#jem would believe him but

[from-beyond]

Keevan/Remata’Klan thoughts plaguing my mind tonight

[icyminghao]

(pretty) hungry

pairing: minghao x gn!reader genre: fluff, drabble, established relationship word count: 0.6k warning(s): mentions of food

summary: minghao attempts to flirt with you in chinese, but ends up getting extremely shy when you confront him to translate whatever he said for you.

from the universe of i don’t understand (but i love you), you nailed it! and a little sweet, but can be read as a standalone.

inspired by jem carstairs from the infernal devices by cassandra clare!

“Baobei*, ni hao piao liang**,” Minghao randomly pipes up, breaking the silence that loomed over the both of you in your weekly reading session.

You look up from your book, ears perking up at the sound of Minghao speaking in his native tongue. “What does that mean?”

There’s a pause. Minghao seems taken aback. You quirk a curious brow at him.

“It means I’m hungry. Let’s go get some food,” Minghao places the book he was reading down on the coffee table before getting up and walking towards you.

You would have believed his translation, if not for the fact that his ears were tinged with the deepest shade of red you’ve ever seen.

Minghao extends his hands for you to grab onto to get up, and you withhold a giggle at how hard he’s trying to hide the blush slowly creeping up his cheeks. You willingly grab onto his hands and lift yourself up, a teasing smile appearing on your endeared expression.

“It means ‘I’m hungry’? I could use it on Junhui the next time we meet, show him how good of a teacher you are,” you smile, eyes focused on his reaction. “Baobei, ni hao piao liang.”

“You can’t tell Junhui that.” Minghao replies immediately. You don’t know how it’s possible, but Minghao only gets redder as he practically squirms under your gaze, looking down at his feet to avoid your eyes. You simply grin wider at how cute he’s being, all because of a few simple words from his native language that he’s refusing to translate for you.

“Why not?” you feign innocence, lowering yourself a little so you could make eye contact with his lowered head. “It’s a pretty useful phrase, isn’t it?”

Minghao sighs, lifting his head up. His face is completely red now. “Well, yes, but it can only be used in specific contexts.”

“Specific contexts?” you raise a brow at Minghao, leaning closer to him. “Do enlighten me, Hao.”

“You can just Google it, y/n,” Minghao presses his lips into a thin line, obviously trying to avoid the topic, “what do you feel like eating?”

Unfortunately for him, you do not give in easily.

“But Hao,” you whine, removing your hands from his to shake his shoulders for dramatic effect, “why would I need to ask Google when I’ve got you?”

You stop shaking his shoulders after a while, moving to cup his face in your hands instead. “What does it really mean? I promise I won’t laugh.”

Minghao’s eyes widen. “How did you know it doesn’t mean ‘I’m hungry’?”

“That’s because you taught me that phrase before, silly. Your excuse sucked from the beginning,” you giggle, booping his nose with your finger before going back to rest your hand on his cheek.

Minghao sighs, reaching up to rest one hand over yours, resigning himself to his fate. “It means you’re really pretty, love.”

Now it was your turn to be flustered. Your hands on his cheek stiffened just a little bit, clearly not expecting the words that came out of Minghao’s mouth so easily. Your gaze fell on everything else but Minghao, and he chuckles in amusement.

“What’s wrong, Baobei?” Minghao teases, leaning closer towards you.

You lightly punch his chest in mock frustration. “You can’t just say stuff like that out of the blue!”

“Well, you were the one who pushed for me to tell you what it meant,” Minghao retorts playfully, smile growing impossibly wider. You huff, and Minghao reaches to take your hand in his.

“Okay, let’s finally go eat, hm?” Minghao smiles softly, turning to lead you towards the front door.

“Wait!” you call after Minghao, and he stops in his tracks before turning to you with a confused expression.

“Ni hao piao liang.”

Oh, if only you took a picture of his stunned, absolutely flustered expression to keep forever (and maybe use as blackmail). You guess you’d just have to keep the image in your memory.

*: Baobei (宝贝) — Chinese term of endearment for “baby” or “love”.

**: Ni hao piao liang (你好漂亮) — “you’re really beautiful/pretty”.

a/n: i love hao sm can u tell (also i may or may not have written this bc of that weibo live earlier omg minghao needs to stop like rn.)

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @slytherinshua @xomingyu @pepperonidk @belladaises @tastymintchocolate @dahliatopia

masterlist

[bahrtofane]

just your luck to have your favorite study spot taken, even if he’s cute, you’ve decided you’re enemies now. jude thinks other wise

word cout - 800+

watch it - puff fluff and silliness

-----

5.43 pm, 4th floor library. partly cloudy but pleasant early october day. not cold enough just yet for snow but chilly enough for cute sweaters. 

halloween is just around the corner, then thanksgiving. winter break is so close ! life is good. great even. smooth sailing. you have a celebratory donut from the cafe downstairs in one hand, and chai in the other. a little treat for the exam you just finished. 

you hum a song aimlessly under your breath as you maneuver around students and staff to get to your place. 

it’s a hidden jem. up on the top floor, allll the way back in the farthest left corner lies a tiny nook with a bean bag that overlooks campus in the prettiest way. Large triangle window with tiny little details in its fixtures.  it’s quiet, calm, and you actually get work done there. 

no ever comes up and it’s peace between the hectic campus life and extreme party culture. you're thinking of maybe just getting comfy and watching a movie today. a blanket would be nice, you could bring one next time, that one that-

your train of thought is derailed faster than it can recover.

your safe haven has been invaded.

there’s a man ! in your spot !! uhg. 

you can't believe it after almost half a semester of serenity the one thing you had is ripped away from you. mid chai, donut and all. the cruelty of the world has never seemed more apparent. you are reminded again that as soon as you can get comfortable, your ripped away and thrown back to reality. 

are you being dramatic ? yes. do you care ? no

the audacity of some people. 

you know logically this isn’t your spot. it’s in the public library where any student can sit and it’s good to share, morals are good. but holy fuck do you hope the guy who’s all cozied up has a fantastic time and maybe trips out the window. 

you resort to having to use a table like some commoner. 

——-

day 2, 4:30 pm. 4th floor. this time, you're sure everything was just a fluke and you’ll be back in business in no time. comfy cozy spot with pretty window. 

your inner peace gets squashed as yet again, your spot is being occupied. this time you need to look into the eyes of the criminal. 

you choose a seat facing the bean bag and set up shop to judge and send him bad vibes. 

unexpectedly, he’s pretty cute even from far away. handsome even. he’s got one of those faces people remember, his features sit so nice and the way he’s basically burying his face into a text book is a little cute you won’t lie. but this doesn’t change anything. 

he’s your enemy. regardless if he’s aware of it or not. 

you soon tune him about in favor of getting work done, but don’t miss the occasional glaces he gives you. 

how interesting. 

——-

your friends tell you this is the start of some enemies to lovers after you fill them in. but you don’t agree. 

especially now that it's the 3rd time. 

you think he’s quite stupid. no amount of pretty smiles and shy glances is going to change the fact that he stole your special once secret library spot. he’s ruined your life ! this is the third time he’s done so. there’s no way you're going to forgive this behavior. 

never mind you don’t know his name or the fact that you’ll most likely never talk to him. your rage runs deep, silent and personal. 

you hope his socks are wet for the next month. 

you might even start a diary just to be able to complain about him in a stupid amount of detail. whatever. 

you spend the next hour or so typing a little aggressively while hoping he bursts into flames or disappears. funny enough, while you take a little social media break, you look up to find him gone. it would be good riddance, expect for the fact that he appears in front of you not a moment later. 

“um, hi?” are the timid words that come from him. his voice does not match the face wow. 

though, he’s even more attractive up close. 

“hello? can i help you?” you try 

“yeah um, actually. i wanna apologize.” 

your left in awe. is he going to apologize for his thievery? is the criminal going to confess his guilt. is this the end of your rage. 

“ i know the bean bag is your spot because you come in at the same time i do and always use it. “

you narrow your eyes, “so you decided to take it because?”

he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, “um actually i just think you’re really cute and couldn’t think of another excuse to talk to you. my bad.”

“for the record i’m still very mad you took my spot. “ you sigh, not really though. You just like to be drammtic, but he eats it right up. cute.

he nods quickly. “understood. how about i take you out to make up for it ?”

you hum, “i’d like that. “

he smiles, “great. can i get your number to plan it out ?”

“mhm”

and with that your left with your spot now yours again. and a blooming possibility on the horizon. 

[garvalhaminho]

sometimes i wonder what will herondale was thinking when he said, "jem is my great sin." like, in what way does he consider jem his sin?

will believes he is cursed so that everyone that loves him will die, so he doesn't let them love him, and the easiest way to do that is to make them hate him, acting arrogant, childish and egotistic.

when jem meets will, one of the first things he tells him is that doctors think he'll die in two or three years. they were twelve. now they're seventeen, and will notices that jem's illness is getting worse, in turn worsens his quality of life.

what i wonder is if he considers jem his "great sin" because he feels free to love a cursed man, like him, who is destined to die young. or if he believes that, by allowing jem to love him back, he gave him all his woes, including his curse, making will think that, even if jem miraculously didn't die from his illness, he would die young either way, due to the "curse" will thinks he enforced upon jem

[corpsebasil]

NIKOLAI HUNGER GAMES PARTE DOS

dear God he's so handsome I can't do this

Maybe you shouldn't be, you know you shouldn't be, but you're happy to see your prep team regardless of how you're feeling on the inside.

"'The female tribute for District Two'" Lionus Treech, the announcer for your district, had cheered, reading the slip of paper inside the glass bowl. If you could've bet money you'd put your life's savings on every name in that bowl being yours. "'Y/N Y/L/N!'"

When you moved forward, exchanging one quick glance with the sharp-toothed Enobaria, you knew none of the other surviving victors would volunteer. Even Brutus, a nasty, violent man that still treats life like an arena, hadn't done much but lift his brows when Nikolai's name was read from the male bowl. (It helped that Nikolai was watching Brutus with an expression that promised unspeakable violence if the older man even blinked funny.)

"Darling!" The first voice cries; the trio of stylists that burst through the train door are as loud as their sense of style, all three clad in some sort of animal print. "You look stunning!" Lark gasps, bringing his warm hands to your face. The dark-skinned man is wearing bright purple liner, the color unfairly gorgeous on him. "Don't worry, we'll get these dark circles out of the way. Where's that handsome man of yours?"

"You won't believe the party you missed last month, Y/N. There were aerialists dressed like actual swans! And a frozen swan ice sculpture!" Jem adds, kissing your cheeks quickly. Her dark hair is pulled back in a spiky bun, the part of her hair zigzagging. "You would've looked glorious in this white little number I was working on--covered in feathers. Just glorious."

"I'm sure Y/N feels devastated she missed it." Xiomara, your most level-headed stylist, muses, her tattooed skin free of any makeup. She almost looks normal by Capitol standards--if it weren't for the ear-modding that leaves the tips of them pointed like a fairy's. Her golden eyes are amused when she pulls you into a soft hug, her voice soft. "Hello, darling. We've all missed you." When she pulls away it's clear she wants to say more but she doesn't. "The gem of the Capitol. We will do our best to make you shine."

"Oooh! That's an idea!" Lark snaps his fingers. "'Shine'!"

"What are you getting at?" Jem scoffs.

"Shiiiiiineee. We can cover her skin in gold dust! She'll look like a goddess."

"She'll look like a damn disco ball."

"Lets see you come up with--"

"Hello." The moment Nikolai speaks, his frame filling the empty doorway, all three preps whip their heads in his direction. Jem actually blushes. Then the cooing begins, Jem and Lark fussing over him while you and Xiomara watch with tiny smiles on your faces. Your prep team--Nikolai's biggest fans. "Yes, yes I did." Nikolai responds to a flurry of questions, Lark's biggest concern being whether your lover has cut his hair recently or not.

"With you and Finnick there I'll have to keep smelling salts around for the amount of swooning Capitol citizens." Lark sighs, fanning himself dramatically. "Just imagine him covered in gold dust, Jem."

"I am certainly imagining it."

"Picture it. Picture it vividly."

"Let's allow the two of them relax." Xiomara urges, calmly leading her fellow stylists out the door. She gives Nikolai a soft pat on the shoulder as they leave, still squawking about covering the two of you in gold dust. The second the door closes you sit on the nearest velvet-clad seat, a long sigh leaving you.

"Gold dust, hmm?" Nikolai hums, approaching you calmly. "Seems like your prep team is excited for the Quell."

"Maybe they're inspired. They get to style me, after all."

"Course they are." Nikolai smirks when he leans over you, arms caging you against the couch. Your eyebrows lift, chin raising a fraction as he crowds you, forcing you to look up. "You're utterly striking."

"Why thank you. I always say--"

"You always say--?"

"--'I am the gem of Panem'--"

"Yeah, yeah." Nikolai scoffs, cutting off your giggles with his mouth. He leans into you, lips roving over your own while you close your eyes, your hands tugging him even closer. "'Gem of Panem'. You certainly are." His words are spoken softly against your lips before his tongue moves to trace the curve of your throat.

"Yes..." You murmur, head tipping back. "That is....true."

"Mhmm."

"Nik."

If anyone overhears the moan you let out when he kisses his way down your neck, tugging the front of your dress down with him, they don't bother you.

Lol

I need him

[cassandraclare]

no mourners, no funerals

spoilers!!

poesflowercrown asked: Why didn't we see kit's [Christopher Lightwood's] funeral

Okay, so quite a lot of the questions I’ve gotten are some form of “Why wasn’t there a funeral for Christopher?”

And the answer is that Christopher surely did have a funeral — but that it strikes me as fairly obvious why he didn’t have one that took place during the time when London was under attack by Belial. Also, had they had a funeral in Idris during this time (where his body was, and where they have funerals), we have no POV characters who are there to see it.

After that, we jump ahead six months, and obviously his funeral isn’t going to be after such a long period of time has elapsed — instead we see grief at the stage of what it is often like after half-a-year: the most active part of the mourning is over, and the Shadowhunters are moving into fitting Christopher and the grief for him into lives that go on and go forward. James dreams of dead Christopher almost every night, and yet he is still moving on with his life: they are Shadowhunters, this is how they live, knowing life can always be interrupted by destruction, battle or war, and knowing (in a way mundanes don’t) that any day carries with it the possibility of immediate death and loss.

Now, could I have shattered the structure and timing of the book to shove in a funeral between the coda and the wrap-up of the epilogue? I think it would have been a lot of more jarring and weird than people realize, but I also think that it wouldn’t have offered anything. I get a lot of questions that seem to think a funeral for Christopher would have offered “closure” somehow — either to the characters or readers — and the fact that I don’t think it would have done anything like that, or offered anything useful or meaningful, is partly why I didn’t include it.

Shadowhunter funerals aren’t like mundane (human!) funerals: they’re not for closure, but rather for generally honoring the dead of war, because the Shadowhunters live in a constant state of war. What would have happened at a funeral for Christopher is that he would have been burned on a pyre along with Elias and those who died freeing London; people would have come up and given polite condolences to Gabriel and Cecily, the Consul would have given a general speech, and that’s about it. We see this with Livvy’s funeral. — how it is entirely unspecific to Livvy. We see how much closure her funeral offers her family (none, basically.) I think what people are imagining as “Christopher’s funeral” (everyone cries, makes speeches, has feelings) is not what a Shadowhunter funeral is.

There is one more thing I would say, which is that death, as depicted in art and fiction, is not required to offer closure. Sometimes the point is to sit with that lack of closure, and feel the absence of that person, that character, because living with the death of someone close to you is often living without total closure: sometimes for a long time, sometimes forever. That is okay. It is not required of books that emotions be neatly put away at the end of them, like guest towels. Sometimes they are just there to be felt afterward.

[I have also seen people say that Christopher’s friends didn’t mourn for him — which is so bizarre I haven’t decided whether to address it or just leave it as a Thing We Totally Disagree About, like the many questions I get about how we “never see that Tessa loves Jem” or “Isabelle doesn’t care that Max died” etc. Sometimes you just can’t see eye to eye about things; I don’t really get how Thomas being so stricken by Christopher’s death that his physical appearance is literally altered forever, or Anna “turning to stone” with grief, or Matthew being unable to even say Christopher’s name without flinching in pain, is “not mourning”, but we all have our different ideas of how things should be depicted. I tend to believe in a less-is-more philosophy about showing intense emotion, but we are not all that way!]

Anyway, closure. The intense mourning for Christopher in the Sanctuary is short-lived not because the Shadowhunters have gotten bored mourning intensely, but because of Belial. Because they are at war, and then and forever their grief for Christopher must fit itself within the interstices of them needing to save the world. In looking at research into Shadowhunter mourning, I looked at the way people mourn when they are either civilians in war, or soldiers on the front lines, because all Shadowhunters are all least one of those things. A great deal of intense compartmentalizing is required, because the preservation of life going forward must be the priority. The Shadowhunters know this; they are raised knowing this. They know that not only may you be called upon to sacrifice your own life to be what you are, but that it is likely you will lose other people, and if you lose them in battle, you have also sacrificed the ability to stop the world and engage in just grieving. You sacrifice, sometimes, even the ability to bury your dead or to know where they died. As Lucie observes:

“And now they were back at the Institute courtyard, which was empty and quiet, as it always was. There was no scar here, no sign of the dreadful things that had happened there such a short time ago. Lucie envisioned a plaque: HERE IS WHERE IT ALL BROKE APART. Matthew and James’s vanishing, Christopher’s death—they seemed both very close, a trauma still ongoing, and yet far away.

On the other hand, she thought, this courtyard had been torn up by Leviathan a couple of weeks ago, and there was no sign of that, either. Perhaps to be a Shadowhunter simply meant drawing runes over one’s scars, over and over.”

They mourn, they grieve, they have to go on — to “draw runes over their scars” — because the other option is wallowing in grief and doing nothing to prevent Belial winning. Lucie is feeling these things as “far away” because they have to be shoved down in order for the Shadowhunters to continue doing what they need to do. They can’t lie on the ground and scream NOOOOOO for days; they honor Christopher by going on, by seeing his project through to the end and using it to save countless lives. Which is what Christopher would have wanted — not a cold and monotonous funeral in Idris.

So short answer: I didn’t think a funeral for Christopher would have provided anything worthwhile to the story, but rather would have made it worse. In the end, that’s usual the answer to the why of any decision. :)

[helenofblackthorns]

since I'm posting about devastating mother-child relationships tonight, the idea of Rosemary coming back as a ghost in twp has been floating around my head for a while now. very specifically a scene where Kit finally meets his mom & everything alright right up until Rosemary realises he's a shadowhunter.

like Kit (who's good at reading people) seeing the exact moment she knows. she cannot hide it because the shadowhunters getting Kit was her greatest fear even as she died. That was her greatest nightmare when she held his little body, a future where he was scarred and lived a life of war. that the future she feared so much was one of the best things that ever happened to him goes against everything she knows & believes.

they're finally together for the first time in their lives and there's still an impassable divide between them. the idea Kit was given the opportunity to not be a shadowhunter & choose to ask Jem to train him anyway would be so incomprehensible to Rosemary. the idea that not being a shadowhunter is actually distressing to Kit & if given the chance to change that he wouldn't. like even if she eventually came around, imagine knowing you are all your mother's fears come to life (and you cannot regret it). that even against the odds of death something separates the two of you.

[edwinspaynes]

Okay, I gotta do this for my own sanity because it's word vomit time. Song of Achilles rant. 0/5 stars to this one.

Okay. I am not a fan of war stories or of tragedies. This was both of those things. So I will admit that this was perhaps not my genre. THAT BEING SAID, I can usually point to a tragedy or a war story and go "that was objectively good/well-done, but not my thing." This was neither good nor well-done.

The main appeal of this book - its 'heart,' if you will - seems to be the ""love story"" between Patroclus and Achilles. Unfortunately, I'm leaving the book with 0 understanding of what they like about each other. Achilles was lowkey an enormously terrible person. Patroclus KNOWS THIS. He just is an idiot who continuously gives him the benefit of the doubt over and over again. Achilles sends girls off to be raped. He kills an enemy and drags his corpse around for ??? reasons besides he can. Patroclus is sitting there just going "O! His blond cascading waves! Wow!! He is everything to me my SOUL ahhh." Their emotional connection is deeply shallow in how it's written.

ANYWAY fine. Whatever. The narrative also deeply hates women. The only important female characters are a) Achilles's goddess mom who's continuously villified, and b) a slave girl (the only character I actually liked, RIP) who randomly dies at the end for no reason other than shock value. Women are sent off to be raped continuously; the narrative justifies this. I understand that in times of war back in this time period this actually happened, but I am baffled by the author's seemingly constant attempts to portray this POSITIVELY. Achilles himself is just like 'yeah, this girl's a bartering chip!" and Patroclus, while he's not cool with it and does go save the girl, totally rationalizes this and the author clearly thinks it's justified !!????

No.

And let's talk about that shitty ass pacing. Nothing happens!!! For half the book!!! And then they all go to war and the ONLY reason Patroclus is there is because he wants to follow Achilles. Because they share a 'so devoted the lines blur' Bond apparently, like Will/Jem or Charles/Edwin. News flash. They will NEVER HAVE A BOND ABOVE BONDS LIKE WILL/JEM OR CHARLES/EDWIN.

Anyway!!! Whenever Patroclus talks about Achilles, it's just like oH My gOd hE'S bEaUtIfUl. Okay bro!!! We get it!! Y'all have to have sex ALL THE TIME because this is Madeline Miller's shitty yaoi fanfic of Greek Myths!!! Greek myths are deeply gay which is great, but NOT LIKE THIS! It's giving a middle schooler who just finished Junjo Romantica and Percy Jackson and decided to write a crossover fic. And, yes, the prose is that bad. It's so fucking simplistic. I cannot even.

I hated this book. I hated this book painfully. And I cannot believe that I accidentally gave one of my favourite of my own fanfics a title from it. I like, want to go change the title. I just used it because I liked the quote. AUGH.

Would give this negative stars if I could. I do not think I've disliked a book this much since Queen of Air and Darkness, and at least Qoaad had, like, some funny moments and didn't hate women.

[fairdale]

i think the best word to describe tessa and jem's love is gentle. yes, it's also very passionate (we know) and they love each other fiercely, but above everything else, they're gentle.

imagine their slow nights with soft music playing in the background and them dancing together. or nights with jem playing his violin while tessa listens and looks at him lovingly while putting mina to sleep.

now that kit's in the picture too, adding to their little family, imagine the big support system they both would build for him as well. imagine the conversations they have at night, trying to figure out how to be good parents for them.

imagine them doing housework together and their hands softly touching. think about jem tucking her hair behind her ear. think about tessa caressing his cheeks because she still can't believe he's back with her and she has to treasure every moment with him. think about whispering praises to each other.

because being gentle doesn't mean that there isn't love or that they love each other less. it doesn't mean that there's not fire between them or that they wouldn't do anything for each other.

it means that, behind all that, there's a strong bond, there's shared looks, support words, praises, sweet pecks, deep kisses, desire, adoration and everything in between.

so, yes. for me, jessa's love is gentle. not boring, not old, not necessarily quiet. gentle. and i think it's beautiful

[sparrowsarus]

Walter and Susan; Or, When the Gates of Fairie are Shut

@gogandmagog since you were curious on the why.

When we think of Susan Pevensie, we think of a girl who became a queen; a girl who lost her kingdom, a girl who decided she wouldn't love anything who wouldn't bother loving her back.

We think of siblings betrayed--Lucy, hurt and confused by "Susan The Gentle" caring about boys, and lipstick; about Peter's short "Susan is no longer a friend to Narnia."

We think of a sensible girl, a doubting girl, a girl, not a woman, though she had to grow up twice over.

We think of "The Problem With Susan", a girl cast out of Narnia (Heaven; Salvation; call it what you will) for the crime of perceived femininity.

(So often we forget that Susan made a choice to leave.)

(Is it fair, how we think of Susan? I don't know.)

"There is such a place as fairyland - but only children can find the way to it. And they do not know that it is fairyland until they have grown so old that they forget the way. One bitter day, when they seek it and cannot find it, they realize what they have lost; and that is the tragedy of life. On that day the gates of Eden are shut behind them and the age of gold is over."

(Montgomery,L.M)

A girl: Just a girl, or a "silly, conceited young woman", who cared more about lipstick and boys than she did anything else--a girl who lost her entire family at the age of twenty-one.

Was it a punishment?

Was it a kindness?

It was a cruelty, regardless.

(Susan was Susan the Gentle, and don't tell me that wasn't a choice she made, every day she ruled.)

CS Lewis mentioned that Susan may find her own way back to Aslan's country; whether Susan would want to remains a mystery.

In contrast, we have Walter Blythe. The "hop out of kin", the dreamer, the coward (until he isn't.) The bard, the chronicler, the sacrificial lamb. Walter is not "sensible", or practical, or inclined to doubt (Note we are told he's a church member, while Jem Blythe isn't, despite being romantically linked with Minister's Daughter Faith, and isn't that interesting?)

Walter has to die in the Great War. There is no other future for him; this starry-eyed boy who knew he was signing up to die. Walter Blythe knows stories, knows he's in one, knows there's no happy ending.

Because even if had Walter lived, I do not believe the gossamer-fairy part of him would never have returned from France. Like Susan, he too would need to find Narnia on a longer, harder road, and there is no guarantee it would be the land he knew as a boy.

Only a few, who remain children at heart, can ever find that fair, lost path again; and blessed are they above mortals. They, and only they, can bring us tidings from that dear country where we once sojourned and from which we must evermore be exiles. The world calls them its singers and poets and artists and story-tellers; but they are just people who have never forgotten the way to fairyland."

The Piper called Walter, and there was no denying that call. Walter's way was set before him, and he could not stray; a different, harder path than he was promised as a boy. Walter is no exile; Walter chooses to leave, so others can take his place.

Walter dies, and everyone he loves lives.

Susan lives, and everyone she loves dies.

Now all that remains is:

Can they find their kingdoms again?

[tallertysupremacy]

What are a list of things you DONT want to happen in TWP??

Honestly I haven’t thought much about what will happen in twp plot-wise because the more I think about it the more I’ll go insane waiting but I can tell you that

I don’t want the last shadowhunter to be literal. I don’t know if I could go on in this world knowing that the shadowhunters are no more!

I don’t want to deal with princes of hell too much, which I’m not sure I’ll have much luck with this one cause there’s literally a book called the last prince of hell. I enjoy it a lot more when we have these more human villains that you can understand and pick apart than this big, evil, untouchable characters. Like Valentine was an amazing villain. Belial, not so much

I don’t want Jaime to be pushed to the background. I think he’s a really interesting character with a ton of potential and I want him to be explored properly.

I don’t want anyone from the tmi gang to die. I don’t want anyone from the tda gang to die. I definitely don’t want Jem or Tessa to die. No one can die. Except like Zara. She can definitely die.

If there’s a love triangle, I don’t want it to be anything like the one in tlh, thrown in there just to create tension and drama even though no one believed for a second that cordelia would choose Matthew

Thanks for the ask :)

[jomiddlemarch]

A letter always seemed to me like immortality

Everyone Diana wanted to write to was dead.

Walter, what seemed like a dozen lifetimes ago, at Courcelette if his last letter to Rilla was to be believed; Diana had often wondered whether he had already considered himself a dead man walking before the day of the last battle, the boy he’d been destroyed beyond repair or rebirth.

Aunt Leslie, whom she’d found it easier to talk to than her own mother, perhaps because she’d also had a brother she adored. Perhaps because she’d left Glen St. Mary and never missed it. 

Perhaps because Leslie liked whiskey better than tea, newspapers better than poetry. 

Una, who’d been too pale since she barely survived nursing her father and stepmother through the Spanish flu, who’d been someone everyone underestimated or decided to treat as a martyr, who would not have judged Di the way her own sisters would. 

Rosalind Foyle, whom she’d had to ask about as discreetly as she could, counting on her general reception as a cheerful and polite Canadian, not much like a bossy Yank, to yield her the few details she’d squirreled away. An artist, a mother. A beauty. Better-bred than her husband, well-liked, she’d had elegant hands and never forgot to wear gloves.

Diana only wore gloves to operate and if an actual gale was blowing in a blizzard.

Who had thought all she wanted was to go to France, to make something of her life that would last her the rest of it. That might make the rest of it of a duration she could bear, an end her family could cope with or justify why she’d never return to PEI.

Dear Una, You’re the best one to write to, I think. The one who’d mind the least, like it the most. The least awkward for me to imagine reading this, the least likely to tell me something I don’t want to know. I leave for France in a few weeks and now I don’t want to go. Or rather, I do and then I don’t. There’s something holding me in England now, something to do with Walter, a mystery. Men, who’ve died. A man who’s alive, very much so.

A man I want to know. His name is Foyle. Christopher. He knew Walter, said Walter knew him as Kit. Everyone calls him Foyle or sir or Superintendent. Christopher. Oh Una, I thought this was behind me. That it was something I’d never have to deal with, some sort of consolation of being a woman in a world missing a generation of men. I thought I wouldn’t know this and that was a relief, watching you and Rilla and Nan. Faith. Mary. I thought it was fair, that I’d never know heartbreak like this. And now there’s Christopher. A half-dozen dead men. Walter’s poem. And France, waiting for me. I have to go, I know that, but how do I go wanting to stay here, a place I can’t call home. Wanting to come back.

Christopher. I like writing his name because I oughtn’t say it often. That’s what a young girl does, lovesick, dull, embarrassing herself, making everyone around her smile behind their hands unless it’s Miss Cornelia, scolding you for making a fool of yourself and for what, a man? What’s a man worth, I ask you—can’t you hear her say it, tart, ready to wash her hands of us— I don’t care what a man’s worth, Una. Just Christopher. And I can’t answer the question, not to satisfy Miss Cornelia or you or myself.

You’d write me back something comforting, if you could. If you hadn’t died before your time, twice over, after the telegram, after the epidemic. I should have insisted you leave before me or with me. I should have told your father you were worth more than all the rest of them put together or made Dad send you away to convalesce, somewhere warm, where you might have lolled about, turning brown in the sun. I’ve said I’ll go to France and sew up the men who need sewing up. Cut off the parts that need cutting off. I’ve said that’s my life, my vocation, as important as Mother’s poetry, as Walter’s, as the babies Jem delivers and the columns Ken Ford writes, and it must be but now there’s murder and Christopher to contend with, a dozen mysteries at the heart of me. For it seems I’ve a heart after all, Una. It beats and beats and leaps when it oughtn’t. It will break, I know it shall.

Christopher. I’ll take a dream in lieu of a letter. A flower, out of place, in lieu of a word. Answer me if you can, Una. You can’t and I know that, but I’ll still hope, silly Di Blythe.

She put the letter in an envelope but left it unsealed and unaddressed.

Left the envelope in an otherwise empty drawer of the desk in her flat. If she didn’t return from France, well, that didn’t bear thinking about too closely. If her papers were sent back to Canada, her father would likely burn the letter rather than let her mother see it unless if gave it to Nan, thinking her twin would derive some comfort and, happily married to Jerry, the bonny wife and mother Di had not made of herself, could weather any pang it gave her.

If somehow it ended up with Christopher, he’d know how she’d once felt.

She could make that happen, writing his name across the white field of the envelope, but that was too much like a dare, and for all she was her father’s daughter, she still had her mother’s wise fear of the fey.

She’d written his name enough. She’d hope she’d come back to say it.

[cetaitlaverite]

Why All This Music?

Masters of the Air - Rosie Rosenthal x OC

masterlist is linked here <3

40. A Life to Start

“Yesterday morning at 2:41am, at General Eisenhower’s headquarters, General Jodl, the representative of the German High Command, and of Grand Admiral Dönitz, the designated head of the German State, signed the act of unconditional surrender of all German land, sea, and air forces in Europe to the Allied Expeditionary Force and simultaneously to the Soviet High Command.”

Freddie held her breath. Her arms, already wrapped so tight as to be uncomfortable around Croz beside her, tightened their grip.

“Hostilities will end officially at one minute after midnight tonight, Tuesday the 8th of May.”

Neither she nor Croz turned to look at each other. Their gazes were fixed on the radio in front of them and the calm voice of Prime Minister Winston Churchill emerging from it.

“But in the interest of saving lives,” Churchill continued, “the cease-fire began yesterday, to be sounded all along the front and our dear Channel Islands.”

Croz turned and wrapped Freddie up in a hug, so tight she could barely breathe. They were laughing, deliriously and breathlessly, loudly into each other's ears - so loudly they barely caught the rest of the speech.

“Finally almost the whole world was combined against the evil-doers, who are now prostrate before us. Our gratitude to our splendid Allies goes forth from all our hearts in this Island and throughout the British Empire.”

“It’s over,” Freddie whispered. She realised, distantly, that she was shaking in Croz’s arms. “It’s over,” she said louder.

“It’s over,” Croz confirmed.

“We’ve lost so much,” Freddie said. Her eyes suddenly, inexplicably, filled with tears.

She felt Croz nod into her shoulder. He didn’t speak just now.

This war, Freddie thought, which was over now with little more than an official piece of paper signed by official people in an official room, had taken so many lives. She had always thought it would end after merely a couple of years and she and Daniel would get married, but it had been four years since he’d gone down, six years since he’d left Oxford to become a pilot. It had always felt to her, somehow, that once the war was over the dead would come back. But they weren’t coming back. So many good men, all lost to a war which was finished.

“Come on,” Croz decided, sitting back and giving Freddie’s arms a squeeze. “Let’s go find your husband.”

Rosie was being lifted over the heads of many of the men on base when Freddie and Croz found him. Freddie stood back and laughed, pressing a hand to her lips as she watched because she knew how he hated to be the centre of attention like this. But he withstood it like a champ, and the instant his feet were back on the ground he was pushing his way through the crowd towards Freddie and clutching her against his chest.

“Can’t believe it’s over,” Freddie spoke into his jacket, holding on tight to him.

“Been a long time coming, huh?” Rosie answered her, pressing a firm kiss into the top of her head.

“Yeah,” Freddie agreed quietly. She tilted her head back so Rosie would kiss her and smiled when he did. “Home time soon,” she said.

Rosie’s eyes lit up. His smile was wide. “Home time soon,” he echoed back to her. “Still coming to New York?”

Freddie laughed. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

The party in the officers’ club that night was monumental. It far exceeded all other parties they’d had in there throughout Freddie’s time at Thorpe Abbotts. People were dancing on tables, alcohol was being poured over heads, jackets were thrown off and ties loosened and couples locked in passionate embraces wherever you turned - even couples who had not been couples before tonight.

For old times’ sake, Freddie, Millie, and Jem all drank whiskey out of a bottle Jem stole from behind the bar, giggling and bickering and joking as they always had at their sleepovers. Freddie was sitting in Rosie’s lap, Millie in Brady’s, and Jem was holding onto Paddy’s hand while the other girl stood behind her chair, her back turned while she spoke to Amy.

“Jem, will you come to New York?” Freddie spoke abruptly after a particularly long draw of whiskey.

“What business do I have in New York?” Jem asked with a laugh.

Freddie raised her eyebrows, as though the answer should have been obvious. “Mils and I will both be there, so I think it’s only right that you come.”

“You and Mils will be able to move because you’ll have married Americans,” Jem argued.

Millie let out a loud, high-pitched giggle and buried her face in Brady’s neck. The two of them weren’t married yet but they’d been talking about it non-stop since Brady had gotten back from Germany; he’d taken Freddie with him to pick out a ring, bought it, and had been planning to propose today before it had become VE Day. He didn’t want their proposal celebrations to be overshadowed, so he was postponing it a day, but by tomorrow night Millie and Brady would be engaged and Freddie wouldn’t be surprised if they raced down the aisle similar to how she and Rosie had.

“There are other ways to get American citizenship,” Freddie replied to Jem. “I’m sure of it. Aren’t there, Rosie?”

“Sure,” Rosie agreed.

Freddie opened her mouth to say something else but Jem cut across her. “I’ll think about it,” she said, and left it at that.

Freddie frowned but didn’t argue, just took another swig of whiskey and handed the bottle off to Millie before turning to Rosie. “Oh darling husband mine, will you dance with me?”

Rosie grinned, as he always did when she was dramatic with her terms of endearment - and, incidentally, when she referred to him as her husband - before setting down his beer and offering her his hand to help her stand. Soon after, they were curled tightly together on the dance floor, beaming up at each other with stars in their eyes as they danced to the love song on the gramophone.

The night quickly disappeared into the chaos of drinking. No one could really keep track of how much they had, they just knew it was a lot. And, at the end of the night, Freddie dragged Rosie by the hand to the plane he’d been flying his mercy missions in so they could make love in the back for old times’ sake, giggling on the way there and sighing as they lay together afterwards.

“You know, there are many things I won’t miss about the war but I think I will miss this,” Freddie spoke wistfully. She had her ear pressed to Rosie’s chest so she could listen to his heartbeat. The summer night air was gentle and cool on her sweaty skin. “Spending all night in the officers’ club with our friends and then sneaking out here to mess around in your plane. For so long we wished for a bed but there’s been something so magical about using this as our own private bedroom, don’t you think?”

“There’s been something magical about every minute we’ve ever spent together,” Rosie replied easily. His smile was audible in his voice. “Can’t wait to take you home and start making millions more memories with you.”

Freddie smiled and pecked a kiss to his chest. “I’m excited. A big king size bed all to ourselves in a house all to ourselves. I can see it so clearly.”

“Me too,” Rosie said, kissing the top of her head.

Freddie smiled softly until the smile turned rueful. “I still need to ask my parents about coming.”

Rosie paused. His hands, once running up and down her back, stalled momentarily. “Will you still come if they say no?”

Freddie sat up so she could look down at him and tangled her fingers in his messy curls. She smiled fondly, adoringly down at him. “Of course. I’m spending the rest of my life with you and I can’t best do that from the wrong side of the ocean.” Rosie laughed. Freddie grinned but her smile faded soon enough. “But I’ll find it so hard to leave them. I really hope they say yes.”

“Me too, honey,” Rosie replied. “Me too.”

The following day, the first official day of peacetime in Europe, was filled with many, many headaches and upset stomachs and dark bags under eyes. It was also filled with some intense conversations. Couples had to decide whether they’d be staying together or parting ways now that they wouldn’t be living in each other’s pockets on base, and if they chose to stick it out they had to decide where they’d be going. Others had to try to reconcile with themselves how they were going to live without friends who had become something closer than family.

Freddie and Benny had a decision to make.

Meatball was lying in the grass on the airfield between them, oblivious to the conversation about to commence, simply revelling in the warm summer sunshine. Freddie could feel the sting of tears in her eyes already because she knew she’d have to let him go.

“Fred…” Benny started and trailed off. His eyes were sad, regretful.

Freddie shook her head. “No, Benny, it’s okay,” she hurried to reassure him. “It’s - no, it’s okay. He’s your dog and I’ve only been looking after him and if I got too attached that’s my fault.” She had to stop talking because a sob had worked its way into her voice and turned it into a high-pitched wine. She had to press a hand against her lips to get her bottom lip to stop wobbling, had to fight hard to swallow the lump in her throat and push back her tears. “I promise it’s okay.”

Her eyes fell to Meatball, lying peacefully in the grass, and another sob wrenched itself out of her throat. Burying her free hand in his fur, Freddie let out a shaky breath and forced herself to pull herself together. “He’s your dog,” she reasserted firmly, regaining her composure.

Benny sighed and shook his head sadly, then reached forward to rest his hand on top of hers in Meatball’s coat. “He’s your dog,” he corrected her softly. “He’s yours.”

As though a door had been suddenly thrust open in Freddie’s head, tears came spilling down her cheeks. “Really?” she squeaked, letting out small sobs and shaking her head at her own lack of self-control.

“Really,” Benny confirmed with a quiet laugh. “He’s - look, he’s been with you longer than he was with me and he loves you. I can tell. He hasn’t enjoyed sleeping in the bunk with me and the guys and he keeps waking me up at 0700 so I’ll take him outside the way you do. He’s been sleeping on your blanket and running to you whenever he sees you in the distance. It’s -” Benny sighed, ran a hand down his face, and then let out a final, reluctant laugh. “It sucks, and I won’t tell you it doesn’t, but I levelled with myself back in the stalag that he would be yours by the time I got back. So I want you to take him. Ain’t no one else in the whole world I’d trust with him but you.”

“Oh, Benny,” Freddie cried, pressing both hands to her face and clearing it of tears before reaching across Meatball to hug him. “Are you sure?”

Benny laughed. “I’m sure.”

“I’ll take the best care of him,” Freddie vowed into his shoulder. “I’ll treat him like a real human son, I promise.”

Benny laughed once more. Freddie caught the tail end of his playful eye roll as she sat back from their hug. “Fred, you already do.”

Reluctantly, Freddie giggled, a watery, weak sound. “Yeah,” she admitted, sighing, still laughing softly, “I do.”

“‘Sides,” Benny added, “I’ll only be a couple hours away in Philly. I’ll just come visit whenever I’m missing him too much.”

Freddie sat up straighter and beamed. “We both would absolutely love that,” she declared.

Benny smiled, warm and bright, right back at her. “Then it’s a deal.”

With that settled, Freddie decided she wanted to get her final duck in its row before she set about conquering the huge, towering pile of paperwork she had to fill out to mark the end of Operation Corona. There was a whole queue of people waiting to use the air exec office telephone when she made her way over to it, everyone excited to share the end of the war with families back home, so that Freddie ended up waiting in line for over an hour before she was finally being put through to her parents’ landline.

When her mother came on the phone, Freddie couldn’t stop grinning.

“It’s over!” Freddie cheered down the line.

“It’s over!” Alma echoed. “Have you all been celebrating?”

“So much!” Freddie assured her. “We partied all last night. Today has been a lot of official paperwork and working out where things are going, though. And Benny said Meatball can come with me!”

“He did?” Alma asked. She let out a small gasp. “Oh, Wils, I’m so pleased. That makes me so happy.”

“Me too.” Freddie’s cheeks were hurting from grinning. “I’ve been dreading having to let him go. I started crying when Benny and I started speaking about it because I was so sure he was going to tell me he was taking Meatball with him. But Meatball will be coming with Rosie and I to New York, and how exciting is that?!”

“So exciting,” Alma agreed with a laugh. “When do you leave?”

“We haven’t decided yet.” Freddie’s smile turned sheepish. “We haven’t talked too much about the technicalities just yet. Nothing has truly started unwinding over here yet so we’re not sure how long we’ll have to stay. Rosie will likely be flying one of the planes home but I’m not sure when I should come and collect my things.” She shook her head, clearing those details away. “Anyway, this leads me onto my next line of thought. I wanted to run something by you.”

Alma hummed on the other end of the phone, letting Freddie know she was listening and encouraging her to go on.

But when the moment came, it was difficult for Freddie to get the words out. It was such a big ask, she knew, and her parents never liked to say no to her. They had always given her as much as they could, gone to the ends of the earth to keep her happy. But this? This was the biggest thing she’d asked of them by far.

Twirling the telephone wire around her finger, Freddie rested her head against the wall and shut her eyes, trying to tune out the many voices around her chattering excitedly about post-war plans. She summoned the image of her own post-war life to the front of her mind - she and Rosie in their house in Brooklyn, with Meatball and a baby, eventually, and her parents coming over with Bruno and Earnie every Sunday for a roast dinner to hold onto their British culture.

It was so close she could taste it.

“Will you come to New York with me?”

The words emerged in a hurry, all on one exhale of anxious breath, and hung heavy on the air between them like a stone dropped harshly into a lake when someone had tried to skip it.

Alma didn’t say anything.

“Will you?” Freddie prompted after a moment. “And dad and the dogs?”

On the other end of the line, Freddie could hear her mother’s sigh.

Her heart dropped into her shoes.

“There’s a wonderful music school there called Juilliard which I’m going to audition for, and maybe dad can teach there,” Freddie rushed to add, trying to flesh out the picture for her mother, trying to make her as excited about it as she was. “They’d certainly take him with all his experience and his talent. And there are so many parks - Rosie says Central Park is huge and that the dogs would love it.” She drew in a deep breath and let it go shakily, her shoulders relaxing now that she’d gotten it all out. Finally, in a small voice, she added, “And then we can all see each other all the time.”

Silence fell for one beat, two. Freddie might have thought the line had gone dead had she not been able to hear her mother’s breathing. And then: “Wils…”

Freddie shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “What’s wrong?”

“Wils, darling, that’s - that’s a really big request.”

“I know,” Freddie whispered. Her entire face fell.

“That’s a huge upheaval.”

“I know,” Freddie said again.

“Your father and I…” Alma sighed. “We love Oxford. We loved Vienna, of course, but we love Oxford. It’s our home. We’re happy here. And we are both so, so immensely pleased and proud that you’ve found love again, and we’ve always known that you would follow Rosie to America. But -” Again, she sighed, and it sounded as though she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “Wils, darling, you have a life to start. You were still a teenager when the war broke out but now you’re a woman. You’re married and you have a life to live, and your father and I can’t live it for you.”

“I’m not asking you to live it for me,” Freddie objected softly. “I’m just asking you to stay in it. I’m not ready just yet but eventually Rosie and I will have children and I can’t -” Those damned tears were back in her eyes. Even the thought of it devastated her. “I can’t not have you and daddy around to help me.”

“Rosie will be there to help you.”

“Don’t you want to meet your grandchildren?”

“Oh, Wils.” Alma’s voice was so kind, so maternal, but so very far away. “We’ll come and visit, just as you’ll come and visit us back home. But everything that happened with Daniel - I think it’s made you too reliant on us, Wils, darling. And I don’t want that for you. I want you to explore the world and live your life. I left behind my parents to follow your father to Vienna and I don’t regret it for a second. Those were some of the happiest years of my life.”

“I don’t want to miss you,” Freddie choked out, swiping a thumb hastily under her eyes to catch her tears. “I miss you so much when I’m here, even, and I’m only two hours away! I don’t want to have to miss you and have you be so far.”

Alma swallowed hard. If Freddie didn’t know better she would have thought she was choking back tears of her own. But then she drew in a strong, steady breath and spoke softly into the phone. “My darling girl, we’ll talk about this another time. Right now is the first full day of peacetime and you should be celebrating it, not letting me hold you up on the phone.” Freddie could hear the teasing smile in her voice so clearly she could see it on her mother’s kind face in her mind’s eye. “Go and find Rosie and give him a big kiss and get excited about all the many happy years you have ahead of you in peace. That’s what the two of you have always deserved. Then call me back in a few days when you’re ready, and we’ll talk about it again.”

-

a/n:

big news! i'm both overjoyed and incredibly sad to announce that this story ends tomorrow! we have one more chapter and an epilogue ahead of us and i'll be posting them both at the same time, as i always have with my other fics.

not to worry, though! i have a tradition of publishing three bonus chapters afterwards, and i'd love to know your thoughts on what they should be! scenes from rosie's perspective? scenes which didn't make the cut? snapshots of freddie's life after the events of the fic? let me know!

i've also been writing another mota fic which i'll be delighted to start sharing soon. it follows an air transport auxiliary pilot named stella finley and how she absolutely will not under any circumstances risk losing her hard-earned reputation by getting involved with a man... until she meets bucky egan. it'll be up soon!

thank you all so, so much for your support on this one!! i have been so pleased to share it with you and hear your thoughts. one day left - it seems so bizarre!! but i really can't thank you enough for your love <3<3<3

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Been like, really into Gods, myths ect and I'm fully aware that Reaper and Grimm are based on the two sides of "Death" in Greek Mythology, Grimm symbolising the gentler side of death with Reaper being the gross, disturbing side of the brother's work. It's debatable what Gods actually symbolise these two halves- Thanatos, some people argue Hades, hell, even Persephone is on the roster considering how little we can scavenge up about her, but one thing that's for certain is that Hades is the most well-known "Death" god, whether it be reaping or sowing such events. So based off this, we can conclude that offering such things that one would to Hades and Thanatos would be a safe bet, and funnily enough, most of the well-known offerings are stuff crows like.

Stones, dark jems such as monkstone, coins, and candles.

Fruits and herbs, one of the most on the nose fruits being pomegranates.

Incense choises are commonly winter scents, or just ones that have little scent overall

Flowers, food and from what I could scavenge meat?, pinned butterflies or butterfly wings.

Horns, bones, clean remains of what was once alive. CLEAN is a keyword, don't bother offering it if it's a mess of bone, blood 'nd stuff.

An odd one mostly directed at Grimm I'd assume is offering up small bugs about to die to the alter being used and letting them die peacfully and naturally. A being of calm death prefers such an ending for things around them.

Uh anyways yeah. I can imagine Dust having a rotating alter offerings using a (longer) list like this one.. or maybe he knows it all off by heart. I don't know. GOD I LOVE DUST AND THE REAPERTALE BROTHERS. Death's beloved priest(ess). Sighhhhh <3

Ugh I love thinking about any type of religion or religious practices the utmv may or may not engage in or believe in. Especially when we consider there’s an entire au about the Greek pantheon, and could even be different aus where the characters are gods and goddesses of other pantheons like the Celtic or Kemetism (Color 💕) or Slavic.

Considering I remember hearing somewhere that Murder knows how to set traps (can’t remember for sure), he could make use of any animals he catches for food by repurposing their bones and meat for offerings—after throughly cleaning them of course. And I wonder if he puts any of the coins to use by maybe whatever G he finds in aus that have went through Genocides or are just abandoned.

And maybe Murder, if able, keeps a little journal detailing his journey with Death. Like a correspondence—a back and forth with the gods of Death, learning to understand the ways They communicate to figure how preferred offerings and maybe even any preferences for devotional acts? And I can imagine Murder brings Them lots and lots of flowers, perhaps of the deadly and poisonous variety despite Death’s protests.

And maybe when he’s with Nightmare, he doesn’t have any big or extravagant altars for both safety and convenience, but he does have like a little portable alter in those little mint tins. He places drawings of Death’s likenings, coins, flower petals, bits of bone in there and carries it around everywhere.

Perhaps he makes up for the inability to openly worship in a noticeable way by wearing jewelry of those specific gemstones—even though Death very likely doesn’t have any issues with how he worships now. They’d prefer if he remains safe first and foremost.

But imagine once he gets free and is in the Omega Timeline, able to have a second chance and a new start at life, he rather excitedly and eagerly starts building up a bigger altar to Death and They are very excited for him and just proud of him and all his hard work and progress.

{ @yourlocaltrasheater }

[garvalhaminho]

i think the part i like the most about jem, tessa and will as characters is that they show love is what makes them human, what keeps them grounded. jem, throughout tid, has to live with the knowledge he will die soon, but the love he feels for the people around him, specifically tessa and will, is what keeps him sane. we see that even more with him as a silent brother, when silent brothers block their emotions and become almost robots, the thing that keeps jem human is remembering the people he once loved and still does. remembering tessa, will, their children, the people he cared for and the people that cared for him. it is what keeps him grounded, what makes him feel human again. and with tessa, tessa who is immortal and outlives everyone she loves, and has and will have to watch them die again and again, she continues to love. she chooses to do so. it is what makes her human, and it is rare for a warlock to continue being attached to and loving mortals. and will who believed himself to be cursed so that everyone who loves him back would die, he shut off a part of him to the rest of the world, the part that loved freely. but he didn't do it to jem. he allowed jem to love him, as much as will loved jem. their unconditional love for each other was what kept will sane. it was what kept him human, and not the emotionless farse he had around everyone else.

[aaand-read-all-over]

Merthur and Arwen: Love and Coexistence

There is no shortage of evidence that I interpret Merlin and Arthur as sharing a connection beyond the platonic relationship explicitly portrayed on screen. They have spoken to my heart in new depths with each rewatch of the series, of which there have been... many.

However, I do not believe that an established romantic relationship between the two men would have been a productive or believable choice within the canon events of the show. In fact, due to the availability of characters and the qualities they possess, Arthur and Gwen sharing a romantic connection was the only effective choice for Arthur in his canon journey.

To suggest that Arthur would overcome the emotional barriers of breaking down his father’s prejudice toward those with Magic, his learned classism and misogyny toward his knights and servants, and the historical prejudices against LGBTQIA+ individuals over the course of just a few years would be unreasonable. Within the constraints of the show, Arthur does make great strides in his character, but he is not given enough time to overcome every emotional obstacle he is raised to have. Arthur is able to, in part, overcome his classism toward the non-nobles in his kingdom. Through his interactions with Guinevere and Merlin, Arthur can see the value and wisdom of their counsel. The insight that an individual who has one foot in the world of the average citizen and one foot in the world of the nobles has is incomparable. Gwen and Merlin have their eyes on many components of noble life and can pinpoint the disparities between what the nobles believe and what the average individuals in Camelot know to be true about their kingdom.

Gwen, Arthur, and Merlin, especially toward the middle seasons of the show, have a similar dynamic to Jem, Tessa, and Will in The Infernal Devices (sort of, kind of, bear with me). Each member of the group loves the other two equally, albeit in different ways. For Arthur, Merlin is absolutely the only constant in his life. At no point over their time together does Merlin betray him, leave him for long periods, or otherwise push him to the side. Merlin considers Arthur to be his destiny – his reason for existence – and regularly refers to him as such during their lifetime together. Gwen loves Merlin dearly; the two of them had an instant connection (and potential attraction) upon his arrival in Camelot. Their friendship runs deep and transcends their vastly different paths in helping Arthur achieve his destiny. Gwen is the logic to Arthur’s and Merlin’s rash decision-making skills. More than just a steady presence and a kind word, Gwen is strong and capable, and she does not allow others to silence her when she knows what is right.

In Arthur’s desire for a romantic connection, Gwen is a spectacular choice, and their love for each other is genuine to every extent. Each of her qualities is a supplement or complement to his own, and they form a beautifully well-rounded pair.

Gwen and Arthur have the ability and opportunity to open themselves to each other, and to Merlin, completely. A successful romantic relationship requires all parties to participate equitably, providing comparable levels of support and vulnerability to each other to the greatest extent possible. Because of this, Merlin and Arthur could not be romantically involved within the events that take place in the show. A romantic relationship requires both parties to open themselves to each other. 

Arthur is open to Merlin, completely. There is no component of Arthur that Merlin has not seen, and Arthur has surrendered to his vulnerability consistently in Merlin’s presence. Arthur’s trust in and honesty with Merlin is a cornerstone to Arthur’s development, and he relies on Merlin’s constant presence and counsel to be an effective leader. Conversely, Merlin can never be completely open and truthful with Arthur. A primary component of Merlin’s identity is a component that he could not safely reveal to Arthur. Arthur references that Merlin is a mystery to him on many instances, and Merlin cannot fill those gaps for him without placing himself in an unsafe position. There is no possibility for a relationship without the capacity for complete openness and honesty, which are not qualities Merlin can provide to Arthur without revealing his Magic. 

If Merlin was to place himself in that unsafe position, he would, without a doubt,  completely surrender to whatever sentence Arthur laid upon him. If the sentence were to result in Merlin’s death or banishment from Camelot, he would not be in a position to protect Arthur and support him on his path to fulfilling his destiny. To Merlin, the potential of not being in a position to help Arthur is absolutely unacceptable and would invalidate his entire reason for existence. For that reason, he would never tell Arthur of his Magic if he had any other choice.

Ultimately, Merlin could never have a romantic relationship with anyone while Arthur was alive because he would have to put Arthur above that other person every single time. His destiny is Arthur, and while Arthur is a living presence in his life, he could never provide his romantic partner the attention and prioritization that they would deserve. 

In fact, it does not seem that Merlin and Arthur are entirely aware of their apparent romantic feelings for each other at all. In their time together, Merlin is aware of the destiny he and Arthur share, and he dedicates every moment to bettering and supplementing Arthur’s life. Merlin’s catering to Arthur is quite extreme, almost ridiculous, but Arthur does not believe it to be so. Arthur grows reliant on Merlin’s care and assistance in every step of his day. The man who once maintained that he did not need or want a manservant became so reliant on Merlin’s presence that he lost much of his independence in functional skills. By the end of their time together, Merlin dresses Arthur, washes Arthur, and combs Arthur’s hair, not to mention orchestrates many of the events and gestures Arthur makes toward Gwen. The bond shared by Arthur and Merlin is constantly questioned, then accepted, by friend and foe alike.

Nevertheless, Merlin and Arthur do not view this as unusual. Merlin’s identity is half-hidden, kept away so as to be in the best position to serve and protect his most precious relationship; the side of himself that he can reveal to others is also completely devoted to Arthur, publicly and privately. He was born to serve Arthur, from combing his hair to holding him in his last breaths. Because he can explain away their love and connection as friendship and destiny, Merlin never notices that he does not form romantic bonds with other people. Merlin will occasionally notice a person’s aesthetic appeal or respond to flirting from a stranger, but he does not reciprocate or initiate romantic connections with anyone (save Freya, which was a different situation entirely). This is not to necessarily say that he does not have romantic tendencies, because his behaviors with Arthur compare to any romantic gesture depicted elsewhere in the show. Merlin’s lack of canon romance is a direct result of his complete devotion to Arthur.

Arthur knows that he and Merlin share a bond beyond the line of duty. Save Gwen, Arthur affords no other person in his life the care and devotion he does for Merlin. Without Merlin, Arthur feels lost, ungrounded, and frantic until they can be reunited. Arthur was not provided with the emotional tools to break down and process his feelings as a child; this stunts his ability to express the feelings he has for others as an adult. Arthur makes a marked improvement in his emotional expression as he learns and grows, but he makes an effort from the beginning to, at a minimum, express the inherent trust he has in Merlin. In Arthur’s view, Merlin is above suspicion, even more so than Gwen is. No matter how many times Merlin is caught red-handed, confesses to crimes, or absolutely obliterates the line of professionalism (bordering on treason), Arthur explains away Merlin’s behaviors, trusts in his pleas of innocence, and breaks the law to help Merlin escape from Camelot alive. Arthur knows and expresses that Merlin does not open himself up to the same extent that he opens up to Merlin, and regularly feels that he has to press Merlin for his feelings and troubles. Despite the secrets Arthur knows Merlin keeps, in Arthur’s mind, there is no wrong Merlin could be capable of committing that would separate them forever, and there is no circumstance that would cause Merlin to abandon him in his time of need. 

In their final days together, Merlin and Arthur must face the consequences of their secrets and unaired emotions. Only when all cards are on the table can the two of them recognize the depth of their feelings for each other. Prior to this honesty, recognition of their romantic feelings would be unlikely, and acting on those feelings would be unbelievable (not to mention out of character). Arthur and Merlin do not take liberties with each other’s bodies. They use physical contact to express themselves to and connect with each other, but they are attuned to and respect each other’s boundaries. If the two men are not in a place to express themselves emotionally and they are not willing to overstep boundaries by acting on physical chemistry and cues, they would also not initiate a romantic relationship.

In the event of Arthur’s return as the Once and Future King, in a world where relationships of all structures are accepted and celebrated by the LGBTQIA+ community, there may be an avenue for Merlin and Arthur to explore their romantic chemistry. Arthur and Merlin would never abandon or betray Guinevere, but in the event of her future absence, or a future where the three could romantically love each other together, the two might find themselves in a position to explore their love and vulnerability in new ways.

Undoubtedly, Merlin and Arthur share feelings for each other that are more significant than platonic. Within the context of the show, Arthur’s romance with Gwen was the most believable and productive decision for their time together, while also maintaining Merlin’s significance in both of their lives <3

(Ideally, in my view, Gwen and Arthur would find themselves resurrected, and all three of them would love each other romantically and passionately for a lifetime and beyond. That's besides the point lol.)