morning,” she jokes, and he lets out a huff in response.

“Certainly not, Swan. You are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Mhmm,” she hums, patting her belly lightly. He glances down at her hand covering her belly and she wonders if this is all becoming too real for him, because it certainly is for her. She tries to force away the lingering thoughts that he could still leave them, knowing that the thoughts are born from her own experiences and are not based on his actions so far.

The technician comes in a few moments later and gets Emma ready for her ultrasound. She explains that it’s probably a bit early for an abdominal sonogram, and Killian’s eyes bug out of his head when she prepares for the transvaginal scan. Emma lets out a snort and takes his hand in hers without asking. He squeezes back.

After a few moments of searching and measuring, the technician finally settles in one spot and gestures towards the screen at the black and white mess. She presses a few buttons and takes a few more measurements, then says, “there’s your baby!”

Killian turns immediately, staring over to the screen with a pensive look on his face. The technician points out the head, making mention of the crown rump length and how it indicates that she’s measuring at just under 7 weeks.

All Emma can see is a gray blob within another black blob, that lives inside another gray blob. She’s never felt such an emotional connection to a blob, and she notes how differently she feels this time around.

When she hears the heartbeat, a quick and hardy whoosh taking over the quiet room, she nearly loses it.

Her eyes are stinging when she looks at their baby on the screen and hears the powerful heartbeat, but she starts crying when she glances over at Killian and sees that he has tears running down his own cheeks.

“Your baby is about the size of a blueberry,” the technician says, holding up two fingers to demonstrate just how tiny the blob is. Emma nods, wiping a tear away, then looks back to Killian and squeezes his hand again.

He lets out a tear-sodden laugh and squeezes back, then reaches their hands up so he can wipe tears away. “I can’t believe how much that little bugger has aged me already.”

Emma laughs now too, using her free hand to wipe her own cheeks, and the technician smiles up at them. She prints a few pictures off and tells them that everything looks good, and that the doctor will be in to talk to them shortly.

When Emma’s new obstetrician, Dr. Morgan, enters the room, she greets them happily and congratulates them on their good news. She explains that the baby appears healthy despite Emma’s earlier misadventures and her taking birth control before she found out, and gives them a due date— June 16th, a summer baby.

They’re walking hand in hand out to the car, and they’re both wearing the biggest, goofiest smiles that they can muster. By the time they get back to the car, though, she starts to feel like she’s returning to real life.

“I know that this is a lot,” she starts as he takes her hand again, “and the baby was certainly a surprise, but he’s not a mistake. I haven’t known for very long and I was feeling really dreadful, but now that I’ve seen him… I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more in my life.”

“Aye,” he breathes again. “I understand what you mean. As soon as Baelfire said baby, I felt like my life changed all at once. I didn’t even know if it was mine or his, but I didn’t care. And now that I know, I realize that I’ve never felt… I just… I love him. Or her. It seems completely mad, but I love him.”

She nearly cries again at the sound of his voice choking and at his own words, but she nods instead, understanding completely how instantly he must have fallen in love with the tiny embryo she’s growing because that’s exactly what happened to her. “It isn’t mad.”

He moves her hand up to his forehead and leans against it for a moment, as if taking space to process things for himself, before he lifts his head and meets her eyes with his.

“Killian,” she says once she has her hand back and is able to start the engine.

“Aye, darling?”

“My mom…” Killian stares up at her expectantly, and he clearly has no idea what she’s talking about as she’s changed the subject. “She thinks it’s Neal’s. I think she might know that I’ve been sneaking out at night, but she must think I’ve been going to see him.”

“I see,” he starts, nodding his head pensively and pinching his bottom lip between two fingers in a way that drives her mad. “What shall we do?”

She hums, considering this. “I think I’m gonna go talk to her. And I think you might need to do some planning.”

“Planning for what love? Surely, we have enough time before the blueberry arrives,” he says with a nervous chuckle.

“Not for that,” she responds with a grin. “For dinner. That is, if you still want to go to dinner?”

His face splits into another grin so bright and vivid that she feels her stomach clench, his eyes squinting and his pearly teeth shining in the sunlight. “The day I answer no to that question is the day I’ve lost my mind.”

She hums out a small laugh and says, “good. And don’t change. I forgot to tell you how much I like your new look.”

~~~~

Arriving at home after dropping Killian off at the docks feels strange. She sits in her car for a few minutes in an attempt to ready herself for confrontation until she has to pee so badly that she needs to go upstairs.

“Emma, hi,” Mary Margaret starts once she emerges from the bathroom.

“Hi,” she says back.

“Neal… well he stopped by and told me that you went to the doctor.” Apparently, she doesn’t need to dance around this.

“Did he?” Mary Margaret nods, and Emma can tell by the look on her face that she has more to say but she’s holding back. “Did he say anything else?”

“He told me I should talk to you. He seemed… angry. Emma, if you told him and he reacted badly—”

“Neal isn’t the father.”

It would appear, based on her facial expression, that Mary Margaret was expecting to hear absolutely anything else come out of Emma’s mouth. She actually stands before Emma with her mouth hanging open and her eyes bugging out as if this was the most phenomenal news she’s ever heard in her life.

Which can’t conceivably be true. She’s literally Snow White. She was cursed by the Evil Queen and didn’t age for 28 years. She sent her minutes-old infant through a portal using a magic tree. This cannot possibly be that surprising.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She’s still standing there like a trout with her mouth hanging open before she must realize what she’s doing and snaps it shut. Emma follows her with her eyes as she moves towards the kitchen and pulls out another sleeve of Saltines, apparently the only thing she can eat this week, before sitting at the counter, waiting for her mother to break herself out of her shock.

“I thought… Emma, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything to Neal. I thought he was…”

“I should’ve been clearer. Although I thought that I have been clear for the last few weeks that I'm not interested in him and that we aren’t together.”

“No, Emma, I overstepped. I shouldn’t have gone to him about it at all. When he came here and I said congratulations to him, I knew right away that it was a mistake because I could tell that you hadn’t told him. Now… well, now I know why.”

“He came here?”

“He came looking for you. I assumed it was about the crash we heard.”

Emma nods in understanding. Mary Margaret has pulled herself together a bit and takes a seat in the stool next to Emma. “So, when he started freaking out, you let him borrow your car to come see me.”

“Right.” She nods again. “I’m so sorry, honey. I never should have said anything. I was just so excited for you, and when I thought that Henry was going to have a little brother or sister—”

“Henry is going to have a little brother or sister. Just because they don’t have the same dad doesn’t make that any less true.”

“You're right,” her mother sighs. “Of course, you're right. I’m sorry, this is all just a lot of information for one day.”

“For me, too,” Emma agrees. Then she reaches into her pocket and smiles when she feels the glossy paper, pulling out the sonogram pictures. “Wanna see him?”

“Him?” she questions, taking the photo and grinning. She reaches one hand up and places a gentle finger over her blueberry sized blob.

“I don’t know yet, that’s just what we’ve been saying,” Emma says with a grin, looking down at the new picture her mother flips to.

“Wait,” Mary Margaret says, resting the photos on the counter and looking up to meet Emma’s eyes with her matching ones. “If Neal isn’t the father, who is?”

It’s Emma’s turn to drop her jaw in shock, surprised that her mother isn’t able to put the pieces together. “Seriously? It’s Killian.”

“Ki—Hook?!”

“Yeah, Hook. And if you say anything negative about the father of my child—”

“No, no, that’s… I mean… it certainly is a shock… but…”

Emma rolls her eyes now, shoving another cracker into her mouth before getting up for some water. “Is it though? I know we haven’t been that secretive. I’ve been out, like, three nights a week.”

“I know,” she says, confirming Emma’s suspicions that she’s known all along. “I just thought you were going to Granny’s. I didn’t realize you were going to the pier instead. But are you… are you sure about him?”

Emma sits again as she considers her answer to this question carefully. A big part of her is telling her that it hasn’t been long enough to know. However, while she wouldn’t admit it out loud, and while she’s anxious to even admit it to herself, a much smaller part of her knows that yes, she is sure about him. Seeing his reaction to seeing their baby for the first time, to hearing the strong heartbeat, solidified that knowledge into her brain. So she looks over to her mother and smiles, nodding confidently.

Their conversation comes to a halt when David arrives at home, towing Elsa behind him. Emma’s somewhat surprised to see her, but assumes that she and David got to talking and he decided to take her in.

He greets his wife and daughter with kisses to their heads, then turns to Emma with a look that she’s grown all too familiar with: concern.

“Neal dropped Elsa off at the station and she told me all about her sister. She also told me that you two went to the doctor because you got trapped in an… ice cave? Are you alright?”

“Oh, no David, Neal wasn’t the one she went to the doctor with. It was her—”

“Dad,” Emma jumps in immediately, fearful that Elsa may say something that Emma would regret. “I’m fine. I went to the doctor and everything is fine.”

“Did you figure out why you’ve been so sick lately? Weird that none of us has caught it yet, isn’t it?”

“Not as weird as you may think,” Mary Margaret says to him with a smirk shot Emma’s way. “Maybe you should sit down.”

Emma takes the sonogram pictures back from her mother and walks over to the couch, sitting down next to David as Elsa introduces herself to Mary Margaret and heads into the kitchen area with her. When Emma produces the photos and hands them to her father, she can see the shock in his eyes as they immediately glass over and a tear runs down his cheek.

“Really?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion. Emma nods at him, a smile gracing her features as a fresh set of tears make their way into her eyes as well. He lets out a deep breath, running a finger along the blob in the photo the same way her mother did.

“I’m seven weeks along.” He lets out another breath, this one coalescing itself with a chuckle.

He finally looks up and meets her eyes before he says, “Congratulations, Emma.”

“Thank you,” she says back, wiping her cheeks.

“You and Hook must be very happy.” Her face drops in shock, her brows coming together and her mouth snapping shut before she cocks her head to one side. “I started to put the pieces together a bit ago, but this morning when I saw your face light up when I mentioned him, and then when you practically jumped down my throat for calling Neal your significant other, I figured it out. Wasn’t expecting that you two would be… well, expecting, though.”

It’s Emma’s turn to let out a hearty chuckle followed immediately by a sniffle. “How come you figured it out and mom couldn’t?”

“I guess sometimes your dad just knows best,” he responds, grinning at her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug which she returns fervently.

~~~~

The week that passes sees Emma more nauseous and exhausted than she’s ever been. She remembers being pregnant with Henry quite well, and she never experienced symptoms this strongly, but she supposes that’s because her body was 12 years younger.

Her date with Killian went beautifully. He took her to a nice Italian restaurant, stating that he wasn’t sure what she could stomach, but he knew she could handle the bread. She was just happy that it was something other than Granny’s.

After dinner, Emma asked him to take her back to the Jolly Roger, citing that she can’t get the image of his ass in his tight black jeans out of her head and it’s driving her mad with lust. He chokes on his last sip of water and flags the server down immediately.

On their walk back to the pier, with her bundled in her winter parka and Killian comfortably sporting his modern leather jacket, she could feel the nerves that were radiating off of him and wondered how her pregnancy might change their sex life. They were very active before she found out, after all. She realizes, though, that it’s already made adjustments here and there in that she spent a week avoiding him, during which she was far too nauseous to even consider any vigorous physical activity.

On this night, she felt confident enough in her ability to keep down her bland dinner of penne with butter and dinner rolls, but when they finally arrived on his ship and he nervously helped her down the stairs and onto his bunk, she was asleep before he even had a chance to light a few candles.

She hasn’t heard from Neal, but Henry has been to Granny’s for dinner with him. He’s asked her to come along, and it nearly crushes her to tell her son that she isn’t coming each time, but she can’t stomach the thought of being in the same room as his father. She’s hoping that someday soon she can get past her resentment towards him, but for now, she needs to take space away from him so that she can move on.

She still hasn’t told her parents about what happened all those years ago. She knows that both of them, particularly her mother, are struggling to see the logic behind her choosing Hook over Neal, but she hasn’t found the time or desire to fill them in. And although her mother says she’s fine with the concept of Killian fathering her child, she can tell by the way she looks at and talks to her that she feels uneasy.

So here she finds herself, on a Friday evening laying in her bed at the top of the loft after a long nap— a follow up to a violent vomiting spell— listening in on her parents’ not-so-discreet conversation.

“I’m pleasantly surprised,” she hears her father say from the kitchen. “Although I was expecting the worst. I almost thought she was going to be on her own.”

“He still has plenty of time to leave her on her own, David,” her mother deadpans in response.

“I know, but I don’t honestly see that happening. And if it does, she’ll have us, and I’ll have another excuse to punch him in the face.” Emma finds herself smiling softly at her father’s words, whereas last week they may have drawn her from bed and straight down the stairs to give him a piece of her mind. But she knows now that he’s right.

Killian hasn’t given her any indication that he isn’t all in on this with her, even if things don’t work out between the two of them. He’s taken to reading pregnancy books, and on Tuesday, when she reached 8 weeks of gestation, he happily informed her that their blueberry has grown into a raspberry. She may eventually introduce him to the world of smart phones so that he can download all the tracker apps he wants.

“You're right, you're right. I don’t know why I’m having such a hard time with this.”

“She’s our daughter. No one will ever be good enough for her.”

“I know, but I just felt like Neal was enough. He was her first love… I guess I just thought the two of them would work things out eventually. I know he wasn’t there for her, but he didn’t know about Henry. Maybe if he knew, things would’ve turned out differently.”

Emma rolls her eyes but knows that it isn’t fair of her to be angry with her mother for thinking this way when she knows she has no idea about what actually happened with Neal.

“You have to let that go, Snow. You can’t change what’s already happened. And not everyone can be as lucky as we were.”

“I’m just having trouble trusting Hook. Trusting that he has her best interests in mind.”

“Well, maybe it’s time you choose to trust Emma. She’s a tough kid, has been all her life. She knows how to take care of herself. And she seems to trust him.”

“I know, you're right. I do trust her. And if she trusts him…”

Emma thinks about getting up now, but when she tries to move, she feels exhaustion taking over her again. So instead, she makes a mental note to finally talk to her parents before drifting off into another seemingly endless nap.

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @profdanglaisstuff @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones

[andersunmenschlich]

Genesis 2

That’s the end of creation! That’s how absolutely everything got created, bar none, creation finished, over, done, finito. No more creating. Bible says this “everything done” day is the seventh, so I guess the time before light and darkness got separated actually does count as a day. Who knew.

The gods, that’s who.

Anyhow, the gods made the seventh day a holy day, set apart as super special because that’s when they finished all the creating. The first day ever that they didn’t do any creating at all. They were done.

And now, suddenly, in verse four, the writer changes.

No, I’m not kidding. It’s a very abrupt shift. Most noticeably, we’re not talking about the gods in general anymore: “אֱלֹהִ֖ים” is now always prefaced by “יְהוָ֥ה”—Yhvh, a specific god! “Gods” gets used like a last name now. It’s like, instead of “the Millers did thus-and-such,” now it’s “Alex Miller did thus-and-such.”

New writer. Real obvious.

Anyway! Our new divinely inspired writer takes us back to before the gods told the earth to sprout plants.

This writer tells us that the reason there weren’t any plants was because Yhvh God hadn’t made it rain or created Adam to aerate and fertilize the ground. Strange. I’d gotten the impression that there weren’t any plants because the gods hadn’t created them yet.

Our new writer also tells us that mist rose from inside the earth and watered the ground. Huh.

That would seem to make the lack of rain unimportant. Why say that there weren’t any plants because there was no rain when rain wasn’t needed?

Weird.

Anyway, Yhvh God took some dirt and shaped it into a kind of golem, then breathed into its nose, and poof! Adam.

Uh.

The plants still haven’t been created. I definitely remember Adam coming after the plants.

Land, space, water, and darkness—light, night, and day—sky—sea, dry land, plants—sun, moon, and stars—sea creatures and flying things—land animals—then Adam. And after Adam, nothing except deciding what everything but the sea creatures are going to eat.

Adam was last. I remember that very clearly (it was only ten or eleven verses ago). What kind of divinely inspired contradiction is this?

Ow, no, don’t throw things.

I’m just confused, that’s all. I don’t know how Adam could be created both before and after the plants. Probably I’m stupid. The Bible couldn’t be wrong, after all! Somehow, I’m sure, the gods created Adam male and female on the sixth day and Yhvh God created Adam plain old male on the third day. I don’t know how that’s possible. But the Bible says it happened, so it must have.

Ah, I know. The first writer messed up the plurals and singulars. Divine inspiration ruined by mortal stupidity! There’s only one god—Yhvh God—and there were two Adams, one male and one female.

...Except that still leaves the problem of those two Adams being made on both the third day and the sixth. Uh.

And wait, this new writer says there was only one Adam, one single male Adam.

...Okay, so the first writer messed up hard, then. They wrote “gods” instead of “god.” They said one intersex Adam… or maybe two Adams, one male and one female… were created on the sixth day instead of one male Adam being created on the third.

That’s… that’s some serious error right there.

Ow! Ow! Quit it!

Look, it’s not my fault! I’m not trying to make the Bible inconsistent! It’s just, look! First the Bible says man was created after the plants and now it says man was created before the plants!

This isn’t my fault! I didn’t make it say that! It just says it, all on its own!

Ow!

All right, all right!

So maybe I misread? Maybe the first part wasn’t meant to be read in a strictly linear way? I know it’s all “this happened, then this happened, then this happened—the first day. This happened, then this happened—the second day.” But maybe you’re supposed to skip around? Maybe the things that apparently happen in one day are actually happening in another?

…That’s stupid! No! I can’t convince myself of that at all!

Ow, ow, okay! Maybe I just don’t understand it because I’m the stupid one, and I’ll never be able to understand it no matter how hard I try—not because it’s dumb, but because I am. Fine, fine, you win, I give up.

So, after creating Adam, Yhvh God creates a garden in a place called Pleasure (“עֵדֶן,” Eden), and sticks Adam in the garden. Yhvh God also makes all kinds of trees that are pretty and/or produce tasty fruit grow in the garden, as well as the tree of Life and the tree of Being Able to Tell the Difference Between Good and Bad.

Side note to tell us about a river that runs through the garden, then splits into four rivers, each of which runs through or along a different place.

The original river doesn’t get a name, but the other four are Increase, Bursting Forth, Rapid, and Fruitfulness. Increase runs through the land of Circle (which has just the best gold, you guys, and awesome gum resin and precious stones, too). Bursting Forth goes through the land of Black. Rapid runs along the east side of Assyria. And we all know Fruitfulness, everyone knows the Euphrates, no need to explain that any further here.

Why this is important, I don’t know. Scene-setting? Nobody’s been able to find the garden of Pleasure using these directions, so it can’t be for that. Anyway, I’m sure Yhvh God knew perfectly well, when he was inspiring this writer, that a worldwide flood was gonna seriously change topography later on.

So the idea is that Adam will be a gardener.

No, this is obvious. There were no plants because there was no man to cultivate the ground? Adam gets put in the garden to tend and keep it?

There’s a reason man exists, and it’s to look after Yhvh God’s plants.

Ow! What?

Oh, the whole “dominate every living thing and even the earth itself” thing? Look. I’m not sure how much I want to trust that first writer, what with their gods and adams and plants being created before humans and all.

Yeouch! Dagnabbit, what?

I can’t throw out any of the Bible? I have to make all of it make sense, all together?

But it contradicts!

Ow! Stop it!

Okay, okay, it doesn’t contradict! I’m stupid! Men exist both to look after plants and to dominate everything, they were created on the third day and on the sixth day, they were spoken into being and they were dirt brought to life, they were male and female and they were just male!

Yhvh God told Adam he could eat fruit from every tree in the garden except anything off the tree of knowing the difference between good and bad, because if he ate anything from that tree “מ֥וֹתתָּ׃ מֽוּת”—he’d be as dead as dead gets that very day.

Then Yhvh God gets to thinking that maybe it’s not great for Adam to be alone.

Uh.

Don’t hit me, but didn’t Adam have Yhvh God? Like… was he really alone? God was there! I grew up hearing that when God’s with you, you’re never alone.

What good is “I will never leave you nor forsake you” if, even with God there, you’re still alone?

Augh, no! I’m sorry I asked!

[nervous breathing, cough]

Okay. So.

Since it’s not good for Adam to be alone (and he’s alone even with God), Yhvh God decides to make a suitable helper for him. Which Yhvh God does by forming animal golems out of dirt and bringing them to life.

….

I… look, I know I’m dumb. But I swear this contradicts what we were told in chapter one.

“Let birds fly above the earth across the face of the sky” on day five, before Adam was ever made, and “let the earth bring forth living creatures” on day six, also before Adam was made, is not compatible with “out of the ground Yhvh God formed every beast of the field and every bird of the air and brought them to Adam to see what he would call them.”

Don’t you try to tell me Yhvh God had formed every beast of the field! “וַיִּצֶר֩” is a consecutive imperfect verb just like “וַיָּבֵא֙” (“and brought them”)! They’re the same tense!

Ow! Fine, I’ll move on.

So, being as God isn’t good enough company, he figures maybe a horse will work as a companion for Adam. Or a cow, maybe. How about a dung beetle? Pigeon?

Yhvh God seems kind of stupid, honestly.

Aaah! Fire! No! Bad! Put down the—where did you even get those pitchforks?!?

Right, so, Yhvh God makes all the animals and birds out of dirt and brings them to Adam, in the garden of Pleasure, and whatever Adam calls each one is the name it gets. This is probably a real long process, on account of how many different animals there are, but even after Adam’s named the very last glyptapanteles wasp, he and Yhvh God still haven’t turned up any lower animal suitable to be Adam’s companion and helper.

So Yhvh God goes ahead and makes a more appropriate lower animal.

Ow! Dangit! Look, I’m just saying! It’d be one thing if Adam and Eve were made at the same time, in the same way, like they maybe were in Genesis 1:27, but this is Genesis 2:22, and Eve is obviously not Adam’s equal here!

She’s a tiny part of Adam, a bit he can do without. Yhvh God puts him in a coma, pulls out a single rib. That’s Eve.

Like Adam says when he wakes up and sees her, she’s one of his own bones, a piece of his own body. She’s not her own being as such, she’s a little chunk of him that was removed so he’d have company.

Don’t look at me like that!

What other conclusion are readers expected to draw when one person is literally a single bone pulled from the other one? Especially when the bone-person was made specifically for the sake of the original human.

Anyway, the new writer says this is why a man leaves his parents and is joined to his wife such that the two become one flesh: because that’s what they were in the beginning, one body. The man goes looking for his missing rib and clings to it—the rib gets absorbed by the original body. Man is not complete without woman (woman is never complete, any more than a gear is complete with or without a clock: it’s the clock that’s complete with the gear, and incomplete without it).

Stop hitting me! What is wrong with you people? This interpretation was accepted just fine for hundreds of years, and you know it! This new idea that the Bible would never say women were created not on their own merits but rather for the sake of men—it’s completely ridiculous because look, Bible!

Don’t like the idea of women being lesser than men? Too bad! Leviticus 12:2 and 5! 1 Corinthians 11:9! Ephesians 5:22! Deal with it!

And now another side note: they were both completely unclothed, and it didn’t bother them psychologically. No shame, no embarrassment, none of that. No word on how they felt re: weather, plants, bugs, etc.

End of chapter.

Anyone else feel like these chapters end a bit awkwardly? Like they were randomly slapped in by people who weren’t actually reading any of it?

[sugar-petals]

Hav u done predictive readings for who the boys will end up with & how their career will go etc?

a 2020 career prediction i’ll publish at the end of december! their future partner we’re doing now. i added some angel oracle cards today ♡ those describe the theme of their relationship.

Jungkook: QUEEN OF CUPS

Hallelujah! Oh yeah. That’s an ideal card, picture perfect. The Queen of Cups is quite possibly one of the best partner allegories to have because a) Cups rule smoothness of relationships and emotions and b) she’s a royal card which indicates a highly developed state of mind where things finally come to fruition unlike with the aces and pages. Jungkook will mean so, so much to his partner. That’s a twin flame or soulmate connection we’re talking here. A really beautiful and dignified person, a little touchy feely, but experienced with love. They can really depend on another. Maybe they’re from Busan like him or the shore generally, the sea plays an important role for the Queen of Cups. There are tiny little cherubs on the card, I’m thinking he’ll be treated like an angel. It’s a very healthy relationship that leaves nothing left to be desired. As for looks: It might be a blonde, taller person whose favorite color is blue. There are cliffs on the card that remind me of Cornwall’s coast. The English theme is pretty consistent in his readings lmao we’re dealing with an excellent speaker. And, because it’s a court card with quite abundant imagery, it’ll be a S/O of quite some status. I am sure the person will be known to us already, or at least a big deal within his or her family. It’s queen energy, so the mom friend is right on their way into JK’s heart. Another aspect is that his partner might be rather spiritually inclined — mind you, every person is spiritual, how aware you are makes the difference — or even psychic. Water signs ahead; Pisces, Scorpio, Cancer.

— angel card: “Playfulness — To bring about romantic feelings, allow your youthfulness to shine with delight.”

Taehyung: THE EMPRESS

Yet another powerful female archetype, this reading does not mince words.  And also a very wholesome outlook, it’s very similar to the Queen of Cups vibe, or Queen of Pentacles if we’re looking at other tarot suits. I was really happy when I saw this card come out. The Empress almost always signifies kids, the theme is fertility. Taehyung will live a very lavish life with this partner. The card has so much opulence and positivity on it. Nature, food, pillows, ample garments, jewelry, good weather, and harvest time. And, of course, the Empress is fairly curvy, so expect either Taehyung gaining weight in the future or his partner being chubby. It’ll be the good life, in a good place, with the right person. There’s a settled and satiated feeling there. Stagnation could be possible after a while because this card gets too cozy. However, loyalty and a ripe sexual life are like glue to the union so I don’t see Taehyung stress anytime soon there. The card gives me plenty of clues how his home will look like as well, it’s highly decorated and comfortable. Interestingly enough, we see a huge wheat field surrounding the Empress — hence the card symbolizes fertility — so I wonder whether Taehyung’s dream of getting involved in farming will play out. I mean… coincidence? The countryside will take on an important role in any case, maybe with photography as well. Tae marrying a farmer’s girl, who knows! Beautiful card, definitely. It’s a good prospect for him. The Empress is major arcana so, this state of happiness will last him for a giant while and it’s destined. The boy will shed a tear no more. 

— angel card: “Attraction — you receive love by enjoying the moment.”

Yoongi: KNIGHT OF SWORDS

It’s the fastest card of the tarot! The power of swords paired with a knight on his speedy horse is quite a combination. Yoongi’s future partner is not going to waste time to charge right into sweet honey boy’s life. We’re dealing with a hothead, athlete, extrovert. I don’t think Yoongi has to do as much as crook a single finger to get things going. In fact, he’s the one waiting it out. He’ll just lean back and poof there is his significant other bursting into his life. Though I gotta say, the Knight of Swords has a detriment and that is: He leaves as fast as he arrives, and you have to be sure of your boudaries. Major burnout dangers there. The relationship might be short compared to say Namjoon’s or Tae’s reading. It’s Yoongi’s part to make this last if that’s what he’s going for. It’s a sword card, there have to be efforts and mental clarity involved to solve the problem. Though, someone rushing towards their love interest with so much passion has a good reason why he or she does that. Yoongi could get snatched away by someone else, with so many people interested in him you really have to be determined. With the archetype being a knight I also know it’s going to be someone younger than him, there’s a certain rebellion to the card. It has military energy. Yoongi’s partner will be one outrageous and direct person. They are 100% unafraid to face off with Yoongi, they have better comebacks than the master of sharp remarks himself. When it comes to sex, Yoongi will probably forget his own damn name after that ride. This person is wild as hell. It’s not a fellow sleepyhead as we saw in the ideal type reading, but a S/O bringing him out of his dreamy world. There’s a strong encouragement for Yoongi to achieve a lot more when he enters that relationship, it’s a power up to be expected here.

— angel card: “Worth the Wait — Divine timing predicates your relationship.”

Namjoon: TEN OF PENTACLES

Nice! Wow. The tarot says Namjoon is blessed. This is the card of wealthy, happy old age. He’s headed right for it already. In all tarot suits, the 10 indicates fulfillment. E.g. the Ten of Cups shows relationship completion because cups stand for love, the Ten of Swords shows total defeat because swords symbolize conflict, the Ten of Wands signifies complete effort/exhaustion since wands represent impetus. So the Ten of Pentacles equals coming full circle in terms of material things as pentacles are responsible for all tangible value in life. He’ll be living blissfully with his S/O. Everything is cared for. We’re talking long-term relationship here. The card shows an old man settled in his favorite coat and spot. Namjoon has a kind of master plan to gently arrive in his 80s, 90s. It’s not a surprise, we know he looks ahead, the tarot is aware of it, too. And yes: He will finally be able to answer his question “Who the hell am I?”. Ten of Pentacles means: Identity found. I had to wipe away a tear for that one man. I think it has to do with the location. The setting of the card is like a polished type of town with castles. A bit Italian, Mediterranean. Not as modern as say Seoul, bigger cities. It could be him moving to a warm country where things are slow, antique, and indulgent. I once said Namjoon has a type of European mindset going on, if he moves there it with his loved one or his partner is European it wouldn’t be shocking. There are two dogs on the card so, Joon will have pets involved in the partnership. The 10 of Coins also shows a couple immersed in a chat. His S/O is primarily someone he can talk to about the world, it’s a very conversation-heavy union. Now, the old man on the card could also show that he finds another old soul— we’ve had that topic come up in the other readings as well, the tarot is sure he’ll meet someone on par. Earth sign energy here.

— angel card: “Love Without Fear — Open your heart to give and receive the highest of energies.”

Hobi: THREE OF PENTACLES

Even more pentacles. Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn is possible. His partner is a darn good team player, their friendship bond is strong. First thing that came to my mind, they’ll build a house together or get busy working around their home in some kind of way, that’s interestingly enough the central theme I get from the card. Distribution of chores and general tasks is a big thing, and they’ll be planning a gazillion industrious things from what I got through the imagery. There’s an abbot, architect/craftsman, and monk seen on that card working on a church wall embellishment. One gives directions, the other has drawn a sketch that illustrates what kind of decor the abbot wants to have on the church wall, and the third guy does the crafting, hammer and chisel in hand. It’s not a love-related card per see so it’s important to point that out. It could hint at some pretty huge artistic collaborations coming our way instead. If you combine that, it could happen in a way like… Hoseok gets with someone he collaborated/collaborates with sometime soon, or a little later. Yup. Chicken noodle soup with Becky G on the side! Their chemistry is amazing and she is so cute, it’s very much possible. Or, in a wider sense, it’s someone from an upcoming project. That’s interesting. It seems quite sure that Hoseok won’t retire after BTS even if he’s pretty damn rich already, he’ll stay in the industry and foster (=embellish) his career with a strategy behind it much like the abbot on the card. We’ll get to know his partnership(s) along the way, but the tarot says it’s not top priority. Pentacles are earth sign energy so Mercury, Saturn and Venus are what will dictate that union, it’s the overall pragmatic energy that’s taking center spot. Also, since the church is so prominent on the card, Hoseok is working towards marriage nine times out of ten. 

— angel card: “Fresh Love — A new person has stirred your romantic feelings.”

Jimin: FIVE OF SWORDS

That one is… sigh. The odd one out in this post. How do I put it. It’s a series that just doesn’t break. Jimin constantly gets the messy cards and not so love-friendly swords when I do relationship readings on him. There is something going on and I kind of hate it already. But the tarot is being adamant so we have to decipher what’s going on and see the resolution, there’s more to it than just the cards doing him dirty. The Five of Swords pictures a battle aftermath with a mischievous winner and two defeated parties walking away sore. The winner picks up the weapons left behind to hoard then. So when it comes to his future S/O, we’re talking someone wants to play win-lose with Jimin’s insecurities and will get away with it because they’re strong, sly, and full of themselves. They don’t have his best interests in mind, especially when quarrels go down. Lack of harmony overshadows the relationship. There’s some major bullshit and that’s scary. The partner is like a leech, leaving only Jimin pissed, it’s not a lose-lose situation, things are wholly unequal. Picking on Jimin leaves their ego inflated and intensifies resentment. Working against each other over working with another is going on. Jimin has to walk away from that situation and mend his wounds, and never return. It’ll be a period of growth in his life ahead where he becomes aware just how giving too much and being defeated by that does him no good, as well as learning how to spot douchebags who don’t care about him. The Five of Swords is among the quintessential breakup card, it’ll be what defines his future relationship unless or until he has the grit to stop the fight and search for equity and affection instead of put-downs.

— angel card: “You Deserve Being Loved — You’re worthy of love.”

Jin: SIX OF PENTACLES

Pentacles, pentacles everywhere. I see that the hyungs have some financial themes going on, Jin’s card is emblematic of that. First let’s have a look what’s going on with the imagery. A wealthy man holds a scale on this card. He distributes coins to poor men kneeling before him. It’s an interesting symbol for a relationship, if not for another more important area of Jin’s life which could very well be philanthropy. He is the wealthy man on the card, sharing in just ways as the scale indicates. That could be providing for his partner a lot or simply doing charity together with them. I do have to say, and that is similar to Hoseok’s card, I don’t see too much of a romantic theme here which is surprising, but the tarot knows its ways. Some members might be doing partnerships much later in life or eschew them. With Jin here, I get a sense that business relations and deals will be an overarching theme in the near future. It could be the situation with his dad’s business in Germany the card is hinting at, and if marriage is involved, there’s a major exchange of valuable ideals and things involved between parties. A recurring theme is class difference though, the same popped up in the last reading. Jin’s status will be much, much higher but he can tip things into balance with a fairness mindset, Libra energy. A huge gap will be bridged. Last but not least, mea culpa: I think I’ve been missing the obvious interpretation there. The signs are everywhere in the cards for his readings, and oh my god: Jin is the member who’ll get together with a fan. 

— angel card: “Children — Kids will have an influence on your love life.”

[azvolrien]

Two Months

This is another little Asta-and-Roan vignette series, this time featuring the run-up to their wedding. Maybe a bit shorter than the last couple, with only four relatively short segments, but it gives a little more detail to some stuff that, while it’s been part of the setting inside my head for a long time, hasn’t really come up on the page before.

---

           15th of Messis – Two months to go

           Auchtertan Public Library

           Auchtertan was a small town – only a couple of thousand people called it home – but it drew custom from dozens of small farms up in the hills and tiny fishing harbours along the coast of Loch Gorm, people who either could not or did not want to make the long ride up to Duncraig, and so it had far more on offer than some of the bigger towns nearer the city did. Market stalls were set up in the town square every weekend, forming a loose ring around the ancient carved stone in front of the temple, but even during the week the grocer, butcher and baker were well-stocked. The post office was constantly bustling, there was almost always smoke rising from the bathhouse’s furnace chimney, and the library above the beach boasted two storeys filled with books on all subjects.

           Roan padded along one of the rows on the first floor, running her hand over the spines of the books on their shelves, to the desk Asta had claimed below one of the windows overlooking the sea.

           “Were the librarians able to give you the forms?” asked Asta without looking up from the slim paperback lying open on the desk.

           Roan laid the forms on the desk beside the book and sat down opposite her.

           “Good, good,” said Asta, still without looking up. Roan smiled and propped her chin on one hand, taking a moment to just admire her new fiancée. At this hour of the morning, the sun hit the library window at exactly the right angle for Asta to glow in its light. It drew out the warm gold of her skin and the black-tea chestnut brown of her eyes, and cast enchanting bluish highlights on her deep black hair. One lock had escaped her ponytail, falling forwards over her face. Roan reached out to tuck it back behind her ear, trailing her fingertips gently over Asta’s cheek.

           Asta finally glanced up from the book. The sun caught her eyes, turning them a beautiful reddish amber for an instant. “What?”

           “I like seeing you in your element for a change,” said Roan. “You do love your books.”

           “Yes, I’ll have to have a browse in their fiction section before we head home,” said Asta, turning her attention back to the book. “I’ve been meaning to find something new to read of an evening.”

           “Has that one been useful?” asked Roan.

           “Yes, as a matter of fact,” said Asta. “It’s a very comprehensive guide to marriage in the Sea Lochs. It’s actually a lot more straightforward than I was expecting – things would be more complex if we needed to arrange a temple service or book a venue for a big reception or get the registrar to come to us, but since we agreed we don’t need any of that, essentially all we have to do is fill out these forms telling the registrar that we want to get married and confirming that we’re both of age and of sound mind and so on and so forth, post them up to Duncraig, and they’ll get back to us with an appointment to actually go and get married.”

           “You don’t have to… I don’t know, get your House’s permission or anything? I don’t know how it works with the nobility.”

           Asta glanced back up and shook her head, smiling. “I would if I was in the core family or just outside it, but I’m so minor a branch of House zeDamar that I doubt I even qualify as a leaf. The only reason they would arrange a marriage for me would be if they wanted to emphasise how unimportant my potential spouse was to them.” Her smile faded and she cast her eyes back down at the pages. “Besides,” she muttered. “House zeDamar abandoned me when I needed them. I don’t owe them anything any more. I’d even give up the name if I could.”  

           Roan leant over the desk and kissed her forehead, bringing the smile back for a moment. “Can you not?”

           Asta shook her head again. “It’s not allowed. If you’re born to a noble house, you’re a part of it for life – and if you weren’t, you can’t claim the name through marriage or adoption. Which I suppose at least saves us any arguments over who’ll be changing their surname.”

           “‘NicBruide’ isn’t really a surname anyway,” said Roan. “Let’s get these filled out – they can be in Duncraig tomorrow if we get them posted by lunch.”

           ---

           13th of Sanguis – One month to go

           Dun Ardech, just inside the outer wall

           Asta knelt in front of the little shrine beneath its wooden shelter and lit three small cones of incense, one in front of each pewter god-figure on the flat slate altar, then clapped three times to draw the gods’ attention.

           “Mighty Voynazh,” she murmured, and laid a small beaker of wine before the god of war. “Great Siraki.” She placed a sprig of rowan-berries in front of the goddess of commerce and the protector of travellers. “Blessed Kura.” An ear of wheat for the goddess of agriculture and fertility. “Grant us your protection and your guidance.” That much was a standard invocation. Asta fell silent, considering what else to say. Whatever prayers her parents had offered during their engagement, they had never told her any of them. What was one supposed to say at a time like this?

           “I… am getting married.” Well, that was a start. “We received a letter from the registrar in Duncraig. They have availability in the middle of Gracilis. It’s sooner than we expected, but we decided to take it.” She lifted the beaker and poured the wine out on the ground before the little statue of Voynazh. “Mighty Voynazh, keep the shadow of war far from our doorstep,” she went on quietly. “Whether a blessing from Torravon is the same as a blessing from you or not… Please, let us live in peace, and make it so Roan never has cause for battle-madness.” She crushed the rowan-berries with a mortar and pestle, then tipped out the resulting paste on the flat stone before Siraki. “Great Siraki, clear our path on all our journeys; grant us safe passage over land and water, and be generous in the markets.” She picked up the wheat and rubbed it between her fingers so the grains scattered on the altar. “Blessed Kura…” She paused. “I suppose this is where newly-betrothed people would usually ask you to bless them with children, isn’t it? I suppose that would take divine intervention for Roan and I, at least without involving a third party in some way. But they never featured in our plans anyway, so… Help the hens to lay, keep the vegetable garden going, and I think we’ll be content.”

           The wooden chimes hanging above the shrine clicked gently and spun in the wind; the galloping horses carved around the top chased each other in circles. Perhaps that was an answer. Asta straightened her back and closed her eyes, breathing slowly and deeply as she listened to the wind rustling gently through the trees and the waves lapping against the rocks outside the wall. A couple of the hens wandered over to take charge of the wheat.

           After little while, Asta got to her feet and brushed the dust from her skirt. “How long have you been standing there?” she asked without turning around.

           “Couple of minutes, maybe,” said Roan. “I was wondering if I should chase the hens away from your offering.”

           “No, they’re fine,” said Asta. “I think Kura takes everything she can from it fairly quickly.” She did have to step in to set the statue of Voynazh back upright when one of the hens knocked it over.

           Roan picked up the hen, tutting in amused disapproval. “That’s probably heresy, you know,” she said to one beady yellow eye.

           “From a chicken?” asked Asta.

           “Henresy, then.”

           “Yes, they are known for their schismatic temple practices,” said Asta as Roan put the hen down and shooed her back towards the coop. She closed the shrine’s shutters and turned the little wooden bolt to secure them.

           “It’s not too late to try and arrange a priest for the wedding, if you want,” said Roan, chasing the other hen off for good measure. “I’m sure there’ll be at least one in Duncraig who’s free.”

           Asta shook her head. “I’ve never liked having a go-between – if I need to speak with the gods I’m quite capable of doing it myself.” She paused. “Roan?”

           “Mm?”

           “Do you believe in the gods?”

           “Are you calling off the wedding if I say no?”

           “No, of course not. I was just wondering – I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you pray. There wasn’t even a household shrine until we built this one.”

           Roan didn’t answer immediately; instead she pursed her lips and folded her hands behind her back, watching the hens.

           Asta went on. “There was a wizard I knew in Stormhaven who didn’t. Believe in them, I mean. I asked him why one day, once we were on good enough terms that he wouldn’t take it as either an insult or a challenge. He just shrugged and said he’d never encountered a good enough reason to.”

           Roan nodded thoughtfully. “I… believe that they exist in some shape or form, aye. Granda raised me on tales of the fearsome goddesses of the Sea Lochs – Torravon, the Cailleach, the Storm Hags – and I reckon I’ve seen enough of their work. I’m just not convinced they pay any attention to us.”

           “Maybe not.” Asta smiled and brushed her fingers through the windchime. “But I suppose it won’t hurt to try and stay on their good side just in case.”

           ---

           11th of Gracilis – Three days to go

           The City of Duncraig

           It was mid-morning by the time Pardus set its paws on the Kingsferry Bridge. At a gallop, the construct could have covered the distance between Dun Ardech and Duncraig in less than a day – and had done so more than once – but they hadn’t wanted to rush the journey and so had broken it at a coaching inn at a village halfway up the coast.

           Roan’s arms tightened around Asta’s waist. “I haven’t been back here in a very long time,” she said, her voice subdued, as Pardus strolled along the bridge. It was a spectacular piece of engineering: four towering stanchions of concrete and steel supported dozens of seemingly slender cables – each one thicker than Roan’s arm in truth – which in turn supported the roadway itself, high above the surface of Loch Gorm. At the far end loomed the city of Duncraig, creeping down the steep, rocky hillside from the crag-top fortress of the High King – now the seat of the Imperial Governor – to the hundreds of docks and jetties along the edge of the water.

           “Nor me,” said Asta, steadfastly keeping her eyes on the city, refusing to let her gaze drift to Castle MacArra atop the ridge on the other side of the loch. “Not since I came back through the portal from Stormhaven, and I was only passing through then; I didn’t stop to look around.”

           “I never wandered all that far from the university when I lived here,” admitted Roan. “Chances are you probably know the city better than I do.”  

           They rode up through the city streets until they reached Siraki Square, the wide granite-paved marketplace up against the cliff face below the fortress. The market itself was not yet open, though the stallholders were setting up in the stone-built booths around the fountain at the centre of the square. Around its edges, would-be customers killed time in other shops or waited at pubs and cafes. Roan eyed them with distinct wariness as Asta reined Pardus in outside the four-storey hotel that took up almost one whole edge of the square. Flags hung from a row of poles jutting out along the façade of white marble, displaying the rampant bear of the Empire, the dragon ship of the Sea Lochs, the striking wildcat of the monarch of Loch Gorm, and the castle-and-mountain of Duncraig itself. Above them, tall glass windows looked out across the square to the fortress, while the rooms on the other side would gaze down the loch towards the distant sea.

           Asta double-checked the letter from the hotel, nodded firmly to herself, and dismounted. Roan followed her a second later, casting another wary glance at the square behind them.

           “We’ll check in just now and leave our bags in the room,” said Asta, unstrapping the suitcases from behind Pardus’s saddle. “Then we can maybe go out for an explore, find somewhere to have lunch…”

           “Aye, that sounds like a plan,” said Roan absently, lifting one of the bags under one arm and hefting the other onto her shoulder. “I… Never mind.” Asta gave her a searching look, but did not press her.

           Their room overlooked Siraki Square from the second floor. It was not lavishly decorated – the walls were painted a plain, warm cream colour, their only extra adornment a small painting of a stag hanging on the wall above the bed – but the bed was wide and soft with a heavy feather quilt, a pair of comfortable armchairs and a small coffee table were arranged by the full-length window, and the bathroom was equipped with a long tub of enamelled cast-iron. Hinged wooden shutters – currently folded back against the thick stone wall – could swing across to block the light from the windows, while thin linen curtains could be pulled over to soften their lines.

           Roan placed the suitcases carefully on the floor behind the door, straightened up to roll her shoulders back, and flopped face-down on the bed. “Give me a few minutes before we head back out,” she said, her voice rather muffled by the quilt.

           “You can’t possibly be tired already,” said Asta, kneeling beside her. She pulled back the hood of Roan’s sealskin cloak so that the skull rested between her shoulder blades. Roan turned her head slightly to look up at her out of one eye. “You, of all people? It’s not even lunchtime yet!”

           Roan made a noncommittal sound.

           “Well…” Asta lay down so they were face to face. “I’m sure we can find some way to entertain ourselves if you’d rather stay in here.” She grinned, poking the tip of her tongue out between her teeth, and slowly ran one finger down Roan’s nose to her lips.

           “Tempting,” said Roan, smiling at last, “and for more than one reason. But I’m sure there’s a museum or something you want to visit.”

           “Well, I wasn’t going to push the matter if you didn’t want to, but I did see a poster for an exhibition on aquatic constructs-”

           Roan laughed, rolled over onto her back, and sat up. “Sounds good. Let’s have a look.”

           The market outside was in full swing by the time they walked back down to the hotel entrance. There wasn’t a single stall without a queue of waiting customers, and the crowds had spilled out from the cafes and shops to mill around in the square itself. Roan took one step over the threshold and froze at the sight.

           Asta looked back over her shoulder. “Roan?”

           “I…” Roan’s eyes were wide and staring, her pupils dilated despite the bright sunshine in the square. Teeth bared, she groped blindly for the doorframe and clutched it, the tendons on the back of her hand standing out like wires.

           “Hey! Hey.” Asta caught her other hand and reached up to stroke her cheek. “It’s all right. Look at me.”

           Roan closed her eyes hard for a few seconds, pressing her lips together and breathing heavily through her nose, before she obeyed. Her pupils had shrunk back to a more normal size, but her eyes were still wide and her breath still trembled.

           “Come with me,” said Asta. “There’s somewhere I want to show you.”

           She led Roan out of the square and down a series of side-streets until they reached a gate in a waist-high iron fence. It was only locked by a simple sliding bar, clearly more to stop animals than humans, and they walked through into a steep-sided ravine lined with dense bracken – now mostly dead and brown for the winter – and tall pine trees. The path of packed earth and scattered bark zigzagged down the slope until it levelled out by the shallow, swift-flowing river at the bottom. Asta sat down on a wooden bench by the river and patted the seat beside her. Roan lay down on her side on the bench and rested her head in Asta’s lap, closing her eyes.

           “I used to come here on the weekends, or when I had an hour or so away from Lady MacArra’s office,” said Asta, stroking Roan’s hair. “It was quiet, a good place to read – I’m not sure if even many life-long residents of the city know about it. South Craig – Lady MacArra’s house – is just downriver of here, down at the seafront.” She paused. “I knew you didn’t like crowds. I never realised you were afraid of them.”

           Roan took a long, deep breath in through her nose and slowly let it back out through her mouth. “I’m fine with thirty, forty people,” she said without opening her eyes. “A bit more if there’s enough room for them to spread out, like at the market in Auchtertan or out on the island. But when there are hundreds all close together like there were back there, it… It feels too much like a threat. And that doesn’t mix well with battle-madness, however well I have mine under control.”  

           “No, I suppose not. Gods, if Duncraig bothers you this much, you would hate it in the Imperial City.”

           Roan just nodded without sitting up. “Never felt any urge to visit it. Don’t think that would end well anyway.” She turned onto her back to look up at Asta. “Did you ever want to go back there?”

           “There’s nothing left for me in Kiraan,” said Asta. “Just a lot of memories, and the good ones are too tangled up with the bad. I do miss it sometimes, all the places I grew up with… but no, I never wanted to return.” She brushed Roan’s fringe back out of her face and leant down to kiss her forehead. “We can go back to the hotel if you want.”

           Roan took another deep breath and shook her head. “I don’t want to keep you cooped up all day. I’ll be all right if we can avoid the crowds.” She sighed and sat up. “So, did those posters say where this exhibit of yours is?”

           Asta smiled. “It’s at the Marine Museum down at the quayside. Don’t worry, I know a few shortcuts that’ll get us there without any crowds.”

           ---

           14th of Gracilis – A few hours to go

           The City of Duncraig

           Roan carried her plate back to the table. “I’m not sure about hotels,” she said as she sat down. “I don’t like hearing strangers moving around nearby at night. But it is nice to have a breakfast we didn’t have to make ourselves.”

           “They lay out a good one here, too,” said Asta, checking over the day’s itinerary in her notebook. “So, our appointment at the registrar’s office is just at the back of five and then we have dinner in the evening, but the day isn’t too busy up until then. Did you have any plans?”

           “I booked us a tub for a couple of hours at that huge bathhouse near the university. You know the one I mean? Our slot starts at half-ten, so we can find somewhere for lunch afterwards.”

           “Oh, is that where you vanished to when I was in the library? You were oddly evasive about that.” Asta added it to her notes, then glanced up, frowning. “There’s a bath in our room here.”

           “Aye, but it’s not very comfy. Not for two people, at least.”

           “True. Well…” Asta reached back over her shoulder and beneath the collar of her blouse, rubbing her fingertips against the raised cords of old scarring.

           Roan caught her reluctance immediately. “It’s a private tub,” she assured her. “No one has to see your back. Not even me, if you don’t want me to.”

           “Oh, I’m used enough to you seeing it,” said Asta with a small smile. “So, two hours at the bathhouse, maybe another two for lunch…”

           “If we make it a very leisurely lunch.”

           “Then that still gives us two and a half hours in the afternoon.”

           Roan scooped half a fried egg into her mouth and swallowed. “I… have a couple of things to take care of then,” she said. “But I’ll meet you at the registrar’s office.”

           “Will you be all right by yourself?”

           “I… will manage.”

           Asta silently searched Roan’s eyes for a few seconds before she nodded. “Five o’clock sharp, then,” she said, giving Roan’s chin a little shake between thumb and forefinger.

           Roan caught her hand and gently kissed the backs of her fingers without breaking eye contact. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

           After a long, relaxing soak in the bathhouse’s steaming, floral-scented water – “I’m very fond of our little bathhouse at home,” Asta commented, “but you have to admit it smells a bit eggy.” – and a lunch that was indeed leisurely in a neighbouring café, they split up outside the gates of the university. Roan gave Asta a quick farewell kiss on the forehead – as much for her own reassurance as Asta’s – before she pulled up the hood of her cloak, squared her shoulders, and strode away. Asta watched her until she had disappeared around a corner, then sighed and returned to the hotel. There were a few things of her own she needed to organise.

           Much to Asta’s relief, as the afternoon wore quietly on she received no word of anyone going berserk in the street and getting either injured or arrested. Five o’clock approached; Asta donned her new blue dress, gave her hair – loose from her usual ponytail – one last careful brushing, and took several slow, steadying breaths in front of the bathroom mirror. She didn’t usually bother with makeup, but for the occasion she had added some pinkish polish to her nails, a subtle shading above her eyes and a hint of a deeper red around her lips. Finally she put on a pair of earrings, each one a plain gold hoop about an inch across – a little showier than the simple cuffs or studs she usually wore, but not to the point of discomfort or distraction.

           “Everything’s going to be fine,” she said to her reflection, before she picked up her satchel containing her purse and the ring box, draped a woollen shawl around her shoulders against the chill of a Gracilis evening, and left the hotel. The sky was almost fully dark, but the streets were busy and well-lit and it wasn’t a long walk to the registrar’s office.

           Like most of Duncraig’s buildings it was a stern construction of grey stone, with a short but impressively broad flight of steps leading up to double doors of sturdy oak, but the windows showed a welcoming gold light from the offices and meeting-rooms behind them. Asta waited at the foot of the steps. A bell chimed somewhere, perhaps from one of the city’s temples. Five chimes. Asta bit her lip, glancing up and down the street and wondering how long she should give it before she started getting worried. She had no fear of Roan getting cold feet, but if something else had happened…

           “I’m here, I’m here! Sorry, not quite five sharp, I know.”

           Asta smiled; a tension she hadn’t really noticed until it was gone fell from her shoulders. She turned towards Roan’s voice and her jaw dropped.

           Roan gestured down at herself, grinning. “How do I look?”

           She still wore her usual cloak, plain yellowish-tan trousers and tough leather boots, minus her gaiters for a change, but one of her afternoon tasks had clearly been to pick up a new tunic. The fine woollen cloth was dyed a rich blood-red, trimmed around the hems with intricate patterns of interwoven vines with strange creatures – birds, dragons, even a water horse – hiding amongst them, all embroidered in varying warm shades of yellow and orange. It was still sleeveless and knee-length like her everyday tunics, but was split into two wide panels front and back, slit up the side from the hem to her hips, and was tailored to accentuate her bust and her waist. A strip of red-and-gold cloth had been tied around her brow, keeping her hair out of her face. Perhaps she had had someone see to that, as well – it had been unbraided and allowed to flow in loose waves down her back, brushed until it shone like polished copper.

           “Great gods,” was all Asta managed. “I – gods.”

           “Not often I render you speechless,” said Roan. Her grin widened. “Not without the use of my hands, at least.”

           “Roan!” Asta blushed and looked away, but she was still smiling.

           Roan ran one hand down over Asta’s hair, combing her fingers gently through it. “You look perfect, mo chridhe. Utterly perfect. Oh, I almost forgot – these two are Kirsty and Erik. They’ve agreed to be witnesses.” She jabbed a thumb at the two people who had been standing behind her.

           Asta gave them a polite nod, returned by both of them, before a flash of white in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she looked down at Roan’s left arm. There was a bandage of some odd, faintly shiny material wound securely around it just below the elbow. “Your arm – are you hurt?”

           “Hm? Oh, that. No, it’s fine – I’ll show you after the ceremony. Shall we?” She offered Asta her other elbow and they walked arm-in-arm up the steps. A clerk met them just inside the doors and led their little group through to one of the offices, where the registrar had already laid all the relevant paperwork out on his desk.

           “Wedding party of zeDamar and MacBride?” he asked.

           “NicBruide,” corrected Roan, her tone suggesting it was not the first time she had encountered this error. “But aye, that’s us.”

           The registrar glanced down at the forms. “Yes, I apologise – I misread.” He cleared his throat. “We are here to witness and register the marriage of Asta zeDamar and Roan NicBruide. Have you written any personal vows you’d like to say or shall we proceed with the standard version?”

           “I… have a few words,” said Roan. She turned to face Asta and clasped both of her hands between her own. “Asta zeDamar. I… I have spent a lot of my life alone. I’ve never made friends easily, not as a bairn or as an adult. Sometimes people would come into my life, but… sooner or later they all left. Because they had to. Because they were afraid.” Her voice trembled. “Because I sent them away.” She released Asta’s hands and held her shoulders instead. “You are the only one who ever came back. That alone would amaze me every day if nothing else did – and believe me, much else does, from the strength of your heart to the sharpness of your mind, every single day since that night you first showed up on my doorstep. You’ve put up with me for longer than anyone but my grandfather. You are the best friend I have ever had, the most trusted ally of my heart, and the love of my life, and I can’t bear to spend one more day of that life without being married to you.” She sniffed and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of one hand.

           Asta reached up to wipe the not-quite-shed tears away with her thumb. “You saved my life,” she said, “and I mean that in so much more than the purely literal sense. Yes, you treated my wounds and rescued me from the people who wished me ill – but more than that, you made sure I had the time and space and help I needed to heal, in that heart and mind you love so much as well as physically. Nobody has ever understood me – has ever listened to me – the way that you have. You make me happier than I’ve ever been before just from being your own kind, capable self, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” She pushed herself up on her toes to kiss Roan softly on the lips.

           “That part comes later,” the registrar reminded them with a smile. “Do you have rings?” Asta fished the little box from her satchel and handed one ring to Roan.

           “Silver,” commented Roan, holding the unengraved band up to the light.  

           “Gold felt a little too much like brass,” said Asta quietly, rubbing her throat with one hand. Roan just nodded, understanding immediately.

           “Asta Irina zeDamar,” said the registrar. “Do you assent to marriage with Roan NicBruide?”

           “I do.” She slid the ring she still held onto Roan’s finger.

           “Roan NicBruide. Do you assent to marriage with Asta zeDamar?”

           Roan placed the other ring on Asta’s finger. “I do.”

           “Then I pronounce you married.” Roan didn’t wait for any further instruction and swept Asta right off her feet in a long and thorough kiss.

           “Well, then,” said Asta, resting her forehead against Roan’s. “There we go.” Roan just grinned and kissed her again.

           They all signed the forms to render everything properly official and left the building, bidding farewell to Kirsty and Erik at the bottom of the steps.

           “Do you really not have a middle name?” asked Asta as they strolled back to the hotel together.

           Roan shook her head. “I’m just Roan.”

           “It suits you, somehow. Very straightforward. You were going to tell me what happened to your arm?”

           “I was, wasn’t I?” She carefully loosened and unwound the bandage from around her arm. “The cloth is spelled and treated with a special ointment,” she explained. “It helps to quickly heal the skin without fading the ink.” Bandage removed, she held out her arm to reveal a dark blue, five-pointed star inked into the soft skin of her inner forearm, just below the crease of her elbow. Inside its crisp outline, each segment of the star was decorated with similar knots and spirals to the rest of her tattoos. “I get them to mark important occasions, remember?”

           Lost for words for the second time that evening, Asta reached out with one hand, but pulled it back a hair’s breadth before her fingers met Roan’s skin. “It won’t smudge or anything, will it?”

           “No – it won’t be fully healed yet, but the bandage moved things along enough that the ink is set.”

           Asta smiled and brushed her fingers against the star. The skin around it was still a little pink and swollen from the needle, the lines of the tattoo a little raised, but it would settle back as it healed the rest of the way. “It’s very neat work.”

           “Kirsty’s, as it happens,” said Roan. “She’s my tattooist. Erik, now, he’s just a random man who had some time to spare.”

           Asta had to laugh. “It’s beautiful. Thank you. Although… You do know that the origin of my name doesn’t actually have anything to do with stars, right?”

           “I do, but ‘divine beauty’ is a lot trickier to make a tattoo design of.” Roan smiled and ran her fingers through Asta’s hair again. “However well it suits you.”

           Asta leant against her side with a smile, winding one arm around her waist as they walked, and said nothing.

           Roan laid an arm around her shoulders. “Our table at the restaurant won’t be ready for another hour and a half, ish.”

           “Oh, no.” Asta half-closed her eyes, her smile growing a little more suggestive. “However will we fill the time?”

---

What did you think she had in mind?

Roan has had her star tattoo in a few pictures I’ve drawn of her, but this is the only time the personal meaning behind it has actually been pointed out. ‘Asta’ is a diminutive form of the name ‘Astrid’, which does indeed mean something like ‘divine beauty’.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

What Might Have Been - 12

Another part for my @goodomenscelebration themes prompt list! I am starting to think I won’t be able to finish by the end of the month, but I’ll keep on going!

The full story so far is now available on AO3.

Memory

“So,” Adam said, after they’d been walking for a bit. “Does. Does your plant have a name?”

Crowley glanced over his shoulder. The kid still trailed behind, as if he might bolt or slip away at any moment, but he hadn’t yet. “Zamioculcas zamiifolia,” Crowley said, hefting the pot. “Not very good for day-to-day use, I guess.”

“No, I mean, did you name it?”

“Do I look like I name my plants? Oh, don’t answer that.” Crowley turned to walk backwards, holding out the pot. “Here. You name it, since you’re so keen on the idea.”

“I’m not keen, you just – I thought –” He shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked away with a frown.

Crowley shrugged and started walking forwards again, heading west. The road was just a grey-black line through a brown-black landscape, lit here and there with a distant red glow. He’d hoped the soil was still good – it looked volcanic in some places, and volcanic deposits could be very fertile – but a close look at one handful and he’d tossed that idea out. There was something in the earth, something beyond demonic, something that hated life. Nothing would ever grow here again.

“Why are you walking?” Adam asked.

“Because I left my car at home.” Crowley stopped short. The Bentley was still at the cottage, and the last he’d seen of his world… “Oh, no. No, those bastard Archangels better not touch my car. I will destroy them! I will make them wish I had got them with the Hellfire last time, I swear to Someone.”

“I – wait.” Adam rushed up to walk beside him. “You had a chance to kill the Archangels? You?”

“Eh, it was really more of a prank.” Crowley smiled. “Oh, but you should have seen the look on Gabriel’s face. That smug bastard has never been so scared in his life.” He ran his hand through his hair, frown returning. “Maybe that’s why he’s out for petty revenge. We took away the thing he cared about most.”

“Didn’t think he cared about anything, really.”

“His dignity. Self-image. Made him look like the cowardly fool he is. And now, he’s trying to take away the thing I care about most.”

“Your car.”

Crowley looked up at the black sky, wondering if he was imagining the white shape flying in the distance. “Well, two things I care about most, I suppose. But we’ll get back. And if there’s one scratch on the paintwork of my Bentley…”

He stopped, staring across the blasted plains. No, something was flying, but not Aziraphale. Unless there were now dozens of Aziraphales.

“Adam. How’s your teleportation?” He hadn’t asked yet; that was the purpose of the walk, get Adam to trust him a little more before asking to use his powers. But time, it appeared, was up.

“I…I have to know where I’m going.” The kid had seen the angels, too, and he was trembling. “I don’t want to fight again…”

“You don’t have to.” It looked like at least a few minutes, but they were covering the ground quickly. “So you have to picture it clearly? Like, I don’t know, your bedroom at home?”

He shook his head, backing away. “No. They destroyed it when I kept running away. Rebuilt it in Hell, so if I try, I wind up there instead.”

“Then – I don’t know – send the angels away. Anywhere in the world, any place you can picture. You said there’s a battle in America?”

“I – I – there’s too many!”

“Fine, send us to America!”

“But I’ve never been! I – maybe I can do myself, but not you.”

Crowley had never seen that look of panic on Adam’s face before. The kid was many things, but he’d never been truly hopeless, not in their world. “Look at me,” he pulled off his glasses, tucked them in a pocket, and looked Adam square in the eyes. “You can do this. Of course you can! You made Atlantis rise from the sea in a dream. This is nothing!”

“What are you talking about? I never – did – that’s not something I can do!”

Different world, different miracles. “Fine, I don’t know what you’ve done exactly. But you absolutely can do this. Your only limit is your imagination, and –” 

Suddenly, an image crossed Crowley’s mind: young Warlock Dowling, eight years old, sprawled across the floor of a hotel room because he didn’t have his toys and his gadgets wouldn’t charge. Bored, utterly inconsolable, he nagged and complained every member of his father’s staff until they entertained him again.

Adam Young had imagination, limitless, boundless, from a lifetime running through woods and fields coming up with endless games for his friends to play.

Warlock Dowling had never needed to entertain himself, but what he lacked in imagination he made up for in sheer stubbornness.

This child in front of him - this Adam Dowling - had neither Adam’s imagination nor Warlock’s obstinance. And he was broken, and scared and probably about to be dragged back into someone else’s war.

Crowley shoved the plant into Adam’s hands. “It doesn’t need to be watered much, just a spritz when the soil is completely dry. Not too much sun either. And don’t let any animals chew on it.”

“What? What are you doing?”

“I’m going to distract them while you run like Heaven, and keep running until you’re ready to stop them.” He flared his wings out behind him. They would probably come in handy.

“What? I can’t –”

“Bless it, Adam, yes you can. I’ve seen you do it before. Now I’m picturing the safest place I know. Do you think you can get there?”

“I…yes I see it.” He took half a step back. “But…I don’t even know who you are.”

“Bit late for that now. Go.” Crowley turned to face the approaching angels, but Adam grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back.

And looked straight into his eyes, through them, far beyond to his very core. Scraped everything that he was, pulled it to the surface, and read it all, down to the last atom.

“Holy shit,” the young Antichrist breathed.

“Told you it would save time.” With trembling hands, Crowley pulled the glasses back out and settled them on his face. That look had hit him harder than he’d expected. “And everything that Adam did, you can do, too. Now get out of here.”

Adam vanished.

“Aw, blast. Should have asked him to miracle me up a weapon or something.” He concentrated for a moment, and felt the heavy weight of the Bentley’s hand crank settle into his palm. Something created by the Antichrist would probably be more effective against angels, but if it came to a fight, he was dead anyway. At least it made him feel better.

[katsukikitten]

Princess part 5

He storms from the yurt.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"To see the city! Explore!" You call over your shoulder to a more than displeased King.

You walk along the streets with freshly healed legs as Bakugou reluctantly trails behind you. You're lapping up the culture as your eyes wander near and far. They spot people of many ethnic backgrounds and all wear the colors of the Badlands. Blood red, black, gold and greys. You commit them to memory as you have with all house/kingdom colors out of habit.

Sometimes kingdom colors can help you guess a person's quirk which could save your life in battle. But that's what's so difficult about the Badlands. The people are blended from other kingdoms. You notice the colors of the neighboring Mountain kingdom, that apparently Kirishima is the king of. They wear greys, blacks, and soft reds. Like that of berries.

The women are accompanied by men with what seems by choice. Their clothes vary greatly, some leave nothing to the imagination while some show nothing but their eyes, even in this glorious heat. The one thing you do notice is the children, happy, healthy. Laughing and carefree as they cause mischief. Hours are spent exploring every Avenue and alley to see all of the stunning paintings on the side of their homes. Each telling a story that you eat up like a kid does sweets. Eyes glittering in the overhead sun as you study their history through the fabric. The yurts become farther apart and the sounds of the city seem to die down as you near closer to the fringes. You can smell the ocean, feel it still and a smile forms on your lips as you see a large mural of the ocean side meadow at sunset. The same point in horizon you see now. It's odd how it's only been a few hours but this place has felt more like home than your real one ever has. You breathe in the mixture of exotic spice and sea air hungry for more despite the city having only one more mural to offer.

One that seems more legend than history. A woman has her back to the painter, with hair the same length and color as yours. She stands tall with a hand out stretched to an ash blonde male with eyes so red they could pierce you where you stand, his own hand reaches out to her. A breath separates the space between their fingers. The difference between this painting and all the others is that the King is the same size as the mysterious woman while the other paintings depict royalty as larger than life.

Bakugou watches you silently, studying you while he can. Your eyes seem to light up with delight with every painting you see, you enjoy reading the history of their travels. How they follow the stars to the perfect locations. How large dragons like Ryu used to be abundant. How he became king. He can't say he doesn't like it. How your eyes light up, how you seem generally interested in it all.

His eyes follow yours to the fresh painting, barely started before he left and somehow returned with you. He notices the signature of the artist, two grey orbs and immediately knows who's house you both stand beside. He sighs, opening his mouth to comment but the sound of your stomach growling breaks the calming quiet and before he can guide you back to his yurt, you're already heading in another direction.

He is impressed that you've memorized their movable city in such a short time.

But he will never admit it aloud.

You start for the market remembering the rich smell of bread and if you're lucky honey. It takes about twenty minutes from the outskirts to the city center at a steady pace. The market pauses once more to bow to their king and glare daggers at you before they start their song and dance of haggling again. Every stall has new offerings in their little gold boxes.

Offerings you have a feeling he will not take, you wonder if he thinks them beneath him.

You approach the first stall with bread and ask for two hand loaves. The shop keep is surprised you speak their tongue before she moves for the basket with the fresh bread.

"Two gold draki." She hisses, back to you. Oblivious that you have her King in tow.

"And how do you plan to pay dipshit?" He chuckles in your ear, waiting to see you drown.

You produce two shiny gold pieces from your pocket.

"You really shouldn't let your valuables lie around." You giggle as he grips your hip in warning.

"A Princess of thieves then?" He bites, eyes unseeing the heavily blushed shop keep who has just noticed Bakugou looming too closely to you.

"Ah your highness. I have finer loaves for you should you wish." She keeps her head down while keeping a hateful glare in your direction.

"I do wish to have them." He says grabbing the two hand loaves while slamming down fifty gold draki.

"P..please your greatness. I cannot accept this. This my offering to you."

"You will accept it if you still wish for me to take your offerings." His voice is dark as he speaks over his shoulder, the shop keeper does not touch the gold until Katsuki is almost out of sight.

"Are you always so gruff? She was almost in tears." You say earning a sharp glare as you bite into your heavenly loaf. You offer him the two pieces back to which he shakes his head.

"You might need that draki one day." He growls, "Enough sight seeing. I have a meeting to attend to."

He finishes his loaf as his strong hand pushes against the small of your back. You give him a heated glare that he ignores.

"Ah princess!" The elderly gentleman says by way of greeting, "I have more clothes for you."

His slightly gnarled hand points to the golden outlines box in it sits a beautiful blood red outfit in a hue so deep it seems black with the contrasting white fur. This time a sharp toothed necklace sits atop the white fur, neatly displayed.

"Old man." You smile fingering the sharp blood stained canines with delight , "You shouldn't have."

"She's right. You shouldn't have." Its a threat that leaves his lips instead of gratitude, "Leave the necklace. Take the outfit only."

Bakugou places a black pouch with what must be filled with hundreds of gold draki. The older gentlemen pushes the pouch back to his king. Katsuki goes to open his mouth but he holds up his blue veined hand.

"I do not accept this money as you've given our people enough. I have a job because of you, I have fine furs, teeth, scales and linens thanks to your hard work. You will kindly take my offering sire." He says it all with a bowed head nothing but respect in his wish.

Bakugou leans close with a nasty snarl,

"I told you to save *those* teeth."

"And I did."

"You will hold onto them longer and I will THINK about not paying you for your offering." He grabs the sharp toothed necklace that is adorned with black, white and pink pearls back to the older gentleman, "I am serious, Reo."

"As am I sire. But I will respect your wish. I will hold onto the necklace a bit longer. Though the fur should be hint enough." Reo speaks softly head still bowed to the king as he delicately takes the beautiful necklace from the King's rough hands.

"Are these blessed with fertility too?" A dry comment but somehow you feel the energy weaved into the clothes and you cannot help but want to wear them no matter what they are enchanted with.

"All royalty is stitched with three main things, fertility, luck, and protection. But before you comment Y/N my wife did add another to your standard list." Reo holds mischievous golden eyes with you. You cannot help but catch a devilish smirk yourself as you lean closer, curious like a cat.

"Power." Reo adds before a strongly banded arm is wrapped around you.

"I'm going to be late." A growl in your ear as he moves you away, "Thank you again, Reo."

You sink into the bed with a sigh as Bakugou keeps his eyes on you, clouded with odd emotions.

Emotions you choose to ignore as you lounge.

"Oh lunch was served?" You perk up, noticing the fine meats and breads on the low sitting table by the chairs.

"Had you let me lead you here you wouldn't have had to deal with the market today." He growls pulling another necklace of teeth over his head.

"Hmmm.." is your only response as you study him. Your eyes drink in the brash man, noticing how he is not adorned with a crown, an odd thing for a king to be missing but the teeth seem to determine your status here.

Why else would he be so sensitive about you recieving a necklace?

Most of the common folk wear silver, gold even, but few wear any sort of teeth or pearl in their jewelry.

In fact you have only noticed three people wear them.

Kirishima, who's necklace only has a single tooth, though it is long and thick. It is black with age and matches the ones he wears in his ears. It compliments his ever black scaled uniform.

Reo, who has a set of smaller white teeth on his necklace. A necklace that reminds you of a gift given from someone of high ranking.

Or maybe he too leads a double role like Kirishima but as the King's advisor and shop keeper instead of general and King of his own land

And lastly Bakugou Katsuki himself.

Though he is laced in blood soaked teeth, gold, and that damning fur.

Fur only he, and now yourself, wear. You finger it now as your eyes rove over his muscular stomach. Sculpted by the Gods and hardwork. You feel a ghost his calloused hands on your face and sigh out angrily.

Grabbing for the amber liquid greedily.

He seems to finish readying himself. Looking in the mirror with a cocky smile as if he cares about his appearance.

"I'll return in a few hours." He gives you his back as he makes his way to leave, "Do not leave my chambers."

"Like hell!" You stand, "You're taking me with you. If this is war talk you'll need me there."

He stares at you over his shoulder for moments that seem to stretch into hours.

Will he really need you there?

Or is he curious to see how you behave in court as well?

Will you provide entertainment as you did at your auction?

Or will you be a good little princess and listen.

"Fine." He snarls as he flips the canvas up, leaving you to rush along behind him.

Curiosity seems to have killed the cat.

××××××××××××××

Much like home the meeting is boring or so you feign boredom, it helps one to be forgotten.

Because nothing relaxes a man more than when he thinks a pretty face isn't listening.

Unfortunately but fortunately that works here as well.

It makes it especially easy to be forgotten when every man in the room wants to look anywhere *but* your pretty face. What with it's new accessory of thick woven thread.

Their nervousness seems to subside under the heavy gaze of crimson eyes. They drone on what they think they've heard, what they think they saw and what they thought knew. You can tell they are all bullshitting. Not one of them in contact with any sort of informant that rests the soles of their feet on your home land.

You eye Katsuki, he too seems suspicious of their answers. None of them really committing to what they've scouted.

Kirishima is seasoned in battle that much you can tell but he seems to be taking notes. Maybe be does not have a gut feeling about much.

Or maybe he simply does not know what you know about people.

"Excuse the intrusion sire." An older male, late forties says as he enters the small yurt. He drops to his knee head bowed to the King clothed in muted colors.

Colors that would go unnoticed by any common folk or hell even a Duke.

But your eyes are sharp for a reason. He stands and you see a soft glistening stitch of silver over his right breast.

You are so fixated on the stitching that you do not hear him tell of how the High King is quickly rebuilding a fleet. Of how the Prince of the fire and ice isles has just departed or of how the once quirkless Prince has made promise to return before he boarded his ship.

"It seems even a small ship has departed as well headed in..."

"You're of the Imarith kingdom no?" You interrupt before smiling a bit cruelly, "Excuse me *former* Imarith kingdom."

When the man's eyes find you it seems as if he is actually looking at you instead of seeing you as just eye candy.

No it seems as if he is staring Death in the face.

His brow begins to bead with sweat, he swallows several times and his eyes are glued to you.

"Its obvious isn't it? Your colors may be close to black but I still see the kingdom in them. And any fool knows that silver stitching indicates a dead insignia." Your cat smile widens, swirling the wine in its glass, "I seem to remember your kingdom helped fund the rebellion in the great war. Even fought in it near the end. Do you plan to do that here as well?"

His breathing becomes rapid as he stares at you, he wets his lips but when he parts them he does not speak.

Cannot speak.

"I ask only because there is not a single visual oath to the Badlands about you. Not to mention I'm wondering if your information is actually good. Father would not have allowed you to set even a toe onto a broken harbor in the High Land." Your eyes narrow, you lift your hand and the man turns to run.

In his haste he trips on the carpet, feet still flailing to get beneath him before he bolts through the canvas doors.

The room is silent and the tension becomes palpable as Katsuki stares you down. You fish your wine, smile his way before standing.

"I take that this meeting is done." You stand, stopping before the men who stood in front of the dias, "I suggest you become better informants before I make an example out of all of you. When I'm through Bakugou will never have another lazy informant again."

You smile as you the moisture from their hands, aging them twenty years before returning them to normal, letting the canvas fall behind you. As you're walking away all you can hear is the groveling of six grown men begging for forgiveness for their lack of information.

Katsuki ignores the groveling, eyes only staring after you.

"Get the fuck out of my sight." A snarl and they obey quickly. The room is filled now with only Kirishima and the King himself.

"Man. I thought that guy was gonna shit himself." Eji laughs as he crosses off all of his notes, save for the last man's words, "She's something isn't she?"

"Why did he react that way?" No soft curiosity in his tone and all bite.

Bite for being left in the dark that she was so feared.

"Forgive me. I don't think I've ever told you since the former King of the Badlands was set firm on not getting involved." Kiri bows his head before continuing.

"The Princess was more than the King's scout. She fought in many battles. Her hands are much bloodier than our own. In the last battle my kingdom was to be support to help turn the tides of the battle, we stood silently in the mountain that over looked the valley. To everyone's surprise only four people showed up. King Toben, Griffith, Ares and the Princess. We thought surely this would be an easy win, hundreds of thousands of me vs four people, easy right? Wrong. The Princess had a new trick up her sleeve and no she did not bend these people to her will. She..."

Kirishima blanches for a moment as he recalls the memory. He swallows heavily before clearing his throat.

"She made them explode. Blood misted in the air and nothing was left of them save their clothes. Not all of them but majority. And the ones that lived. Whether they were out of her range or she was out of power her brothers and Toben handled. Near the end she had to be held up by Ares, I moved my men out of there as fast as I could. It was...horrifying to say the least. I can still smell the blood. Still feel it on my skin when I think about it." Kirishima surpasses a shudder.

Bakugou's eyes narrow with heated rage as he stands. Explosions dancing along his skin as he paces. Thinking of what he had let into his bed, his bath and still asking himself why the fuck he saved you in the first place.

"Why have I not heard of this?"

"For the High King to keep his throne he must marry off any daughters he has to other kingdoms. So High King kept it under wraps. He realized quickly that men feared his daughter instead of yearning for her. He withdrew her from battle, from the war meetings, from it all. Any rumor of her helping to strategize the winning battles of the great war or her unfathomable power was silenced. Permanently." Kirishima states, "He reshaped her image to fiery but beautiful. Still the obedient little princess she needed to be."

Katsuki snorts. Obedient? You? Not even on a cold day in hell.

[aliceslantern]

Heartlines, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 14--Forecast

Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.

Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  A very old form of magic forces Ienzo's hand.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

In black letters, the stick spat the word back at him. Pregnant. Almost mocking.

" Shit ," he said again, a raw furrow of panic catching under his breastbone. He knew instantly it was true, and any belief otherwise had been willful denial on his part. He threw the thing away and buried the extra test behind the toilet paper and cleaning products under the sink. He was feeling dizzy now, again. He'd make himself tea. He'd make a plan, figure out what to do with himself. How had this happened? He'd been responsible-- so much for "over 99% effective." He bit his lip, hard.

The anxiety worsened his dizziness, and he had to hold the banister on the way down the stairs. He crossed over to the kettle, lit the stove.

"Ienzo? Are you alright?" Even asked. He'd even looked up from his laptop.

"I'm alright." He was going double. "I'm a little tired."

"Why don't you have a nap, then, instead of ingesting yet more caffeine?"

"I'll have mint tea." He turned towards their tea cabinet, his hand trembling, and he tasted more than felt himself faint.

When he came to he was on the couch, a damp cloth on his forehead, a pillow under his feet. Even was looking out the window, arms crossed, his face pinched… fearful. Ienzo knew instantly that he knew. "How do you feel?" He asked, his tone gentle, not nearly the telling-off Ienzo expected.

"...Better." He tried to sit up; Even eased him back down.

His green eyes were so hollow. "Were you aware…" He began haltingly, "were you aware you're pregnant?"

Ienzo felt tears in his eyes--of shame, mostly. "I… took the test shortly before I fainted," he admitted. "But I've had the symptoms for several weeks. I… attributed them to something else." He tried to blink it back. "I was careful , Even, I always used at least one form of conception--usually two! I--"

"What kind?"

He blinked. "What?"

"What kind of contraception?"

"Well--condoms, and a pill."

He groaned and put his face in his hands. " Hormonal birth control?"

"Yes?"

Now Ienzo saw a spark of the anger. "Child, your hair cannot take dye , why on earth did you think your body would take birth control?"

Ienzo's face flushed.

"You should've set your pride aside and came to me the moment you started engaging in… such activity." He was breathing hard. "It was when you went to the cottage, wasn't it? I knew Aeleus would be too lax with you two--" He turned away again. "And that was a full moon…"

"So?"

Even locked eyes with him. He looked exhausted now. "Ienzo, you may as well have been actively trying to conceive… doing that during a full moon, with essentially no protection. If his power comes from the sea and yours from the earth, of course the moon is going to impact your magic. Make it easier .”

Ienzo rested his hand on his stomach. “When you scanned me… did you happen to sense how… far along, it is?”

“About five weeks.”

This time, when Ienzo sat up, Even didn’t stop him; he came and sat next to him. Ienzo realized he was angry at him. “Even,” he began. “How come you never told me?”

“What?”

“About the birth control. About the moon affecting my fertility.”

He hesitated.

“I’m young, but I’m not a child . Even, if I’d known--”

“Are you implying this pregnancy is my fault?”

“No!” He crossed his arms. “But you infantilizing me certainly did not help. I need you to let me have agency, Even, and to stop withholding things from me.”

He exhaled. “Alright. Yes. But first we must deal with this.”

“I don’t suppose we can… simply will it away.”

“No,” Even said. “Magic won’t do much for you in particular. We’d have to… take the regular route.” He squeezed Ienzo’s hand.

“...I see.”

“You can’t have this child, Ienzo.”

“I don’t want to,” he said. “I’m so--I’m only twenty, Even. Not to mention… the firstborn gets my power, doesn’t it?”

“...Yes.”

“I don’t need it to be in danger. I… I’m not ready .” He felt himself tearing up.

“I know this. Listen, I’ll… make an appointment for you, and we’ll get this straightened out. It never happened.” He drew Ienzo into his arms. And while Ienzo was literally just complaining about being treated like a child… the touch was much needed.

“I should tell him,” Ienzo said.

“Do you want to?”

“He deserves to know.”

Even stroked his hair. “You’ll be alright, Ienzo. I’m sure of it.”

---

It felt odd, uncomfortable, to go to the gynecologist, to discuss his “options.” When he insisted he wanted to terminate, she just nodded and told him to come back three days later with someone to bring him home. He was mostly… numb. He knew it needed to be done, but the shame at getting himself in this situation was not to be doubted.

Ienzo took Demyx for a walk. It was a cold day in mid-December, shortly before solstice… before his twenty-first birthday, a day that would’ve signified him fully coming of age, were things normal. The air was oddly still, the air tense, skies cloudy. It was starting to snow, faintly. Demyx chatted happily about plans he’d made during the semester break; he wanted to take Ienzo sledding on the hills just outside of town.

“I want to… talk to you about something,” Ienzo began slowly.

Noticing his change in tone, he stopped. “What wrong?” He asked, touching Ienzo’s cheek with his gloved hand.

He hadn’t previously been anxious about this; moreso numb, but now the panic threatened to invade. He took a deep breath. “I…” He had to spit it out. Get it over with. The situation had already been resolved, hadn’t it? “I’m pregnant.”

Demyx dropped his eyes. “...You... are?”

“I… I’m sorry. I was wrong.” He felt himself tearing up yet again. “My… body rejected the birth control.”

He didn’t know what to say.

“But I’m… taking care of things.” Ienzo nodded. “I’m… having the procedure on Friday.”

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“We can’t have a baby, Demyx. With the darkness? We’re both still in school, and--” The panic was inflating. He could feel his lower lip trembling. “The baby gets my power, Demyx, I don’t want to give them that. What if Xehanort gets them? Uses them, or worse? I--”

Demyx drew him into his arms. Ienzo could feel him trembling too. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I… I’m sorry.”

It took him a while to calm down; the hormones didn’t help.

“Can I… do something for you?” Demyx asked. “Be there, hold your hand? Anything?”

He wiped at his eyes; the cotton of his gloves was scratchy. “Someone needs to take me home.”

“Then it’ll be me.” He kissed his forehead. “God. This is fucking surreal.”

“...Isn’t it?”

---

Ienzo hadn’t anticipated being able to sleep the night before, but the pregnancy made him exhausted, and he drifted uncertainly.

He dreamt of Radiant Garden. It was a lovely spring day, and the flowers, well-kept again, were blooming. It had the haziness of memory, fond and well-worn. He was in the plaza, on a patch of grass, sitting on a quilt. A picnic.

“Daddy!”

The voice was startling, because it most definitely was not his. In this dream, this memory , he was an adult. He turned.

A little girl. Her hair violet-silver, maybe three years old, perhaps slightly less--

She had Demyx’s eyes--

“Daddy, look!” She pressed her tiny hands together and when she opened them, a small, glowing flower of magic sat in her palms. “I made it!”

“Oh, sweetie, it’s beautiful.”

She walked over to him and held up her arms, wanting to be picked up, so he did. The weight was too-familiar on his hip. “Can we go to the garden?”

“Of course.”

She leaned against his shoulder. They walked together, through the spring day. Passersby greeted them not as royalty, but as community members. Radiant Garden was bustling again. “Do you think this is real?”

“What do you mean, love?”

“This. Right now.”

Ienzo blinked. “What makes you say that?”

“‘Cause it feels like membering but I’m still in your tummy.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. “What else do you remember?”

“Mmm, well. You telling me about the war, lots of people sad. And how me being borned made the bad man go away.”

“Did I say how?” Things were losing distinction, getting hazy.

“When I was borned I brought a friend.”

“What kind of friend?”

“He has teeth like this.” She held her lips open with her fingers, like fangs. “And he looks scary but he isn’t.”

That didn’t exactly narrow it down. Ienzo set the girl down, gently. “I need you to think really hard. Who was this friend?”

She put her hand to her face, looking, for a moment, exactly like Demyx. “He did bad things. And he felt really sad about them, so he wanted to fix it. So when I got borned he did.”

“But what did he--what did he look like?” Like a toddler would be able to give him solid details.

Instead, her teal eyes got watery. “Daddy,” she said instead. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“It’s dark outside.”

“So you’re saying… if you’re born, then…”

“My magic goes boom!” She gestured with her tiny hands. “And then people stop hurting.”

Not much to work with.

“Friends helped us and then we pushed them all away, whoosh…” She pushed. “You member?”

Ienzo touched his forehead. He thought he almost did, but it was strained, through a veil of… time. “You’re showing me the future,” he said.

She clapped her hands together.

“In the future--he’s gone? Xehanort is--gone? The war is over?”

“You and me and daddy live with granpa and grandad in the big castle.”

Ienzo pressed a hand to his mouth. “Oh, gods.”

“It’s okay daddy. Don’t cry.”

“I’m not sad,” he told her honestly.

He reached down and drew his daughter into his arms.

---

Ienzo woke slowly. He felt warm all over, especially his scalp, and he knew without looking his hair was glowing. He rested a tentative hand on his belly. The future… the memory that had not happened yet. He gasped a breath. He shot out of bed and darted down the stairs.

Even, drowsing over his papers, jerked awake with a start. “What… Ienzo?” He snapped into awareness. “Are you--your hair --”

“Even, I can’t get rid of this baby.”

“What are you on about?”

“It was… she was showing me a vision . Of the future. Xehanort’s gone, Radiant Garden is back to normal. Apparently her birth… brings allies to the resistance.”

For a long moment, Even’s face was just blank, and then he said, “You were Forecasting.”

“You don’t think this is just some kind of dream?”

He got up and took a few shaky steps towards Ienzo. He placed his hands on his shoulders. “Your mother did the same with you,” he murmured, and his eyes were watering. “And it came true.”

Ienzo took a trembling breath. “So should I… should I really--”

“It shows you a future,” he said. “It’s not set in stone. You still have a choice, Ienzo.”

“But if she brings peace … how can I… not do that?” He thought of her little face, another wave of warmth breaking over him. “How could I--”

Even embraced him. “Alright,” he said. “Alright.”

---

Demyx arrived before they were due to head out. His expression was drawn, his face gray, and his hair looked like it had been styled more carelessly than normal. “I have to talk to you,” he said, as soon as Ienzo opened the door. “I had this dream--”

“About our daughter?”

He took a breath. “How did you--”

“I had one too. Come inside.”

The four of them sat in the living room. Aeleus had made them tea, but none of them drank it.

“It’s called… Forecasting,” Even said in an odd voice. “Often with very old bloodlines… like both of yours… the expectant parents will see… a vision of what the child’s life could be like. Who they’ll be. What they could… bring, to this world.  Like I told Ienzo, it’s not… set in stone, necessarily, but it’s… very likely to occur, what you saw. Your child will be very powerful--of that I have no doubt, whether they’re born eight months from now or years into the future.”

Demyx’s grip on Ienzo’s hand tightened.

“That kind of power… can turn the tide.”

“You said my mother was right when she dreamt about me. What did she dream?”

Even’s smile was small and sad. “That she wouldn’t be with you for very long. That you would be raised happily, by her brother, Ansem… until at which point you were separated. So that being said… what do you wish?”

Ienzo looked at Demyx. They held eye contact for a long time. Demyx’s eyes were watering. “I…” He swallowed. “I want her.”

Ienzo’s own emotions were rising. “I want her too.”

“But what about the… the money, and the… we’re so… we’re so young , I--”

“It won’t be easy,” Aeleus added. His own expression was wistful, stoic. “Especially considering as the pregnancy progresses, Ienzo, your power will only grow, become more noticeable. Essentially… a target on your back.”

“But if any of this is right, then… that will help , in a way.”

“It’d be harder to protect you.”

Ienzo felt a wave of guilt.

“But we are… willing, if this is what the two of you wish.”

Ienzo looked back at him again. Demyx just nodded, the tears in his eyes running over. Ienzo nodded too. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

[shaxori-fiendline-posts]

Blackbox Theater in Gehenna

Ahem.  I haven’t done this in a while so, bear with me.�� No, really, Bear, *grabs shirt hem*  I want to wander for a bit.  Take a walk with me down the tangents for a bit.  So, I’ve been working on my book.  My weird way of trying to put myself out there while exercising my mind and imagination again after being stuck in between real life in Malsheem and the inside of my head in Gehenna.  Trying to come up with a way I can dress up real life in order to understand what’s going on in a world where anything can happen.  I’m trying to make heads or tales of the patterns I think I see in the world around me.  Everything starts with a question.  And the question drops like a stone into the Astral Sea, sending out ripples of effect in everything.  But I can’t see all of the angles to understand where each ripple originated by myself.  I try, but when I do I feel like there’s always two sides of my personality warring for control over everything.  So, since you’re not only my singular follower on here besides a bot, you’re also the most science brained individual I know that is still willing to pat me on the head and say, “ok, I’ll suspend my disbelief in anything unexplainable by science and just believe for a little bit.”

So, here’s the question that started this particular tangent.  I’ve been trying to figure out how to use Lilly as an avatar to help me get my thoughts in line.  99.9% of this writing has been me reverse engineering my friends’ personalities into fictional characters that respond as they might have if we were role-playing the characters I created for them.  Jareth is a character, for example, that was once played by my buddy, Jimmy.  His explanation for Old Ones was nearly a direct quote as to how he described it to me when I was trying to get a handle on Lilly’s crazy.  I could have kissed him.  As soon as he explained it, something clicked in my head as I was trying to explain why Lilly is so fucked up.  Well, I thought I could keep that one locked up for a while and try to build up to it more, but I just can’t.  It feels like taking three steps backward in the writing when I do.  But it started raising more questions in my head, and I’ve never been good at juggling.  Questions started dropping out from between my fingers, sending out so many questions, I couldn’t keep up.  It’s gotten to the point as I’m trying to figure out how to tie off loose ends from earlier chapters without cheesing it (because I’ll fucking forget where I buried the leads and get lost in the fucking minefields again) that both Lilly and I are about to say fuck it, I’m going back to working in the toil and we’re going to do everything possible to forget we ever peeked at the last few pages of the book.  We spoiled the ending for ourselves and now we are in a constant state of hurry up and wait.  And we’re tired.  She’s pissed, I’m just defeated.  No, that’s not the right word.  Done.  Yeah.  Thankfully, Lilly is the part of my brain that never stops moving.  She’s constantly wandering down through the halls of the Library, (which looks like an MC Esher nightmare, BTW) pulling down boxes and picking through them to try and find all of the pieces of the puzzle to finally get out of my head.  And you know what happens when I start to hyper-focus of the pieces instead of looking at how they fit together.  Wooo Shiney happens entirely too much.  So, when I say I’m done, it’s not the depression talking, it’s the apathy warring with my reasonability.  When I say I’m done, I’m mean I’m done giving a shit.  I’m done trying to put my life on display in such a way that I can’t tell what tone of voice to read it in.  I can’t figure out who it is that I’m talking to.  I don’t know who is going to read it which is why I pinpointed a person that doesn’t exist in this world. Normally, I would try to motivate myself by saying “maybe.”  But, I’ve always known, just like every kid does, that “maybe” is really “no” in disguise.  Unless you get a solid yes and/or proof of validity, anything else is a “no”.  You get used to hearing all of the variations of “no” to the point where you expect it from everyone and when you do hear “yes” you immediately question the person’s level of trustworthiness.  Are they just fucking with me and, if they are, what are they getting out of it?  “You.  You want to be my friend?  Wait, why?  I’m a horrible individual.  I’m an asshole.  I’m actually proud of the fact that I really could give a shit about the vast majority of the population.  All I care about is me and mine.”  But my problem is I can’t stop adopting strays.  I try to put myself out there to draw in others like me and find the good ones to keep.  That’s why Jareth/Jimmy keeps lecturing me about my accidental families.  And then I look at the nest of weirdos I’ve created and, well, you’re married to one of them, you know what I’m talking about.  Like, I love them all, but they make my brain hurt sometimes.  “Yes, kids, I love you, now go play in the corner, Mommy has a lot of shit do and I’m starting to understand while some species of animals eat their young.”  I’m so thankful nature decided to take my ability to procreate without fertility treatments.  I have enough deviants to keep me amused, I do not need children.  At least with mine, I can hand them a pair of scissors and not have to wor... nevermind, I take that back.  I can feel the bullshit cough from here.  My point is, I’m a tech, I can wrangle the clowns and fix their chainsaws, but I do not have the energy to keep the rest of the circus in order at the same time.  The rest of the show has to fall to someone else.  That’s why I’m using D&D as a set for the stage.  When I try to build the world from scratch on my own, I have to try and make it unique enough to showcase my skills at descriptions, but I get lost in the descriptions and forget that I have to make sure the characters stay on track with the story through their interactions.  Using D&D gives me a static resource set to get a mental image of the world in which Lilly lives.  With the set already built, I can put down the tech belt and go run with the clowns to burn off some excess energy.  But I have to make sure Lilly is rounded out well enough not overwhelm the party.  Unfortunately, since the story is inspired by real life events and thought processes (somewhat, it’s D&D for fuck’s sake) I’ve reached the point where I’m going to have to do META ass shit in order to get past Act One.  After that, in real life, I have to find some source of income that doesn’t involve donating plasma to pay my cell phone.  I want to write.  I want to be creative.  I have a million and one ideas on things I could try, but I also know that I have to get out of Malsheem if I’m ever going to get to the Feywild for real.  And that takes coin because I have yet to figure out portal tech as a practical application.  That’s on the shelf marked “the geometry is wrong” in the “don’t go in there, it’s weird” section of the Library.  I need an adult to go in there.  I just scared myself in two different ways thinking about going in there alone, the first was the atmospheric drop in temperature and the second was the sudden realization that I tend to be smart enough to know better, but too dumb to quit.  I will open some box or book and, yeah.  I’m not allowed in there without supervision.  Ok, that started a ripple of potential hypnotherapy sessions.  Provided I could find someone actually capable of hypnotizing me. Anyway.  That’s right, the point.  Lilly is supposed to be my character, my way of telling my story through the filter of fantasy so I can make sense of it all. And I can’t stay stuck at my desk anymore, hoping and praying that’ll I’ll do something right this time.  So, I’m going to make sure she’s at a playable level and do some pick-up games with her when I can get time to myself to be able to play between working at a *shudders* normal job long enough to clean up my credit and get a place of my own somewhere.  Then, I’ll be able to reassess the situation without the continuous irritation of Dopple-Mom interruptions.  If I have to go back to the call-centers, I might be able to power through it like I did before.  I’m just going to have to watch out for the traps I fell into last time. But I’ll have to put the book on hiatus until I’m in a place of my own and can relax when I get off work enough to be able to think freely.  It won’t really gather any readers or foot-traffic on Royal Road while I’m working, but I’m ok with that.  It takes away the pressure of trying to build an audience while the book is still being written.  Granted, that would make it easier to transfer into an actual novel format once it’s completed and have a market waiting for release so I *can* write for a living.  But, hope in one hand and shit in the other, all you get is pink-eye.  I can’t control who sees my stuff.  I can’t control its reception or the opinions thereof that dictate word of mouth marketing.  When your success in a field is dependent on the reviews of your work by the general public, sometimes it’s better to just stop giving a fuck.  I’m not going to try and build an audience ahead of time anymore.  I’m just going to write and release chapters until I have to hit the hiatus button.  If the story dies because I can’t find the time or the motivation to write, it’ll just be added to the failed attempts pile.  Not the first, not the last.  Smart enough to know better, too dumb to quit, remember?  I’ll try again at some other point to write a story worth sharing.  It just won’t be inspired by real life.  Just straight fantasy so I have a place in my head I can visit that’s nice to hang out in for a change.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @aqua-ref!

Read on AO3

******

Give Me To A Ramblin' Fae

In the middle of winter, when the moon is heavy in the sky, dripping with milky light and offering, whole and raw, its' power, the Hale Pack gathers around the Nemeton, they dance and they sing, and they shift into their animal skeins to frolic, to chase each other with yipping howls and laughing barks.

Derek has Laura's throat held gently between his maw, and she whines at him to let go, but rumbles approvingly, because he doesn't often win these games of theirs; it is not a matter of low power, more of the target he chooses. The Alpha's heir will, after all, be more difficult to beat than the others. She nips at his ear playfully, urges him along, and they weave through the barren, wind-beaten trees, their paws soaked with snow-melt, muddying the crunchy ivory-fluff that chills the ground beneath them.

There's an undulating, calling, rejoicing howl from their mother that has them leaving a chestnut hare to its' frightened peace in order to return to her, to the Pack.

Through the branches, they can see the sky, all adorned in twilight, hosting, now, a parade of riders, their pandemonium an awe and a terror. Spectral beings ride black mares and stallions, ominous dogs of bared teeth and frothing spit and hideously haunting eyes are careening, entwining and twisting around toned legs and pristine hooves as the steeds gallop forward, heedless. Blackbucks and stags dash, their riders luminescent smoke and vicious intent. Creatures with starlight-encrusted, stained-glass wings, and horns which they blow to hail their passing, fly gracefully around the nocturnal horde, singing or shrieking, cavorting and cackling.

It's a dreadful, terrific sight, that streaks through the night sky, and when the Pack's howl breaks out, full-force, hopeful and evocative, every wolf lifting their song to the ghastly, ghostly peoples as they pass, some of those dragonfly, stardust folk descend, screaming and giggling, a gaggle of raucous temerity, as they gather the wolves in their airborne festivities, and launch them toward the procession.

The whimsical, urgent needs, and maddening power that surround The Hunt quickly seeps into the Pack, makes them drunk and giddy, all of them running with ancient spirits, wildlings, Fair Folk of every type.

Derek's lungs are stung by the rush, his blood electric with the adrenaline when an ephemeral, fey, svelte-lithe boy with bull's horns, skin like cream sprinkled with cinnamon, and mosaic wings that inspire the feeling of fertile soil and fields of growing, healthy, rain-soaked things, comes to him. His oak-silk curls are plaited with holly and mint, a leather-bound necklace hangs heavy around his long, dainty, breakable neck, a crescent moon-charm at the hollow of his throat, surrounded by crystal orbs and autumn leaf-charms, brass acorns and pine-cones, he wears nothing else, unashamed in his nudity.

"Hello," the boy says, bright and sweet, his voice like the delicate silk-dew mist of a cumulus cloud, and Derek feels himself tilt closer without even meaning to. "You're gorgeous. I wonder what you look like in your human form? Honestly, I wonder what everyone here looks like in their human forms. We all have one, you know?"

Honestly, no, he didn't, he was kind of caught up in the romanticism of it all.

All scents are clouded by the musk of wild, old magick, stained by an odd, dense-soil ecstasy, and a part of him, vivid and, for one, fanatic moment, overwhelming, wants to eviscerate the aroma The Wild Hunt carries, if only so he can learn what this boy might smell like.

"Everyone who sees us thinks we're malevolent or scary, but, honestly, dude, we're just escorting the spirits Grandmother Death didn't have the time or patience to get to to their respective homes. We've all still got day jobs—I mean, you have a day job, pretty wolfling that you are, don't you?"

Numbly, helplessly, and a little more sober, now, Derek nods.

The boy grins at him, crooked and terribly endearing, fire-light eyes sparkling in the dim, mist-fog, shadowed light.

"See?" He says, gesturing, "Even Odin's got one, Odin, the God of knowledge, inspiration, creative and intellectual pursuits, the dead, fucking road rage—that guy, the head honcho, the one at the head of this whole operation. Like, in this economy, where barely anyone has the Sight anymore, and the number of people left who believe are too few and far between, what else are we supposed to do? It's not like causing havoc and stealing things is going to garner us any good-will, man, so here we are, doing the good work, and then tomorrow we'll go home and agonize over our bills just like everybody else." The faerie heaves a sigh, before blinking and seeming to realize himself, his cheeks burn a vivid, enchanting crimson when a harassing, incredulous, exasperated wail sounds from above.

"Oops," he breathes, a nervous giggle edging in, "I am so not supposed to do that, and I've just been rambling at you, and—" the wail comes again, more pressing this time. The boy groans, eyelashes fluttering down in mortification. "Sorry, I'll see you later, maybe?" Fragile, paper-thin wings flutter, and bone-nimble fingers tangle in the fur at Derek's flank to help the faerie wade close enough to press a candied, chaste kiss to his wolven cheek.

He says, "I'm Stiles, by the way," and grins like he isn't aware of how dangerously beautiful that expression is, before he zooms away in a sweeping, upward glide.

Derek gets a small glimpse of another fae, donned in a flowing, powder-blue toga-dress, with moth-like wings and magma curls flowing down to her waist, admonishing Stiles exhaustively, before their speed, much more than the wolves and the steeds and the dogs, has them blurring out of sight, catching up to a cluster of swarming fae up ahead, too far to spy on any longer.

Derek tries to get his thundering heart to calm and wonders why he ever thought love at first sight was a superstitious, optimistic myth, if not an outright lie.

Days later, after all the Dead have been put to their proper rest, a few offerings of milk and cookies meant for 'Santa' were traded for faerie favors, and quite a few more rogue, feral creatures were stolen and re-sewn into ravens or crows or hunting dogs, of the ilk to sleep the whole year away, and only wake when The Wild Hunt, again, takes place—Stiles is trying, valiantly, to focus.

His mind keeps tracing back to eyes like stars winking to tenacious life, to obsidian fur and sinewy muscle, a warbling wolf-song that lilted like a lullaby, all hymn-hope, resounding howl, to the way sharp, ink-fluffy ears kept flickering to him, listening and curious and three shades shy of entranced. He doesn't know why he's so caught up on it, this is the sixth year he's been old enough to participate in The Hunt, and they have wolves with them every time, thousands of Packs from all of the world join them, so why was he so attracted, distracted, by this one?

What was so special about him?

Other than the, you know, sand-escaping-his-fingers, barely tangible, general everything.

Stiles sighs despondently, and Lydia, who's probably been talking about Important College Things, hits him upside the head promptly.

"A—ow!" Stiles rubs the back of his head, glaring balefully at her. Her hand retreats to flick her hair over her shoulder in one fluid, deflecting motion, as if to dissuade anyone who might've noticed her uncouth action from registering it as more than a figment of their imagination, nothing to see here, folks!

He loves her, he does, but some days he wants to strangle her.

Just a little.

"You were sighing again," she points out, lashes grazing her cheeks as she looks down at her book, flips the page flippantly, like studies on how mathematical algorithms affect neurology bore her. "It's starting to get annoying, Stiles."

"Shut up. It's not like I can even do anything about it," he laments, complaining even though he knows it'll only be a study in disappointment and masochism, at this point. "Who is he? where does he live? work? For all I know, I'm infatuated with some Turkish Lord who I won't even have the slightest chance of seeing again until next year."

Lydia snaps her book shut with a sound that manages to be both refined and abrupt enough to startle. "What on earth were you doing galavanting with the lower-tiers, anyway? We aren't supposed to talk to them, Stiles—"

"But, he was—"

"If he had been a ghost instead of a solid, you could've been lost to the spirit-tide, and you know The Hunt doesn't discern when it comes to a close—you could be on the other side of the Veil by now, instead of sitting here, fawning!"

She's heaving by the end of her rant, cheeks flushed, sea-glass eyes glittering angrily, and Stiles knows her fury is borne from worry, from a very real fear. He remembers his mother, how she was all love and sweet-tempered fire, how she gave coins to the more corporeal spirits, gleefully hugged and spun yarns and danced with all the riders, always careful of the spirit-tide, of getting caught in its' undertow, until she got sick, and couldn't remember to be.

Neither Stiles nor Lydia had been old enough to go, yet, and Stiles' dad was human. Lydia's grandmother, they think, tried to stop her, to save her, but ended up just as lost and mourned as she.

He feels guilt curdle in his chest and exhales heavily. "I'm sorry, Lyds, I am. I don't know why I did that, I'll—next year, I'll stay in the upper-tiers, like I'm supposed to," he inclines his head solemnly, reaches across the library table to hold both her hands in his, "I promise."

She squeezes his fingers, sniffs, her voice evaporated misty at the edges, "You damn well better, you idiot."

He offers her a sincere, sorrow-tinged smile, and tries to put the entire thing out of his mind.

It's New Year's Eve, and Stiles is exhausted, between studies and random research stints and trying to keep the Kelpies three doors down from killing and/or getting killed by the vampires that live in the apartment downstairs, he thinks he has every right to be. Still, though, Lydia put at least a quarter of her heart and soul into organizing this party, and if he hadn't come, he's sure she would've had him flayed.

So, here he is, sleep-deprived, delirious, eying the bar and wondering if getting drunk when all he's been living off of for the past three days is coffee, is at all a good idea. It isn't, it really fucking isn't, but...

But he's got nothing else to do, and tomorrow it'll be a new year, right? Might as well live a little.

Derek smiles briskly at the lady with a bird's nest of raven-black hair as he hands her her drink, and purposefully ignores the blonde at the end of the bar who's been whistling and snapping at him imperiously for the past fifteen minutes.

He's half tempted to text Cora and ask her what the hell she was thinking, pulling him behind the counter to fill in for her so she could go after the strawberry-blonde party hostess with a number and a cheap pickup line caught in her too-sharp teeth, because, yeah, he's got enough experience not to flounder (he'd found himself hiding from the rain in a drag bar while he was still in high school, and they let him hang out despite his age because he was a good enough cook that as long as he didn't touch the alcohol, they didn't care, and when you're in that sort of close-knit, street-smart gritty, overprotective Pack-like environment, it's impossible not to learn the tricks of the trade), but his customer service has always been shit.

With someone like Peter as an Uncle, he's capable of plastering on a smile and flirting a pretty lie with the best of them, he just doesn't fucking liketo. In fact, it's something he actively avoids unless lives are in danger.

Then a voice, one he remembers, all whispered silk-cotton dream-thread collecting raindrops in its' seams, starts murmuring a sugary melody in his periphery, and his eyes snap to its' source with a breathless, near frantic urgency.

And there he is.

Like Fate.

Like a fucking miracle.

He looks different, horns and wings gone, still with the wind-swept, earthy curls, though their holly-mint braids are nowhere to be found; dressed in a long-sleeved, charcoal gray shirt that cling to his lithe, agile-built muscles, an unzipped crimson hoodie layered over it, skin-tight jeans and ridiculous, neon-orange vans, but there's that leather-bound charm necklace, heavy around the length of his pretty throat, with a crescent-moon hanging just at the hollow, and it's him.

The rambling faerie he met on The Wild Hunt, absently humming a tune as he messes with his phone, patiently waiting for a bartender to notice him, at a college party on New Year's Eve.

The surreality of this is... not lost on him.

"Hello," Derek greets, sliding into the boy's- Stiles', if he remembers right- space.

"Oh, uh," he looks up from, and pockets, his phone, a little bashful, "I always thought you had to make eye contact to get, like, served, or whatever, but, um, hi?"

Derek tries to bite back a smile.

Fails.

"Hi," he repeats, and the boy blinks at him dumbly for a solid five seconds before just breathing:

"Wow. You're gorgeous."

And Derek can't help it, he barks out a laugh. "You said that last time."

"I did? Wait, I did? When?! I've met you?" he sounds outraged, on his own behalf, scandalized, even. "No," he denies, "no way, I would've remembered meeting someone like you and then doing something as stupid as calling you gorgeous to your face without any sort of filter—and, wow, smooth sailing, me. I am so sorry about that, by the way, color me extremely embarrassed, but. Yeah, no. No way in hell I've committed the same social faux-pas twice with the same person, I refuse to believe it."

Derek smirks, even as something warm and giddy and compelled sets up camp in his heart, with a kind of tenacity that says it'll be staying a long while.

"Well, I wasn't exactly a person at the time," he points out, "but I appreciated the compliment both times, Stiles, so you... really shouldn't worry about it."

"I—you—" Stiles sputters, freezes, mouth agape and molten-caramel doe-eyes very, very wide, before he seems to reboot. "You are kidding me," he says, feelingly, before pitching forward over the counter to grab Derek's face with his hands, searching his eyes intently.

Derek tries to be anything other than amused and endeared.

Fails, again.

"Wolfling," Stiles accuses, awed. "I didn't think I was ever going to see you again."

"Rambling fae," Derek muses, hushed, leaning further into Stiles' space even as he pushes the boy down into a bar-stool, because while he might not take offense, the other on-duty bartender, or, even, the party hostess, might. "Neither did I."

Stiles sucks in a very deep breath, and then spills out any number of tangential, spiraling questions, what's your name? Where do you live? Are you a bartender? can I have your number? I'd really like your number. Are you—

Derek crushes the rest in a kiss that tastes like sunlight and cherry-tart and ozone, Stiles melts into it with a helpless, keening whine, his spine curving up, shoulders opening, head tilting, whole body blooming like a flower, begging to be plucked, held, kept, known.

He answers what his fleeting thoughts will let him, mutters the words into Stiles' warm, slick-wet, receptive mouth, his name, that his Pack lives in town, that he isn't, but his sister is, and he's covering for her. With a drawn-out sigh, he does force himself to pull away, eventually.

Probably not soon enough, honestly.

"Take me out," Stiles says immediately, dazed, lips kiss-bruised enchanting, and then flushes that same, deep, candied, lascivious red as before. "Or. I mean. I want to date you. Can we go on a date? Not right now, obviously, but—"

"Yes," Derek grins, overwhelmed, blood champagne-effervescent, "yeah, I'd really like that."

Stiles exhales heavily, laughs, a little incredulously, shakes his head at himself, and then smiles, soft and marshmallow-fluffy up at him, "Awesome."

Derek begins to think that, maybe, he needs to give Cora a fruit-basket. Or, possibly, Odin, and that's... well.

That may well be the cherry on top of an incredibly strange, unusual, wonderful meeting.

[dailyaudiobible]

02/19/2019 DAB Transcript

Leviticus 7:28-9:6, Mark 3:31-4:25, Psalms 37:12-29, Proverbs 10:5

Today is the 19th day of February. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian, sounding a little more chipper than I feel. Jetlag is not my favorite, but welcome from the land of the Bible here in Israel. We’ve made it safe and sound and are getting all set up to take the journey around this entire land and tonight for the first time we’ll have our opening dinner, and everybody will get to see each other for the first time. I mean, lots people are on the same flights, that’s the thing of it, flights from all over are landing in the land of Israel today and everyone will be collected and we’ll all be together for the first time as a group tonight. So, thank you for your prayers over all of it. A lot of travel is happening today. Jet lag is being experienced today and there are a lot of logistics that are all to be put in place for this journey. So, thank you for your prayers and for the first time this year we will read the Bible from the land of the Bible, which will take us back into the book of Leviticus. We’re reading from the Christian Standard Bible this week. Leviticus 7:28 through 9:6.

Commentary:

Okay. So, in the gospel of Mark, Jesus is talking about agriculture, he’s talking about seedtime and harvest and planting and types of soil and then paralleling that with how people respond to the word of God. So, Jesus talked about a farmer who sowed a lot of seed and the seed itself was all uniformly good, right? Like the seed wasn't the problem. And the seed had been scattered evenly over the ground so that the dispersion wasn't the problem. However, after having done all of that, the hope of the harvest for the farmer had a lot more to do with the soil that the seed was planted in, right? The seed and the soil are equally important in the story revealing the collaboration that's required between the human and the divine in God's kingdom. And then Jesus kind of unpacks it, talks about the different kinds of soil that this seed fell into and then what happened to the seed because of the soil that it was planted in. So, I mean, we’re like a month…over a month and a half into our journey since the beginning of the year and we've been daily interacting with God's word and we've…you know...we've established a rhythm to do this every day for the rest of this year. And, so, the obvious poignant question for us is, what kind of soil our hearts are becoming? None of us don't want the harvest in our lives, right? We all want the harvest in our lives, but if the seeds only gonna be on the surface it's gonna get snatched away. If this seed is going to be planted in our hard and stony hearts there is nowhere for the word of God to take root, and if we’re distracted continually by worry or seduced into chasing any other number of desires than the soil of our heart is thorny and it's gonna choke God's word out. So, we’re about to take a journey all over the land of the Bible and it will be interactive and it will be fun and I we’ll have a good time and there’ll be lots of pictures posted and lots of conversation about what we’re seeing but since we’re right out in the front of this we can make this very poignant for ourselves. Whether we’re here or whether we’re doing this virtually, maybe it's time to tend the garden of our hearts. Like, maybe it's time to intentionally become good soil and not just say, “well, I got what I got”. I mean, the soil back on the other side of the ocean where I live in Tennessee, there's a lot of rock and there's a lot of building going on over there, a lot of subdivisions are being built. So, I’ve watched huge, you know, earthmoving machinery smash and pull out and smooth over rocky ground to make it suitable soil for building otherwise, you know, the builder or whoever the developer was to go, “well, the soils rocky, we can’t build anything here”. But instead they kind of tended it and made it what they wanted it to be so they could build on it. We have to tend the garden of our hearts. We have to maintain the soil of our hearts so that it's good and ready to receive the word of God and the seed that it plants in our lives so that it can be cultivated and become the fruit of the Spirit.

Prayer:

Holy Spirit, we invite You into that by first just taking an assessment of what kind of soil is in our hearts. And the truth probably is that we have all these kinds of soil in our hearts. There are hard places, there are stony places, there are thorny places, but there are good places too, and we want more and more of our heart to be good fertile soil so that we might produce a harvest of 30 60 or even 100 times as much has been planted. So, Holy Spirit show us how to cultivate the soil of our hearts. And we do this in part, by the way that we act and behave toward each other. So, give us an understanding and patient heart Father, we pray. In Jesus’ name we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, its home base, its where you find out what's going on around here.

Of course, what's going on around here is that we’re about to begin this is journey all around the land of the Bible and we’re here trying to get acclimated. It's a drastic difference when you’re moving eight hours into the future because that's enough time to get your days and nights mixed up and that is what I experience and I don't like it because I don’t like that disoriented feeling of not really knowing where I’m at and that takes a few days. Thank you for your prayers over that. I know I'm not the only one who experiences it. We’re all in this together. And, yeah, I've got my remedies. Every time I mention jetlag on the Daily Audio Bible I get some new ones. Some of them are good. I mean, I’ve tried lots of things, but the bottom line is at some point or another when you're just getting into the…into the shift your bodies like wait, it's supposed to be dark and it's light, we’re supposed to be sleeping but we’re awake, or vice versa and its just part of the journey. So, thank you for your prayers. Tonight, we will all have dinner together and it’ll the first time that we’re all in the same place at the same time and we’ll just set pray into and go over all that will be happening and then tomorrow morning we’ll be loading up and off we’ll go and I will be giving you updates every day about where we’re going, we’re seeing, we’re thinking about, we’re experiencing. And we just ask you to pray for us as we do this journeying. We’ll be leaving in the morning and heading into the wilderness.

Of course, there are other things going on at the Daily Audio Bible at dailyaudiobible.com. The Prayer Wall lives in the Community section. And if you need prayer or if you want to pray for your brothers and sisters, that’s a really good place to reach out. All of our social media channels can be found in the community section of dailyaudiobible.com. This is where we will be posting videos and photographs etc. about the journey and what we’re seeing and experiencing as we’re seeing and experiencing it. So, if want to follow along there. In a few days, this weekend, I believe this is scheduled for Saturday and I'll get all…I’ve gotta actually get a little bit beyond this jet lag and kind of look up all the different time zones and blah blah blah but we will be broadcasting live once we arrive at the sea of Galilee, and that is always a fun experience because we can take questions from brothers and sisters all over the world who are kind of going on this trip virtually, kind of bring you right in with us where we are at the sea of Galilee. So, I'll be mentioning that as we get a little bit further.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. There is a link, it lives on the homepage at dailyaudiobible.com. Thank you for your partnership, profoundly and humbly.

If you have a prayer request or comment, there is a number you can dial, 877-942-4253 is that number.

And that’s it for today. Signing off for the first time from the from the land of Israel. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hey everybody this is Pelham from Birmingham, from Alabama calling. I’m always calling in for myself, it’s always selfishness and I’m working on that. I’m sorry. There’s so many people that I pray for on the line that call that come through. I forgot your name, soccer player that’s gonna be like standing like he’s on the cross every time he scores a goal, the young man that’s waiting to find a club to hire him to get him recruited. Praying for that guy. I’m praying for so many different women going through so many different things. I’m calling today because…I miss my wife. It’s Valentine’s Day. I haven’t talked to her in almost 2 months. She hasn’t said a word to me and she called today, she called this morning. I don’t know what to do. She won’t listen to me. She thinks that the God that I worship is not the right God. She thinks that we serve a different God, that she believes in a different God than me. I don’t know what that means. There’s one God and she knows that. I don’t understand. Please, you all pray for my family, pray for the Morris family and Anderson and Molly and Pelham. Thank you.

Hello Daily Audio Bible, my name is Kevin and I’m reaching out for support as I embark on my quest for a righteous life in the name of the Lord. I feel I have many sins to repent for and I am coming back into my faith after many years away from it. In my 20s __ had kept in contact with the Lord but only through spirts of troubled times. And I’m just calling for support as make my way back into this life and the life God has called upon the. I’ve struggled with the thought that I’d made a family without marriage and I’ve struggled with a past addiction of alcohol and the destruction it caused upon me and others. I hope the Lord will forgive me and I pray to stay in the narrow path He has. May the wisdom of God follow me. Lord keep us safe. Thank you.

Hi guys this is Tito Ramirez again calling from Southern California. I was just calling…I was listening to the community prayer line and I was just drawn to call in. I love you guys so much, and that prayer line is so amazing. I listen to it a lot just like Slave of Jesus, you know, when I commute back and forth and stuff in the car. And Rebecca from Michigan, I know you called a while back asking about how it is that our relationship with the Lord, God’s relationship with the church is like marriage. And I was listening today and I’m not sure what the ladies name was but she called in and was tearful and sad because she was going through a difficult time in her marriage where she had been betrayed and her husband was a sex addict and it sounded like they were trying to work through it but there was a lot of pain and a lot of hurt. And this came at the same time when we were listening to Brian read to us about the children of Israel betraying God in the wilderness and worshiping the calf and the amount of hurt. And God, God kind of, you know, the kids that I treat always say they kind of wore it, He kind of just exposed His emotion and His hurt. And I think that’s one way. And I think that as we go through the Bible and we learn more about God and how He responds and how He actually feels when we do certain things we can understand more about how His relationships are like, you the relationship of a parent and child or a relationship of a marriage with the church. And, you know, just think that how much God loves us when you hear somebody hurt like that, like she was hurting. I always think like, okay, you’re not alone, God knows that or Jesus knows that. It’s the hurt of betrayal and it makes me want to be better because I love Christ and I don’t want to hurt Him like that. I don’t want to hurt God like that. If God loves us perfectly I don’t want to betray that. And, so, I hope that helps to shed some…

Hi, DAB this is Kathleen in Mount Zion Illinois and I’m just calling in for Much Afraid who, I just heard your message on…today is February 15th and you just couldn’t give us a lot of detail on what to pray about. And anyway I just first of all want to thank you for the service to the Lord that you have been doing for the past 15 years there in an Asian country, in a Buddhist country. I can imagine the opposition that you face every day. Whether physical or spiritual, I can just imagine. And you are saying…you weren’t able to really say what was the issue, but it sounded like you are having some spiritual battles. So, I just wanted to let you know that I am praying for you. In fact, let’s just pray right now. Dear Lord Jesus, please give strength of mind and body to Much Afraid, that she can call us another time with her other name that she had mentioned. She said I should Overcome. Lord Jesus I just pray that you give her strength. Whatever battles she is facing just pray that the whole body of DAB listeners right now, thousands and thousands throughout the world pray throughout the world pray. We pray right now for Overcomer, for Much Afraid who will be overcomer and pray that she will strengthen her and thank you again for her heart of a missionary that What she has done I admire that so much…

Hi everyone at Daily Audio Bible, my name’s Megan, I am in London. __ to be calling, this is my first ever call. I first started listening just towards the end of last year but then I decided to restart everything on the 1st of January. Basically, the only reason I’m able to call today is, I, unfortunately had a migraine earlier and was sent home early from work. And its weird how God works in mysterious ways. It means I’ve managed to come home, I’ve got the house to myself for a couple of hours. I was listening to the prayers on the way home and already my head is feeling tons better. So, yeah, prayer is powerful. I can’t quite remember his name, but I think it was something along…Christ is the Light or The Light or The Light of Christ. You called in a couple of weeks ago and you’ve been in my thoughts ever since and I think you’re having a really, really tough time to say the least, but I want you to know that I’ve been praying for you every day and, well, I don’t know if things are better for you yet, but if they’re not I just want you to know God is with you, we’re all with you and I hope you feel His presence and the strength that He gives you. And I’ve got a request myself. Unfortunately, my cousin is estranged from her mother. She’s currently living with my own parent’s. I don’t live there anymore and __ and everything, but it’s really having a really strong impact on everyone. I’m not going to go into the details, it’s not my story to share but I know it’s kind of breaking up everyone’s hearts. So, if you could just pray for them. I know there are some good things coming out of it. I mean I’ve managed to reconnect with my cousins who I haven’t been out to see for years and that, just to be honest, if it weren’t for this whole situation then I probably wouldn’t have found this app. So, I am grateful to the Lord...I mean…wouldn’t it…

[thekytchensynk]

Ain’t No Picnic (3/9)

Summary: They were just supposed to head over to the island real quick, just to see what was going on. After all, if pirates were trying to ambush and kill the Straw Hat crew, how could Coby NOT go? And how could Helmeppo let him go alone? It should be simple enough, but nothing can be taken for granted in the New World, and when things go awry, Helmeppo finds himself separated from his captain on an island chain full of pirates who probably won’t be too happy to see a Marine if their paths cross.Oh yeah. And one of those pirates is the infamous “Surgeon of Death,” Trafalgar Law…

Warnings: Occasional strong language

Read it on AO3 

__________

Walking across the islands hadn’t gotten any easier after the trip through the underwater tunnel. If anything, the new area seemed a little thinner, with less solid ground and more areas that were open to the underlying lily pads.

Helmeppo picked his way from spot to spot with a care that left him lagging behind the pirate. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he envied that sort of cool, detached air Law had. Helmeppo strove for that sort of nonchalance, but he knew he didn’t pull it off half so well. He felt reasonably sure that Law had no more idea where they were and how to get back than he himself did. But somehow the guy carried himself with an assurance that made him think maybe, just maybe, he was wrong.

The “island” was generally one of the flattest places Helmeppo had ever been, which mired them down among the stalks and made it difficult to see very far in any direction, leaving him feeling like they were walking around in circles. The ground remained treacherous, flimsy and prone to giving out underfoot. And furthermore, around here at least, there were ropy vines from some other kind of plant lying here and there across the ground. He guessed the lack of trees left them very little to actually cling to in a place like this.

“Where are you going?” Helmeppo chanced.

Law kept walking, and at first he thought the guy wasn’t even going to answer. But after a few more steps, he said, “The shore. We weren’t in the water that long. We should be able to see the main island from there.”

“Oh.” Well, that made sense. “And then we-”

His question died in his throat as up ahead, Law gave a weird flail, uncharacteristically uncool from what he had seen, and then just … disappeared.

Helmeppo came to a complete stop for a second -- what just happened? But even as his mind tried to figure out what happened -- had he slipped? Fallen in the water? -- his body started moving again. He found himself scrambling up the little mound of roots toward where he’d last seen the pirate. Is this my fault for distracting him? No sign of him. Which was odd because, again, there wasn’t a lot to this island.

As his foot came down on a little clear area close to the spot, he felt it suddenly slip out from under himself.

No. Not slip.

The world upended dizzyingly, a swirl of leaves and light, and he hit the ground hard on his back. But he hadn’t stopped moving. He had just enough time to register that something had wrapped around his right ankle and was yanking him along the ground at startling speed. Then the world upended again, the light winked out abruptly and the cold water of the Grand Line closed over his head once more.

Shit!

The rush of the water past him nearly yanked his weapons out of his hands, and did tear the visor from his face. That didn’t make much of a difference, not down here. Above him he could see the dwindling spot of sunlight receding, but around him the water lay murky and impenetrable. He could barely make out the massive stalks of the lily pads all around him, and below, only darkness. No sign of who or whatever was pulling him to the depths.

Gotta … stop.

Gritting his teeth, Helmeppo tried to swipe at whatever held him with one of his kukri, but the rush of the water as he got dragged deeper kept him from getting a strong, clean hit. Is this thing dragging me all the way to the bottom?

As though triggered by the thought, his descent began to slow. The half-light this far down gave him a dim view of the surroundings.

If he were on land he would have shrieked.

A sort of murkiness had settled into the water here, like silt had gotten stirred up. The effect was rather like fog, only underwater. The forest of stalks had also been supplemented by a whole mess of vines, snaking through the darkness and in and out of one another like tangled yarn. Mostly it looked like just a big mess, but here and there, the end of one of the vines would poke out of the mess.

And on some of the exposed ends, like overripe fruit, hung bodies.

Despite the situation, he took the scene in for a few seconds in horrified fascination. A bunch of the bodies looked fresh -- he couldn’t see faces in the darkness, but they had full silhouettes and regular proportions. Fresh catches from today’s battle? Others looked like balloons, distended and bloated and bobbing on the end of their vine tethers. Still others had begun to disintegrate. As he watched, a drooping arm came loose from one of the corpses and began its long fall to the sea floor below.

Where it’ll fertilize the lily pads. I guess plants this big don’t want to count on the ocean’s bounty.

But now that the downward rush had ended, it was the work of a moment to slice himself free -- from another vine, he saw now. Yes! Now, gotta get back up, gotta get…

Wait.

He looked around one more time, and caught sight of that flashy coat off to his left. Helmepopo swam over to where Law hung limp. Devil fruit users. The guy might be a monster on land, but when he hadn’t been able to get free quickly enough, the sea took her due. Hooking one arm under the pirate’s arm, Helmeppo slashed him free as well and started swimming as hard as he could for the surface.

The sheer depth made it hard to judge how far they were from the surface, and yanking another person behind him wasn’t making this any easier, but Garp had been in the habit of some rather intense training, and swimming had definitely been included. There was the time he and Coby had been thrown off the back of a ship at full sail for disappointing Garp in a sparring match. He’d promised to let them on the ship if they could catch up to it. That hadn’t happened, but they had kept it in sight enough to drag themselves ashore at the port it reached several hours later. And there were other, even more applicable moments of training…

An involuntary shiver went over him. He wasn’t entirely a stranger to being plunged into the depths of this terrifying ocean.

A tug at his ankle yanked him out of the memory before he could get too lost in it. On instinct more than conscious thought, he sliced through the vine before it could pull them back down again.

And so it went. Lungs screaming, he did his best to pull for the surface, stopping every once in a while when the plants came at him again. Keeping his weapons firmly to hand made things tougher, but he didn’t dare let them go. His haki didn’t help, since they were just plants -- nothing to sense really. But on the bright side, the plants weren’t thinking creatures, and that meant they came slowly, without guile, and that made them easy to fend off. And at last the spot of light grew larger, looming just overhead, and he broke the surface into sweet, sweet air.

No time to take a break.

He heaved, bracing one elbow on the side of the hole and using the other arm to haul the terrifying pirate guy partway onto land. Dragging in a huge lungful of air, he heaved again, trying to shove the dead weight of the pirate fully onto the dry land. Or whatever you called these vegetative islands. His arms felt leaden and the guy in his sodden coat felt like he weighed a ton, but Garp didn’t tolerate quitters.

Just as he finished this task, he felt something coil around his ankle once more. For just a moment he hesitated, gulping a little more air. As it pulled, he dug one of his kukri into some nearby stouter ground, holding himself upright. Just a little more, then I’ll cut this and get out…

Another one coiled around the same ankle. Then another, around the other ankle.

How many of these things WERE there?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another of the vines poke out of the water, questing up onto the shore after Law, though not nearly as energetically. Shit. It at least seemed to be having a harder time finding the still man than Helmeppo, who kept trying to kick free. But that wouldn’t last long -- the guy was barely out of the water. If he goes in, I haven’t got the strength to drag him back up again.

Gripping his anchor tighter, he lashed out with his right hand, severing the end of the vine. That one peeled back into the water, but another one reared up out of the water, moving more quickly than the others, not at Law, but at him, at his throat. He got a hand up -- not fast enough to cut it, but enough to intercept it. The tendril wrapped around his wrist instead, and for a brief moment, Helmeppo could clearly see the idiotic enemy that he heartily hoped he was not going to die to. It looked so innocent -- about the width of his thumb, with a number of little curled bits coming off the main vine and sets of wide, thin leaves that mostly lay plastered against the stem.

Then all of them yanked in unison, forcing his right arm underwater and nearly jostling him loose from the planted knife. His fingers ached as he strained against the drag. Thank goodness Garp couldn’t see him in trouble in a fight against a plant. How he’d laugh...

Of course, Garp would also probably love this place for training.

Well, there was no avoiding it. Helmeppo was trying, but the downward pull was too heavy. He wasn’t going to be able to save himself from this situation. He needed a slightly different one.

Steeling himself, he wrenched the knife loose and plunged once more into the murky water.

The good news was, they didn’t drag him down any faster for the numbers. The bad news was, it seemed they had decided he was well and truly trouble. He could see more of the vines looming through the water, and he used the knife in his free hand to drive them back before cutting his other hand loose. Overhead the light dwindled again.

Seriously, this would be one hell of an embarrassing way to die.

But there wasn’t time to focus on that. The ever-dimming light made the vines harder and harder to see. If he wasn’t careful, they’d overwhelm him, and he’d be just another meal for the root system far below.

And he couldn’t let that happen. His pride couldn’t stand it, if nothing else.

The tendrils reached for him from every direction. That was the bad news. The good news was, they didn’t seem to be pushing up past him, toward the air. Toward the pirate. So now he just had to take care of himself. Still not exactly one of his strong suits, but he was getting better at it.

The vines weren’t any faster -- they seemed to have a top speed, thankfully -- so the only problems were the sheer volume and the poor lighting conditions. He cut himself free, fended off the first onslaught of attackers, then reached down and thumbed off his shoes. He felt a sense of regret as they disappeared down into the darkness, but a couple of the vines went after them instead of him. Plus, his bare feet made his kicks feel far more powerful and precise. Shoulda done this the first time. But somehow, it was easier to focus this time, even though he already felt the limited air burning his lungs and making his head swim a bit.

Turning back toward the surface, he turned on the speed as much as he could. But rather than keeping his eyes upward, he was looking down, keeping an eye out for more reaching vines. The posture didn’t exactly help him sprint to the surface, but it did at least let him easily pick off the vines as they loomed from below, a seemingly endless supply of them. If not for the lack of air, this would be a cakewalk.

It didn’t even occur to him that they might use the darkness until something wrapped around his neck and upended him, resuming dragging him to the depth. A few precious bubbles escaped his mouth, rolling past his face and up toward the open sky.

You idiot. If you die here, on this personal side-trip, Coby’s never going to forgive himself.

He had been thrown off kilter by the attack, the darkness of the vast ocean below filling his vision. Blindly he tilted his head to one side, hooking the vine with his knife on the second try. It cut cleanly -- just as another one caught him at the waist, without a pause in the descent.

Coby believed Straw Hat would become king of the pirates. Helmeppo thought it could happen, and figured if someone had to find the One Piece, it would be cool if it were someone he’d had a personal brush with. But in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t his concern.

He tried to make a cut, but it seemed like the vines had gotten … smarter? It wasn’t a loop around his waist, but two of them, twining together across his back. The ends disappearing out into the murk. He made a wild swing, but the angle sucked and he missed entirely.

But there was one thing Helmeppo believed -- thanks to his father, maybe he believed it more than anyone. The marines had so much power, and the focus of that power depended on the person at the top. Axe-Hand Morgan, or Captain Nezumi, had been allowed to act as they had because Sengoku’s focus was on the will of the Celestial Dragons, not the safety of the people. And the pitiless justice of their current Fleet Admiral threatened to create a pitiless world around them. If they got adequate results, there might still be a place for men like Morgan and Nezumi under him.

More vines loomed -- how many were there? Another caught around his neck, and he cleared this one too, but when he tried to flip out from under the one along his back, more caught his legs. At least the movement did slip him free of the one he’d been trying to slip -- it slid up to the back of his neck, then over his head, catching briefly in his hair and yanking his head a little to one side.

The marines needed leadership that would prevent people like his father from gaining power, or rein them in if they did. Men more like Ripper and less like Morgan. But most of the best people in the chain of command either didn’t have the chops for it, or they’d never get the position because they’d ruffled too many feathers.

The vines kept piling on, a physical weight in the water even without their inexorable downward pull. He swung backward, trying to cut free of a few more, only for another to wrap around him, pinning his left hand to his side. He tried pulling it loose, but the vine tightened painfully, forcing another stream of bubbles between his lips.

Coby could do it. The world would be better if Coby DID do it. But he probably wasn’t going to do it if his personal side-trip ended up getting someone killed. He’d start second-guessing. Aiming smaller. Being more careful.

He turned his blade to one side and swung, catching one of the vines and spinning himself. He could feel the tugging as all the offending vines bound up together.

If that happens, it won’t be because of me.

His free hand swung down, slicing through the entire twisted mass. The water around him filled with the slackening pieces of the vines that had bound him, and he used the momentum to get himself reoriented toward the light. He was off like a shot, shedding bits of the cut plant matter as he went.

Air, he needed air!

The light overhead loomed, deceptively close, deceptively far. He shrugged more of the cuttings free, letting them fall to hopefully distract their brethren. The burning need to breathe and the equally deep need to not lay his death at his friend’s feet drove him up, up and toward that light. Just a little more … a little more …

[zyzzyva1936-blog-blog]

“Lemma the Librarian - The Last Dance”

Published: 14 April 2018*

http://www.mcstories.com/LemmaTheLibrarian/index.html

“The Last Dance” brings an end to the episodic nature of the series. Everything from here on out is welded quite tightly into the main plot - or, rather, the main plot constitutes what happens in the last three stories. Spoilers for “The Last Dance” from here on out. What seems like a straightforward get-the-book smash-and-grab (which involves Lemma and Iola going undercover in a harem, because @midorikonton knows which side her bread is buttered on) turns into the return of fairy murdergoblin “Red” for his third and final confrontation with Lemma. Red loses, although mostly thanks to Iason and Rhoda and Rhoda’s Machamp rage-demon Sonneillon. (Rhoda being, of course, the person Lemma used the ghost last time to call for.)

Lemma’s desire to be enslaved is something she’s been dealing with, more or less successfully, up until this point, but it’s something Iason and Iola don’t actually know about yet. That reticence is now coming back to bite her in the ass. The most important conflict in this story isn’t the fight against Red, or Lugal’s** magic clothes; it’s between Lemma and Iola over what the right course of action while trapped in the palace is. Lemma wants to give in, of course, but Iola’s experience with mind-control has been a lot more traumatic than Lemma’s, and she has a very strong personal/cultural “go down fighting” ethos, and she doesn’t seem to have this particular kink on any level anyways. We were reminded just last story of all of Iola’s trauma around the whole magical mind-controlled sex thing. But unlike that time, Lemma, for strategic reasons, doesn’t feel like she has to room to let Iola do her own thing. So she doesn’t just go along with the enchantments, she actively throws her magical weight behind glamouring Iola too. Iola doesn’t know the actual reasons Lemma did this, but I’m not sure it’d make a difference anyways: she would understand it, correctly, as just as awful a betrayal either way.

The party - now up to four with the addition of Rhoda - is off to Hattush to find the last, most apocalyptic book, and it’s all very dramatic. But what sticks with me the most about the end is Iola’s refusal to tell Lemma everything’s ok.

*Look, it was supposed to be out this week, but the EMCSA (my canonical reference for links and dates) is on a one week break, I’m travelling next week, and its been posted to Tumblr now. Also it’s been burning a hole in my drafts folder for nearly a month now. ;P

**His death at the hands of Red is a little abrupt, but he’s enough of a controlling jerk I can’t brink myself to feel too sorry for him. Plus, you know, dying abruptly is a peril of kingship. (If Red had murdered, say, poor Simta, I’d be a lot angrier; but Jenny seems to have learned her lesson since the Vamp!Brea business***.)

***Yes, I’m still mad. ;P

When The Fuck Are We? 🤷

For the first time, we’re further back in time than the Bronze Age Collapse! “Possession with Intent” is set in Khemeth, which is clearly K•m•t, Egypt*. Ancient Egypt is one of those things everyone at least knows a little about** so I’ll focus on two slightly more obscure points.

The first is Iason’s reference to Khemeth being “the breadbasket of the Inner Sea”, which is both true and false in an interesting way. Egypt, being spectacularly fertile, essentially one-dimensonal, and laid out on a lazy, easily navigable river, is indeed just about the optimum imaginable setting for extracting massive food surpluses with ancient technology and governance. But it wasn’t a big export from Egypt (Egypt’s main ancient export was papyrus, thanks to its ecologically-enforced monopoly). Rather, it was mostly used to pump up Egypt’s own population, and in particular the showpiece capital cities such as Memphis, Thebes, or Alexandria. In the ancient world, having an unnecessarily - nay, infeasibly - large capital was a point of pride, which is where Egypt’s actual role as a breadbasket comes in: after it lost its independence in 30BCE, the Romans told Alexandria to get stuffed and began exporting Egypt’s wonderful easy grain surpluses to Rome, instead***. But of course, there’s not much here to imaginably suggest that we’re in the Roman Empire, timeline-wise.

Which brings us to the other point: the party being around for the invention of pyramids is obviously just for the joke, but even discounting that Egypt is old. The usual comparison is to note that when Augustus began redirecting the Egyptian grain surplus to Rome, the pyramids at Giza were already older than Augustus is now. The Egyptian state that survived the Bronze Age Collapse was the already declining New Kingdom, third of the traditional old/middle/new kingdoms division of ancient Egyptian history; it’s the heir to a polity stretching back into the 31st C BCE. Egypt is old. 

“The Last Dance” takes us to the one city-dwelling society even older than Egypt. Lagasch/Lagash is a Sumerian town, and Sumer (the south end of Mesopotamia, so modern-day south-central Iraq) has recognizable cities all the way back into the fifth freakin’ millennium BCE, and a historical record stretching patchily into the late fourth. Lagash ceased to exist as in independent city-state in the late third millennium*****, so about as long before our stop in Etruria as that was before Mercia, or Mercia is before the present day (and this story doesn’t seem to be taking place at the end of Lagash’s time as an independent polity, either). Based on some truly shoddy historical research******, we might slap this with a date of 2500 BCE - old enough to actually start getting close to the invention of the pyramids.

Sumerian, like Etruscan, is a language that seems to be unrelated to every other known language. (Before you come up with a brilliant theory that will revolutionize ancient history - no, they don’t seem to be related to each other, either.) Unlike Etruscan, we have such a huge corpus of text that we can translate it fairly reliably. (It helps that Sumerian remained in use as a record-keeping language for centuries after it had stopped being spoken - rather like Latin in Medieval/Early Modern Europe.) I’ve already mentioned the problems with king lists and such, but one of the great things about Mesopotamia is that unlike the logistical records of Mycenae, or the glorifying propaganda of Egypt, we have all of that and also preserved letters, and that lets us look so much further afield into the culture, you don’t even know. We even have recognizable preserved jokes: a regional administrator writes the central palace complaining that his requests for supplies to repair a dangerously deteriorating wall have been ignored, and it’s going to fall over and hurt someone. He demands supplies again, “and if you can’t send those at least send a doctor”.

Also, despite what Neal Stephenson will tell you, Sumerian is not glossolalic and you can’t use it to mind-control people.

*Look, you try transliterating Coptic into Latin characters! Like its distant relatives the Semitic languages, Coptic is based around consonantal root-words, into which vowels are slotted to make verbs, adjectives, and so forth. It makes for somewhat awkward transliterations.

**He says, and then panics trying to figure out how much people who aren’t actually historians have read about ancient Egypt. Tutankhamen’s weird Sun cultist dad is common knowledge, right?

***Rome’s peak in the Augustan period at a couple of hundred thousand, maybe a million****, was almost entirely on the back of the annona, a massive subsidized bread ration distributed to the Roman civic populace, and supplied in large part by Egypt. (It’s not terribly comparable to modern food stamps or other social welfare; in an ancient context, it’s more like spiking the football.) The population cratered between then and the burned-out husk the Goths and Byzantines squabbled over in the 6th C CE, but not because of the “fall of Rome”. Rather, the 4th C CE founding of Constantinople and the redirection of the Egyptian grain surplus there (so the new capital would bulk up to an appropriately prestigious population) was what really did it for Rome; and all of that happened when the Roman Empire was still riding high. The state of Rome was closer before and after the Visigoth sack than either was to Augustus’ city of marble. 

****The brilliant if wildly opinionated historian Colin McEvedy had a great turn of phrase arguing for 250,000. (He has a great turn of phrase for everything, you should read him.) After laying out the more archaeological arguments about land use and suchlike, he notes that the one solid literary record for the annona we have, around the time of Augustus, gives a little less than a quarter of a million rations, and “who ever heard of a dictator who put a smaller figure on his largesse than he needed to. If [Augustus] had fed a million Romans he would have said so.” 

*****We can peg it to exact years relative to related dates - the Mesopotamians were pretty through chroniclers, so we know how long kings ruled, in what regnal year they went on what campaign, and so forth, but they’re floating around in a little bit of a void. There are a couple of different possible chronologies depending on which recorded astronomical events you make line up with which calculated astronomical events.

******To wit, googling “Lagash king list dates” and looking for names that resemble “Lugal”. My historiography prof just shuddered and doesn’t know why.

~

Next time: the thrilling climax! Oh, man, does Lemma do some climaxing.