#my precious pomp boi!!!

[heavensbeehall]

"The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes," Chapter 1

Part I: The Mentor

Chapter 1. Snow has cabbage. He's worried about his shirt. Tigris comes to the rescue. He insults his grandmother's singing ability. Grandman gives him a rose. He goes to the Academy. Sejanus warns of impending taxes. Dean Highbottom gives him the distrcit 12 girl.

Thoughts:

-- I decided to play a game. Let's see how many sentences into Snow's internal dialogue I can go before I roll my eyes at him. I toyed with the idea of saying it was when he refers to "district scum" which is the first paragraph but it's not a whole sentence. So it's the first full sentence on the second page, "Only one thing — herself — and the house of Snow had not yet fallen that far." Pretentious and insulting to his cousin.

-- It doesn't sound like the war was unusually bad. Not that any war is fun, but for the Districts to be punished for 76 years for their "crime" it doesn't sound like they did a genocide or war crimes or anything like that. People in the Capitol are so dramatic.

Quotes:

Everyone had learned to despise waste. It was creeping back into fashion, though. A sign of prosperity, like a decent shirt.

That doesn't last.

He reached for the rose, but a thorn pierced his palm in the shaky exchange. Blood welled from the wound, and he held his hand out to keep it from staining his precious shirt. His grandmother seemed perplexed.

Blood and roses. (Also, like, come on, Coryo. Did you not know roses had thorns? I know your grandmother is a pill but this is not the thing you should be upset about.)

His front door opened onto the Corso, an avenue so wide that eight chariots had comfortably ridden side by side on it in the old days when the Capitol had put on displays of military pomp for the crowds. Coriolanus could remember hanging out the apartment windows as a young child, party guests bragging that they had front-row seats to the parades.

Do the chariots of the Tribute Parade go down the Corso? I'm a bit confused about the geography of the Capitol.

With this in mind, for the first time the tributes were to be assigned mentors. Twenty-four of the Academy’s best and brightest seniors had been tapped for the job. The specifics of what this entailed were still being worked out.

We are not told whose idea it was to pair the teenagers of the Capitol with teenagers of the Districts. Given the life or death stakes, I would expect some Capitol teens to feel bonded to their Tribute, as Coryo will (even if it's not necessarily romantic for all of them). So what am I am wondering is if this was designed to upset the future generation of leaders--possibly to stop the Games (in which case I'd guess it's Highbottom's idea) or if it is a test to see who will be the most ruthless (in which case it's probably Gaul's idea). I guess it could be both. Later it says Highbottom is "overseeing" it "personally" so maybe it was his idea?

For Coriolanus, the Plinths and their kind were a threat to all he held dear. The newly rich climbers in the Capitol were chipping away at the old order simply by virtue of their presence.

In the first chapter of The Hunger Games, Katniss's little sister is chosen to die. By contrast, Coryo's big problems are his shirt and Sejanus being a rich upstart. Oh and later, he doesn't want to pay taxes--that's a big escalation of his problems. Again, it's very hard for me not to roll my eyes at him, as I may have mentioned.

Sejanus had arrived on the school playground ten years ago, a shy, sensitive boy cautiously surveying the other children with a pair of soulful brown eyes much too large for his strained face. When word had gotten out that he’d come from the districts, Coriolanus’s first impulse had been to join his classmates’ campaign to make the new kid’s life a living hell.

Lots of kids are mean to other kids and they grow out of it. It's not that Coriolanus is remarkably good or bad here. He's just pretentious and kind of a dick. But like a regular jerk. The kind who becomes a finance bro or a tech startup. Not necessarily evil dictator level stuff. He's super basic in a way.

[macgyverbooks]

Dragon Age: Inquisition FanFic

The Lies In Which We Linger - Chapter One

Summary: As Aza struggles under the weight of the Inquisition and her growing responsibilities she finds solace in the arms of a fellow Qunari. But not all is well in Thedas, as the threat of breach grows, old enemies from Asa’s past to threaten everything she’s built.

Word Count: 3500

Warnings: None

-

The gob of spit landed squarely on my boot. Suspiciously yellow it dribbled into the cracks of the flagstone in a thick ooze

“Ox-bitch,” I glanced down at the owner of the spit who snarled from under his Andrastian helm. He stood straight and proud in his polished armour, chin raised and jutted foreword with aggression.

The Valo-kas to my right didn’t move, not even bothering to acknowledge the slight. Holding my stare the muscles in the soldiers neck and shoulders tightened in preparation. He was young, almost too young. A few pale yellow whiskers sprouted from his chin as a feeble attempt at a beard while his skin remained smooth and unmarked bar the angry red of his cheeks against the cold. The boy leered showing crooked teeth eyes flashing with male pomp like a skinny cockerel fluffing its feathers daring me to respond. It was going to be a long day. Remaining silent I resisted the grin that tugged at the corner of my mouth and looked ahead readjusting the grip on my simple stave.

The view truly was lovely. A panoramic vista of snowy mountains and wooded valleys with an immense clear blue sky above. If you squinted you could almost make out the herd beasts slowly making their way along the slopes below snuffling through the snow for roots and old grass.

From my vantage point on the parapets I had a good view of the main gate of the Conclave as a river of people flowed through. Even from this distance I could make out the many coloured garbs from across Thedas. Every now and then I could even spot the telltale tall and broad body of a Qunari topped with their great curving horns. More than likely they were only bodyguards or soldiers but the excitement of seeing so many my kin in one place was still thrilling.

An angry stomp of an armoured boot brought my attention back to the little boy.

“Oi, you hear me goat face? Or are you as deaf as you are ugly?”

Mulling over my options I glanced about checking for any other Guardsmen but non were about. He was small and no doubt light, a simple kick and I could send him neatly flying over the balustrade and tumbling down to the rocks below to meet his precious maker but I thought better of it. We were, after all under special instructions to “make nice”.

Sending a withering look to my right I dropped my chin letting him feel the full force of my attention as I stared down unblinking. Gripping my stave I let the crackle of magic fizzle around my fingers. Stinking of ozone and singed wood I leaned over him, baring my sharpened teeth and growled.

“You say something, Imekari?”

Turning even paler the boy soldier bolted with an undignified whimper. Straightening up I listened to his boots clomp away and sighed again.

“They get younger every year,” I muttered.

“You’re losing you’re edge, Aza.” The Valo-Kas to my right mumbled, “you would have flung him off the parapet not so long ago.”

I chuckled and leaned my stave against the wall readjusting my pauldrons, shrugging the tension from my shoulders.

“Not so long ago Meraad, you would have beaten me to it.”

Meraad shook his head, his twisted ivory horns exaggerating the motion

“You insult me” he huffed. I raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief. “He was too small, there would be no challenge.”

Ignoring my look he dug in his pouch producing two pipes and a small bag of tobacco. Packing one neatly he handed one to me then packed his own

“If you could do the honours” he grinned as I rolled my eyes at him.

“Only cause its you,” with a snap of my fingers a flame leapt to life dancing about like a mad firefly lighting both pipes with a flick of my wrist.

Leaning against the stone balustrade looking out over the mountains puffing sweet smoke it was almost romantic. Had it not been for the armour and weapons at our hips.

Taking a deep puff I blew it out into the wind watching it twist and swirl away. Without letting myself really think about it I lent gingerly against Meraads broad shoulder, testing the waters, fully expecting him to pull away. He didn’t. In fact he leaned into me in return, staring straight ahead. Satisfied I allowed myself a small smile, fiddling with the stem of my pipe.

“Don’t celebrate just yet,” Meraad rumbled still staring out at the mountains. “We’ve still got a lot to talk about, you and I.”

A ball of emotion squeezed my throat and I had to clear it a few times before replying lightly 

“Allow me one small victory.”

He grunted in response. Turning his head in a sweep of his board horns he glanced at me and grimaced, the corners of his full mouth pulled down in thought as he seemed to wrestle with his words. Opening his mouth to speak a single shriek of fear echoed from somewhere deep down in the conclave.

Both of us jerked upright on full alert heads on a swivel trying to pick up anymore sounds. The terrible cry came again, this time filled with pain. Hairs on the back of my neck prickled as tiny almost imperceptible shock waves of foreign magic began pulsating beneath my feet echoing up through the thick stone walls. Oh, that’s not good. Grabbing his shoulder I motioned to Meraad quietly

“I’m heading to the eastern stairs. Alert the Captain of the guard and start perimeter sweep with the others, now!” 

Turning to leave I stopped when Meraad grabbed my wrist and pulled me close letting our foreheads gently knock together

“I will meet you at the campfire tonight,” he whispered “for that talk.” 

At that he left hurrying around the corner to the steps leading down into the main hall. Staring after him I couldn’t help feeling hope bloom in my chest. He wanted to talk, after all this time he was finally ready. Turning to take a more direct route down through to the library and more private chambers of the Conclave following the steady thrum of magic I couldn’t stop the smile. Nothing could ruin this day. Nothing.

— A few weeks later —

Sat uncomfortably on the too low chairs I tried not to stare as the delicate elven barmaid served Cullen another beer. She hid behind her serving platter all blushing cheeks and doe eyes while Cullen, still suited up in his bright armour and fur mantle laughed and rubbed the back of his neck at her bashful tittering

Rolling my eyes in a painful groan I felt the pit of my stomach twist with embarrassment. Like I even had a chance. Glancing over I made the mistake of comparing myself to the beautiful elf. Where she was short and dainty I was long and broad. Her bright clear face only marked by the delicate lines of her tattoos, or Vallaslin, while mine was freckled, weather beaten and tattered with scars, some small some not so small. Running my tongue over the corner of my mouth I felt along the raised line of scar tissue that ran from eyebrow to chin, cleaving my lower lip on its way, and frowned swirling the dregs of my ale. I don’t know why I’d allowed it but my traitorous, stupid heart had leapt at the mere sight of the sweet and oh so charming commander. Like the hero in some star spangled folk tale he had appeared and like some idiot I had tried to flirt with him. What I had forgotten was that I more resembled the evil creature in the woods than the love struck, doe eyed heroine. 

Not that my motives had been entirely pure. I’d wanted a fling, something light and inconsequential that wasn’t going to haunt me later. A chance to feel close to someone again. Perhaps it was a poor attempt at consoling my damaged pride but, after some time observing the commander I had decided he wouldn’t appreciate the occasional one nighter. In fact the more I’d thought about it the more he seemed like the settling down type, the kind who would’ve picked out kids names and drapes by the morning after. Maybe I was a closet masochist, at least that would explain a few of my horrific life decisions and downright inappropriate taste in men.

An image flashed through my mind like a ghost. A frozen scene of Meraad tending to the campfire looking over his shoulder with a grin tugging at his mouth. Shivering I shoved the memory aside and downed the last of my drink. Drowning out memories had become a habit of mine over the last few weeks. It was unfortunate the weaker human beers and ales were hardly enough to get me tipsy. Dropping some coins onto the sticky table I shuffled out, sidestepping around the crowd of drunk soldiers and servants.

Out in the cold night air I breathed deep letting it out in a great puff of vapour. Like a dragon I thought with a somber smile. Hushed whispers to my left had me ducking my head, my shoulders tensing up as the three sisters bowed muttering “go in peace, Herald of Andraste” as I passed. Offering a tight lipped grimace of a smile I moved away quickly, heading for my quarters.

Herald of fucking Andraste. What a joke. Not that it really mattered what I thought. Soon as someone figured out I wasn’t deliberately trying to blow the sky open the rumours spread like wild fire. Prophetic. Messiah. Heaven sent. It was enough to make my skin crawl. Even worse was the way they looked at me, staring up in either wide eyed wonder or deep sneering suspicion. I wasn’t sure which one I hated more. At least Varric is here I thought, skirting past his tent were a small crowd had gathered, no doubt wanting to hear his stories.

The dwarf had appeared from nowhere with enough suave confidence to think he’d seen this all before. He was gentle if sarcastic in his manner and had quickly gained my approval much to Cassandra’s exasperation. With his sharp eyes and clever tongue I was keen to keep him around, though I sensed there was much more going on with him than he let on. Split loyalties could prove problematic if this “inquisition” grew anymore momentum. 

Approaching my temporary home I paused noting the door was open a crack, warm candle light spilling onto the snow. Old instincts rang in my head like an alarm and I approached warily, hand on my daggers before I could really think it through. Nudging the door open with a boot I cast my gaze about only to jump back, ripping the curved blades from their sheaths as a small figure dashed around the corner and through the door in a flurry of gold and purple. 

“Oh!” Josephine gasped, stepping back and nearly dropping her note board as her back connected with the door frame. Sighing in relief I quickly replaced the blades and raised my hands placatingly 

“Sorry, sorry,” I muttered, curling my shoulders and bending at the waist so I was closer to her eye level. “Thought you were a thief or something.”

“No need to apologise Herald,” Josephine waved airily, straightening her pristine gold cravat. Herald. I winced at the title, just use my name I wanted to say but I bit my tongue and nodded instead. “I was only dropping off some papers for you to look over.” If Josephine had been anyone else the following beat of silence would have been awkward. Instead she smiled, having to crane her neck up despite my efforts. “It is late, you should get some rest while you can. Tomorrow will be busy and we will need you at your best.” 

“When is it not busy,” I grumbled light heartedly with a polite smile, noting the way Josephines eyes flicked down to my mouth, my sharpened teeth no doubt catching the candle light. Shit. Though technically similar in structure to ours I found humans soft, fleshy faces difficult to read. I never knew how to judge their reactions and Josephine was no different, she was just more forgiving about my confusion than most, though the fact she and Leliana could manipulate their faces so easily still alarmed me. At least Cullen and Cassandra were more verbal and plain about their feelings though, in Cassandra’s case, I  sometimes I wished they weren’t. Despite all that I noted the minute widening of her eyes at my feral smile, the way she raised her note board a fraction higher. Damn it.

“There is someone here to see you, Herald.” She continued breezily, “They’re waiting for you by the Chantry.”  

Clamping my mouth shut I nodded, waving goodbye as Josephine disappeared into the biting winter night, the strange metallic fabric of her puff sleeves reflecting the cold moonlight. Turning toward the great stone hall I couldn’t stop the small shake of my head at the absurdity of my situation. Me of all people rubbing shoulders with templars, ex-royalty and ladies of foreign courts not to mention the multitudes of holy men and woman. A shiver ran up my spine thinking of the conversations with Lelianna in her tent. Her eyes razor sharp with intellect while she pondered and muddled over her words like a mad zealot, grappling with her faith. The awful way she had stared as I floundered for an answer to her questions, my face screwed up into a pained wince just remembering it. It was becoming a terrifying trend in my advisors, them asking for advice and me fumbling under the pressure. Wasn’t it supposed to work the other way round? And what did they really expect from me, some kind of divine wisdom just cause I survived a fucking explosion? I shook my head, that wasn’t it. For all their niceties the questions smacked of judgment, clumsy attempts at testing my character, drawing me out with their tales only to slap me with a moral dilemma and see what I’d do.

Solas was a fucker for it. I’d stood in child like rapture as he spoke of his experiences moving through the fade, what he’d seen and heard, the spirits he’d spoken with. He spun the stories in his gentle voice lulling me into a false sense of security only to pose an innocent question, then snark at my response. Bastard. All of them bastards. Everyone working so hard to put the world back together and stuck with me to lead them. Poor, poor bastards.

Approaching the hall I spied a soldier, a mercenary most likely, waiting by the doors. His armour though battered from use shined reflecting the last of the evenings sun. He was handsome I noted, short but stocky with close cropped brown hair and a soft unmarked face, not your typical looking merc for sure.

“You the Inquisitor?” He asked in a flat, matter-of-fact voice, his eyes looking me up and down.

“Depends whose asking,” I replied, eyeing him in return

“We’ve got word of some Tevinter mercenary’s out on the Storm Coast,” he continued unfazed. “My commander, Iron Bull,  offers the the information free of charge.”

Containing a snort at the name, I folded my arms instead and tutted

“How gracious of him, but I doubt anything is for free. What does this Iron Bull want?” 

“An interview. Come to the Storm Coast and see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition.”

Shaking my head I turned to leave. Any idiot with a sword can claim to be a mercenary and in all my time with the Valo-Kas I’d never heard of the Bull’s Chargers. I wouldn’t waste precious resources chasing what are most likely unskilled peasants with more bravery than sense.

“There is no shortage of mercenaries wanting to join our cause, I don’t have time to-“

“We’re the best you’ll find.” The merc stated. Glancing over my shoulder I squinted at him noting the lack of pomp or anger, just his plain stare meeting my gaze steadily. He wasn’t lying. “Come to the Storm Coast, see us in action, then decide if you need us.”

My lip curled at the wording but I nodded, grudgingly impressed by this soft spoken man.

“Fine.” I conceded with a tired sigh, “tell your Iron Bull we’ll be at the coast in a few days.”

At that the Merc nodded and left, walking off toward the ale house without so much of a backward glance.  

Closing the door of my quarters I poured over the new paperwork Josephine had left. A scout report caught my eye detailing a particularly nasty fight that had broken out in a village in the Hinterlands between the mages and templars, only a few had escaped. It twisted my stomach just how fast things turned to shit. Everyday reports streamed in from every corner of new rifts opening, demons spotted in one place after another, missing people and rogue mages and templars causing havoc. That first trip through the Hinterlands still hung over me. So much death and destruction and not a damn person to stop it. Still despite it all my heart lifted at the prospect of going to the Storm Coast despite my doubt. I hadn’t seen the ocean since I was a girl. With a sigh I stood and grabbed the report needing to organise a few things before I went to bed. Time away from the Haven was time well spent and I was anxious to be out from under the many eyes of this place.

—

“This is bullshit.”

Varric cackled. “Not a fan of the rain, Lucky?” 

“Rain. Rifts. Templars. Demons. Fucking giant spiders.” I listed staring down the beach, “what else am I forgetting?”

“Darkspawn.” Solas added dryly.

Nodding I hooked my thumbs into my belt and sighed. It had been one shit show after another, first the Hinterlands then that mess at Val Royoux and now this gods forsaken coastline. Looking down the beach from our little base camp the rain pelting down my neck all I wanted was to crawl back into bed. After the long gruelling trip over here, slogging through knee high mud and fighting off bandits we’d arrived cold, wet and tired and I’d stupidly spent most of the night going over notes, replying to messages from Scout Harding and looking over acquisition demands from Quartermaster Threnn. Now an ache had settled between my shoulder blades from hunching over my too low desk as exhaustion dragged at my eyelids. 

Below the sounds of fighting echoed up the beach, the clanging of swords cutting through the roar of the waves that battered the rocks. Taking a long breath I nodded at Cassandra and started down the rocky slope. Scout Harding had let us know the Bull’s Chargers were waiting on the beach but I��d let them sit for a few hours, instead heading out to find the few rifts that had been reported on. Demons had felt more important at the time but now I regretted the decision, after being blown off my feet by a fire demon and attacked by giant spiders I was in no mood to play diplomacy with a bunch of mercenaries. Plus my hand ached, the throbbing going straight to the bone as the sickly green light flared and arced. 

“Here we go,” I muttered under my breath as we emerged onto the beach right into the fray. Charging ahead I ripped my blades from their sheathes and tore into battle, all weariness forgotten, my blood singing. This I could do, rip and tear till the job was done. The simplicity appealed to some base part of my nature, the part that wanted to smash heads when some snotty peasant sneered “Oxman” to my face. 

Plunging my daggers in the neck of a Tevinter a shadow loomed over my shoulder. On pure instinct I spun and raised my blood soaked blades braced to be blown away by the massive arc of the war axe that sang through air like quicksilver. Feeling the whoosh of air tussle my braids I lowered my knives an inch in surprise. At my feet lay a tevinter who’d been creeping up on me twitching in pool of blood, an axe imbedded in his spine. Glancing up and up and up I squinted at the massive Qunari, his broad horns and even broader shoulders blocking the weak sun.

“Well hello, Inquisitor!” The Iron Bull said with a blood splattered grin.

[joshuawithers]

It must be lovely to be proud of where you're from

I imagine it would feel rather nice to be proud of the part of your story that you didn’t really have any choice in. The country you were born in, the state, the region. The people group you were raised in. Parents and the generations that preceded you, your family, your heritage, your culture.

I imagine that if you were so blessed to be of good stock, then you’d probably be delicate and defensive when that story comes under fire - whether it’s comedy or outright slander.

I imagine that’s why I’ve upset friends and lost social media klout this week after joking about the UK and how it didn’t meet the hype, in my ever so humble opinion.

Friends and strangers let me know how they felt about it, and it honestly left me stunned. But as I watched the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace yesterday it all fell into place for me. These people, Brits, people who like the Brits, people who love London and the UK, all this pomp and bullshit from the royals to the status quo is an essential part of their story. It’s who they are this external force of nature.

You date make a joke about London, and you’re attacking their identity.

I see myself as blessed because I know exactly who I am. I’m the Gold Coast born, Central Queensland raised white boy born with colonial blood, entering the world not into the lands of my people but someone else’s land. Born of convict blood, sent from England to the stolen land down under generations ago. I’m the abandoned son, a homeless teen, who got by the only way available to him, working.

My birthplace, my country, my people, they don’t know me. There is a small group of friends and family who stand with me, but we could fill a minivan. If I was to die tomorrow my funeral would be a lovely occasion for the small group attending. They’re a good lot.

But my culture, my family, my tribe is a single generation old, my generation. With my wife I have drawn a line in the sand and said it ends with me. Britt and I, we’re starting new.

I also know how few people read my words or see my art. I’m no Shakespeare or Monet.

I have nothing to be precious of but my wife and children, my work, my words and my art, my relationships and my reputation.

Make a funny joke about them and I’d probably push back hard as well.

[andersunmenschlich]

Chapter I

TARAN IN A TANTRUM

Taran of Helium rose from the pile of silks and soft furs upon which he had been reclining, stretched his lithe body languidly, and crossed toward the center of the room, where, above a large table, a bronze disc depended from the low ceiling. His carriage was that of health and physical perfection—the effortless harmony of faultless coordination. A scarf of silken gossamer crossing over one shoulder was wrapped about his body; his black hair was piled high upon his head. With a wooden stick he tapped upon the bronze disc, lightly, and presently the summons was answered by a slave boy, who entered, smiling, to be greeted similarly by his master.

"Are my mother's guests arriving?" asked the prince.

"Yes, Taran of Helium, they come," replied the slave. "I have seen Kantos Kan, Overlord of the Navy, and Princess Sorah of Ptarth, and Djora Kantos, daughter of Kantos Kan," he shot a roguish glance at his master as he mentioned Djora Kantos' name, "and—oh, there were others, many have come."

"The bath, then, Uthio," said his master. "And why, Uthio," he added, "do you look thus and smile when you mention the name of Djora Kantos?"

The slave boy laughed gaily. "It is so plain to all that she worships you," he replied.

"It is not plain to me," said Taran of Helium. "She is the friend of my sister, Carthoris, and so she is here much; but not to see me. It is her friendship for Carthoris that brings her thus often to the palace of my mother."

"But Carthoris is hunting in the north with Talia, Jeddak of Okar," Uthio reminded him.

"My bath, Uthio!" cried Taran of Helium. "That tongue of yours will bring you to some misadventure yet."

"The bath is ready, Taran of Helium," the boy responded, his eyes still twinkling with merriment, for he well knew that in the heart of his master was no anger that could displace the love of the prince for his slave. Preceding the son of The Warlord he opened the door of an adjoining room where lay the bath—a gleaming pool of scented water in a marble basin. Golden stanchions supported a chain of gold encircling it and leading down into the water on either side of marble steps. A glass dome let in the sun-light, which flooded the interior, glancing from the polished white of the marble walls and the procession of bathers and fishes, which, in conventional design, were inlaid with gold in a broad band that circled the room.

Taran of Helium removed the scarf from about him and handed it to the slave. Slowly he descended the steps to the water, the temperature of which he tested with a symmetrical foot, undeformed by tight shoes and high heels—a lovely foot, as God intended that feet should be and seldom are. Finding the water to his liking, the boy swam leisurely to and fro about the pool. With the silken ease of the seal he swam, now at the surface, now below, his smooth muscles rolling softly beneath his clear skin—a wordless song of health and happiness and grace.

Presently he emerged and gave himself into the hands of the slave boy, who rubbed the body of his master with a sweet smelling semi-liquid substance contained in a golden urn, until the glowing skin was covered with a foamy lather, then a quick plunge into the pool, a drying with soft towels, and the bath was over. Typical of the life of the prince was the simple elegance of his bath—no retinue of useless slaves, no pomp, no idle waste of precious moments. In another half hour his hair was dried and built into the strange, but becoming, coiffure of his station; his leathern trappings, encrusted with gold and jewels, had been adjusted to his figure and he was ready to mingle with the guests that had been bidden to the midday function at the palace of The Warlord.

As he left his apartments to make his way to the gardens where the guests were congregating, two warriors, the insignia of the House of the Princess of Helium upon their harness, followed a few paces behind him, grim reminders that the assassin's blade may never be ignored upon Barsoom, where, in a measure, it counterbalances the great natural span of human life, which is estimated at not less than a thousand years.

As they neared the entrance to the garden another man, similarly guarded, approached them from another quarter of the great palace. As he neared them Taran of Helium turned toward him with a smile and a happy greeting, while his guards knelt with bowed heads in willing and voluntary adoration of the beloved of Helium. Thus always, solely at the command of their own hearts, did the warriors of Helium greet Dejan Thoris, whose deathless beauty had more than once brought them to bloody warfare with other nations of Barsoom. So great was the love of the people of Helium for the mate of Jane Carter it amounted practically to worship, as though he were indeed the god that he looked.

The father and son exchanged the gentle, Barsoomian, "kaor" of greeting and kissed. Then together they entered the gardens where the guests were. A huge warrior drew her short-sword and struck her metal shield with the flat of it, the brazen sound ringing out above the laughter and the speech.

"The Prince comes!" she cried. "Dejan Thoris! The Prince comes! Taran of Helium!" Thus always is royalty announced. The guests arose; the two men inclined their heads; the guards fell back upon either side of the entrance-way; a number of nobles advanced to pay their respects; the laughing and the talking were resumed and Dejan Thoris and his son moved simply and naturally among their guests, no suggestion of differing rank apparent in the bearing of any who were there, though there was more than a single Jeddak and many common warriors whose only title lay in brave deeds, or noble patriotism. Thus it is upon Mars where women are judged upon their own merits rather than upon those of their grandams, even though pride of lineage be great.

Taran of Helium let his slow gaze wander among the throng of guests until presently it halted upon one he sought. Was the faint shadow of a frown that crossed his brow an indication of displeasure at the sight that met his eyes, or did the brilliant rays of the noonday sun distress him? Who may say! He had been reared to believe that one day he should wed Djora Kantos, daughter of his mother's best friend. It had been the dearest wish of Kantos Kan and The Warlord that this should be, and Taran of Helium had accepted it as a matter of all but accomplished fact. Djora Kantos had seemed to accept the matter in the same way. They had spoken of it casually as something that would, as a matter of course, take place in the indefinite future, as, for instance, her promotion in the navy, in which she was now a padwar; or the set functions of the court of his grandmother, Tardah Mors, Jeddak of Helium; or Death. They had never spoken of love and that had puzzled Taran of Helium upon the rare occasions he gave it thought, for he knew that people who were to wed were usually much occupied with the matter of love and he had all of a man's curiosity—he wondered what love was like. He was very fond of Djora Kantos and he knew that she was very fond of him. They liked to be together, for they liked the same things and the same people and the same books and their dancing was a joy, not only to themselves but to those who watched them. He could not imagine wanting to marry anyone other than Djora Kantos.

So perhaps it was only the sun that made his brows contract just the tiniest bit at the same instant that he discovered Djora Kantos sitting in earnest conversation with Olvian Marthis, son of the Jed of Hastor. It was Djora Kantos' duty immediately to pay her respects to Dejan Thoris and Taran of Helium; but she did not do so and presently the son of The Warlord frowned indeed. He looked long at Olvian Marthis, and though he had seen him many times before and knew him well, he looked at him today through new eyes that saw, apparently for the first time, that the boy from Hastor was noticeably beautiful even among those other beautiful men of Helium. Taran of Helium was disturbed. He attempted to analyze his emotions; but found it difficult. Olvian Marthis was his friend—he was very fond of him and he felt no anger toward him. Was he angry with Djora Kantos? No, he finally decided that he was not. It was merely surprise, then, that he felt—surprise that Djora Kantos could be more interested in another than in himself. He was about to cross the garden and join them when he heard his mother's voice directly behind him.

"Taran of Helium!" she called, and he turned to see her approaching with a strange warrior whose harness and metal bore devices with which he was unfamiliar. Even among the gorgeous trappings of the women of Helium and the visitors from distant empires those of the stranger were remarkable for their barbaric splendor. The leather of her harness was completely hidden beneath ornaments of platinum thickly set with brilliant diamonds, as were the scabbards of her swords and the ornate holster that held her long, Martian pistol. Moving through the sunlit garden at the side of the great Warlord, the scintillant rays of her countless gems enveloping her as in an aureole of light imparted to her noble figure a suggestion of deity.

"Taran of Helium, I bring you Gatha, Jed of Gathol," said Jane Carter, after the simple Barsoomian custom of presentation.

"Kaor! Gatha, Jed of Gathol," returned Taran of Helium.

"My sword is at your feet, Taran of Helium," said the young chieftain.

The Warlord left them and the two seated themselves upon an ersite bench beneath a spreading sorapus tree.

"Far Gathol," mused the boy. "Ever in my mind has it been connected with mystery and romance and the half-forgotten lore of the ancients. I cannot think of Gathol as existing today, possibly because I have never before seen a Gatholian."

"And perhaps too because of the great distance that separates Helium and Gathol, as well as the comparative insignificance of my little free city, which might easily be lost in one corner of mighty Helium," added Gatha. "But what we lack in power we make up in pride," she continued, laughing. "We believe ours the oldest inhabited city upon Barsoom. It is one of the few that has retained its freedom, and this despite the fact that its ancient diamond mines are the richest known and, unlike practically all the other fields, are today apparently as inexhaustible as ever."

"Tell me of Gathol," urged the boy. "The very thought fills me with interest," nor was it likely that the handsome face of the young jed detracted anything from the glamour of far Gathol.

Nor did Gatha seem displeased with the excuse for further monopolizing the society of her fair companion. Her eyes seemed chained to his exquisite features, from which they moved no further than to a firm pectoral, part hid beneath its jeweled covering, a naked shoulder or the symmetry of a perfect arm, resplendent in bracelets of barbaric magnificence.

"Your ancient history has doubtless told you that Gathol was built upon an island in Throxeus, mightiest of the five oceans of old Barsoom. As the ocean receded Gathol crept down the sides of the mountain, the summit of which was the island upon which he had been built, until today he covers the slopes from summit to base, while the bowels of the great hill are honeycombed with the galleries of his mines. Entirely surrounding us is a great salt marsh, which protects us from invasion by land, while the rugged and ofttimes vertical topography of our mountain renders the landing of hostile airships a precarious undertaking."

"That, and your brave warriors?" suggested the boy.

Gatha smiled. "We do not speak of that except to enemies," she said, "and then with tongues of steel rather than of flesh."

"But what practice in the art of war has a people which nature has thus protected from attack?" asked Taran of Helium, who had liked the young jed's answer to his previous question, but yet in whose mind persisted a vague conviction of the possible masculinity of his companion, induced, doubtless, by the magnificence of her trappings and weapons which carried a suggestion of splendid show rather than grim utility.

"Our natural barriers, while they have doubtless saved us from defeat on countless occasions, have not by any means rendered us immune from attack," she explained, "for so great is the wealth of Gathol's diamond treasury that there yet may be found those who will risk almost certain defeat in an effort to loot our unconquered city; so thus we find occasional practice in the exercise of arms; but there is more to Gathol than the mountain city. My country extends from Polodona (Equator) north ten karads and from the tenth karad west of Horz to the twentieth west, including thus a million square haads, the greater proportion of which is fine grazing land where run our great herds of thoats and zitidars.

"Surrounded as we are by predatory enemies our herders must indeed be warriors or we should have no herds, and you may be assured they get plenty of fighting. Then there is our constant need of workers in the mines. The Gatholians consider themselves a race of warriors and as such prefer not to labor in the mines. The law is, however, that each female Gatholian shall give an hour a day in labor to the government. That is practically the only tax that is levied upon them. They prefer however, to furnish out a substitute to perform this labor, and as our own people will not hire out for labor in the mines it has been necessary to obtain slaves, and I do not need to tell you that slaves are not won without fighting. We sell these slaves in the public market, the proceeds going, half and half, to the government and the warriors who bring them in. The purchasers are credited with the amount of labor performed by their particular slaves. At the end of a year a good slave will have performed the labor tax of her master for six years, and if slaves are plentiful she is freed and permitted to return to her own people."

"You fight in platinum and diamonds?" asked Taran, indicating her gorgeous trappings with a quizzical smile.

Gatha laughed. "We are a vain people," she admitted, good-naturedly, "and it is possible we place too much value on personal appearances. We vie with one another in the splendor of our accoutrements when trapped for the observance of the lighter duties of life, though when we take the field our leather is the plainest I ever have seen worn by fighting women of Barsoom. We pride ourselves, too, upon our physical beauty, and especially upon the beauty of our men. May I dare to say, Taran of Helium, that I am hoping for the day when you will visit Gathol that my people may see one who is really beautiful?"

"The men of Helium are taught to frown with displeasure upon the tongue of the flatterer," rejoined the boy, but Gatha, Jed of Gathol, observed that he smiled as he said it.

A bugle sounded, clear and sweet, above the laughter and the talk. "The Dance of Barsoom!" exclaimed the young warrior. "I claim you for it, Taran of Helium."

The boy glanced in the direction of the bench where he had last seen Djora Kantos. She was not in sight. He inclined his head in assent to the claim of the Gatholian. Slaves were passing among the guests, distributing small musical instruments of a single string. Upon each instrument were characters which indicated the pitch and length of its tone. The instruments were of skeel, the string of gut, and were shaped to fit the left forearm of the dancer, to which it was strapped. There was also a ring wound with gut which was worn between the first and second joints of the index finger of the right hand and which, when passed over the string of the instrument, elicited the single note required of the dancer.

The guests had risen and were slowly making their way toward the expanse of scarlet sward at the south end of the gardens where the dance was to be held, when Djora Kantos came hurriedly toward Taran of Helium. "I claim—" she exclaimed as she neared him; but he interrupted her with a gesture.

"You are too late, Djora Kantos," he cried in mock anger. "No laggard may claim Taran of Helium; but haste now lest thou lose also Olvian Marthis, whom I have never seen wait long to be claimed for this or any other dance."

"I have already lost him," admitted Djora Kantos ruefully.

"And you mean to say that you came for Taran of Helium only after having lost Olvian Marthis?" demanded the boy, still simulating displeasure.

"Oh, Taran of Helium, you know better than that," insisted the young woman. "Was it not natural that I should assume that you would expect me, who alone has claimed you for the Dance of Barsoom for at least twelve times past?"

"And sit and play with my thumbs until you saw fit to come for me?" he questioned. "Ah, no, Djora Kantos; Taran of Helium is for no laggard," and he threw her a sweet smile and passed on toward the assembling dancers with Gatha, Jed of far Gathol.

The Dance of Barsoom bears a relation similar to the more formal dancing functions of Mars that The Grand March does to ours, though it is infinitely more intricate and more beautiful. Before a Martian youth of either sex may attend an important social function where there is dancing, she must have become proficient in at least three dances—The Dance of Barsoom, her national dance, and the dance of her city. In these three dances the dancers furnish their own music, which never varies; nor do the steps or figures vary, having been handed down from time immemorial. All Barsoomian dances are stately and beautiful, but The Dance of Barsoom is a wondrous epic of motion and harmony—there is no grotesque posturing, no vulgar or suggestive movements. It has been described as the interpretation of the highest ideals of a world that aspired to grace and beauty and chastity in man, and strength and dignity and loyalty in woman.

Today, Jane Carter, Warlord of Mars, with Dejan Thoris, her mate, led in the dancing, and if there was another couple that vied with them in possession of the silent admiration of the guests it was the resplendent Jed of Gathol and her beautiful partner. In the ever-changing figures of the dance the woman found herself now with the boy's hand in hers and again with an arm about the lithe body that the jeweled harness but inadequately covered, and the boy, though he had danced a thousand dances in the past, realized for the first time the personal contact of a woman's arm against his naked flesh. It troubled him that he should notice it, and he looked up questioningly and almost with displeasure at the woman as though it was her fault. Their eyes met and he saw in hers that which he had never seen in the eyes of Djora Kantos. It was at the very end of the dance and they both stopped suddenly with the music and stood there looking straight into each other's eyes. It was Gatha of Gathol who spoke first.

"Taran of Helium, I love you!" she said.

The boy drew himself to his full height. "The Jed of Gathol forgets herself," he exclaimed haughtily.

"The Jed of Gathol would forget everything but you, Taran of Helium," she replied. Fiercely she pressed the soft hand that she still retained from the last position of the dance. "I love you, Taran of Helium," she repeated. "Why should your ears refuse to hear what your eyes but just now did not refuse to see—and answer?"

"What meanest thou?" he cried. "Are the women of Gathol such boors, then?"

"They are neither boors nor fools," she replied, quietly. "They know when they love a man—and when he loves them."

Taran of Helium stamped his little foot in anger. "Go!" he said, "before it is necessary to acquaint my mother with the dishonor of her guest."

He turned and walked away. "Wait!" cried the woman. "Just another word."

"Of apology?" he asked.

"Of prophecy," she said.

"I do not care to hear it," replied Taran of Helium, and left her standing there. He was strangely unstrung and shortly thereafter returned to his own quarter of the palace, where he stood for a long time by a window looking out beyond the scarlet tower of Greater Helium toward the northwest.

Presently he turned angrily away. "I hate her!" he exclaimed aloud.

"Whom?" inquired the privileged Uthio.

Taran of Helium stamped his foot. "That ill-mannered boor, the Jed of Gathol," he replied.

Uthio raised his slim brows.

At the stamping of the little foot, a great beast rose from the corner of the room and crossed to Taran of Helium where it stood looking up into his face. He placed his hand upon the ugly head. "Dear old Woola," he said; "no love could be deeper than yours, yet it never offends. Would that women might pattern themselves after you!"

[montrealmadison]

like branches in a storm

you know what? fuck it. i say they BOTH moved into the basement their senior year <3

Nursey wakes up on the morning of graduation with the distinct and uncomfortable impression that somebody’s glued him to the mattress.

Trying to sit up proves fruitless. He blinks up at the ceiling a few times instead, and the unfamiliar room resolves itself suddenly into the basement of the Haus: cramped but tidy, almost spartan now that its occupants are moving out in a few hours. All that’s left is a stack of neatly labeled boxes by the door, a few plants on the desk that are too big to be packed away. Two suits are all that remain in the closet, caps and gowns and hoods—one gold-edged, one white—piled on the shelf above them.

It takes a long moment to quell the fear that flutters low in Nursey’s gut at the sight. In two hours he’s going to get up and get dressed and then, carried forward on the relentless tide of pomp and circumstance, he’s going to have to leave this place that’s been his home behind.

He looks back up at the ceiling, at the pre-dawn light that washes across it through the one small window. It’s watery and cool, the sort of morning that promises sunshine—a perfect summer day, just in time for the ceremony.

Nursey decides that he’s going to be angry at the sun today.

He shuts his eyes tight against reality, goes to seek solace in the safety of his pillows—but he finds only Dex there, warm in the bed beside him. He’s turned over onto his stomach, one heavy arm slung across Nursey’s chest; slow, even breaths ruffle Nursey’s hair, tickle his cheek.

Well, Nursey thinks. That answers the glue question.

also on ao3

He exhales in relief, tucks his nose down into Dex’s shoulder, and tries to make himself relax by degrees. It’s no less heart-stopping to wake up to Dex today than it was when they first started dating, but it is familiar now, and that at least is enough to lull Nursey back to stillness for a while. He steadfastly tries not to think about anything other than the rise and fall of Dex’s back and—

For the second time in five minutes, Nursey’s brain says, Fuck it.

He can’t believe it’s their last morning in this room.

It still shocks him sometimes that he and Dex ended up here, curled up together where they’d once lived at each other’s throats. He definitely prefers this arrangement, the cozy closeness of sharing a room and a routine and a life, tangled up in each other.

Nursey’s never been happier, and so a part of him hates that he can’t help but dwell on the worst case scenario. He’s spent his last few months at Samwell worrying that this thing between them is too new, too precious, to survive outside of the place where they’d learned to respect each other at last.

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it today, though, because at that moment a voice in his ear says, “Mornin’.”

When he turns, Dex is blinking at him across the pillow, all long lashes and five thousand freckles and the world’s most kissable nose. Nursey decides to do something about that last observation—mostly just so he can watch the slow curve of Dex’s smile as he pulls away.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Good morning.”

Under the covers, Dex stretches one leg and then the other, miles of sleep-warm skin brushing against Nursey’s calves. He hooks one foot over Nursey’s knee and tugs himself impossibly closer, buries his nose in the sweaty collar of Nursey’s t-shirt.

“Sorry,” says Nursey reflexively. Dex just shakes his head, mumbles something that might be either it’s fine or you smell, and presses his lips to the base of Nursey’s throat.

Gratified to be absolved either way, Nursey runs a hand up and down Dex’s back and tries to let the steady rhythm ground him.

“Babe.” Dex’s voice is scratchy and low when he speaks again. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Nursey answers, a shade too quickly. Dex pulls back a little to raise an eyebrow at him, silently calling bullshit. “Just, uh.”

Uh is about the only way he can think to describe it. The feeling welling up in his chest at the thought of leaving Samwell is too unwieldy to name—maybe it always has been. Definitely has been for the last two weeks he’s spent viciously pushing it down. Now, with the reality of graduation staring him in the face, his body’s no longer big enough to contain it. His mouth doesn’t know how to describe it. Words don’t fail Nursey often, but this morning they’ve deserted him entirely.

But beside him, Dex is quiet, patient, and Nursey feels like he owes it to him to try.

“I’m just,” he tries again, eloquently. “Today, you know? Excited. Scared. Little sad.”

“Huh.” Dex grunts and then lifts his head just enough to squint at his phone screen. “S’a lot of feelings for eight forty-five.”

“Well, just because you don’t have them until after nine,” Nursey retorts. He lets it hang, though, and scrubs his hands over his face, viciously swiping away a tear that threatens to escape.

Dex huffs out a sympathetic breath and drapes his arm back across Nursey’s chest. “M’chirpin’ you,” he murmurs, lips brushing Nursey’s forehead.

Nursey offers him a watery smile. “I know, Poindexter.”

They’re quiet again for a while—two floors up, Nursey hears the pipes protesting as someone tries to coax the shower up to a bearable temperature—before Dex adds, “I’m sad too. If it helps.”

Nursey has to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Footsteps move past the basement door on their way into the kitchen—Chowder’s, maybe, or Whiskey’s. Big breakfasts are the order of the day on momentous mornings; Nursey knows he’ll start smelling biscuits and bacon whether championships are won or lost, exams are passed or failed, new relationships are to be celebrated or breakups gravely toasted with Tango’s leftover bowl of cereal milk.

Old habits die hard in this Haus.

“Funny thing is, though,” Dex says, and his voice brings Nursey back to the present: this boy, this bed, one last morning in the place that made them. “I kinda like you.”

“Oh, shit, you do?” Nursey asks, soft and wry and fond.

“Yeah.” When Dex smiles for real his eyes crinkle up at the corners, and Nursey loves him with a ferocity that no damn graduation can stop. “Maybe against my better judgment, but—ow, hey—hard to be too sad today when I know I’ll still have you at the end of it.”

“Thank God,” says Nursey. “Need someone watching my back.”

He tries not to let it show how much it buoys him, the simple reassurance that Dex likes his presence in his life. On such an uncertain day, though, he wonders if Dex knows just how badly he needed to hear it.

Dex's face gives nothing away when he snorts, digs a gentle elbow down into Nursey’s ribs. “Understatement of the year, babe.”

Call him a hopeless romantic, but Nursey’s brain flicks through all the maritime imagery it can think of: anchors, tides, lighthouses. Oh, that’s a good one—a light on the distant shore. Someone to guide him home, no matter where home turns out to be.

Somehow, he doesn’t think he’ll ever have to look much farther than this bed.

They’re quiet while the sky turns from gray to pink to gentle gold, while the sun comes up on an ending—and maybe, if Nursey is lucky, a beginning, too.

[puttingfingerstokeys]

Hat Trick

in which Johnny Cage is... himself. Featuring the Shaolin Rowdy Boys. Formatting is for losers. 

faraday cage implied, shaolin rowdy boys too obviously.

Prevented timeline

“Yeah, yeah, your hat’s cool an’ all, but honestly, Raiden’s got you beat,” declared Johnny Cage, wrapping a towel around broad shoulders, mopping the sweat off his brow. Kung Lao shook his head and clicked his tongue.

“Lord Raiden’s hat is not a weapon,” he said as Liu Kang walked into the SF locker room area. The Shaolin monks had been asked to come and provide special training for the new batch of recruits and they had just finished for the day.

“It does not need to be,” Liu Kang reminded his friend, sidling past Kung Lao to the locker he was borrowing. Sweat glistened upon his muscular back and Johnny made a conscious effort to keep his eyes on the man with whom he was conversing. If Lao noticed, he said nothing. He was not blind. Even well into their fifties, all three men were at the height of their strength, power, and if you asked Johnny—no one did; it was a bad move in general if one did not have time—looks.

Johnny shot Liu Kang a set of finger guns, brow cocked. “See? He’s got it. Dude shoots LIGHTNING!”

“Correction,” supplied the humbler of the two monks, his fist full of clean clothing, “Lord Raiden is lightning.”

Johnny waved this off as if to say “tomato-tomahto”.

“Anyway, what I really wanna know is how he keeps that lid on,” Johnny Cage continued, stripping his clothing off thoughtlessly and tossing it in the “dirty” bag. This, at least, he had learned—long ago, he had learned this, in fact, when Cassie was just a kid and she complained that his dirty things did not belong in the duffle bag with his clean things; something about cross contamination or “just plain gross” or something—and had held to for many years. What was once an unruly jerk, to put it mildly, had become a responsible father… mostly. He still had his idiosyncrasies.

“He is a god,” said Liu Kang, shrugging and moving past Kung Lao once more, opting to strip closer to the showers. Johnny, he knew, liked to strut. Neither of them begrudged him this, however, as it was his home territory.

“That’s a shitty explanation,” said Johnny, shooting Liu a look as the monk disappeared around the tiled corner to the showers. Lao and Johnny thought they heard a low chuckle before the shower started up and steam began to roll from that doorway.

“Do you have a better one?” Kung Lao asked, closing his temporary locker, fist also closed around his clothing. He too intended to disrobe elsewhere. Johnny by  now was in compression shorts and nothing else. It was about to be nothing, period, as one thumb hooked over the elastic. The word “CAGE” was embroidered on the waistband and for half a moment, Kung Lao wondered who had put it there for him, like a child who forgets his clothing at a friend’s home. It then occurred to him that Johnny Cage was a very wealthy man and had clothing lines—multiple—with his name stamped all over them. Vanity, Kung Lao thought, making a face of disapproval.

“Yeah, I do—I’ll just ask ‘im.”

Kung Lao had heard and seen much when it came to Johnny Cage and his obvious interest in the god of thunder. He and Liu Kang had agreed to keep it between themselves, though if anyone could not see it, they were blind as Kenshi… though he had seen it as well—something about the man’s heartrate when the god was nearby. This, however, was for some reason right up there with the time he had heard Johnny Cage refer to Lord Raiden as “thunder tits” with no consequences.

“You cannot just—”

“PFFTH not with that attitude,” said Johnny and then shouted—his voice echoed violently in the tiled room and Kung Lao winced, “HEY—Raidude, you on this frequency or whatever? I got a question!”

Kung Lao, fully expecting nothing, jumped again as a muffled clap of thunder once more rent the now-steamy air. Whatever it was had occurred outside, naturally, but was loud enough to pull Liu Kang’s attention and he poked his dripping head around the corner, long hair draped about his shoulders, a quizzical look upon his face. “Was that…?”

It was.

Ducking slightly under the economized entrance of the locker room, the god of thunder entered without pomp, circumstance, or ceremony. “I have an answer, Johnny Cage, and I am grateful that you did not whistle this time. It is… abrasive.”

“Of course it is,” Kung Lao grunted under his breath. Raiden regarded him momentarily and the monk covered himself, though he was not nude. Liu Kang’s head stayed where it was, though he seemed to want to shrink back into the showers. His cheeks were red and it was not necessarily from the heat. In fact, of the three mortals, only Johnny Cage was not blushing.

“Hey, I said I wouldn’t, right? Anyway—whatever, I got a question… Your hat,” he said, gesturing toward it. “How’s it stay up there?”

Raiden touched the brim briefly and looked puzzled, brows knitting, as if he had never considered this. The two monks watched, wide-eyed. Johnny gestured.

“So, can I knock it off?” He figured he would at least ask this one. Sucker punching a god was both dangerous and difficult, even a friendly one.

“You may attempt.”

If Liu Kang’s sharp ears were not full of suds and deceiving him, he would have sworn upon the jinsei itself that Raiden’s voice contained a hint of genuine amusement. They watched as the god of thunder even dipped his head, ever-so-slightly, to make the blow easier. Like lightning, Johnny’s hand shot out and both monks remembered suddenly why he was a valuable ally. The hit was charged with just a little of what he called his shadow energy, to give a little more impact. The hat did not move.

“OW.”

“All right, all right… you’re not fuckin’ with me; I get it.” Johnny waved it off, as he waved much in his life off, until something about the hat caught his eye. “Hang on.”

Raiden straightened; this time, open amusement played across his face. Johnny held his wrist and anticipated a bruise, even with the shielding of his power. He watched as Raiden raised a hand to the ornate jingasa and lifted it effortlessly, bringing it downward for Johnny's inspection. All three sets of mortal eyes were upon it, as if anticipating something mystical to occur. Kung Lao was kicking himself for never considering asking the god about his clothing, but then… when had the occasion arisen for such a conversation? It had not in fact arisen just now, either. Johnny simply did not care. Sometimes, Lao envied him this.

With deliberate slowness, then, knowing how dangerous it was to get close to Raiden. Certain proximities were safe, but those were much more intimate than he was comfortable attempting with two other people in the immediate area—and he did not yet know this secret, anyway. He laid his hand on the hat and felt the buzz of electricity through it, from the god of thunder.

“Is this…?” His voice softened, such that Liu, with the shower on behind him, almost could not hear. He did, however, hear it and the tone in which it was delivered. Kung Lao was already edging toward the door to the showers and ended up buffeting his friend out of the way and back into those showers, to give the other two some space.

“Your gift? Yes.” The answer was simple, might almost have sounded casual or pat, if anything Raiden ever said could sound that way.

“Did you… put that thing on just ‘cause I called?”

“It is one of my most precious possessions, Johnny Cage; thus, I wear it frequently.” Raiden replaced the beautiful jingasa and straightened. “If I cannot further satisfy you, I have matters to which I must attend at the Sky Temple.”

Johnny could think of some serious, further satisfaction, but kept it locked away tight, in a deep, dark corner of his mind and heart and shook his head. “Hate t’see you go, big guy,” he said, once more shooting finger guns at something that should not be finger-gunned, “but I love watchin’ you leave.”

“Indeed.”

And with that, the god of thunder, Earthrealm’s protector, departed, first through the doorway of the locker room and then via a bolt of lightning. Johnny stood for several moments, hands on hips, before shucking his shorts and sauntering into the shower area only to see Liu Kang and Kung Lao, huddled close together, clearly whispering. The whispers echoed, but were also stifled by the water. He rolled his eyes and ignored them, wondering when they’d see what everyone else saw. Idiots, he thought, ah, but they’ll get to it eventually.

[cockasinthebird]

hi!! can you write steve getting all horny in class and billy noticed it and because of the dick he is he throws steve a paper where he says all filthy things and the way he would fuck steve right now and steve’s trying his best to keep himself calm. then of course billy fucks steve in the janitors closet after the class.

Oh dearest anon, believe you me when I say that I have been thinking about this already, and then you come in here to read my goddamn mind, you gorgeous piece of filth!! Hope you’ll enjoy!

-

Steve Harrington is a normal teen in his senior year of high school. He shaves his face every morning, struggles with all of his homework, drinks shitty cheap beer, has a babysitting job, and he owns his fair share of Playboys and watches porn during late nights on the TV in his living room.

And sometimes those images invades his mind when he's sleeping, as is only normal for any typical hormonal 18 year old.

They had been so vivid this morning, only to be interrupted by the blaring of his alarm clock, with no time to fix the situation or he'd be late for class again.

They're there now, halfway through first period and he's sitting with his chin in hand, drooling slightly as he daydreams about things vastly more interesting than algebra.

Soft thighs, exposed tits, plump lips, long hair. It's quite well known that Steve Harrington is easy and frankly a bit loose, but can he truly be blamed for his incessant neediness, when there's a lack of love at home? Who isn't touch starved and constantly seeking heat.

Lesser known fact is how he dreams of things he shouldn't. Hairy pecs, muscular biceps, strong hands, hard cocks.

Girls are nice and gentle and delicate. Laurie, Amy, Becky, Nancy. Pure and kind and good. They smell of flowers, feels like silk, sounds of an angels choir.

But they cannot compare to the way the right guy will reach everywhere. Tommy, Billy. Bending him over, fingers digging inside, stretching him out, slapping into him with such fervor he'll walk funny for nearly a week. Their musky smell, calloused fingers, animalistic grunts.

And it riles him up. Can't help but drift off to think about Billy. Won't even fight it, as he finds himself in Hargrove's bedroom, the place reeking of sweat and cologne and testosterone, Billy standing by his small, cheap bed. Shirtless with the body of a bronze statue, pants unbuckled to expose a blond trail of hair disappearing beneath his tight briefs. A hand caressing the outline of his-

There's a sudden kick to his shin and he's wide awake, still in algebra class, the teacher scribbling away on the blackboard as he drones on about whatever. Steve wipes off the bit of drool that has fallen down his chin and looks to his left to see...

Billy Hargrove, pulling his leg back from having just kicked Steve awake. He's all teeth in a mischievous grin, eyes heavy and intense as he catches sight of amber hues. Quickly he glances down, far down, then up again, as if to gesture for Steve to do the same.

So he does, and oh... He stops moving as if that's any less suspicious than what covering his crotch would have looked like. A bulge in his jeans shows that he's sporting far more than just half a chub, and he can feel his fucking heart beat in his hardened flesh, as he stares straight ahead into the back of the brunette in front.

Perhaps if he thinks really really hard about math and algebra and numbers, he can will it away with a headache borne from straight up confusion as to why x and y matters.

When a paper ball flies in from the east and lands perfectly in the middle of his textbook. He glances shortly over at Billy, who's resting on his hand, blinking slowly and expectantly for Steve to unfold the little crumbled up note.

Steve shifts around uncomfortably, hoping to find a way where his jeans doesn't apply too much unwanted pressure on him. And when he sees what Billy has written down here, his face goes impossibly red with a faster heartbeat.

Need a hand there, pretty boy?

He looks at Billy who has the audacity to wink and stick out just the tip of his tongue. Scribbles out a stern and serious No. then throws it back.

Billy lets out a light huff in disbelief, raises his brows in the same tone, then throws the ball over.

I don't believe you. What were you dreaming about?

And Steve grips his pencil with near breaking force as he considers telling the truth, even though just thinking about admitting to it sends pulses through him. It's been so long...

You.

The way Billy then grins reveals everything he's thinking, and the sight of it only makes the whole situation... harder.

And he brings his pen to paper... and he doesn't stop. Writes and writes and writes till nearly every line is filled out, before tossing it right back with such a masterful flair from basket practice.

Oh yeah? What about? The time in your pool where I proved just how long I can hold my breath?

Steve is quick to throw Billy a rather dangerously wanton glance, and watches how he wags his tongue, then back to the paper.

Or in your living room, where you had been so angry with me at first, for wanting to fuck you right there on a couch that costs more than my fucking car, but you loved every single inch of me. Moaned and cried out as I came inside your tight hole.

He shifts in his seat again and looks around to ensure that no one has noticed how flushed he is, but everyone else here seemed to have dozed off as well.

It's been too long pretty boy. Last time we had any fun was in my bedroom, right? Where you were such a cock hungry slut, spread out on my sheets as I fucked you raw and you complained for days about it, but I know you're just waiting for me to make a move. And maybe I've been teasing you for long enough.

Fuck, would it be too obvious if he decided to run out now? Excuse himself and make a go for the bathroom? Each curve of Billy's meticulous handwriting only making his situation worse, word by word. He can feel how pale eyes stares, and oh he burns under the attention.

Want to feel your ass sucking me in again, clenching so tight around my fat cock baby. I want you all dripping wet and praising my name as I fuck you so good and hard.

And Steve's doe eyes goes impossibly wide at the last line.

Can't wait till after school. Meet me in the janitors closet after class.

Billy is the first to stand when the bell rings out, and he makes sure that Steve catches how he licks his lips, stares intensely, as he struts out of the classroom, winks with a grin before vanishing through the door frame.

Steve is the last to leave, pretending to struggle with getting his books into his bag as everyone else goes without paying him no mind. This has got to be the longest fucking hard-on he's ever had, and it is painful.

When he finally stands up to leave as well, he clings to his backpack as if it's the most precious of his belongings, carrying it low in his arms but in a tight grasp, as he attempts to cover himself up in a less-than-awkward manner, but truly he looks like a moron.

Without ever even thinking about it, he finds his way to the janitors closet, needy and aching for release; to be filled completely and touched finally. Because, as much as it pains him to admit, Billy was right. Steve has just been waiting, patiently so, for the bully to reach for him again and push him around, shove inside.

From the crack in the door, light blooms and illuminates Billy's rather impatient figure that leans against a dirty sink in the darkness of the limited space. But only for as long as it requires to allow Steve through, and once the door is closed they're wrapped up in near pitch black, the only light comes from underneath the door.

But they do not need to see, when they can feel.

Feel firm and rude hands grab on to Steve's gorgeous ass. Feel a moan travel out as bodies collide. Feel teeth bite at his lower lip just to receive an apology by a searing tongue. Feel his chock-full erection grind against where Billy is quick to fill out himself.

If anything, Steve loves how small he feels when he's with Billy. Sure he's taller, with or without the hair all pomp and grand, but the way Billy just manhandles him like he weighs nothing is such an intense thrill that he can't get from being with girls. Tommy has tried, but he's just too soft and caring, and that's dangerous territory.

“Shit, ah- Billy-” Steve fights to keep low, but the way Billy rolls his hips more brutally at his sounds only urges him on. “A-ah fuck!”

“Mmh you're such a fucking pervert, Stevie,” Billy drawls out and scrapes his teeth along Steve's neck, tongue out to taste how his pulse quickens. “Were you really dreaming about me?”

“Y-yes,” his response a whimper, and he pushes Billy away just enough so that he can work at the buttons of his red shirt.

And the bluest eyes to ever exist admires the rushed movement of fingers, stares down and lets Steve do all the work that he's so willing to offer up. Once the last button comes loose, Steve dives right in; wraps his arms around Billy's muscular torso and brings their bodies flush together. He kisses and moans into the heated skin by the crook of Billy's neck, all the while bucking his hips forward to force hardened flesh together. Feels the rough pleasure nearly blind him as he gets lost chasing his high.

Enough soon becomes enough, and Billy growls out, yanks at Steve's hair to bring him away from where he's sucking a bruise mindlessly - too high for his collar to cover it. Branded in a way that might anger Billy, but there's a desire for the attention hickeys bring, for how everyone will stare and wonder.

He doesn't say anything about how badly he wants to fuck Steve right this second, just grabs him by the hips and spins them both around till it's no longer his ass that's getting jabbed at by the sink.

Steve leans back a bit and grabs hard onto the gross edges of metal, as Billy's hands makes short work of his belt and zipper, to allow way for his harsh hand to force its way into boxers wet with pre cum. And Steve takes a sharp inhale and bites down on his puffy lip to keep his voice under control.

“Can't believe how hard and wet you already are, baby,” Billy's own voice a thing of lewd intentions through flashy teeth, and he wraps his fingers around Steve's intense length. “God, you're so fucking hot. Can't wait to feel you stretched out around my cock.”

“Billy...” Steve whines and brings one hand up to pull at Billy's open shirt till their lips meet again in a feverish heat.

His own tongue is quick to surrender and fall into the slippery rhythm that Billy demands, a dance a bit too quick and uncontrollable, but it matches so well with the crazed movement of calloused fingers on sensitive skin.

“Fuck, Steve,” Billy grunts out all impatient. “Turn around.”

And Steve doesn't need to be told twice; the moment that hand is gone from down his tight trunks, he does just that, spins to then bend over, barely catching himself on the sink as Billy shoves him forward. It takes just as short a moment before his pants and briefs pool around his ankles.

The both of them share no more than two things in their lives: ceaseless impatience, and an incessant craving for the other.

“Do you have lube?” Steve asks and twists to look behind, although there's barely a thing to be seen under the cover of darkness.

“Of course, you never know when you'll need to bang a princess real quick between classes,” the grin in his tone so ardently clear, Steve can perfectly imagine what he looks like.

There's a brief rustling as Billy bends down to rummage through his back pack, and next there's a pop, as the lid to the tube flicks open.

Steve breathes something near a moan, as cold, slick fingers run across his outer rim, and his head falls to hang low. Hips move by themselves as they chase that feeling; icky at first but it all ignites something so wonderfully as one digit presses in to the first knuckle.

“Mmh yes, oh...”

“Yeah?” The broad finger moves deeper and deeper.

“A-ah, fuck, yes!” And Steve pushes onto it till there's no more length to swallow.

Billy crooks and curls around inside that velvety heat, one which he has been craving for weeks, and makes a silent promise never to go that long without hearing these noises again. Oh how Steve croons and sings out sweet little things just from one finger.

And oh how his voice increases as a second digit is added all too soon, but he seems just as eager to envelop it just the same. Pleasant little words becomes rough curses and heated pleas. Although unnecessary, Billy squeezes out more lube onto where he's fingering Steve's hole with a rapid speed, and the sounds of it all now an obscene squelching as he thrusts inside. He did say he wanted Steve to be wet.

“Shit baby, listen to that-” He slams his hand harder and works his strong fingers with all his might, coaxing out a dozen little ah's and fuck's. “-you're so fucking wet and dripping, your ass soaked.”

“Billy,” Steve is keen on crying out.

“You think you're ready for my fat cock?”

He nods swiftly. “Yes, please, I need you inside me so bad, fuck.”

Belt unbuckles, zipper runs down, and Billy grunts all too loudly as he strokes himself with even more lube. “Yeah you do,” his voice like tires on gravel; rough and heady. He throws the bottle to the floor and grabs on to Steve's hip to help guide himself blindly through the black void surrounding them.

With no mercy he bottoms out immediately, and Steve loses the ability to breathe at the stretching sensation of a too-unprepared muscle, tears stinging his cheeks, but still he pushes back till he has devoured every single veiny inch.

“I'm-I'm- ah,” he whimpers out, unable to think past where pain and pleasure mixes so deliciously.

Lube tickles as it runs down his thighs, his trembling dick dripping with pre onto the floor, and barely does he get control of his breathing again before Billy pulls out just to snap back in deep.

“Fuh-ck, Billy!”

There's a chuckle to be heard, like thunder from behind sculpted pecs, and he sets a mean rhythm of slowly moving out then shoving back inside, each slap of skin accompanied by a naughty little cry that mixes “Billy Billy Billy” with “shit fuck oh”, bordering on sobs.

“You like that, pretty boy?” Billy grabs on with both hands to ensure every thrust plunges as far as humanly possible into the mess of Steve's clenching ass. “Like feeling my big cock filling you up?”

“Yes, Billy, ahh, f-faster, please,” Steve moans out and tries to move, to increase the frustratingly slow rhythm, but Billy's fingers dig deeper into his flesh with bruising force. He's going to be all kinds of sore tomorrow, but oh how it's worth the pain then.

“Since you asked so nicely...” Billy growls out and thrusts faster, skin slapping together with such salacious sounds as he buries his throbbing erection in Steve's aching flesh.

Steve bites into his worn lip till it cracks and bleeds in his attempt to not make the entire school aware of their situation. His ever so lonesome prick dangles freely, and although he feels a near primal need to jerk himself to a quick finish, he can undoubtedly cum untouched with just the furious tempo of Billy's own lust.

A hand fists around dark locks, and Steve's head gets yanked back to where Billy bends forward to groan hoarsely into his ear, spewing out filth and biting with all too sharp teeth and his lobe.

“God you're doing so fucking good for me, princess,” his voice raw sex and fucked out, “your pretty little ass so tight around me, sucking me in deep, harrh- taking all of my giant cock, yeah?”

Fingers grip harder at the smooth edges of the sink they're bent over, and Steve turns his head to try and find Billy's lips. “Yeah,” he whines.

Billy's scorching hot tongue licks across Steve's bleeding lip before bringing the metallic taste inside, and he moves across familiar slickness and swallows every single sound that cannot be restrained, no matter how hard Steve tries to be quiet.

“Shit, Steve, I'm close,” the hitch in his voice a clear indication of the truth.

“Mmh- me too, ah-”

“Want me to...”

“N-no! I- fuck-” Steve has to pause to fight back a threateningly loud sound as Billy's steely cock hits just right. He raises himself up on his toes and feels the head hit it again and again and again. “Right there! Billy- I-I-I'm gonna...”

He can feel the grin press against his cheek, and the way Billy speaks urges him closer, “That's so hot, pretty boy, you getting off on just my cock alone, like the slut you are.”

It takes no more than that for it all to flow over, and Steve brings up a hand to cover his mouth as he paints the dirty floor in perfect white, the heat gathered between his legs blowing up and coursing through his entire bloodstream as his body tenses, muscles flexes, eyes rolling back to be blinded by fireworks that only Billy knows how to ignite.

And the brute behind him doesn't stop moving; continues slamming inside with the same continued fervor as he stands back upright. The pleasure quickly drains out, leaving Steve behind to become all too over-stimulated by the way Billy continues hitting that bundle of nerves that has already been pressed for all it's worth.

“Fuck, Billy,” Steve complains and his fingers curled around the metal twitches with the discomfort of being used senseless.

“I know, I know, I'm almost- arh-” Billy reaches up to hook his hand on Steve's shoulder for leverage, and it takes him a handful of erratic thrusts before he chokes down a moan, nails digging into supple flesh as he cums, completely submerged in Steve's fluttering hole, hips twitching till there's no more heat trapped inside.

He grabs on to the sink beneath Steve for support, otherwise they'd both undoubtedly fall down together, and he pants for air, laughs a bit too, albeit rather weakly from exhaustion.

Steve is... happy, content, tired, as he bends down to rest his sweaty forehead against his hands. This has been hell, in its own sense, of having spent most of today with a strangled boner, exhausted from too little sleep, and having been fucked till he's near sore in the most unhygienic room of the entire school. Also there's no doubt that his hair is a mess.

And then the bell fucking rings.

[itsyourchoicedevotionals]

Kissed

“…You shall name Him Jesus… Mary responded, “I am the Lord’s servant. May everything you have said about me come true.” And then the angel left her.” Luke 1:31,38NLT

Jesus’s mother was totally different from other girls. Most Israelites had completely given up on the Messiah ever coming. 400 years had passed since God’s last contacted with His people through the Maccabees. Pharisees walked with the pomp of the educated, lacking the spirituality of the loved. An Israelite remnant celebrated their feasts at Temple bringing their offerings. Renegades accepted Romans control becoming tax collectors. Every sin of our society was present— like ours— with no concern for God. Mary humbly submitted to whatever God wanted, without reservation.

Have you ever wondered what went through this teenager’s mind as she carried her’s and God’s son? The scriptures tell us her thoughts, when she went to visit cousin Elizabeth, Luke 1:39-55. Mary sang a song to praise God called ‘The Magnificat.’ In V48-49NLT, “For He took notice of His lowly servant girl, …from now on all generations will call me blessed. For the Mighty One is holy, …He has done great things for me.” Then in Luke 2:19NASB we read “…Mary treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart.” Mary comprehended, she was carrying God’s son. What that totally meant in physical facts are unknown. ‘The Magnificat’ shows she understood who God was— with relational knowledge.

Understanding the character of God, His powerful love, His miraculous power, the manifested explanation of scriptures were things Mary learned in the physical life of her son. As I’ve listened to Clay Aiken’s ‘Mary Did You Know,’ I’ve thought and can’t imagine the feelings and understanding of this humble girl. “Mary did you know that your baby boy will one day walk on water? Mary did you know that your baby boy will save our sons and daughters? Did you know that your baby boy has come to make you new? This child that you've delivered, will soon deliver you Mary did you know that your baby boy will give sight to a blind man? Mary did you know that your baby boy will calm a storm with his hand? Did you know that your baby boy has walked where angels trod? And when you kiss your little baby, you have kissed the face of God Mary did you know, Mary did you know, Mary did you know The blind will see, the deaf will hear and the dead will live again The lame will leap, the dumb will speak, the praises of the lamb Mary did you know that your baby boy is Lord of all creation? Mary did you know that your baby boy will one day rule the nations? Did you know that your baby boy is heaven's perfect Lamb? This sleeping child you're holding is the great I am Mary did you know…”

My children were precious to me. Looking at my sleeping child, I wondered what this child would be, understanding my baby was God’s handiwork. Could I have handled knowing this one child was God’s Son?

Because of Mary’s Son each Believer now has the potential of greatness. We ARE God’s sons and daughters, John 1:12. Each of us contains the potential of being representative healer. Inside of our hearts lay the compassion of Christ. Our prayers will change lives and futures.

Not limited to our power, this potential can be the heritage of our children. Our babies’ faces— whom have we kissed, is God’s future _____? What do you speak over your baby? Did you call your baby prophet? President? Evangelist? Wise leader? Mary called Jesus, ‘Son of God.’ Your words create. It’s your choice. You choose.

PRAYER: God Almighty, thank You for sending us Jesus; for finding this one girl to humbly agree with Your plan. Help us to look for Your plan in our family and name them the way You call them, in the name of Jesus Christ I pray.

by Debbie Veilleux Copyright 2021 You have my permission to reblog this devotional for others. Please keep my name with this devotional, as author. Thank you.

[not-close-to-straight]

Cartier (Stony)

A commission for @littlemissstark​ who wanted Post Endgame ABO Stony, fluffy goodness with Omega!Dad!Tony and Alpha!Papa!Steve and of course, a complete rewrite of what happened in Endgame because Canon what? We don’t know her. 

Enjoy! 

And THERE’S MORE STONY ON MY MASTERLIST!

*************

“I am inevitable.” Thanos was grim, was resigned, was triumphant in his terrible choice, resolute in his self imposed rightness, perhaps even smug in the coming victory. 

“I am inevitable.” the Titan lifted the mighty gauntlet and snapped his fingers and the clank echoed across the bloody, violent battlefield like a clap of lightning, like a roll of thunder, like the crack of a whip that arced out and struck--

--nothing. 

“I am Iron Man.” Tony hurt, the Omega hurt, every inch of his body and every hair on his head. There was fire in his veins and unleashed power screaming in his head and it was the hardest thing he’d ever done to close his fingers in a snap. 

Dimly, he heard Steve roar in fear and anger, saw the Alpha lunge for him and grab onto his hand to share the gauntlets force. The Rescue suit rocketed out of the sky and left a dent in the earth where Pepper landed, and her grip on his wrist was desperate and terrified and Tony screamed-- 

“Daddy!”  It didn’t seem possible for a bed to bounce quite so much when the bouncee was only five years old, but Morgan treated the springs like a trampoline as she scrambled up the mattress and right up close to her dad. “Daddy! You’re night-maring again! Wake up!” 

Tony broke from the dream with a gasp, sucking in a pained breath and grabbing automatically for his baby girl, cuddling her up close into a relieved hug and letting Morgan’s sleepy morning scent calm his heart again. 

“Hi, Bug.” he managed after a moment. “How did you know Daddy was night-maring again?” 

“You hold on to your wrist.” she said matter of factly, every bit as observant as Pepper despite being pint sized. “The one Papa Steve grabbed. You hold it when you’re scared.” 

“I do that, huh?” Automatically, the Omega reached for his wrist. Not the one the stones had almost destroyed but the other one, the one with his Alpha’s fingerprints seared into his skin. When Steve had grabbed for him on the battlefield, the gauntlet’s power had shocked from Tony’s veins and surged right into Steve, burning the Captains fingerprints onto Tony’s wrist before tearing through his body and sapping a measure of super serum right from his bones. 

Six months later Tony was branded and Steve had aged up to at least forty five before his system settled again. Bruce had ran test after test for weeks to be sure the Alpha wouldn’t just age right out of existence and now—

“Are you still sad about the bad man?” Morgan’s eyes were very wide, her tiny hands very soft as she patted at Tony’s belly. “Is the baby sad too?” 

“No no honey, the baby isn’t sad.” Tony leaned back in the pillows and swallowed hard, covered Morgan’s hand with his own and forced a deep breath in and then out again. It was just a dream, just a dream, it had been six months and a whole lot of good things since that day with Thanos and it was just hormones bringing everything back up in his dreams. “And neither am I. I’m not sad, Bug, everything’s okay. What are you doing up so early?” 

“I was thinking!” Morgan snuggled into the Omega’s side and patted at his tummy again. “Ask me what I was thinking!” 

“What were you thinking?” Tony asked obediently and Morgan wriggled in excitement a few times before blurting, “I want to tell Papa Steve about the baby first!” 

“Is that so?” Tony tried and failed to hide a smile. He loved so much how excited Morgan was about being a big sister, loved that she was nearly vibrating with the effort of keeping it a secret, even though it had only been a secret since late last night when he’d whispered it as he was tucking her in to bed. 

“How do you want to tell Papa Steve about the baby?” he asked after another moment. “Cos I have an idea how to tell him too.” 

“My idea is better.” Morgan insisted immediately, so much like her Mama Tony couldn’t help laughing out loud. “It is! It’s better!” 

“Well now, I don’t know about that.” Lately Tony had been exhausted, moody and nauseous but he pushed it all away so he could Morgan just a little closer and relish a moment where it was just the two of them... cos in about seven months it wouldn’t be just the two of them anymore. 

There was a little box on his side table wrapped in bold Cartier red, a ridiculous choice in this post-snap world but one Tony couldn't resist making. He loved Cartier, loved the pomp and circumstance and the sheer lack of necessity in each purchase and he knew Steve would laugh and laugh at the ridiculous wrapping and roll his eyes over his mate getting him a present at all. 

But Tony knew his Alpha would get soft and serious and sweet when he said thank you, and Steve would unwrap the red paper extra careful like he did every time Tony gave him anything. Then the Alphas blue eyes would go very very wide and if Tony was lucky, the Captain would faint dead away in sheer shock and he could hold it over his mate’s head for at least the next five years. 

Nothing put an Alpha on the floor like finding out their mate was expecting, and after Thanos, after Steve had aged ten years in just a few minutes, after Tony and Pepper had dissolved their bond and Tony and Steve had decided to give the relationship that hadn't survived the Civil War another chance… 

… well Tony would bet good money the positive pregnancy test and ultrasound picture in the ostentatious Cartier box would knock his mate flat out unconscious.

But it was just as important— maybe even more important— that Morgan was excited about the prospect of a sibling, that she was excited to call Steve Papa. 

Tony and Pepper had made the split as easy as possible on Morgan, the Alpha still had a room in the cabin and she kissed Tony goodnight and good morning like she’d done every day when they were bonded, shared her coffee and slapped the Omega’s hands away when he tried to take too much food from her plate. When she went to the city to help with restoration and charity projects sometimes Morgan went along too, but it was never a matter of choosing between parents it was just a question of hanging out with Mommy in the city or staying at the cabin with Daddy and the revolving door of various Avengers and everyone else who seemed to hang out at the lake.

… and of course, Steve. 

The Alpha had sat at Tony’s beside as he recovered from the gauntlet, had tip toed around Pepper in the beginning and fallen head over heels for Morgan and her antics. Only after Pepper and Tony had talked about the truth of Tony’s still present feelings for Steve and parted sweetly, amicably, and still wholly loving with each other did the Captain finally make his move. 

He’d swept Tony off his feet into a whirlwind courting that had involved ridiculous amounts of flowers, chocolates, terrible but achingly tender poetry, hand drawn pictures that painted the Omega like an angel... all things Steve swore he should have done years ago. 

So now there their life was Pepper who made every inch of their cabin a home, Steve who gave his shield to Sam and spent the days training with Bucky and the newest team that had stepped up to fill the gap, Tony who had been relegated to house Omega and was thrilled with the chance to simply be home with his baby and tinker in his new lab, and Morgan who apparently couldn’t wait another second to shriek about how she was going to be a big sister. 

“Daddy!” the five year old practically howled when Tony didn’t answer for a long minute, baring her teeth and trying her best to growl in frustration. She was a long way from being Alpha anything, but she sure was determined to act it. “Can I tell Papa Steve or not!” 

“Yeah baby.” The Omega finally relented. “You can tell Papa Steve. He’ll be really excited about it. How are you going to tell him?” 

“Shoes!” Morgan exclaimed. “I’m going to give Papa Steve shoes!”

“I can actually feel how proud your Mama is by that choice.” Tony said dryly. “What sort of shoes, Bug?”

“These ones!” Morgan scrambled out of the bed with a hilarious amount of wriggling, then reappeared with an equally hilarious amount of wiggling before proudly presenting Tony with a pair of bedazzled sneakers in a precious size two. “They used to be mine and I found them in my closet! I can give them to Papa Steve for the new baby!”

“Well what if the baby is a boy?” Tony asked very seriously and Morgan replied very seriously, “Boys can be bedazzled too, Daddy.”

“Ah. I stand corrected.” The Omega picked up the little shoes. “Alright then. You can tell Papa Steve with bedazzled shoes. I think that’s a really good idea.” 

“Yay!” Morgan grinned up at him. “How are you going to tell Papa Steve?”

“I’ve got an idea or two.” Tony said vaguely and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Go wash up and I’ll make breakfast. When Papa Steve comes home you can tell him first.”

“And then we’ll tell Mommy!” 

“And then we’ll tell Mommy.” 

***************

***************

“Tony?” Steve shut the door to the cabin and called for his Omega mate, stretched his arms up over his head and grimaced when the muscles in his back pulled. He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to being older, to being in his mid forties and sore after a hard work out with Sam and Bucky. 

He was still a long way from average, he was still a long way from normal but now the Alpha looked older, felt slower, felt human and despite the sore muscles, Steve was grateful for the change. 

He and Tony never would have worked after Thanos if Steve was still super powered and eternally thirty while Tony struggled with getting older every day. In fact the Omega probably would have turned his court down flat if Steve was still Captain, so giving up the shield and complaining of an achy back was worth every second so long as he got to come home at the end of the day and do this. 

“My mate!” Steve raised his voice a little and listened with a grin for the sound of tiny feet rushing down the stairs, and the slower steadier trod of Tony’s shoes as he and Morgan came to greet him. “Where’s my family at?” 

“Here, Papa Steve!” Morgan dashed forward and held her little arms up so Steve would swing her into the air and the Alpha did exactly that, laughing out loud at her shrieks and giggles. “I’m here! I’m here!” 

“Oh, maybe let’s not do that high enough to bonk heads on the rafters.” Tony scolded only mildly. “Not all of us have unbruisable skin, Papa Steve.” 

“These days, even I bruise like a peach.” The Alpha set Morgan down gently and ruffled up her hair, then moved to pull his mate up close and bury his nose in the curve of Tony’s neck, inhaling the Omega’s sweet scent with a grateful sigh. “Hello, sweetheart. I missed you today.” 

“Alpha.” Tony tipped his head to the side and purred in contentment when his mate nuzzled at his throat, scratching sensitive skin with the prickly edges of his beard. “Long day?” 

“Don’t know how you do the normal human thing.” Steve confessed, the words muffled in Tony’s shoulder since he was loathe to leave his mate’s embrace even long enough to talk. “I stubbed my toe today and thought I was dying.” 

“Didn’t you have a passel of health issues before the war?” Tony laughed at his mate, then wheezed when Steve tickled at his side in retaliation. “I feel like stubbing your toe isn’t as scary as consumption or diabetes or weighing ninety pounds as a full grown Alpha.” 

“It’s equally as scary.” The Alpha maintained, and it was good to laugh again, good to smile again and to smile specifically with Tony. There’d been a time after the Battle for New York when the Alpha and Omega had drawn close and then closer still, and those days Steve laughed more than he ever had. But then there had been Ultron and the Winter Soldier and Siberia and Thanos--

--anyway. It was good to laugh again, and it was better to be laughing with the sweet scent of his mate in his nose and the comforting weight of Tony in his arms. 

“I love you.” Steve whispered into the Omega’s ear and Tony trilled back softly, “I love you too.” 

“Papa Steve, I have a present for you!” Apparently done with watching her dad and step-dad canoodle and far past the patience allotted a five year old, Morgan pushed her way between the mated pair and held up a messy yet enthusiastically decorated box. “Open it! Open it!” 

Tony would never be over the way the big burly Alpha melted into the name of Papa Steve, and he didn’t bother hiding his grin as an expression three shades past adoring passed over Steve’s face as he very carefully took the package from Morgan’s hands. “Thank you, Bug. I’m real excited to open this, but first tell me, what’d you get me a present for?” 

“Just open it and see-ee-ee!” Morgan cried, dancing around excitedly in place. “Open it!” 

“Honey?” Steve raised his eyebrows towards his Omega, but Tony only shrugged and motioned towards the box, so Steve smiled down at Morgan again and started to pull the hundred or so pieces of tape off the present.

“...wait.” the Alpha held up the tiny, shiny shoes and scrunched his brow in confusion. “What-- what are these for, Morgan? Is this your way of saying you need new shoes, cos these are at least four sizes too small for you.” 

“Not for me!” Morgan shook her head impatiently. “For the new baby! Boys and girls can be dazzled so the baby can wear them no matter what!” 

“The new baby.” Steve repeated. “What um-- what new baby? Who is having a baby?” 

And then with wide eyes and something that looked an awful lot like disbelief when he realized Tony was pressing gently gently at his own stomach-- “Omega?” 

“Surprise.” Tony held up the bold red and white Cartier box and bit at his lip to keep from blurting out everything as the Alpha stared down at the shoes, over at his stomach, then at the next box. “Go on. Open it.” 

Steve opened the Cartier box just as slowly and carefully as Tony knew he would, and damn if anyone knew the same Captain that jumped through walls and hurled motorcycles at baddies could be so delicate with a present…

“My mate.” Steve held up the ultrasound photo and pregnancy test in shaking fingers. “Is this-- are you-- are we-- really--?” 

“OH NO PAPA STEVE!” Morgan shrieked as two hundred plus pounds of Alpha dropped to the floor in an unconscious pile. “Daddy! What happened?” 

“Captain America has been laid low by a black and white photo.” Tony sighed affectionately as he went to get a pillow for Steve’s head. “Red, White and Super? More like Red, White and Unconscious.” 

“Does unconscious mean Papa Steve is happy?” 

“Yeah, Bug.” Tony lifted Steve up enough to slide a pillow between the Alpha and the hard floor. “It means he’s very happy.” 

“I don’t fall over when I’m happy.” 

“You definitely don’t, and we definitely can tease Papa Steve about it once he wakes up.” 

******************

******************

Pepper Potts was one of the busiest people in the world these days, the Alpha working non stop alongside other influential companies and organizations to bring life back around to something normal after Thanos had been wiped away. There were school to reopen and roads to fix, neighborhoods that had been mostly dusted then completely abandoned to revitalize, scholarships to fund and food banks to stock now that half the world was back. 

Even when she was home at the cabin Pepper was working on one project or another, here in the city she attended non stop meetings and conference calls and right at this moment the beautiful Alpha was talking on the phone in one hand, signing a pile of checks with the other, and carrying on a muted conversation with her assistant as they hurried down the hall. 

But everything stopped when Pepper caught sight of Steve outside her office with a hopeful smile, a small gift bag and a bouquet of roses. 

“Steve!” Pepper finished up her phone call, pushed away the checks and held up a finger so her assistant would wait as she hurried over to the other Alpha and threw her arms around his neck. “Hi! I wasn’t expecting to see you today!” 

“Hey Pep.” Most Alpha’s shook hands or grasped each others elbows in greeting, but Pepper and Steve had been through far too much together--not to mention loving the same Omega-- for that sort of formality, so Steve held Pepper tightly, carefully, for a long minute as they hugged. “How are you?” 

“Honestly thrilled to see you.” Pepper decided, and ran her fingers lightly through his beard. “You know, I don’t think I’ll ever be used to seeing you my age, Steve. I’m so used to thinking you’re baby faced despite being at least a hundred. I like this look, you seem distinguished instead of scrappy.” 

“Scrappy.” Steve laughed and opened the door to Pepper’s office, motioning the female Alpha through first. “I appreciate that.” 

“Ohhh you smell like home.” Pepper stepped close and sniffed at his neck again. “I miss the cabin and Tony and Morgan. I thought trading in my power suits for books on compost heaps was the hardest thing I’d ever do, but as it turns out getting back into those suits to try and put the world back together is way more difficult.” 

“I don’t think anyone’s surprised that saving the world is harder than fertilizing.” the Alpha said dryly and Pepper wrinkled her nose at his sarcasm. “When will you be home again?” 

“Not for a few more days.” Pepper sighed. “I’m going to call Tony tonight but it’s not the same as being home with you guys and Bug. What brought you all the way into the city, anyway? Has Tony blown up the garage? Drained the lake for some ridiculous reason? Oh no did Morgan have her first broken arm?” 

“Morgan and Tony are fine.” Steve was quick to assure her, but a little less quick to place the gift bag on the table and pull out the little shoes. “But… we have some news.” 

Pepper picked up the shoes with a smile and turned them over a few times in her hands. “Oh I remember buying these, Morgan was too small to even walk when we got them! Tony accused me of trying to start a shoe obsession early, but then he was the one to put them on her at least three times a week, wacky Omega. Why do you have them, though?” 

“Bug gave me them as a present.” Steve said slowly, quietly. “A present for the new baby.” 

“The new baby.” Pepper echoed, confusion furrowing her brows for a few seconds before realization had her slumping back in her chair. “...oh my god. You and Tony--” 

Steve waited with bated breath, hands clenched and heart pounding. Out of all the conversations he’d thought to have one day, telling his mate’s former Alpha they were expecting a baby hadn’t even made the list. 

“You and Tony.” Pepper said again, and then she smiled, a hand over her heart as her scent swelled warm with affection. “That’s amazing, Steve.” 

“Really?” 

“Tony and I didn’t think it was possible a first time, and after Morgan we never thought to try again.” Pepper ran her fingers over the rhinestones on Morgan’s shoes and her smile softened even more. “Congratulations, Captain. I’m very happy for the two of you, and I’m sure Morgan is thrilled to be a big sister. But why are you here telling me when I’m sure Tony has some no doubt extravagant way of announcing it to the entire team?” 

“Well um--” Steve cleared his throat and clasped his hands between his knees. “Pep, I know we don’t have a traditional sort of relationship-- you and Tony dissolving your bond but still co-habitating, Morgan calling me Papa while still calling Tony Daddy and you Mama, three adults helping raise one kiddo-- it’s not a normal sort of relationship.” 

“Mmm-hmm?” Pepper waited and the other Alpha cleared his throat one more time before continuing--” 

“Getting to know and love Morgan has been one of the best things about the last six months. She calls me Papa Steve and I never thought I’d care about that sort of thing, but now it’s my favorite thing in the world right next to Tony calling me Alpha.” Steve reached across the desk for Pepper’s hand and squeezed her fingers lightly. “I want this new baby to know and love you like Morgan knows and loves me. Want him or her to have three parents and a big sister and a house full of love and--” 

His throat closed up as Pepper’s eyes filled with tears. “--I guess what I’m saying is that I’d be honored if you stayed with us. Not just honored-- thrilled. I want you to stay with us, Pepper. It’s probably not even my place to ask you to keep calling the cabin home, but I’m here doing it anyway. You and Tony aren’t mated anymore but he loves you so much. You’re Morgan’s mom and have been a constant presence in my life for fifteen years now and it just-- it wouldn’t feel like family without you around, Pep. That’s all there is to it.” 

“Oh.” Pepper wiped at a few tears as they dripped down her cheek. “And here I thought you’d ask me to move out so you can repaint the bedroom walls for the baby.” 

“Tony is already drawing up plans for an extra room for the cabin that is roughly the size of most people’s houses.” Steve sighed and Pepper laughed through her tears at him. “Plus, I’ve only known for most of a day and I’m already overwhelmed, Pep. All those times you joked about being the one who keeps Tony’s world together-- not really a joke, right? I don’t know how you did it all those years.” 

“Sure you do.” she murmured confidently. “All it takes is loving that Omega until your heart hurts with it, and everything else comes along easily.” 

“Well, it would come along easier if you were there too.” The Alpha stated. “Please? Stay with us.” 

“It would be awfully inconvenient to move all my clothes from that big beautiful closet Tony built me.” Pepper teased and Steve’s big shoulders relaxed in relief. “I appreciate the sentiment Steve, but with or without this beautiful new baby, I have no intention of moving out of the cabin. It’s home no matter what, whether it’s home to just us and Tony or us and Tony and Bug and a new baby and the several dozen people that seem to consider it a free for all restaurant on Friday nights.” 

“I love you, Pep.” Steve grinned, and she scrunched her nose just like Morgan always did and replied, “I love you too, Captain. Now then, can I give you some advice?” 

“Please, God yes.” 

“Spoil Tony for the next few months.” Pepper picked up her phone and scrolled through a few pictures before turning the screen so Steve could see it. “With Morgan we never got to do the fun things expecting Omega’s go through-- the maternity shoots and the baby showers and all that. The world was in chaos and Tony didn’t feel right making a big deal about anything, but this time around--” 

Steve took the phone and looked through the pages and pages of different pictures and lists. “This was my idea board for when we were expecting Morgan. I looked up photographers and studios, all sorts of organic creams and stretch mark lotions, overpriced novelty items beautiful clothes...” Pepper’s smile was wistful. “Spoil him this time. Give him all this. Tony deserves it.” 

“...I feel like a pregnancy boudoir photo shoot would be more about spoiling me.” The blond Alpha paused over a rather... risque... photo of an expecting Omega, his eyebrows flying up high. “I mean... wow.” 

Pepper laughed at him again. “Well I’ll be home soon to celebrate with everyone, but until then kiss our unorthodox little family for me, okay?” 

“Always.” Steve leaned over the desk and kissed the pretty Alpha on the cheek. “Thank you, Pepper.” 

“Take it from an Alpha who’s been there with Tony? You’ve been gone four hours and if you aren’t home soon with sea salt chocolates and something with a ribbon on top, your pregnant Omega will lose his mind.” Pepper said authoritatively, and Steve yelped in alarm, grabbed up the little shoes and dashed from the office. 

“Good luck!” she called as he ran, and once the door was closed, Pepper decided to put off her afternoon meeting for just a few minutes more so she could start shopping for baby shower gifts. 

She and Tony weren’t mates anymore but they were best friends, and she had every intention of giving the Omega everything he’d wanted last time around and wasn’t able to get. 

“Baby bibs in Tiffany blue and onesies in Cartier red?” she mused, and clicked ‘add to cart.’ “Oh, I think those are entirely necessary.” 

*****************

*****************

Dinner at the cabin the following Friday was attended by more people than usual. Carol and Nebula had returned from… well from wherever they went in space, Harley had driven up from college and picked Peter and Ned up on the way. Sam and Bucky were back from training new recruits and apparently intent on eating Tony and Steve out of house and home, Scott had brought Hope and Cassie, Bruce had to sit on the porch and talk through the window, Rhodey and Happy flew in with Pepper who was still doing paperwork on the helicopter as it landed in the yard. Even Clint and Natasha made it in from the farm, Natasha still a little too pale and a little too weak after the events at Vormir had been reversed, Clint a little quieter than he’d ever been before as he held tight to Tasha’s hand. 

The cabin was full and the tables were groaning under the weight of all the food, the teenagers and Scott shrieking about some video game in the living room while Sam and Bucky argued about everything from whether or not string cheese counted as actual cheese to who looked better with the shield on their back. Pepper had her arms happily full of Morgan, Rhodey was listening warily to Tony’s latest story about an attempted invention and the house was loud right up until Hope shrieked in alarm when Harley and Peter got a little too carried away and a video game controller winged out from the living room and nearly hit her. 

It was snatched away by a web a split second before Hope ended up with a bloody nose, and the room went quiet when the two barely presented Alphas peeked around the corner with guilty eyes and even guiltier expressions. 

“Alright, there are officially too many kids in here!” Rhodey decided loudly. “Boys! You’re banished to the yard! You too, Scott!” 

“Aw man!” Scott whined. “I’m like forty, you can’t just banish me!” 

“Son, tou’re like four.” the Colonel retorted and Pepper hid a smile in Morgan’s hair. “Get out there with the boys and wreak some havoc by the lake!” 

“Calm down, platypus.” Tony stood on his toes to kiss Steve and in the same motion stole most of his mate’s food away. “This time next year Morgan will be big enough to build explosive things and you’ll be wishing for Harley and Pete’s mess once you’ve got Mini Me blowing holes in the-- oh crap.” 

The Omega swayed on his feet and nearly fell over, and Steve grabbed him up tight. “My mate? Okay?” 

“It’s nothing, just a little lightheaded.” Tony forced a smile that quickly turned to a grimace when Carol offered him some of the veggie and ranch dip. “Nope, can’t eat that. The smell of ranch makes me nauseous and I’m pretty sure the baby is making me allergic to all things dairy. And my allergies are super bad right now-- this kid just hates my nose.” 

“Uh, which kid hates your nose?” Carol asked, and then with a quick look down at Tony’s stomach. “Are you eating for two right now!?” 

“Tony!” Rhodey’s plate slipped and fell from his hands, splatting unnoticed on the floor as he gaped at his best friend. “Are you serious?” 

Belatedly, Tony realized what he’d said, that their secret was out in the open before he and Steve had even talked about how to tell their extended family, but before he could back pedal or clarify or anything, Nebula cried out in excitement and Clint whooped and pounded at Steve’s back and Carol put her fingers to her lips and whistled at the top of her lungs and the room descended into sheer chaos, round after round of congratulations and excitement and cooing and pressing at Tony’s belly while the mated pair were bombarded with questions. 

“Oops?” Tony offered his mate an apologetic half smile. “Didn’t mean to announce it quite like that.” 

“Well, I guess this is as good a time as any to give you your present.” Steve whispered to his mate, and pulled an envelope from his back pocket. “And by presents, I mean the first of at least a hundred I’m going to get you for making me the happiest Alpha in the world. Here you go, sweetheart.” 

“Oooh presents!” Tony tore open the envelope, and his eyes widened when he saw the gift certificate inside. “A boudoir photo shoot for when I’m further along? Captain Rogers! How forward of you!” 

And then with an entirely cheeky grin, “I love it. Thank you.” 

“I uh--” Steve cleared his throat and tapped at one sample picture specifically, where the expecting Omega was swathed in sheer red and gauzy blue material and laid out on a lounge. “I like that one.” 

“No, we should do them outside and naked!” Tony’s scent lifted sweet and happy and Steve rumbled in immediate approval. “And I want a milk bath! And I want one while I’m wearing expensive jewelry! And one where---” 

Tony kept talking excitedly and Natasha sidled up next to Pepper to ask under her breath, “Pep, are you okay?” 

“Of course I’m okay.” the Alpha smoothed Morgan’s hair back from her forehead and asked, “We are very excited about the baby, aren’t we Bug?” 

“You’re excited for your former mate to have a child with his new mate.” Tasha asked pointedly. “Really?” 

“Oh Tasha.” Pepper smiled when Steve bent Tony over into a long kiss in the background. “I love Tony to death, but trust me when I say Steve can have this round. I intend to eat popcorn and drink wine and watch Steve fret himself bald over this whole thing.” 

“Is Tony going to be that high maintenance?” Natasha finally smiled too, unable to help it when the room smelled like happy and content Omega. “I wasn’t around much with Morgan since the world had just ended and all. Was he terrible?” 

“Oh my god.” Pepper laughed out loud. “Trust me, Tasha. That Alpha has no idea what to expect when Tony’s expecting. This is going to be a ride.” 

“Somehow I think the Captain is up to the challenge.” Natasha tilted her head and watched as Steve hand fed his mate a piece of garlic bread. “Yeah, I think they’re gonna be fine.” 

*************

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[thehierophage]

Holy Day Meditation for 4-5-21 e.v.

April 5, 2021 æ.v. Dies Lunæ, 

☉︎ 16° ♈︎ : ☽︎ 6° ♒︎ : ☽︎ : Ⅴⅴⅰⅰ 

  Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law. 

  The Day of Vav, the Day of the Hermit 

  Hebrew Letter: Vav 

Numerical Value as Letter: 6 

Numerical Value as Word: 12/13/22 (Vav+Vav or Vav+Aleph+Vav or Vav+Yod+Vav) 

Meaning: A holdfast, Nail, Hook. 

Thoth Card: The Hierophant (Atu V) 

Alternate Title: The Magus of the Eternal. 

  Image: 

  Correspondences: 

  Tree of Life Path Association: Key 16 - Chesed to Chokmah (from Sephira 4-2) 

Astrological Sign: Taurus 

  Element: Earth 

Egyptian Godforms: Asar/Osiris, Ameshet, Apis 

Geomantic Figure: Amissio 

Gemstones: Topaz, Sapphire, Garnet, Cornelian 

Perfumes: Costus, Storax 

Plants: Mallow, Myrtle 

Animals: Ox, Rhinoceros, Bull 

  Colors: 

 King Scale – Red orange 

Queen Scale – Deep indigo 

Prince Scale – Deep warm olive 

Princess Scale – Rich brown 

  The Secret Instruction of the Master:

Offer thyself Virgin to the Knowledge and Conversation of thine Holy Guardian Angel! All else is a snare. Be thou athlete with the eight limbs of Yoga; for without these thou are not disciplined for any fight.

Mnemonic:

Wisdom to each apportioned to his want By modes of Light, shed forth, great Hierophant!

Recommended Text for Meditation:

Liber Cordis Cincti Serpente Sub Figura LXV, cap. 5

Liber Cordis Cincti Serpente

A.˙.A.˙. Publication in Class A. Imprimatur: N. Fra A.˙. A.˙.

V

1.  Ah! my Lord Adonai, that dalliest with the Magister in the Treasure-House of Pearls, let me listen to the echo of your kisses.

  2. Is not the starry heaven shaken as a leaf at the tremulous rapture of your love? Am not I the flying spark of light whirled away by the great wind of your perfection?

  3. Yea, cried the Holy One, and from Thy spark will I the Lord kindle a great light; I will burn through the great city in the old and desolate land; I will cleanse it from its great impurity.

  4. And thou, O prophet, shalt see these things, and thou shalt heed them not.

  5. Now is the Pillar established in the Void; now is Asi fulfilled of Asar; now is Hoor let down into the Animal Soul of Things like a fiery star that falleth upon the darkness of the earth.

  6. Through the midnight thou art dropt, O my child, my conqueror, my sword-girt captain, O Hoor! and they shall find thee as a black gnarl'd glittering stone, and they shall worship thee.

  7. My prophet shall prophesy concerning thee; around thee the maidens shall dance, and bright babes be born unto them. Thou shalt inspire the proud ones with infinite pride, and the humble ones with an ecstasy of abasement; all this shall transcend the Known and the Unknown with somewhat that hath no name. For it is as the abyss of the Arcanum that is opened in the secret Place of Silence.

  8. Thou hast come hither, O my prophet, through grave paths. Thou hast eaten of the dung of the Abominable Ones; thou hast prostrated thyself before the Goat and the Crocodile; the evil men have made thee a plaything; thou hast wandered as a painted harlot, ravishing with sweet scent and Chinese colouring, in the streets; thou hast darkened thine eyepits with Kohl; thou hast tinted thy lips with vermilion; thou hast plastered thy cheeks with ivory enamels. Thou hast played the wanton in every gate and by-way of the great city. The men of the city have lusted after thee to abuse thee and to beat thee. They have mouthed the golden spangles of fine dust wherewith thou didst bedeck thine hair; they have scourged the painted flesh of thee with their whips; thou hast suffered unspeakable things.

  9. But I have burnt within thee as a pure flame without oil. In the midnight I was brighter than the moon; in the daytime I exceeded utterly the sun; in the byways of of thy being I inflamed, and dispelled the illusion.

 10. Therefore thou art wholly pure before Me; therefore thou art My virgin unto eternity.

 11. Therefore I love thee with surpassing love; therefore they that despise thee shall adore thee.

 12. Thou shalt be lovely and pitiful toward them; thou shalt heal them of the unutterable evil.

 13. They shall change in their destruction, even as two dark stars that crash together in the abyss, and blaze up in an infinite burning.

 14. All this while did Adonai pierce my being with his sword that hath four blades; the blade of the thunderbolt, the blade of the Pylon, the blade of the serpent, the blade of the Phallus.

 15. Also he taught me the holy unutterable word Ararita, so that I melted the sixfold gold into a single invisible point, whereof naught may be spoken.

 16. For the Magistry of this Opus is a secret magistry; and the sign of the master thereof is a certain ring of lapis-lazuli with the name of my master, who am I, and the Eye in the Midst thereof.

 17. Also He spake and said: This is a secret sign, and thou shalt not disclose it unto the profane, nor unto the neophyte, nor unto the zelator, nor unto the practicus, nor unto the philosophus, nor unto the lesser adept, nor unto the greater adept.

 18. But unto the exempt adept thou shalt disclose thyself if thou have need of him for the lesser oÿerations of thine art.

 19. Accept the worship of the foolish people, whom thou hatest. The Fire is not defiled by the altars of the Ghebers, nor is the Moon contaminated by the incense of them that adore the Queen of Night.

 20. Thou shalt dwell among the people as a precious diamond among cloudy diamonds, and crystals, and pieces of glass. Only the eye of the just merchant shall behold thee, and plunging in his hand shall single thee out and glorify thee before men.

 21. But thou shalt heed none of this. Thou shalt be ever the heart, and I the serpent will coil close about thee. My coil shall never relax throughout the æons. Neither change nor sorrow nor unsubstantiality shall have thee; for thou art passed beyond all these.

 22. Even as the diamond shall glow red for the rose, and green for the rose-leaf; so shalt thou abide apart from the Impressions.

 23. I am thou, and the Pillar is 'stablished in the void.

 24. Also thou art beyond the stabilities of Being and of Consciousness and of Bliss; for I am thou, and the Pillar is 'stablished in the void.

 25. Also thou shalt discourse of these things unto the man that writeth them, and he shall partake of them as a sacrament; for I who am thou am he, and the Pillar is 'stablished in the void.

 26. From the Crown to the Abyss, so goeth it single and erect. Also the limitless sphere shall glow with the brilliance thereof.

 27. Thou shalt rejoice in the pools of adorable water; thou shalt bedeck thy damsels with pearls of fecundity; thou shalt light flame like licking tongues of liquor of the Gods between the pools.

 28. Also thou shalt convert the all-sweeping air into the winds of pale water, thou shalt transmute the earth into a blue abyss of wine.

 29. Ruddy are the gleams of ruby and gold that sparkle therein; one drop shall intoxicate the Lord of the Gods my servant.

 30. Also Adonai spake unto V.V.V.V.V. saying: O my little one, my tender one, my little amorous one, my gazelle, my beautiful, my boy, let us fill up the pillar of the Infinite with an infinite kiss!

 31. So that the stable was shaken and the unstable became still.

 32. They that beheld it cried with a formidable affright: The end of things is come upon us.

 33. And it was even so.

 34. Also I was in the spirit vision and beheld a parricidal pomp of atheists, coupled by two and by two in the supernal ecstasy of the stars. They did laugh and rejoice exceedingly, being clad in purple robes and drunken with purple wine, and their whole soul was one purple flower-flame of holiness.

 35. They beheld not God; they beheld not the Image of God; therefore were they arisen to the Palace of the Splendour Ineffable. A sharp sword smote out before them, and the worm Hope writhed in its death-agony under their feet.

 36. Even as their rapture shore asunder the visible Hope, so also the Fear Invisible fled away and was no more.

 37. O ye that are beyond Aormuzdi and Ahrimanes! blessèd are ye unto the ages.

 38. They shaped Doubt as a sickle, and reaped the flowers of Faith for their garlands.

 39. They shaped Ecstasy as a spear, and pierced the ancient dragon that sat upon the stagnant water.

 40. Then the fresh springs were unloosed, that the folk athirst might be at ease.

 41. And again I was caught up into the presence of my Lord Adonai, and the knowledge and Conversation of the Holy One, the Angel that Guardeth me.

 42. O Holy Exalted One, O Self beyond self. O Self-Luminous Image of the Unimaginable Naught, O my darling, my beautiful, come Thou forth and follow me.

 43. Adonai, divine Adonai, let Adonai initiate refulgent dalliance! Thus I concealed the name of Her name that inspireth my rapture, the scent of whose body bewildereth the soul, the light of whose soul abaseth this body unto the beasts.

 44. I have sucked out the blood with my lips; I have drained Her beauty of its sustenance; I have abased Her before me, I have mastered Her, I have possessed Her, and Her life is within me. In Her blood I inscribe the secret riddles of the Sphinx of the Gods, that none shall understand, -- save only the pure and voluptuous, obscene, the androgyne and the gynander that have passed beyond the bars of the prison that the old Slime of Khem set up in the Gates of Amennti.

 45. O my adorable, my delicious one, all night will I pour out the libation on Thine altars; all night will I burn the sacrifice of blood; all night will I swing the thurible of my delight before Thee, and the fervour of the orisons shall intoxicate Thy nostrils.

 46. O Thou who camest from the land of the Elephant, girt about with the tiger's pell, and garlanded with the lotus of the spirit, do Thou inebriate my life with Thy madness, that She leap at my passing.

 47. Bid Thy maidens who follow Thee bestrew us a bed of flowers immortal, that we may take our pleasure thereupon. Bid Thy satyrs heap thorns among the flowers, that we may take our pain thereupon. Let the pleasure and pain be mingled in one supreme offering unto the Lord Adonai!

 48. Also I heard the voice of Adonai the Lord the desirable one concerning that which is beyond.

 49. Let not the dwellers in Thebai and the temples thereof prate ever of the Pillars of Hercules and the Ocean of the West. Is not the Nile a beautiful water?

 50. Let not the priest of Isis uncover the nakedness of Nuit, for every step is a death and a birth. The priest of Isis lifted the veil of Isis, and was slain by the kisses of her mouth. Then was he the priest of Nuit, and drank of the milk of the stars.

 51. Let not the failure and the pain turn aside the worshippers. The foundations of the pyramid were hewn in the living rock ere sunset; did the king weep at dawn that the crown of the pyramid was yet unquarried in the distant land?

 52. There was also an humming-bird that spake unto the horned cerastes, and prayed him for poison. And the great snake of Khem the Holy One, the royal Uræus serpent, answered him and said:

 53. I sailed over the sky of Nu in the car called Millions-of-Years, and I saw not any creature upon Seb that was equal to me. The venom of my fang is the inheritance of my father, and of my father's father; and how shall I give it unto thee? Live thou and thy children as I and my fathers have lived, even unto an hundred millions of generations, and it may be that the mercy of the Mighty Ones may bestow upon thy children a drop of the poison of eld.

 54. Then the humming-bird was afflicted in his spirit, and he flew unto the flowers, and it was as if naught had been spoken between them. Yet in a little while a serpent struck him that he died.

 55. But an Ibis that meditated upon the bank of Nile the beautiful god listened and heard. And he laid aside his Ibis ways, and became as a serpent, saying Peradventure in an hundred millions of millions of generations of my children, they shall attain to a drop of the poison of the fang of the Exalted One.

 56. And behold! ere the moon waxed thrice he became an Uræus serpent, and the poison of the fang was established in him and his seed even for ever and for ever.

 57. O thou Serpent Apep, my Lord Adonai, it is a speck of minutest time, this travelling through eternity, and in Thy sight the landmarks are of fair white marble untouched by the tool of the graver. Therefore Thou art mine, even now and for ever and for everlasting. Amen.

 58. Moreover, I heard the voice of Adonai: Seal up the book of the Heart and the Serpent; in the number five and sixty seal thou the holy book.

     As fine gold that is beaten into a diadem for the fair queen of Pharaoh, as great stones that are cemented together into the Pyramid of the ceremony of the Death of Asar, so do thou bind together the words and the deeds, so that in all is one Thought of Me thy delight Adonai.

 59. And I answered and said: It is done even according unto Thy word. And it was done. And they that read the book and debated thereon passed into the desolate land of Barren Words. And they that sealed up the book into their blood were the chosen of Adonai, and the Thought of Adonai was a Word and a Deed; and they abode in the Land that the far-off travellers call Naught.

 60. O land beyond honey and spice and all perfection! I will dwell therein with my Lord for ever.

 61. And the Lord Adonai delighteth in me, and I bear the Cup of His gladness unto the weary ones of the old grey land.

 62. They that drink thereof are smitten of disease; the abomination hath hold upon them, and their torment is like the thick black smoke of the evil abode.

 63. But the chosen ones drank thereof, and became even as my Lord, my beautiful, my desirable one. There is no wine like unto this wine.

 64. They are gathered together into a glowing heart, as Ra that gathereth his clouds about Him at eventide into a molten sea of Joy; and the snake that is the crown of Ra bindeth them about with the golden girdle of the death-kisses.

 65. So also is the end of the book, and the Lord Adonai is about it on all sides like a Thunderbolt, and a Pylon, and a Snake, and a Phallus, and in the midst thereof he is like the Woman that jetteth out the milk of the stars from her paps; yea, the milk of the stars from her paps.

  Love is the law, love under will.

[kshitij1997]

Greetings, people!

Oh, damn I haven't done this in some time.

Well, the life of an engineer is a hectic one and I had written myself into a corner and was blocked for many days as a result. Not anymore. I have decided that I would update this once a week from now on.

We're getting somewhere in this, hopefully you people enjoy it.

All frozen and Tangled characters belong to Disney, all I own is this head-cannon and the original characters.

Let's continue!

Chapter 6: Of children fortunate and not so fortunate

Throughout Europe, the new year was always celebrated with utter pomp and show, what with firecrackers bursting in the city centres and town squares and if there weren't any firecrackers at hand, one could always fire a musket up in the air. Singing, dancing, drunken behaviour, smashing of public property, brawls and general noise. It was comforting to see that even though the major empires were coming up and clawing at each other's throats on a regular basis, nothing would really dampen the typical European spirit even if some drastic changes ever happened.

Which is not to say they didn't have different customs. The Ottoman Sultan for example, would start celebrating three days in advance, binging and drinking while being surrounded by scores of concubines, throwing golden medals and eggs onto the streets for all his citizens to collect. This pious act of charity was ample for the people to forgive the Sultan his misgivings. As for the Tsar, the rumoured massive drinking appetite of the typical Tsar held strong and displayed itself in all its glory during the coming of the new year, singing, jumping on tables, screaming Moktor! a drinking chant he had borrowed from his Arendellian ally, banging a kettle drum while removing his royal tunic and tying it around his forehead, it certainly wasn't a sight the typical Russian nobles would forget easily even as they were busy distributing free beer and bread throughout St. Petersburg. The royal family of the Southern Isles always started as a family dinner but dissolved into everyone getting wasted and threatening to kill each other right then and there. However, for some unexplained reason, they always ended up weeping and caressing each other. One could be forgiven for thinking that it was an Irish wake, unsurprising as the Southern Isles had some sizable Irish ancestry. As for the Duke of Weselton, it was an opium binge, smoking up into the wee hours of the morning. If one made the mistake of asking the duke his plans during such a session, they could be trapped there for the rest of the day and miss the blessed celebrations. Now that his merchants had begun smuggling Marijuana from central America, those plans became more outlandish every passing year as the intoxicant made its way in the duke's habits. The Monarchs of Corona were more chaste and less dramatic in comparison, nevertheless it didn't stop them from holding a quirky national lottery at the end of the year in which save the crown, the state and the Monarchs, nearly everything was for grabs.

It could be a normal brooch, or a kettle, or something outrageous like the ancient Dusseldorf cathedral, or even better, the Munich Palace of Justice. However, short of the royal palace, nothing truly awed the people of Corona as the Mansion, a building so singular and unique in the Rhinelands that it had acquired a legend of its own. How that massive building was built during the earliest crusades in the holy lands, had sheltered thousands of innocents in the mindless massacres which was a hallmark of said crusades, how the same building became a terrible final place for those unfortunates who were accused of witchcraft and found guilty, how said building harboured the Coronian resistance as they battled the Habsburgs for the identity of Corona in the thirty years war. One could see that the Mansion was home to centuries of history both good and bad, a monument to human suffering and human triumph; it was a matter of prestige and honour to those who lived there.

Since the passing of the Patriarch, the Mansion was up for bid for the first time in fifty years. Unfortunately, the Mansion had been burned down, some said it was a careless baker, some said it was a figure as dark as night, yet many believed that it was Flynn Rider, the little boy who cast a gargantuan shadow in all of Rhineland, where some thought he was a hero who avenged someone dear to him and brought down tyranny, while some thought he was a rat bastard, who sold out everyone from his trade to escape the noose and ruined the businesses of the Rhinelands. Ah well, the public could never make up its mind.

Even though the public was upset by the loss of the Mansion, they had to agree that the Monarchs were generally generous in the lottery and accepted the loss with a heavy heart. After all, a cooking pot was much more useful in cooking than an entire monument , no matter how symbolic it was and how brightly it burned into oblivion.

Last but not the least, the kingdom of Arendelle often saw a lot of parades and street performances around that time of the year. Typically the various students who had come from abroad to study would often bring out a procession, banging some drums, beating some cymbals and singing songs in unison in their native languages, becoming a crowd of thousands as they used to go door to door, either offering food and gifts, and inviting those to join them who weren't in severe want. The fact that It always snowed in the final fortnight of the year as if on clockwork never dampened their spirits. The evenings would often see people from all strata of Arendellian society coming together without social barriers. In recent years, the crowds had started becoming rowdier and more rambunctious, but they all settled as the Monarchs addressed them from their pedestal at the Royal Palace, bringing the year to a dignified end and rousing hopes for the new year. The Palace courtyard itself often became a fair ground, with various stalls selling delicacies, trinkets and souvenirs.

Queen Iduna had always enjoyed the fairs at the palace and meeting foreigners in the parades when she was a commoner, and now she loved it even more as she had her husband to share that joy with. It was a common sight to see the royal couple strolling around, meeting the stall owners, trying some exotic foods and relishing them. Now with baby princess Elsa, they had developed a very sweet tooth as well, they had been spoiled for chocolate as the baby girl always went gaga over the sweet. Even though she hadn't yet spoken, by now her parents were well acquainted with sounds of disapproval or enthusiasm coming from her. For example, when Elsa tried to nibble on any sweet, she would always gurgle and moan and form wisps with her tiny fingers, which always succeeded in bringing a smile to the couple's lips. After the exciting parades and stalls of food, the evening had surprisingly become calm as it approached the new year. Princess Elsa had had an active day, and now was sleeping in Queen Iduna's arms in the royal bedroom, her face buried into her mother's bosom.

"I guess Sophia is to take the credit or the blame for this" grinned Agnarr.

"Ha, yes surely. I wouldn't put it past her at all." smiled Iduna "However it's a shame Elsa can't drink the hot chocolate yet. It's getting lonesome drinking it by myself."

"What does that mean? It is OUR drink, right?"

"It was once, but then you got self-conscious about your health and everything." Iduna teased.

"Well, I can't really flaunt my stretch marks for my certification of fatherhood." Agnarr teased back.

"That was rough. Parenthood has changed you for the worse." Iduna laughed after staring at Agnarr for nearly a minute about that comment.

"On the other hand, I think you've become soft, I still remember the day you made the Duke of Weselton shit himself." Agnarr smirked.

"Boo you, I'm with child." Iduna accepted the challenge "I can still drive you around in circles, you know? You remember earlier today, when I made you cook an Artichoke salad for my cravings. Oh god, you were hunched over the damn stove. Good fun. And a story the whole litter would enjoy someday." Iduna finished with a laugh.

"A whole litter? Dammit woman." Agnarr laughed.

"Yeah, better stay in shape." Iduna smirked.

"Alright, I admit defeat. I swear I can still hear the blessed kitchen ladies sniggering." Agnarr backed off "Ah well, another bun hmm?"

"Yes, another bun. Due in early spring, if Dr. Klaus is to be believed."

"I would wager my life under his knife, should the day come." Agnarr said quietly.

"Hush, don't say that." Iduna whispered. "It'll be a new year in a matter of minutes, how can you think of doom at such a precious moment?"

"It's because I know how life can turn out for a lot of people. I tell you Iduna, all things considered we are luckier than most, and I know fate has a way of balancing the scales." Agnarr replied with an inscrutable face natural to kings, but Iduna knew better.

"Look, it's true we have been fortunate. However, we've had our share of suffering as well. We both have lost a lot in order to find each other and come together. You know, I still wake up sometimes looking towards the North, reminiscing what could have been if somehow war didn't break out, and I would have become a herald for the voice, be one with the fifth spirit, who knows? However, I do know that if I hadn't ventured south, I would have never met you. Not to mention the peace we brought together, the people we have allied with, the thousands of opportunities that have opened for the people because we have worked together and a lot more. Sure, we can lament what we were forced to give up, but then we wouldn't have this, and we certainly wouldn't have Elsa." Iduna consoled him.

The king of Arendelle gave a weak smile and continued " That is true, but her abilities do make me nervous. I hope we can mitigate any problems that arise from the fifth spirit's blessing."

"We got some time to figure it out. I know what you're insinuating, no need to say it out loud, anyone could hear us. Look, the key here is proceed carefully, and to make sure she's not afraid of herself. We'll be there every step of the way, and I tell you this, our baby is going to dominate the world." Iduna reassured the king.

"We certainly can't let them do what they did to Rapunzel." Agnarr shuddered at the mere thought of the incident.

"That will certainly not happen, believe me. Elsa's a light sleeper, if anyone other than us dares to take her, she'll shriek and bring the castle down." Iduna tried to ease his worry with some humour.

"Ha, our proud little banshee." Agnarr grinned.

They were interrupted by the fireworks bringing in the new year.

"godt nytt år, Iduna." "godt nytt år, Agnarr." Said the royal couple as they embraced, and Iduna felt Elsa smiling in her sleep.

While Elsa may have been at perfect peace with the world in that moment, another infant was not so lucky.

"Another fucking year gone." Hissed princess Paulina of the former kingdom of Poland, as she tried to rock the five-month-old prince Hans to sleep in his cradle. The baby prince had always had trouble sleeping, but that was to be expected as babies generally need contact to grow properly, however the princess in question didn't believe in it.

"Another year gone to shit, and I am just another windbag for your fucking father, eh kid?" the princess made a point not to join the new year's celebration, citing colic as her cause of worry, but truth be told, she could never tolerate the whole family together at once. She was alone in a strange land, among strange people who didn't think too much of her; Afterall, they had seen many like her come and go over the years. The only joy she found in her life was the one thing or person she could claim to be her own; her infant boy Janus, or Hans as his father preferred to call him.

"Your father professes his love for me, yet betrays me everyday with those loose women that lick his balls all day, his heart condition doesn't flare up then, does it? He doesn't fucking keel over then, does he? Your father promises he'll bring justice to my homeland, and then has the entrails to stab me in the back by sending his fucking lapdogs to participate in the massacre of my poor people?!" She foamed at the mouth. Little did she care that her kid could not console her or understand her yet, her bitter vitriol needed to flow somewhere, and her infant was in the unfortunate way.

"But remember this Janus, someday you will bring glory to all of Warsaw, and bring justice to all of Poland and her murderers." Whispered the princess as she calmed down and reached out to her child. The baby was only too glad for the contact and grabbed it with both hands.

"Good boy" whispered the princess with a smile to her fateful son, but the smile disappeared as she remembered what she had set out to do. The sheer memory of her father's murder by the Russians' firing squad as her family's ancestral home of over three hundred years burned to nothing, made her blood boil to vapour. But she knew better than to make a public display of her misery. No, she would wait, and hold fast as her fateful kid would hopefully bring Europe to heel one day. But for that to happen, the child needed toughening up and foolish superstitions and fancies like love and family had to be quelled before they did any damage to her 'chieftest pearl'. She pulled her hand away from Janus and walked to the window, not caring that the baby prince had started wailing loudly.

"Great, let it out, it's just pain and anguish leaving you, little prince of destiny." Whispered the now inscrutable princess as she witnessed the coming of the new year fireworks and chants from her dark little room.

"Godt nytår, Janus."

More than 900 miles away, a craven boyish figure on a horse had nearly crossed the borders of Corona into France as he approached the city of Alsace, when he decided to take refuge into the chapel two miles ahead of him. The new year celebrations had long ended and everyone had fallen asleep, save for the priest in the chapel. Eugene walked up lead footed and tired from the expedition up to the chapel doors and then he knocked on the door.

The priest opened the door silently and saw the gruff boy and took him in at once. Now, Eugene's week-long ordeal had exhausted him, and anything he could beg for was enough to feed only either him or his horse. More often than not, Eugene chose to feed the worn-out horse. But now, finally some good shelter for both the horse and Rider.

"Comment tu t'appelle?" the priest asked in a language Eugene didn't fully understand. When the priest didn't receive any answer that he could expect, he got up and peaked outside in the direction from which the little boy had ridden in.

"Tu parle Francais? Parlez-vous allemand?" The priest asked.

"Je parle allemand." Eugene replied in the little broken French that he knew.

"Ah, Deutsch." Replied the priest. Then he went in, brought a spare change of clothes and some bread and stew left from the celebration, and a quilt and mattress for the little boy.

"Essen, mein Kind" spoke the priest as her made the bed.

As Eugene bit into the bread, he couldn't hold back any longer, and burst into tears.

The priest patiently waited for him to calm down, then asked him in German "What's your name?"

"Flynn" the kid replied, his voice still raw from sobbing.

"You are far from home, aren't you?"

"I don't have a home, not anymore."

"What happened to your home, your family?"

"It got burnt down, I tried to get help, but it was too late." Flynn lied, fearing what could happen if he answered honestly.

The priest replied "It's alright, my child. Please rest now, you may stay on or leave in the morning if you wish."

"Danke, Vater" Flynn said.

"Frohes neues Jahr, mein Sohn. And don't worry, your horse is safe." The priest smiled and said quietly.

Well, it was a different tempo for me in this chapter, trying to show one day from a lot of different perspectives. I'll just say poor Hans for now.

As always, constructive feedback is always welcome.

[erstwhile25]

Songbird’s Tale.

It sits, under lock and key, on a boat full of thieves, liars, and charlatans.  It is a simple thing and while this is a boat that has seen king’s silks, diamonds the size of peacock eggs, chests overflowing with gold doubloons, it is still one of the most valuable objects aboard.  It boasts this virtue for several reasons.  The first, and most important is that it is among the most beloved objects aboard.  Sea weathered hands have lovingly stroked it’s soft leather cover, salt tears have been shed over it’s vellum pages, and more than once it has been clutched reverently to a chest in the dead of night.  The second reason, and possibly as important as the first (depending on who you asked) is that it is among the most feared objects aboard.  Eyes have hastened to read it’s flowing script in the waning light of a burning candle, it has been secreted away time and time again from those with horrid intent, and it has been the pinnacle of many a night terror aboard this boat.  The third, and final reason is that it is one of two objects aboard this craft that can truly, without exception, claim to be utterly unique on this...or any world.  

Oh the story on it’s pages has been told before, you’ve probably heard a version of it yourself in some fashion or another.  However the names have been changed, the reasons for what happened are muddied, or sometimes parts of the tale have simply been left out.  This is to be expected, it’s what happens to tales that are told over and over again.  It’s why we have books after all.  This is the only surviving written account of this tale however.  It’s sister account burned in a terrible fire, and whenever a pen laid down to scribe the tale again, some force drew the author off on a terribly urgent errand.  When they would return to the page they found, much to their chagrin, that the tale they were about to write now slipped their minds completely.  

This tale however stays firmly anchored to it’s pages, much to it’s chagrin, in the svelte flowing script that no hand aboard this boat can reproduce.  It sits under lock and key, in the care of the one man who has no need to open its cover.  For he is intimately familiar with the story already.  He is in fact unable to forget it, no matter what drink he consumes, or pleasures he takes in the night.  So there it sits, waiting to be read again.  Consider your luck reader, for you are given the chance that few will be granted.  You are to be given a chance to read behind the cover with the Songbird and Raven embossed upon it.  Consider your luck, for men and women have died for less.  

Once between the slope of the mountain and the swell of the sea, there was a fishing village.  As fishing villages went it was nothing spectacular, with it’s rice fields bordering the swamps, and the bounty the ocean provided, it’s people had little to want for in the way of food.  If it differed at all from its neighbors it was that in this village, there was no proper inn.  Where the men of most villages would start the end of their day with a bit of rice wine in the tavern, here instead every villager would start the end of their day by going to the shrine.  The shrine was a simple affair of stone, just where the slope of the mountain met the swell of the sea, and it was not for the marvelous view of the waves or the setting sun that the villagers flocked so punctually.  No, the men and women of the village came for Songbird and her stories.  Songbird, was a slight girl of an age none could get her to admit.  The eldest in the village could remember the days when her mother before her told the stories, but they could never remember the day when the mother had passed, and the duty fell to the child.  Regardless the villagers young and old learned not to press such questions upon the little storyteller, for those were the days she tended to take her stories back with her into the woods.  For the patient and kind however, the young speaker would set her small lantern on the head stone of the shrine, and she would ply her trade.  

She told stories of young boys who learned great words of power.  She spoke of young girls who were trapped in haunted bathhouses of eld.  She recited how samurai were bought to fight bandits for a few bags of rice.  She told the stories that villagers needed to hear, and for every tale the villagers went to bed with lighter hearts, and woke the next morning ready to work come whatever may.  For Songbird’s troubles, she was gifted a bag of rice every night, two on festival days.  She never asked for this gift, nor did she turn it away, and never did the thought occur to the villagers to withhold what she had earned.  It was a simple exchange, so too was it powerful.

Never did the village go hungry, nor did it ever miss a tithe to it’s Lord.  Hurricanes could pound it’s coast, driving away fish for months, earthquakes could muddy the waters of it’s rice fields, but always the village would have enough to eat, and always the wagons it sent back to the capital would be full.  While it’s neighbors would come and go from plaque, bandits, or wildlife, the little fishing village would weather the tests of time, over and over again.

Back in the capital, the ruler of the land took notice of this one village and it’s prosperity.  Being a man of learning, he wished to know what industriousness kept it’s people so productive, with the intent of instilling such a virtue upon all of his lands.  So he called his guards and retinue to him, and marched a procession to the gates of the little village, offering up gifts and praise to its peoples. 

“My dear subjects!” he cried with pomp and vigor “There is so much I feel my kingdom could learn from you!  Come show me how you bring in the harvest, and prepare for the hard days ahead!”

Being his subjects they did exactly that, they showed him every bag of rice, every net they hauled over the side of their boats, and every storehouse where they held food for the hard times.  The truth was in what they didn’t show him, for never did they take him to the shrine, and never did they once speak of Songbird.  

The Lord was no fool, for no fool sits on a throne for very long.  It was with clever eyes that he saw their worried glances towards the edge of the forest, and cautious ears that he heard whispers of a name just beyond hearing.  With polite gestures, more gifts, and even more praise, the Lord left the small little village.  Under cover of darkness with only a few of his retinue, he stole back into town, and waited by the edge of the forest.  Along came the villagers to sit by the shrine, and through the forest came the bobbing light of Songbird’s lantern.  Intently the Lord watched her set her lantern on the head stone, and listened to her tell a story of a young boy who became lost in the forest, only to be guided back by a small faeling child.  

When the last of the villagers left to return home, the Lord approached the small girl upon the shrine and beseeched her to come with him to the capital.  “There the light of your lantern may shine down upon all my subjects, your stories may teach them things they have forgotten, and all might prosper during my rule.”

To his honeyed words however she was immune, she simply shook her head and replied. “So long as this village stands, so shall I remain.” Then without so much as a backwards glance, she took her lantern and walked back into the forest.

Unaccustomed to being refused outright, the Lord returned many times to the shrine, thinking that perhaps with a different offer the girl would come to her senses and return to the capital with him.  He offered her gold, jewels, fine clothes and pretty men and women to fill them, however every time, just as the last she would turn away and walk into the forest saying “So long as this village stands, so shall I remain.”

One night, pirates swarmed the shores of the tiny fishing village.  They killed the men, sullied the women, burned the nets, and trampled the rice fields.  Somehow, they had gotten it into their heads that the village had gold hidden away, and when they found none, their anger and violence was tenfold to behold.  When Songbird’s lantern came bobbing through the forest that night, she found not the hopeful faces of the villagers she had known all her life, but a smoking ruin.  Perched atop the head stone of the shrine, was the Lord, waiting as patiently as one does for the grass to grow.

“There is no more village.” She said, and what was in her voice was but for her and the Lord to know.  

“No” he replied.  Possibly ashamed “There is not.” 

With nothing more said between them, she accompanied him to the capitol.  

The Lord kept her at his castle in a great spiraling tower, providing her with everything he had promised before.  For finery and comfort she never wanted, even for company she was rarely without.  A jester named Ashpatch, for the color of his motley, was made to follow her everywhere. The Lord was still no fool, and knew he had something precious.  To guard his wondrous storyteller he hired a great blade mistress to act as her keeper, her name was Serna From The Seas, and with a spear she was untouchable.  The Lord even fashioned a grand gate of steel and stone, and there was only one in his kingdom that could open it, a giant of immense size, the last of her kind named Onra. To all these the Lord promised that he would double any bribe offered them to betray him, and he meant every word.  

For a time things were as they had been at the village.  At the end of the day, Songbird and her lantern would head down to the court of the Lord.  There she would set her light at the highest step below his throne and she would tell tales.  She told a tale of warring royal families amidst the deadly encroaching Northern winds.  She spoke of the fall of the last great city and the two men who fled across the desert in the wake of its ruin.  She recited the story of a boy and his wizard, and how they tamed a warring nation.  She told the stories that royalty needed to hear.  For her troubles each day the Lord granted Songbird one audience in private at the end of her tales.  Each audience she would ask for but one thing, to be allowed to leave the capitol.  To this the Lord had but one reply.  “So long as this city stands, so shall you remain.”

For a time it was thus, day after day.  Finally one day Ashpatch came before the Lord’s court and claimed he was unable to cheer up Songbird despite his best efforts.  He was unsure if he was fit to even be called a jester any more.  “I throw myself to the floor as so!  I tug my ears and make faces that would make even my old shriveled grandmother cry with hilarity!  I tell the most lewd jokes about the Lord’s wife that I can conjure and still that girl sits there sullen without so much as a smile in her eye!”  

Among the commotion of the Lord calling for Ashpatch’s head, none in the court heard of the clamor coming from Songbird’s tower.  Ashpatch had intended this, for Songbird had once told him a story of a fool who was wiser than his king, and for this Ashpatch loved Songbird.  The clamor was Serna From the Sea and her deadly spear, slaying any samurai or knight that came between Songbird and her way out of the castle.  By the time the Lord made his way down from his throne room to the slaughter in his city, Songbird was well on her way to the gates.

“Who bought you??” He cried to Serna From the Sea as she cleaved through his court one after the other “How much was your loyalty that I could not retain it??”

“She told me a story” Replied Serna From the Sea “Of a goddess who cut off her fingers and cast them to the deeps so that there would be whales, otters, and fish for my people.  Double that.”

The Lord could not, so Serna From the Sea slew him.

When Songbird came to the great gate of steel and stone, she found it open, with Onra the giant standing there smiling.  Songbird had been the only person in the city who had ever talked to the last of the giants.  During their talks Songbird had told her a story about a giant who befriended a girl in the land of dreams, and for this, Onra loved Songbird.  Thus did Songbird leave the capitol, no longer standing, but burning in her wake.  

She returned back the way she came, her lantern bobbing all the way down the road to the ashes of her village.  Long since abandoned, the shrine crumbling, and the forest withering, Songbird found but one man down at the beach.  He tended a small boat, and wore a crumpled hat, his hair was the color of salt.

“Who are you?” She asked.

“I am the Ferryman.” He said.  

“Do I know you?” She squinted and held up her lantern, there was something familiar about his face.

“No longer.” He turned his face away. “I was once the captain of a ship, but the lie of gold tore us apart.  Now I ferry people to the other side.”

She nodded, remembering now where she had seen him. “I will tell you a story if you ferry me to another land.”

For the first time in her life, someone frowned at her and shook his head. “I know plenty of stories, could you forgive me instead?”

“No.” She said quite plainly. “However if you take me to another land, you may have my lantern.”

“Will you not need it?”

“Not where we are going.”

And so it was thus.  Songbird was never seen on that shore again, and though stories continued to be told without her, none were quite the same.

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4794 Chapter: 33/42 Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn’t happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

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Chapter 33

Acting like a normal human being for the rest of the night without blurting out his recent mind-bending revelation was, strangely, not quite as hard as he might have expected it to be. Tobirama did most of the work for him by staying distracted with their temporary ward and deciding to sleep when they tucked her in for the night as well. Since they had already set up a frankly overzealous amount of traps and barriers when they made camp earlier all Madara had to do was nod along and stumble over to his bedroll. After the girl fell asleep Tobirama rolled over and threw an arm around Madara's waist to pull him close the same way they always slept and Madara prayed to every god he knew that Tobirama wouldn’t hear the heart pounding in his chest, squeezing his eyes shut to wait for his husband to drop off as well so he could continue to let his mind boggle.

He was in love. Finally the certainty in his own emotions that he had been waiting for – and he couldn’t say it because there was a little child there just waiting to ruin his heartfelt moment.

Finding sleep was difficult when his heart felt so full; he was almost surprised his Sharingan didn’t spontaneously activate every other minute while the night hours whiled away. He dropped off eventually but it felt as though he merely blinked and morning had arrived. Thankfully Tobirama didn’t take his tiredness to be anything more than the usual morning grumps and when they set off on the road again he had managed to keep his tongue in check mostly by keeping quiet. Since neither of them were large chatterboxes that worked for most of the day as well.

He found a better distraction in their ward as she grew more and more excited the closer they got to the capital, recognizing major landmarks that told her she was going home. She pointed each of them out as they passed, babbling on every time with some story about her parents, and Tobirama at least pretended to listen the whole time. Madara wasn’t sure if he was actually listening but just that amount of effort was still heartwarming.

Gaining entry to the city wasn’t nearly as difficult as the last time Madara accompanied his father to present themselves before the Daimyo. Security had apparently grown lax since he was young. No wonder other children were going missing nowadays. Their ward didn’t know her own address and couldn’t give them better directions than “go home” once they stepped inside the city so, after a brief stop to discuss their plan of action, they decided it was best to simply bring her along and hope that someone in the palace would recognize her. If luck was truly on their side then perhaps one of her relatives would be there to take her off their hands.

“Otherwise we really will end up adopting early,” Tobirama muttered quietly in jest. Madara clutched at his thundering heart and tried to play it off as brushing dust from his clothing.

“If you’re adopting anyway,” he grumbled back, “I should think it would be Kagami.”

“His mother probably wouldn’t agree to that.”

Madara conceded the point but shooed his husband along, eager to get to their destination. The sooner they got this kid off their hands and got through all the pomp of their arrival the sooner they could be alone for him to spill his guts. He was probably going to embarrass himself terribly but at least it would be over with.

The Daimyo was great and all, a very important man, but nothing was more important to Madara at the moment than finally getting to speak the precious words every Uchiha saved for only one partner in their life. After so much agonizing over the dour possibility of never having these feelings he was more than ready to celebrate the happiness of experiencing them with the man he had already agreed to spend his life with.

When they arrived at the palace they were met with a small army of servants wanting to take their bags, cool their brows, offer them water, and just generally pamper them in the many ways any noble might expect. They allowed their bags to be taken away with instructions that they be placed in the same room with only one bed – Madara glared down the one serving boy who looked surprised – and asked if their lord required them to present themselves right away. As soon as the words were out of their mouths they were whisked off to meet with the one who called them here.

Less than half a dozen steps in to the receiving room where the Daimyo sat in comfort on a heavily embroidered cushion they were stopped by a woman’s voice shouting from the far corner.

“Chihiro!” She rushed towards them on shaking legs, her eyes wide and quickly gathering tears. At first sight of her the little girl between them pulled away from Tobirama and threw herself in to the woman’s arms.

“Kaachan! Kaachan!”

The woman sank to the floor and burst in to tears while the girl babbled obliviously, clearly happy to have been reunited with her mother, already recounting the tale of how she and her retainers had gone on what she called an adventure with some bad men. Madara watched the heart-wrenching scene unfold with a leaden fist around his heart. Too few families were blessed to experience moments like this in their own world; he was grateful to have helped even just one family see a happy ending.

“How fortuitous that you arrive now!” the daimyo called, raising his arms in a wide gesture. “Little Chihiro’s parents were only just asking my assistance in locating her and here you come to save the day. Wonderful! Welcome, my friends, welcome!”

Instead of a pompous greeting the two of them were immediately swept under by a wave of heartfelt thanks from the girl’s mother, interspersed with liberal praise from their lord. Madara soaked it in triumphantly. He’d made the journey expecting to sit in for someone else, unwanted and out of place, but now he was a hero in the nobles’ eyes and they had reason to celebrate him on his own merits. It was just the perfect cherry on top of the other ball of happiness still waiting to burst out of his chest at a moment’s notice.

Unfortunately for his confessional plans their grand entrance made such a stir that they were held up in a meeting with the daimyo for more than an hour and then separated so they could be prepared for a formal dinner. Both of them were assigned personal attendants and Madara's made such a fuss over having him look perfect for the feast that he didn’t have a single moment alone with his husband before they were led in to the hall and presented to the court as guests of honor, placed in seats so close to the head of the table he delighted in picturing his father grinding his teeth with jealousy. Even if the next few days were a misery of boredom this was worth it just for the chance to go home and tell his father every excruciating detail about how important he was for this one night.

Throughout the night he kept hoping the festivities would end soon so they might be allowed to go back to their room but after the dinner they were asked to stay and enjoy the geisha who arrived to entertain them with dancing and music. Madara would be the first to admit his manners weren’t perfect but he wasn’t so uncouth as to walk away from such an honor. When they were finally able to slip away back to their rooms the hour was so late they had just enough energy to undress themselves before curling up together in the bed and falling asleep.

Much of the next few days ran in a similar pattern. Every time Madara thought they might have a decent moment alone to talk they were interrupted or summoned to some new activity the Daimyo had planned. On the one hand he could sort of understand that the man was grateful they stopped a coup from happening, keeping his butt in the proverbial throne, but it seemed excessive to plan an entire week of celebrations that kept them so busy he couldn’t even make one simple confession to his own husband.

Well, he could have. It didn’t take much time to say three little words. But this felt like something that should be given proper gravitas and a little time to sink in, he didn’t really want to squeeze it in between bites of lunch or something.

He wasn’t given a break until the fourth day when the garden party neither of them were enjoying was interrupted by a minor nobleman arriving with urgent news for their lord. The daimyo excused himself with several apologies and invited the guests to continue their frivolity without him for the time being. Madara waited exactly three minutes after the man was gone, checked to make sure no one was paying them any attention, then dragged his husband away down the closest garden path. They disappeared behind the hedges and didn’t look back.

Tobirama was smiling at the back of his head, he could tell without having to turn around and look, but Madara ignored it as he continue to scurry between the rows of flora in search of a nice quiet place they could stand and talk. If they were going to be run ragged every day to the point where they had little energy to do more than crawl in to bed and pass out then he was going to jump on this chance and make no apologies about it. Thankfully for his sanity they didn’t encounter so much as a gardener on their way. Madara wasn’t sure what he would have done if the paths were full of people. He stopped after several minutes of tugging his husband along, rounding a corner to find a quaint little koi pond with a carved stone bench to one side just the perfect size for two people to sit together.

Which is what he did, dropping down on to one half and unceremoniously pulling a bemused Tobirama down with him.

“Something on your mind, anata?”

“Don’t take that teasing tone with me! But, uh, yes.” Madara opened his mouth and then immediately snapped it shut as he realized that, for all the time he’d spent mourning the lack of opportunity to do this, he’d never actually taken a moment to figure out what he should say.

“Take your time,” Tobirama said.

Choking down his nerves, Madara nodded to himself and dragged his eyes up to meet the pretty red ones looking back at him patiently. Someone a little more cultured than him would probably have some fancy way of laying it all out. All he had in his head were three words. Pressed for time and a little out of his depth, Madara decided that honesty was probably the best policy and he should say something quickly before he started looking like a crazy person.

“I love you,” he blurted, rushing onwards as Tobirama’s eyes widened comically. “It just kind of hit me while you were taking care of Chihiro but we’ve been so busy ever since and there was never a second for me to say anything but it’s been killing me not to.”

“You…?” Tobirama’s voice had never been so soft. Just hearing the disbelief in his voice had Madara blushing and babbling onwards.

“And I’m really sorry it took me forever to figure out my own feelings. It’s just that I’ve never been in love before! Not even close to it! So I just wasn’t sure if that’s what I was feeling or if it was supposed to be different. But then you were smiling and being so good with that little girl and it just kind of crashed in to me like a doton; I’ve never had a religious experience before but I sort of imagine it would be like that, you know?”

“Peace, anata.”

His jaw snapped shut again with just as much nervous energy as before. Madara twitched and resisted the impulse to dig his toes in to the dirt shyly while his husband continue to stare at him with naked awe. Just when he thought they might sit there all day doing nothing but looking in to each other’s eyes Tobirama lifted both hands to cup the sides of his face.

“Will you say it again?” he asked very quietly.

“Oh. I- I love you.”

Tobirama said nothing in return. The look on his face was beyond words but he spoke with his actions instead, as he so often preferred to do, leaning over to press their lips together in a deep kiss that said everything he couldn’t just then. Madara sank in to it with a moan. Everything in him felt lighter for having finally said the words he’d been holding in for days.

From the tips of his toes to the very top of his head Madara felt almost as though he were being slowly charged with static electricity. As relief drained the tension from his body he could feel it gradually being replaced by a strange sort of triumphant energy, the urge to stand on a rooftop and crow his victory because this was everything he had ever wanted, everything an Uchiha could dream of. A husband that loved him whom he loved so deeply in return, a happy home together. Hands to hold through the longest nights. When he was old and gray Tobirama would be there at his side and knowing that was a warm feeling, a happy yearning, so different from the bitter cold dread that had filled him when they were first betrothed.

“You cannot know what those words mean to me,” Tobirama whispered against his mouth before taking it again in another desperate kiss.

“I think I might be able to guess,” he managed to say when they parted again.

“Do you know how many times I have wanted to say that to you?”

“You could say it now.”

So he did. Madara flushed and eventually had to look away as Tobirama murmured the words to him again and again, brushing kisses against his neck and whispering in his ear like a proper pair of lovers. For such a reserved man he certainly could pull out the romance when he wanted to. Who would have thought he could be as sappy as his brother?

Not that Madara could say he was any better at the moment. Some fierce warrior he must look like with his eyes shining and his heart fairly beating out of his chest.

In the end it was the distant sound of laughter that made them remember where they were. Caught up in each other’s lips yet again, fingers tangled in hair, they pulled apart to look over in the direction of what sounded like one of the daimyo’s daughters. If they could hear her that well she must have snuck up quite close while they weren’t paying attention to their surroundings. It also meant that the other party attendants were starting to branch out in to the garden while their host was distracted and this private little alcove was about to be a lot less private.

“Great,” Madara grumbled. “Back to the celebrations then. You know, if he wanted to give us proper thanks then maybe he should have asked whether we even enjoy public events like this. Because neither of us do. A week alone would have been much nicer than all this crap.”

“Do not think this is the end of this conversation. I don’t care how tired we are when the day ends, I’m not done with you just yet.” Tobirama lifted one eyebrow to punctuate how serious he was but the most interesting part of his expression was the curl of his lips and everything they promised with just one little smirk. Quite suddenly Madara found himself breathless all over again.

Unable to respond to that without embarrassing himself, too afraid of the colors he might turn if he asked what the man meant by that, all he could do was nod and spring to his feet without another word. They wandered arm in arm back the way they had come until they could feel underdeveloped civilian chakra only a few feet away then separated just before a few partygoers rounded a corner and greeted them with alcohol heavy on their breath. Someone must have opened another bottle of plum wine while they were gone.

If he’d thought all the days before were hard to get through while keeping his silence Madara realized now that he hadn’t known what true torture was. Feeling Tobirama’s gaze on him for the rest of the day, meeting eyes in silence and knowing even a fraction of what was running through that beautiful mind, he’d never been so close to driving himself insane. Every time they brushed up against each other in even the most innocent of ways had his entire body on fire. His mouth was dry and his fingers twitching, heart racing inside his chest as the memory of what happened in the garden played through his mind on repeat again and again and again. If his life depended on it he could not have recalled more than five minutes collectively of what happened for the rest of the many hours they were forced to stay out and be polite for the public eye.

Whether Tobirama was able to keep track of their surroundings Madara couldn’t say but for himself he knew only that they were led to another room inside the palace after the Daimyo finally returned and that several people attempted to draw him in to conversation, all of whom probably left with the impression that he had lost what little there had ever been of his mind. Not that he cared in the slightest what any of these people thought of him. It wasn’t like he was someone who typically attracted a lot of potential clientele to their village anyway.

Dinner, when it was finally late enough, was another kind of special anguish. With the windows dark and the room lit by candles the atmosphere was almost romantic, giving Madara terrible gushy urges to lean in to his husband’s side or make a fool of himself with the sort of nonsense mushy drivel usually reserved for terrible poetry. In retrospect he later decided it was a good thing he was prevented from such mortifying actions but in the moment it was only irritating not being able to follow through on the hot-eyed looks they traded each time they were unobserved. No boring small talk over dinner could ever hold his interest quite like the feeling of Tobirama tracing the edges of his palm out of sight under the table.

Just the same as all the other days since they arrived in the capital, they were finally released from socializing only long after the moon had risen and they were both dragging their feet as they trudged through the hallways to the room they shared. All that kept Madara's eyes from drooping was the electricity that had been buzzing in his veins since that afternoon as he waited impatiently until the moment they could be alone.

Slipping inside the room and closing the door felt almost like stepping in to a whole other world after holding so much tension for so long. The complete silence and lack of other bodies crowding the space left him mentally scrambling for a way to describe the opposite of claustrophobia – until he very quickly had other things on his mind. Madara gasped as Tobirama’s hands grasped his shoulders and spun him around, pushing until he stumbled back against the wall and continuing forward until they were crashing together in a frantic kiss.

Almost immediately his fingers were hopelessly tangled in fistfuls of silver hair, a lewd sound escaping that would have made him curl away with shame if he weren’t so entirely invested in pulling his husband closer. Tobirama seemed more than okay with this plan. If Madara had experienced any doubts about whether the man was as eager as himself they would have been tossed out the window the moment he heard his reticent partner make the single most frantic sound he had ever heard in his life, a whining moan that sounded as though it had been dragged up from the very base of his spine. The sound of it sent shivers racing down Madara's own spine and made him gasp in to their kiss.

“Say it again,” Tobirama demanded in a breathy whisper, syllables broken with each ragged pant for air.

“I love you.” Each time they passed his lips the words tasted sweeter and sweeter.

“Gods.”

The next thing he knew the room was spinning as Tobirama pulled them away from the wall and sent them tumbling down on to the bed, crawling over him like a predator.

“Okay not the reaction I was expecting but I can go with this,” Madara chuckled nervously.

“Mm and I do so appreciate your cooperation,” his partner leered.

As unexpected as it was to be almost literally tossed on to the bed he couldn’t say he was in any way against this turn of events. Having Tobirama’s body push him against a wall was an entirely different sensation than feeling all six feet of solid muscle pressing him down in to the mattress, their legs entwined and two strong arms bracketing either side of his head. Madara had spent the entirety of his almost twenty-two years of life thinking himself the prime example of an alpha male. It was a surprise now to discover just how much he enjoyed being pinned by his confident husband.

It was also a surprise to feel an unmistakable hardness against his thigh and know that Tobirama’s thoughts were running along quite similar paths to his own, although probably still very different. He was, after all, the only one between them with any experience in these matters. More than anything it was the fact that it was a foreign sensation which made him jerk away with a startled expression.

“What’s wrong?” Tobirama asked, freezing in place immediately until he understood the sudden shift.

“Nothing!” Madara bit nervously at his lip. “I just…you…I can feel…” Just blurting out that he could feel the man’s cock felt incredibly awkward and yet he had no idea how else to phrase it. His point must have gotten across somehow, though.

“Ah. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Instead of leaning in to kiss him again the idiot pulled away and began to frown, which just would not do. Madara squirmed with a frown of his own which definitely was not a pout in any way. “You’re not making me uncomfortable,” he said.

“Are you certain of that? Because you can’t look me in the eye right now.”

“Well excuse me for being embarrassed! This is new to me! And I wanted- shut up!”

“No, you were going to say something there,” Tobirama insisted.

“It was nothing!”

Eyeing him doubtfully, his husband very carefully shifted so the hardness against his thigh was lifted entirely away. “There was definitely something.”

“Fine! I wanted…it to go well. I know the way you grew up this sort of thing didn’t have any great meaning but to my people giving yourself to someone is important, it’s showing them that you can truly be vulnerable in their presence without fear, and I’ve built it up in my head. A lot. And I might be a little worried about messing it up.”

Clearly that was nothing close to the answer Tobirama was expecting. Madara shifted and squirmed a bit more under the weight of the unreadable eyes staring down at him. Both of them having danced around this subject to avoid the possibility of pressure of making each other uncomfortable in any way, he’d never had a chance to admit some of the fears that had been on his mind whenever he thought about the fact that someday they would lie together as married couples do. Most of those fears revolved around the fact that he was the one who had no idea what he was doing and that made him the one likely to do something utterly stupid.

Like he was already doing, ironically, as he had apparently ruined the mood.

“Anata, it’s alright if you’re not ready.”

“What?”

Tobirama leaned down to rest their foreheads together. “Just because you said the words I don’t expect it to be like flipping a switch. If you’re not ready that’s fine. I didn’t mean to paw at you like an animal. Not being able to kiss you all day has been driving me wild; I may have gotten a little too enthusiastic.”

“I never said I wasn’t ready!” Madara insisted, his cheeks hot and his throat tight. “I just want to...to do it right!”

“You could hardly do anything wrong.”

“Easy for you to say. You know me, I’ll probably trip and fall out of the bed or something. This isn’t even our bed!” He was still very definitely not pouting.

His husband, on the other hand, was now smiling very gently. “Perhaps it would be best to put this subject on hold until we do return to our own bed then. When we’re home in a place where you feel more comfortable then we can talk about it, yes?”

“Talking is not what I have been imagining,” Madara grumbled. Then he regretted it when he was met with another leer.

“I will freely admit to being very interested in whatever you’ve been imagining. We’ll have to come back to that when we have a chance to talk about this again.”

Mortified, Madara wriggled both hands between their bodies so he could push the man away. If he were honest it was the last thing he wanted to be separated right then but Tobirama was right about one thing. He would be a lot more at ease in their bed. As comfortable as this one was and as cushy as it had been lavishing themselves in the opulence of the capital city he would always prefer the house in which the two of them had fought hard to make a proper home. This was not the place he wanted to have solidified in his memories whenever he remembered their first time.

Sitting up and scrubbing at the back of his neck, Madara reluctantly admitted they should be going to sleep anyway. Inevitably they would be woken earlier than desired tomorrow and invited to yet another breakfast with too many dishes to ever be properly appreciated in one sitting. His usual routine when getting ready for bed involved closing himself away in the bathroom to change his clothes but it felt almost ridiculous to do so when he had very nearly just taken them off for the man beside him. Yet the idea of just stripping himself naked after they had decided now was not the time seemed like it would be a tease more than anything else.

“Can you turn around?” he asked quietly. Tobirama did so with a look that made it clear to Madara how significant a moment that was for his husband, like a barrier being crossed, like trust held out between two palms and given freely without regrets.

After he had changed he rolled under the covers and buried his face in the pillow, trying not to blush as he heard the rustling sounds of Tobirama briefly getting naked only a handful of feet away from him. When the rustling stopped it was followed by footsteps and then more rustling as the mattress dipped and his husband slid in behind him to wrap an arm around his waist and pull him backwards. Embarrassingly, his first thought was to note that Tobirama was actually still a little hard. Not quite as noticeably but still enough that he had to have a very firm talk with himself very quickly about not bringing attention to things they had agreed not to talk about for now. Then, of course, Tobirama went and emptied his head of every other thought with only three words whispered in his ear.

“I love you,” he said, sending thrills all throughout Madara's body.

To say them back with absolute confidence was the greatest joy and honor.

[solynacea]

The First Tree

Merry Christmas, @babydonut01s-world! I was your Secret Santa this year; below is a story based on The Christmas Fairy of Strasburg by Francis Jenkins Olcott. I hope you like it!

As Lord Meliodas paced the halls of his keep, he found himself more irate than usual. He had only just come from another fruitless meeting with his advisors, who continued to press him to take a wife so that he might have a son to whom he can one day leave the reaches of his domain, yet all those presented to him for his consideration had failed to rouse the barest of his interest. They were too tall, or too short, or too round, or not round enough, a high-pitched nag or a simpering fool. No doubt the old fools who served him believed they had chosen the best for his perusal; if those wretches were the best his lands have to offer, then he would remain unwed for the rest of his days. Let His Majesty decide where the fertile forests and fields go upon Meliodas’ death. He would have no use of them then, anyway.

He decided, as he sometimes did when his mind was thunderous, to take his horse down the forest trails. It was the only time he found any solitude, or peace, and he returned to his quarters only briefly to bundle up against the winter cold before heading down to the stables. A boy there hastened to prepare his finest steed; with the cool leather reins in his fist, his heart began to lighten, and he guided the horse to and through the castle gates. Snow fell lightly through the air, the flakes slow and fat and lazy as they spiralled to cover roofs and shrubs, no doubt bringing joy to the children who lived in the village nearby. It was Christmas Eve, after all, and they would sing their cheer at how fitting it was that it should snow, only to curse it when they were forced to wait for their fields to thaw.

His breath puffed in clouds as he moved through the gnarled oaks that marked the boundaries of the forest. Meliodas had no particular destination in mind. He would ride until he was too cold to bear it anymore, then return to the warmth of his halls and drink mulled, spiced wine to shake the chill from his bones. He passed bushes of holly, their bright fruit obstinately cheery, and firs with coats of lush green needles, taking a meandering path as meaningless as the continued insistence upon his marriage. When he tilted his head back, the whirls of snow drew him in, landing with soft, cold kisses upon his brow and cheeks. Perhaps he would simply remain here for the rest of his days. Estarossa could have the lands, or Zeldris. They would run it well.

It was the abrupt halting of his horse that shook him from the near trance; they were in a part of the wood unfamiliar to him, and a frown marred his features as he carefully dismounted. A small clearing surrounded him, still and quiet, and in the center was a spring, the ground near the edges unfrozen and vibrant with soft, green grass. It was peaceful, and alluring, and he crossed to the water, kneeling next to it to peer within its depths, surprised to see it dark and deeper than he first thought. A soft light swirled within, seeming to call to him. Reach out, it said, warm yourself within my embrace. Aren’t you cold?

He realized quite suddenly that he was. His hands, which he had forgotten in his haste to cover with gloves, ached with it, the fingers pink and stiff and the rings like little blades biting against his flesh. But beneath the ridiculous urge to sink them into the inviting waters was the warning imparted to him by his mother, a woman of whom he only remembered her voice and the kindness of her smile. “The forest is no place for a boy,” she’d told him from beneath the blankets meant to break her fever. “There are fey creatures there who would love nothing more than to keep you forever. Estarossa did not heed me, and he is addled now. But you will be good, and listen to your mother, will you not?” And he, a mere child of seven, had solemnly promised that he would, and he had never set foot within the woods on his own until the hunt that sealed him as a man. Yet there was nothing dangerous here, not that he could see, and steam curled enticingly from the surface of the spring, as if pleading with him to rest and warm his hands. After another moment of hesitation, he listened to the call, dipping his fingers into it.

Joy, fierce and strong, sung through him as a golden heat climbed slowly through his veins. It was not just his hands that lost the cold, but the rest of him too, until he was sweating beneath his heavy cloak. Meliodas let out a quiet groan and submerged himself farther, so that the water lapped around his wrists, an unbidden smile creasing his cheeks. Here, he forgot his worries and his ire; all that mattered was the soothing embrace of the spring and the comfort that came from it. He even fancied that he could feel another hand, small and dainty and smooth, caressing his own like a lover, and he closed his eyes to dwell on that, because it was lovely. Then he leaned over to dunk his face, and when he was mere inches from doing so he paused, his breath catching in his throat. There was another set of hands, white and smooth, curling softly around his own, and as he drew away with a shout of alarm, they tightened just enough that the golden ring he wore slippes over his knuckle and into their palms.

He returned to his horse, goading it into a sprint back to his keep. The ring was no small matter, as it was given to his family by His Majesty and marked their place among his nobility, and he was of the mind to have the servants go and drain the spring. But it was night when he returned — the loss of an entire afternoon sending more unease settling over his heart — so instead he left the horse at the stables and returned to his room to draw up a written order for the next morning. When that was done, he retired to his bedchamber, falling into the couch and closing his eyes, attempting sleep. Yet that eluded his grasp, and he settled into a half-doze, until the baying of the watch-hounds in the yard pulled him harshly from that. Meliodas remained where he was as the sounds of feet on the stairs reached his ears, coming to a halt in the antechamber. Then there were voices, loud and jovial, and he sprung from the couch in a mixture of fury and fear, the starting of a strain of lovely music doing nothing to soothe his nerves.

In the antechamber, there were numerous beings, singing and dancing and chattering excitedly amongst themselves as they flitted about an enormous fir. Some of them were no bigger than the lantern bugs of summer, while some towered to the beams of the ceiling, and their skin is varied, yet all of them seemed full of cheer. He watched them for a moment, his voice locked in his throat, as they decorated the tree with strings of pearls and ruby bracelets, golden circlets and rich silk sashes, daggers with jewel-studded sheaths and rings glittering with sapphires. Meliodas could not move, entranced by the glittering tree, the lights that twinkled from its branches, and, as with the spring, his fear melted away to be replaced by a comforting warmth. 

Then the folk fell silent, parting to make a path from the tree to him. Through it stepped a lady of dazzling beauty: her kind eyes seemed cut from the same sapphires that adorned the fir, her long, silver tresses were crowned with a diadem of gold and precious diamonds, her hair flowing around a silk gown of softest azure. She stretched out her hands, elegant and white, upon one which rested his lost ring, and said in soft, musical tones, “Lord Meliodas, I am Queen Elizabeth, of the fae. I have come to repay your Christmas visit, and to return something that was lost in the Fairy Well.”

Her voice was alluring, drawing him as it had at the spring. He took the ring from her small hand, sliding it over his knuckle; then, unable to resist, he pulled her to him, and she smiled as she folded her fingers over his own and lead him amidst the fairies. They danced until dawn, and Meliodas forgot his coldness towards maidens and his disdain of marriage; when the sun kissed the horizon with rosy hues, he fell to his knees and begged her to become his bride. Elizabeth joined him on the floor, lifting his face to hers with her fingers. “I will stay by your side,” she answered softly, “so long as you do not utter the word ‘death’ in my presence, as it is the most abhorrent thing to me.”

And Meliodas agreed.

They were married the next day, their wedding celebrated with much pomp and magnificence, and lived together happily for many years.

Yet men are full of folly, and arrogance, and often forget the promises they have made. So it was when one day, after the ground had thawed and the air was alive with birdsong, that Meliodas decided upon a hunt. The horses were saddled and bridled, stomping nervously against the ground, the men dressed in leathers and light armor, some with spears and others with bows, yet Queen Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. Meliodas paced the hall, impatience and ire festering within him, until even his brothers watched him warily. As a youth, his temper had been fierce and dangerous and, though he had managed to tame it as he grew, it still flared to life on those occasions where he felt insulted. Finally, Elizabeth appeared in the hall, dressed elegantly in a green gown of silk, her diadem seated firmly against her locks, and he rounded on her in a fury.

“You have kept us waiting for so long,” he cried, “that you would make a good messenger to send for death!”

Scarcely had the word left his lips when the fairy let out a shrill, wild wail and disappeared from the hall. In vain, Lord Meliodas, overwhelmed by grief and remorse, searched the lands high and low for her, yet he could find no trace of her except for the imprint of her hand in the stone above the castle gate. Years passed, and Elizabeth did not return, and Meliodas continued to grieve. Every year, remembering the night they met, he set up a lighted fir in the antechamber where he first laid eyes on her, hoping that she would return. He never married, nor so much as entertained the maidens who came to court his favor, and the running of the castle fell to his brothers as he fell deeper into his sorrow. Time passed, and the young lord died not so young, and the castle eventually fell into ruin.

And that, some say, is how the first Christmas tree came to the kingdom of Liones.

[skippyv20]

Prince Harry returns to Angola to promote a cause close to his heart

Before Prince Harry came into this world on September 15th 1984, every detail, every moment of his life was splashed across the world stage. Even then, the story of his life was part of the blazing trail of his parents very public fame and turmoil. Born third in line to the crown, his place was as the ‘spare’ to his brother William. A life of privilege to be sure, but also very much an integral part of the British Royal Family. Courtesy of his pretty, warm and sympathetic mother Diana who drew the collective worlds attention into her personal sphere. The display of her openly affectionate and close bond with her children led to the public obviously having very high expectations of her children. The next generation of relatable royals. Their childhoods, part of the world stage, were nurtured in the safe all encompassing safety of the Royal Family, British public, the community of now 53 member states of the Commonwealth of Nations. A political association, where choice to remain is freely made. United by language, history, culture and shared values of democracy, human rights and the rule of law with Queen Elizabeth ll as the human symbol of this association. (Wikipedia) Childhood and adolescence chronicled by long standing Royal traditions of pomp and pageantry. The public were eager for news, media releases and photo shoots trailing their lives and development from birth onwards. Suddenly, the world gave a collective gasp. Princess Diana’s life tragically cut short on August 31st 1997 in Paris, France. The world stood still. Outpourings of shock and grief united all as the gun carriage transporting her passed Buckingham Palace. Accompanied by the somber sight of her dark suited guard of honor. Earl Spencer, Prince Philip, Prince Charles, 15yo Prince William and 12yo Prince Harry. Diana’s coffin draped with royal standard with an ermine border. Atop were three wreaths of white flowers from her brother and two sons, William and Harry. Placed along with the flowers, a simple white envelope addressed to Mummy from young Prince Harry.

Diana’s legacies are iconic. Amongst them are her most precious, her sons William and Harry. As such her sons remain the face of her achievements. Prince Harry first visited Angola for HALO’s 25th anniversary in 2013. He joined the call for Landmine Free 2025, attended an event at Chatham House in June 2019 to announce a major conservation project in Angola, clearing the Okavango headwaters of landlines as noted in UKs Daily Mail. As Prince Harry walked, tracing the path his beloved mother Princess Diana travelled 22 years ago. Paying tribute and promoting selflessly her amazing legacy. In my minds eye, it was not a 35yo prince of British royalty tirelessly promoting a charity as they all do endlessly to raise public awareness. But a 12yo grieving boy walking behind his mothers coffin. He had taken to heart his mothers project and reflected on the cruelty of mankind. Add to that the emotions he felt free to mention and courageously display. Physically linked to the memory of his mother and her achievements. I imagine one proud parent standing proudly by his side and the words ‘Mummy’ printed in 12yo hand on a plain white envelope staring back at me.

Thank you....🙏🏻❤️❤️❤️❤️

[halfblood-fiend]

Fictober 2019 - Day 4

From The Fictober 2019 event <3

Prompt 4 : “I know you didn’t ask for this.”

Fandom : Dragon Age: Inquisition

Words : 2,041

Warnings : canon character death

“I know you didn’t ask for this.” - Knight-Captain Rylen x Keram Adaar

Rylen hadn’t seen Keram for some time now. She’d gone missing somewhere in the afternoon, but her horse was still tied with the rest so he surmised that she couldn’t have gone far. Probably took a walk. The horned lass liked her time to herself and maybe needed it bad after Adamant. Maker knew he could use a breather himself, but there was always plenty shit to do. Best to let the Inquisitor have her peace.

So he took up looking after their sizable entourage to Skyhold. Between him and Commander Cullen, it was easy. Just like old times in Kirkwall. Only with fewer abominations and less bloody madness. 

But as the sun set over the Orlesian treetops and the first moon made its slow ascent over the Inquisition encampment, Rylen finally let himself get worried.

“You haven’t seen the Inquisitor, have you?”

“I haven’t.” Cullen looked up from his papers at Rylen and glanced around the tents as though Rylen hadn’t been doing the same fucking thing himself for hours. Together, they shuffled to the front of the ration line. It had been a hell of a lot longer earlier, but they had been too busy to stop. Now, the camp cook was already handing Cullen his share and filling the next bowl. “It was my understanding that looking after Keram was sort of your job now.”

“Har, har.”

Rylen eyed the steaming venison stew with the large roast potatoes in Cullen’s bowl and rubbed his face with one hand. Andraste’s ass, he was tired. And he wanted very badly to eat, to retire with Cullen to his tent, and maybe get slobbering drunk for good measure, but he couldn’t leave Keram out wherever she was. Not with a clear conscience.

The cook offered him a helping, and with a sigh, Rylen declined.

“Guess it’s time to do my job then,” he muttered. Rylen waved goodbye to Cullen and marched away from the welcoming smells of food and fires.

His stomach was very fucking unhappy with his chivalry.

So. Where could she have gone? If he was a tired, cranky, horned giantess, where would he go?

“She’s gone where she thinks it won’t hurt,” Cole said, suddenly appearing at Rylen’s elbow.

“Maker’s balls, Cole!” Rylen swore, leaping back and clutching his chest. “You’ll kill a man like that!”

“Sorry.” The boy dipped his head and his pale face disappeared beneath the wide brim of his patchwork hat.

“What do you mean, ‘she went where she thinks it won’t hurt’? She’s not…” Maker, he couldn’t even finish that sentence in his mind.

Cole’s eyes widened and his gaze snapped back up to Rylen’s. “No! No. I just… I followed her to see if I could help, though she usually doesn’t want my help. But this time… She hurts so loud and so hot. She seems very mad.”

Rylen chewed his lip. He’d had a hunch that Keram was hurting all through their slog across the countryside. Nay, ever since she returned with Hawke and her team and not Loghain. She’d been too close to the Warden to not be. Aye, Rylen knew, but he’d been too cowardly to do anything about it. Keram was seething throughout the whole trip, and Rylen never asked why.

What a sorry excuse for a partner you are, Rylen.

“Take me to her.”

Cole led Rylen much further from the camp than he would have thought Keram would wander but then stopped so suddenly at a sharp embankment that Rylen nearly bowled into him and knocked them both over the steep slope.

He didn’t seem to notice. “There.” Cole whispered, pointing out the way. “Through the ravine. She needs your help now, not mine.”

Don’t like the sound of that, Rylen thought as he thanked him and picked his way through the brush down the embankment.

A few steps closer and he could hear the rush of water. When Rylen ducked into the ravine, the roar became all he could hear. Then the path widened and opened up into a dimly lit glade with a shining, clear pool of water being fed by the small waterfall responsible for all that bloody racket. Hadn’t been here for a sodding minute and the spray was already forming droplets of water on his armor.

Damn, that’ll bloody rust, Rylen thought, brushing the metal plate as he squinted in the gloom looking for Keram.

Then the whole place lit up as a fireball whizzed past his head and exploded in the rock behind him.

Rylen dropped to the ground and drew his sword before he realized what was happening and rational sense could tell him that there could only be one person responsible for that.

“Come to slay me, Basvaarad?” Keram sneered. “Or will you just drag me back in chains to wither away in your Circles?”

Rylen spun towards the direction of her voice and found the vision herself crouched on a rock, naked and sopping wet, with a new flame ready and jumping in her hand. She looked like a feral thing, hackles raised and ready to strike. Rylen didn’t think she’d ever looked at him like that, like one of those sods she wouldn’t think twice about putting down. It stung in a way he couldn’t quite place.

But it’s your own fault, he told himself. Even though he’d been a soldier for so long it was second nature, Rylen cursed himself for reacting, for putting her on edge. He should have bloody known better. He should have seen this coming.

He should have known how to treat an angry mage.

Shaking the thought from his head, Rylen stood slowly. He sheathed his sword and held up his hands to her, swallowing any thrum of lyrium that wanted to burst to life. He refused to threaten her any more than he already had. "You know I'd never do that to you, lass. It would be a bloody crime putting you in a place like that. Besides, haven’t you heard? They don’t exactly exist anymore."

“Oh, if only your Chantry could hear that kind of blasphemous talk.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have, the sticky predicament he was in, but he found it too fucking funny. That she would still think, after all this, that he gave two single shits about what the Chantry thought... He laughed. Bitter. Hollow. Maybe he had never quite believed like the other boys and he was always just looking for a way out of the family business, but he certainly didn’t care for the Chantry now.

Not if it would deny him her.

“Something funny?” Keram hissed, low and dangerous like a sand viper.

“Fuck the Chantry, Keram,” Rylen said with feeling. “You think that if I cared about them, I’d be here? I only care about the Inquisition and what they stand for. And now? Honestly, lass, I now I mostly only care about you. If all I was was a Chantry dog, I’d be dead by now. Or worse." It occurred to him that he could have been like those beasts they hunted in the Approach if he had stayed with the Order. Would the red lyrium have been forced on him if he hadn't joined the Inquisition? Worse, would he have taken if willingly?

Keram’s lip curled and with a shout she hurled the fireball, not at him, like he assumed, but at the pool. With a high-pitched hiss the fire hit the water and curled away into a cloud of steam.

“Not that I’m not glad that wasn’t in my face, lass, but—”

“It’s a fool’s errand, caring for me. You can ask Warden Loghain how that sentimentality worked out for him.”

Rylen opened his mouth to speak but Keram barreled on.

“All those Wardens at Adamant,” she said scornfully, “How were they all so damn stupid? Loghain wanted to make things right—he was the only one with some sense, Shokrokar. But now he’s gone... because of them!” A new fireball leapt to life in her hands, this one crashing against the rock wall opposite them. “I never cared about any of this shit! I never cared about your stupid war for magic or the damn sky! I just…want to make things right. And all your foolish Orders and Circles and Emperors squabble and bicker while the world unravels… I am trapped here because no one else is willing to do anything!” The next fireball crashed into the waterfall, throwing a shower of droplets into the air. “Loghain was going to do something… and now he’s dead. What a waste.”

Once he realized Keram wasn’t cross with him at all, Rylen’s brain whirred to try and catch up. Cole was certainly right. She was hurting and she was mad.

Breathing hard through her nose, Keram curled around herself and rested her chin on her knees. She stared angrily at the water, seething and stewing. Cole had said she needed him now, but Rylen could hardly tell what she needed him for besides maybe target practice.

He approached her rock and the giantess didn’t move. He leaned against it and she didn’t look at him. Do something, you sod! Rylen hoisted himself onto the rough stone, settling himself close to Keram and he still didn’t get a face full of fire. In fact, once he was next to her, she dropped her head to his shoulder.

“Loghain was the best of that whole sorry lot,” she murmured, her voice thick.

Rylen momentarily recalled the man who he’d known so little yet heard so much of. Maybe he had given him good advice as far as Keram was concerned, but Loghain Mac Tir had also killed hundreds of people, started a civil war, tried to have his opponents poisoned, and sold men and women into slavery, just to name a precious few of the countless atrocities he committed as Regent during the Fifth Blight in Ferelden. ‘The best of the lot’ was not the way Rylen might have described him, but instead, he said, “Aye, lass. He was. I am so sorry for your loss.”

“It wasn’t just my loss! I am used to losing things, that’s not new. A leader like that is a loss to the entire Inquisition! I am tired of sending useful people to their deaths while spineless worms like Gaspard roam free. We need people of action, not pomp and circumstance.”

Rylen chuckled darkly. “Is this a bad time to remind you that you chose to let Gaspard live? And you gave him the Empire?”

“It is,” she growled.

“Look, lass…” Rylen turned his face to press a kiss to Keram’s forehead. For a half-second, he wondered if he would be thrown off for it, but the giantess remained snug and warm against him. “I know you didn’t ask for all this, but you’ve been navigating the whole Inquisitor thing better than most would have. Maker knows I wouldn’t have the patience for it. Not for the parties or the damned diplomacy… I don’t think I could even do Commander Cullen’s job! But you? You’re the most capable leader we could have hoped for. And I think Warden Loghain would have thought so too. Why else would the legendary ‘Hero of the River Dane’ have followed you into battle?”

“Because he was also the ‘Traitorous Teyrn’ and had nothing else to lose by following an oxman to his death.”

“Well, now, hold on.”

“Still,” Keram sighed over Rylen, “leaving a skilled general in the Fade was just as wasteful as sitting here moping about it is. There is no time for such weakness.”

With that, Keram rose in one fluid movement and leapt to the ground like a cat.

“It’s not weakness,” Rylen reminded her with a frown. “It’s grief. We lost many good soldiers in that siege. It’s not weakness to grieve for any of them, Loghain included.”

“We can argue the semantics if you wish,” Keram said as she picked her clothes up from another stone and pulled them on, “but I have no time for weakness or grieving. Perhaps when I have finished tearing Corypheus’ still-beating heart from his body with my teeth, I will find the time to grieve for Loghain.”